#there was an older patient who came in to get a crown done

[khytal]

that line eiji says that's like "if I had the chance to help someone within my reach and didn't extend my hand to them I'd regret it for the rest of my life" left a much stronger impression on me than I thought :(

every time I realize I can (and should) help a patient I start panicking and freeze up and then I feel really guilty afterward which isn't anything new but what IS new is that in my mind I see eiji being disappointed in me for not taking action and somehow that worsens the guilt

[tala-bez-i]

At first sight II Chapter Ten

(m!reader x Bonten!Haruchiyo Sanzu)

Fluff/slash/reader is male/cursing/BontenTimeline/drugs and alcohol mentioned/violence/blood/death

All characters that appeared in the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime belong to Ken Wakui.

Words: 3850

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"Today is going to be cloudy, but rain should not come until late in the evening. The temperature is reminding us more and more of the coming winter, but the good news is that in the middle of the new week, the sun will come again..." 

The small kitchen was filled with the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee, which was pouring in a thin stream into your favorite mug, which you received from your niece as a birthday gift about two years ago. 

It was almost 8 a.m. and you had only managed to get 4 hours of sleep since transporting Emi from outside to the futon in your shared bedroom. You couldn't really call it sleep, because it felt more like a wakefulness. Like a mother tiger watching over her playful offspring, with the difference of course that the person you were watching wasn't a child but a woman slightly older than you, and most importantly she wasn't playful, but rather deeply asleep. 

You were finishing your coffee when, from the small hall, you heard the faint shuffling of feet on the small rug you had bought the day you moved out of your old apartment, and you fought the urge to turn your head towards the entrance to the kitchen, even though your heart was telling you to look there. 

“Y/n...” The woman's quiet voice sounded so uncertain and sad that your eyelids closed for a moment involuntarily. “I'm sorry. I ruined everything.” 

“It's okay.” You replied as gently as you could and looked at her with a gentle, you hoped comforting smile. “The most important thing is that you came home safe and sound.” 

Emi didn't seem convinced by your words and didn't enter the room. She stood in the doorway with her head down, surrounded by a crown of tangled hair. Her face was paler than usual, and there were terrible dark circles under her eyes. She looked unwell and was clearly suffering from the side effects of drinking too much alcohol. You didn't pity her at that moment. She deserved it. 

You sighed softly and stood up from the table. 

“May I make you some miso?” You asked, but the woman shook her head cautiously. “How about some chicken stock? We should still have some.” 

“Y/n... I...” She started hesitantly, but you began searching through the kitchen cabinets for powdered stock. 

“Go to the bathroom, Emi. Wash up and put on something comfortable. You can't take a headache pill on an empty stomach, and the broth will help you get back on your feet a bit.” You interrupted her and after a while you heard the woman start to walk away in the direction you indicated. 

You heard the water from the shower running and together with the water boiling in the kettle, you began to feel your blood slowly starting to boil as well. You had a huge, terribly huge urge to make a row with the woman, but you decided to act more mature than your beloved girl and suppressed your growing anger. 

You prepared chicken broth and waited patiently for Emi to come out of the bathroom, somewhat tidy, and sit down at the table with you. 

You didn't have to wait long before the woman entered the kitchen with the sullen face of someone who had done a lot of mischief and regretted it with all her heart. You pushed a small bowl of still very warm soup towards her, which she accepted with gratitude. Her slender fingers wrapped around the bowl and that's when you noticed that her manicured nails didn't look their best. 

"Did something happen during your trip to the club?" You asked, gently touching her fingers. 

“No…” She replied quietly, looking at her nails, the edges of which were peeling off here and there, as if the woman was scratching some hard surface. “I lost my balance when I was leaving the nightclub and tried to grab the wall.” 

She also showed you the inside of her forearm, and that’s when you noticed a few small scratches that could match the woman’s version of events. Which didn’t change the fact that you had a strange feeling that something might be wrong. 

“I called you.” You said after a moment, letting the woman take a few sips of broth first. 

“I know. That's why I came earlier...” She grimaced and her gaze darted away, then looked back at you. “I should have come back at a more appropriate time and in a much better state. I was unnecessarily persuaded.” 

You nodded, letting her know that you understood her attempt to explain everything that had happened. 

“I haven't met Aimi yet... Who is she?” 

Emi sighed, placing her bowl on the table and rubbing her hands nervously. “Aimi, hm? She’s a friend from college... We met at the club by accident and decided to invite her to have fun together.” 

“I understand.” You raised one hand at her uncertain look, knowing perfectly well what she was thinking. “I won’t ask any more questions, don’t worry. If there’s anything I should know, you’d tell me yourself, right, honey?” 

She opened her mouth slightly, as if to say something, but quickly closed it, and a trembling smile appeared on her lips, which she quickly covered again by raising her bowl of soup. She nodded slightly, you stood up from your chair and before leaving the kitchen, you kissed the woman on the forehead. 

“I love you, Emi-chan.” You said quietly, then kissed her on the cheek. “Rest, and I'll do the shopping, okay?” 

The woman nodded and lowered her head so you couldn't see the tears starting to form in her pretty eyes. At the sight of them, you felt something you hadn't felt about anyone in a similar situation before. Unexplainable cold. 

“Thank you, Y/n. I don't know what I did to deserve you.” She said quietly. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Thank you.” 

All the way to the store that was nearby, you wondered why Emi had never mentioned a friend from college named Aimi before and if that was where she actually met her. 

Emi liked to talk about those times, and she told you about all her friends that she had any contact with both then and now and she never mentioned anyone like Aimi. 

You only talked to her for a moment on the phone and you didn't like her at all. You got the impression that your girlfriend's mysterious friend loved any kind of trouble. In that respect, she reminded you of your own sister, Tomoko, but you knew that you definitely wouldn't get along with a woman from a nightclub. 

One of the people you could at least try to ask about the woman was Mimiko, and you were sure that if Emi and Aimi really knew each other from college, Mrs. Okumura would be able to give you some information about her. 

You had a bad feeling about her. 

While browsing through vegetables in the store, out of the corner of your eye you saw the familiar silhouette of an older man, who, as soon as you lifted your head, disappeared between the shelves suspiciously quickly. 

You followed him as if casually and after a moment you stood face to face with your possibly future father-in-law. 

Mr. Nakayabashi froze, as if someone had caught him doing something he shouldn't have, and you greeted him politely. 

“Don't just stand there, boy.” He said quietly, pulling you deeper into the aisles by your hand. "She'll see you." 

"Mrs. Nakayabashi is here too?" You wondered, lowering your voice to match the man's tone. 

“Be quiet.” He looked around carefully and his bright eyes landed on you again. His face showed tension, but it didn't show the disdain you'd seen from him before. 

“Old Nakayabashi is afraid of his wife and has to play the way she wants him to.” You remembered the words that had once fallen from Okumura’s lips and now, looking Emi’s father in the eye, you were starting to believe it. 

“How's Emi?” He asked quietly. 

“She partied, but she'll be fine.” 

“Alcohol? Drugs?” 

“Alcohol 1000%. Drugs...” You frowned slightly, surprised by the question. “Why drugs?” 

“After they suspended her from work…” The man shook his head. “Oh my God, what happened to her, boy? What happened to my little girl?" 

What? 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nakayabashi, but…” You leaned in slightly to get a better look into his eyes. “What do you mean Emi was suspended?” 

The man gave you a look that suggested he was more surprised than you were. “What do you mean? She doesn’t work. She can’t until she checks into rehab. Otherwise, she’ll have to go to court.” 

You instantly felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over you. You looked at your girlfriend's dad with wide eyes and with every passing second the man's eyes were also starting to widen. 

At some point he leaned back slightly, took a step back and looked you over with a surprised look from head to toe. 

"You don't know anything." He said a little louder and you felt like someone had poured another bucket of cold water over you. "You really don't know anything, Y/n." 

Now you were even more speechless. In all the time you had been dating Emi Nakayabashi, from day one, neither of her parents had ever, ever called you by your first name. Not even your last name necessarily came out of their mouths. 

“I…” You began, then closed your mouth. 

Your hands dropped to your sides, and it was only by a miracle that you didn’t drop your shopping cart to the floor of the store. 

“Oh my God. Emi-chan, Emi-chan…” Mr. Nakayabashi shook his head, making a sad face. “What happened to you, my child. What happened?” 

“Mrs. Nakayabashi forbade her to speak, right?” You asked after a moment and the man shook his head. 

“Yes, but I asked her not to listen to her this time. You are someone she can rely on…” Your heart sank for a moment. Did she really trust you? “She promised she would tell you everything…” 

Mr. Nakayabashi's phone rang and the man quickly answered it. Without waiting for any further development of the conversation, you moved further between the shelves of the store, automatically selecting the products you needed. 

Your head was buzzing and just thinking about your girlfriend was starting to fill you with both anger and sadness. She was important to you, really important, but now it turned out that she didn't trust you. 

They suspended her from work... Did it have something to do with drugs? But why? When? 

You stopped and turned to go back to Mr. Nakayabashi with the intention of asking him more questions, but you almost ran into him. He followed you, his face marked with wrinkles here and there, a look of determination. 

“My Emi asked me to take her from your apartment while you’re gone.” He said in a dispassionate tone and, leaving you in the middle of the alley, he continued on his way. 

You looked after him as he stopped and after a moment he approached you again, nodding. 

“On Tuesdays, my wife goes to a hair salon at 11:00, where she spends a good three hours.” He told you quietly. “Let’s meet near my house or just call me…” He handed you a roll of paper. “I’ll tell you everything. From the very beginning, boy.” 

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“Wait…” Tomoko said as she drove her car. “Does that mean she left you?” 

“No?” You looked at her out of the corner of your eye. “No. Just... Well, no.” 

“Fuck. Fuck, Y/n. Dump her. What do you need her for?” 

“Tomoko.” 

“That's the truth.” She huffed, her hands clenching around the steering wheel. “I told you there was something wrong with her.” 

“It wasn’t…” 

“It was. Shortly after you started dating.” 

“Not at all.” 

“Oh, but yes.” She looked at you again. “Don’t argue with me, I know what I’m talking about.” 

“Her father wants to talk to me.” You said after a moment and the woman gave you a slightly surprised look. 

“About what?” 

“About Emi.” 

“See?! Even the old hat knows his little girl is no saint.” 

“Ko-chan, please…” You groaned in irritation, losing any desire to elaborate on the subject, and the woman got the message. 

After a few minutes, she pulled into the parking lot near the nightclub owned, from what you knew, by the Haitani brothers, and a cold shiver ran down your spine, accompanied by an accelerated heart rate. That's today, you'll see him this evening... 

“Okay, here's the situation.” Your sister said, fixing her makeup in a small mirror. “I'm supposed to meet with Kokonoi and Takeomi here for something related to my investigation, so it's none of your business.” She looked at you carefully. “I've arrangea meeting with Mikey for you, but you have to watch out for Sanzu. Ever since Junko lost the goods, he's been going completely nuts.” 

“Sure, cool.” 

“I’m not kidding.” The seriousness in her tone made you swallow hard. “He’s not the sweet, quiet manipulator you knew as a kid anymore. He’s a complete fucking drug addict and psychopath. All you have to do is look at his King the wrong way and I’ll have to scrape you off the walls. We’ve had our differences, but I don’t want to lose you yet, little brother.” 

You looked into her eyes and took in more air, which you slowly and calmly released. 

“Okay, I see you understand.” She smiled slightly before you could say anything and got out of the car. 

You followed her, once again surprised at how well Tomoko looked in her short black dress. 

“Aren’t you cold?” You asked, matching your steps with hers. 

“Not enough for you to have to offer me your jacket.” She answered you calmly. 

There was already a long line of people waiting to enter the building where the nightclub was located, but as soon as the bouncer saw Tomoko, he smiled politely and let her and you in without any problems. 

The first thing that hit you was the warmth and the scents of various perfumes, both men's and women's, and the subtle scent of something else mixed with a delicate hint of alcohol and cigarette smoke. 

When you entered through the double doors into the main dancing hall, you immediately felt dizzy. You were unused to this din. 

The room was almost completely dark, apart from the colorful lights and the dimly lit bar. You couldn't hear the conversations of the people around you at all, because the volume of the music was almost deafening, and the vibrations caused by the bass penetrated your body almost to your very bones. You were 100% sure that the playlist was carefully selected and put together by the younger owner of the club, Rindou Haitani. 

You looked around at the people having a great time and realized that the people you were looking at ranged in age from at least 20 to, you wouldn't be surprised if they were 60 years old. You could tell right away that some of the partygoers had more than just alcohol in their system, which didn't surprise you at all. They all looked wealthy. 

“Follow me and don’t get lost.” Tomoko shouted in your ear, gently tugging your hand. 

You followed her up the metal spiral staircase to the mezzanine, where you noticed the VIP rooms were located and in front of the doors leading to two different rooms stood two lower-ranking gangsters. 

“Is that the guy?” One asked, giving you an icy stare. 

“Yeah.” Tomoko replied shortly, and you were beckoned over by the gangster. “Be good and have fun.” 

You gave her a quick glance, but only managed to see her disappear through the door of the other room while you were being searched by the criminal. 

“Fine.” The other grumbled, adjusting your jacket. “Get in and don't mess around.” 

You were almost pushed into the semi-darkness, and the door slammed shut behind you. 

You had no problem finding the contemptuously smiling face of Ran Haitani and the bored gaze of his younger brother. They were both sitting on the sofa, eyeing you critically. Across from them, on the other sofa, sat a dark-haired man, whom you recognized without the slightest problem thanks to the scar that crossed his face diagonally. Bonten No. 3, Kakuchou. 

Among the men sat Manjiro Sano, who looked exactly the same as he did before the time-leap. Okay, maybe except that he looked even more tired of life than he did then. 

There was no sign of No. 2 anywhere. 

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here, hmm?” Ran spoke up, his hand swirling the glass of red wine gently. “The prodigal son…” 

“Fucking dog.” His younger brother added. 

“Gentlemen.” You nodded politely to them, ignoring the frowns on both brothers’ faces. You bowed to Kakuchou, but bowed most strongly to the leader of the syndicate himself. “Mikey.” 

“Tomoko says you can catch Yuu for us.” Kakuchou spoke up and you looked at him. 

“If we compare the information I have with the information Bonten has, something can be arranged.” 

“Can something be arranged? This is not a joke, L/n.” 

“I am well aware of that.” You glanced at him briefly, then returned your gaze to the leader. “Both sides are bothered by Yuji L/n and will work well together.” 

“You still have to play on the police side.” Mikey said in a flat voice, and you nodded in confirmation. “If you want to have any chance of getting there first, you first have to prove yourself.” 

“Prove?” Haven’t you been doing enough so far? 

“You’re definitely looking into Junko Yoshioka’s case. Ko-chan said so.” The black-haired man spoke again, drawing your attention to him. “If you solve this case and hand over the perpetrator or perpetrators without involving the police in the results, we’ll help you with Yuu. 

Ah, well, yes... 

“I will also have to talk to some Bonten members about this.” You said truthfully. 

“You talked to Nagasawa and his boys.” Ran said casually, taking a sip of wine. 

“Yeah, but I learned practically less than shit from them.” Half true... 

A half-smile appeared on Rindou's face. "I told you we were putting too much pressure on the bastard. He won't tell the police." 

"He's scared, it's obvious he won't cooperate with us." You told him. "Jin knows more, right?" 

"A lot more." Mikey spoke up. “Kakucho, contact our people. Let them let Nagasawa speak if L/n wants to talk to him again.” 

“Does anyone else besides the prisoner have this information?” You asked, trying to read anything from the immobile face of the white-haired leader. 

“Sanzu.” Came the short reply, and for a moment it seemed as if the man in question would materialize right behind you. The corners of Mikey's mouth lifted slightly in the shadow of a smile, and the man tilted his head slightly to the side. 

“You're scared.” He said quietly, and both Haitani brothers laughed under their breaths. “He won't bite you unless I tell him to, L/n.” 

You watched him carefully, observing his every move, even the smallest one. 

“Does he know?” You asked, but nothing changed in the eyes of the Bonten leader. 

“No. It’s your card but be careful. This knowledge could unsettle him.” 

“More than my presence?” You raised an eyebrow and a quiet, short laugh escaped the thin chest of the smaller man you once admired as your gang leader. 

“So, as I understand it, the deal is this. I deliver to you the perpetrator of Junko's murder and possibly the thief who robbed you of whatever Yoshioka had, and you share with me what you have on Yuu, right?” 

“Exactly.” Mikey confirmed. 

“What guarantee do I have that you'll do it?” 

“None.” Kakucho replied and you looked in his direction. “Or maybe that until Yuu is eliminated, Sanzu won’t hurt you.” 

“Could be. We have a deal.” You said again looking into the leader’s abyss-black eyes. 

“We have a deal.” Mikey nodded slightly and a second later a louder conversation could be heard under the door to the room. 

“Oho…” Ran mumbled, taking another sip of wine and you felt the blood drain from your face. 

The door burst open, and your eyes met two blue irises with pupils so dilated that together they were close to the black of Manjiro Sano’s eyes. 

His still handsome face took on an angry expression, and his scarred lips twisted enough to show his upper teeth like a rabid dog. 

“YOU!” He growled, making a few quick movements towards you, and his fingers tightened on the collar of your shirt, pulling you towards him. “You fucking son of a bitch!” 

You looked at him, unable to muster up a single syllable, completely thrown out of any rhythm by the man's appearance. The scent of his perfume reached your nose, which had long since been engraved into your brain so strongly that you didn't associate it with anyone else but Haruchiyo Sanzu. 

A series of shivers ran down your spine, and with every second his hot breath fanned your face, your blood roared in your ears louder and louder. A thousand thoughts were racing through your head at once. New and old memories mixed together as if someone had thrown them into a blender and turned it on. 

You saw his pink lips moving under the influence of the quickly spoken words, but your poor brain didn't register the meaning of them. All you could hear was the gangster's voice and nothing more. 

A glint of madness appeared in his beautiful eyes, surrounded by fans of thick eyelashes, and a small voice in your head began to repeat over and over that you were fucked, totally fucked, but you were unable to react. 

“Sanzu, release.” Manjiro Sano gave a short command and the pink-haired gangster obeyed without the slightest hesitation, like a well-trained dog. 

You instinctively took a step back from the least predictable gangster in the room, unable to tear your eyes away from his face. 

“What are you staring at, dick? Should I fuck you up?” You understood the meaning of those words immediately, as if the entire spell had suddenly been broken. 

“Sanzu.” This time Kakuchou spoke and the pink haired man's head turned towards him. 

“I have an important task for you, Sanzu.” Mikey said and Haruchiyo walked up to him, as if completely forgetting about your existence. 

“Yes, Mikey? Anything for you...” 

“You’ll be working with L/n.” What? 

“What the fuck?” When everyone looked at you, you realized you’d said the question out loud and straightened up immediately. “Umm... I...” 

“Tell me to kill him, Mikey. Please, tell me to kill him...” Sanzu began, but fell silent under the Bonten leader’s gaze. 

“Bring me the people responsible for this mess. That’s an order.” 

<PREVIOUS/NEXT>

[cuquitalocita]

...oops |rowaelin month- day 5|

rowaelin masterlist

an: i had a dream about this and i kind of hate the ending buttt enjoy! :)

word count: 3,988

~~

“You did what?” 

It wouldn’t take a genius to note that twenty one year- old Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was fuming. And it would have been to no one’s surprise if the princess herself brought the very palace down in flames herself in a matter of moments. 

The Queen of Terrasen sighed and with a small shake of her head, daintily placed her teacup on the table in front of her. With her hands crossed in her lap, she turned her blue gaze to her daughter’s twin one, this one holding a fire many would cower from despite the girl’s young age. But it seemed that Evalin Ashryver feared no one but the gods, and she faced her daughter’s seeth head-on. 

“Fireheart-” 

“An arranged marriage? I wasn’t aware I was a doll who’s life you can just play with. Is this top okay or would you like to change me into a new pretty dress?”

Evalin merely rolled her eyes at her only daughter, allowing her to rant and fume as she pleased for what seemed like hours before the princess finally collapsed into the chair beside her, blue in the face and a vein popping out of her forehead. 

“Fireheart,” she began again, this time gentler. “You have to understand, your father and I are simply doing what we believe is best for the country. For our people.”

“By selling me away? I’m not a child anymore mother, and I can make my own decisions just fine.” The anger had vanished, now replaced by a look of utter despair in the princess’ eyes as she gazed at her mother, an attempt to delay what she knew was inevitable.

“We know that Aelin, of course we do, and we would never do anything to purposefully hurt you. Terrasen is… is struggling right now, my love. You may be our only hope.” 

The look in her mother’s eyes settled something in her chest and she realized there would be no fighting this- although she most certainly would try. Her parents were set on an arranged marriage for the Princess of Terrasen. 

And as she stormed through the door of her chambers, Aelin’s thoughts settled on one in particular.

The Prince of Doranelle better be handsome.

~~

The Wild Princess of Terrasen, they called her.

Well- Aelin thought as she gunned the Corvette through the streets of the capital- if they wanted a wild princess, a wild princess is what they would get. 

She remembered a time where her mother had rolled her eyes when her daughter had told her she wanted a Corvette for her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t even have a license, and she would never be driving herself, so what good would it do?

Aelin smirked. Apparently they were perfect for fits of rage. 

She vaguely remembered a few lessons Brullo had given her when she had managed to bribe the grumpy body guard with cookies enough for him to teach her how to drive- unbeknownst to her mother, of course. Aelin bet that Evalin Ashryver would just about have a heart attack if she knew her daughter could drive.

Aelin swerved into the left lane without her turn signal, earning an angry honk and a few unkind words from the car behind her.

Well- sort of knew how to drive. 

Oops, she thought. From then on, she turned her speed down just a bit. 

As Aelin careened through the streets of Terrasen, she realized that as a princess, she truly had been deprived of her own country. Sure, she had been escorted through the streets during the annual parade, and her father used to take her to Malakai’s for her favorite cake every once in a while, but the streets she drove through now were unknown to her. 

She passed jogging college kids and mothers with strollers and toddlers, couples holding hands and homeless people that scattered some of the streets. The sight made her heart clench and her knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. 

Aelin was so focused on the people around her, she forgot to look forward as she drove through a glaring red light. Luckily there were barely any other cars around her, and the only indication that she had done something wrong came from a distinctly aggravated male voice screaming, “What the fu-”

“Shit!” 

Aelin slammed her foot down on the breaks as her gaze came into contact with a man in front of her- she was going full speed towards him as she tried crossing the cross walk. The car came to a screeching halt directly in front of him, but the momentum proved to be too much as the Corvette did in fact make contact with him.

She thought time slowed down as the man went shooting to the ground with a groan of pain. 

Yes, she had just hit a man with her car.

But her mother was going to absolute assassinate her. 

Another loud groan from outside the window had Aelin shoving the car into park and flying out to the man in front of her, heart in her throat. 

As she took in the man, she wondered what the odds were of hitting a person with your car and having them be one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen. Pretty low, Aelin would think, but like everything else in her life, statistics did not seem to be on her side.

The man was clearly young, maybe a few years older than her, and even though he wore a thick winter jacket to protect him from the Terrasen winter, he was clearly built like a greek god. With silver hair almost matching the snow around him and tan skin that signaled to Aelin he clearly wasn’t from around here, the man could have been on the front page of any popular magazine. 

“Fuck!” 

Aelin kneeled down beside the man who was thankfully still conscious, face scrunched up in pain and clear anger. It made him look older, she thought as she finally looked at his eyes. They were a stunning green. She wanted to hit herself with her car. Of course they were. 

“A-are you okay?” She helped him up, placing a hand on his lower back and pushing him up until he sat forward enough until he could support himself.

The man glared at her, teeth clenched in pain as his gaze burned into her own.

“Are you crazy?” he growled, his voice even deeper than Aelin thought it would have been. “Am I okay? You just hit me with your fucking car!” 

Aelin jerked her hand away from him, suddenly defensive. “Look, I am so sorry. I- I wasn’t looking where I was driving and-”

The man scoffed. “Obviously.” 

Aelin saw red. 

“Well what the fuck were you doing on a crosswalk two seconds before the light turned red? You had plenty of time to move out of the way and you’re blaming me because you couldn’t look around?” 

It was moments like these where Aelin realized why Elide’s fiancee liked to call her ‘fire breathing bitch queen.’ Sure, she could acknowledge it. She had just hit the guy with her car, and Aelin had foung a way to blame him. 

“Maybe if you had been less careless about crashing Daddy’s car you would have been a bit more careful and we wouldn’t be here right now, Princess.” 

Aelin almost slapped him, if not for the derogatory way her title slipped through his tongue. And that was when she realized that he had no idea who she was. The man in front of her didn’t look like an idiot. He wouldn’t be insulting her if he knew who she was. And Aelin realized she didn’t want him to know. Not as the words that spilled through her lips could ruin her entire legacy.

“Watch it.” The words were low and dangerous, and something flashed in the man’s eyes that signaled to her than he had caught the anger lacing her tone. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I don’t think I need to. Nor do I care enough to want to.”

“Well you’re clearly fine, if you can spew ridiculous insults out of your head at the drop of a dime,” Aelin deadpanned. “So, can we wrap this up?” 

“Gladly.” He made to get up, placing his weight on his arm as he pushed himself upward, cutting off with a loud gasp of pain before sinking back to the ground, his green eyes alight with agony. The sight made a pang shoot through Aelin’s chest and she grabbed his arm to steady him before his momentum his head careening toward the ground. 

“Shit, we need to take you to the hospital.” She rose, already on her way back to the car.

“No way am I going anywhere with you.” 

“That’s fine.” Aelin’s smile was purely saccharine. “You can stay here if you’d like. It’s supposed to drop to -10 in a few hours when the sun goes down but you look pretty toasty to me. Of course, your fingers will fall off before the ambulance gets here, so it’s really give or take.”

The man growled and rubbed a large hand through his hair.

“So what do you say, Superman?” Aelin gestured to the car behind her. “What’s the worst that can happen? I already hit you with my car today.” 

If the tone of his voice was any indication, the man was in enough pain to barely put up a fight.

“Fine. But get into another accident and I’m calling the police.”

Aelin almost laughed. Little did he know that she owned the police.

It was only during the awkwardly silent drive to the hospital that Aelin realized the workers at the hospital would recognize her, and then the man beside her would. The thought put a sour taste in Aelin’s mouth. She liked fighting with this man- liked the fact that he treated her with the same amount of respect he would anyone who hit him with their car. Even if he was an infuriating prick of a man. 

“Alright,” she pulled the car into park. “Here we are.” The man grunted in acknowledgment.

Surprisingly enough, the ER was close to empty on the Thursday evening and Aelin was grateful that it meant fewer people would recognize her. Who knew how the paparazzi would react if they saw their crown princess in the ER with an unknown man. 

As if her ‘issues’ weren’t plastered in the tabloids enough already. 

Aelin hadn’t realized how tall the man was until he was standing solidly behind her at the check-in desk. He was close enough that she could feel him at her back and she swore her shoulder had bumped below his own. Gods, he was strong.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and turned to the man at the desk. 

“Hi um, I’m here to check in a patient.” If the way the man swallowed was any indication, said patient was glaring daggers from beside her. He turned to the monitor in front of him and began typing something into the computer.

“And, what’s the reason for your visit today?”

Aelin cleared her throat. “Just- just a checkup. He had a bit of a fall, we just wanted to make sure everything is okay.” She felt what must have been a scoff from behind her but ignored it. The man nodded without looking at her or stopping his typing.

“Okay,” he finally said after a few moments of silence. He handed a clipboard to Aelin holding a few pieces of obvious paperwork. “Fill this out and give it back to me when you’re done. It’s a slow day so you should be able to meet with the doctor in just a second.” Aelin nodded, thanking the man and making her way to the empty seats across the desk, dragging her silver-haired friend with her until he collapsed into the seat beside her with a huff. 

She ignored him in favor of flicking through the paperwork as casually as she could, attempting to not draw attention to the fact that she clearly knew none of the personal information about the man beside her.

Aelin leaned close to him and almost rolled her eyes when he leaned significantly away.

“Hey,” she whispered. She watched as he rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“What’s your name?” he leveled her with a confused look and she held up the paperwork. But really, what kind of an idiot hit someone with their car and didn’t ask for their name. Aelin was such an idiot. Such an-

“Rowan.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Rowan.” She raised a brow,

“Rowan…?”

“Whitethorn.” Rowan Whitethorn. The name sent a pang of familiarity through her and Aelin struggled to ruffle through her mind to find where she had heard it before. 

“What do you do for work?” The question was out of her mouth before she could berate herself for how stupid it was. His eyebrows shot up to the top of his head.

“Is that on the form?” his voice was defensive but Aelin shrugged nonetheless and Rowan sighed before running a hand through his hair. “Let’s say I’m involved with politics.” 

Aelin grimaced. Maybe that was why her mind had blocked out his name. Anyone involved with any kind of politics was automatically dislikeable in Aelin’s eyes. She had been around enough politicians to recognize their slimy exterior. 

Rowan clearly noticed her face and scowled at her. “Well not all of us have a choice in our future just because we’re young and irresponsible.” Like you, was what he didn’t have to say. Aelin wanted to kick him. If only he knew. Instead, she rolled her eyes and looked back at the sheet in front of her.

“Date of birth?”

“December 8, 1995.” Aelin almost dropped her pencil but instead turned to Rowan, surprised to find him already looking at her.

“Seriously? You’re twenty- five?”

“What’s your point?”

“All of the high and mighty, ‘I’m your elder’ attitude and you’re only four years older than me.” She shook her head and turned back to the form, ignoring the glare she could feel burning into her skull and trying her best not to think about how good Rowan smelled from beside her. She never would have thought that the scent of pine could be so intoxicating. 

“Place of birth?”

“Doranelle.” Aelin wondered if he knew anything of the infamous prince she was to marry. She really should have done some more research before storming out of the palace. 

“Height?”

“6’ 4”.” 

“Any allergies?”

“Blondes.” Aelin ignored that one. 

“Any family history of fatal medical issues?”

“No.”

“Type and reason for pain?” 

“An irritation in my head from the woman beside me.” 

Aelin threw her pen at him and watched as he winced before looking at her with wide annoyed eyes. But she frankly didn’t give a fuck anymore. She could have let him freeze to death outside and here he was complaining about her.

“You know, this whole thing would be a lot easier if you weren’t such a prick.”

“Actually this whole thing would be a lot easier if you hadn’t-”

Rowan was cut off by the clearing of a throat in front of them, signaling someone had come through the door. The two had been too preoccupied with one another to even notice the doctor standing in front of them. 

She’s beautiful, with cinnamon skin and curly hair, and she wears an amused smile on her face as she looks between the two. Aelin and Rowan automatically calm themselves into an acceptable demeanor and Aelin stands to shake hands with the doctor in front of them, handing her the unfinished paperwork.

“Alright, Mr… Whitethorn. I’m Doctor Towers and I’ll be helping you out here today. Why don’t you come back here with me and we can check you out.” Rowan stood up to follow her out of the room before Doctor Towers turned back to look at Aelin. “You can come too, Mrs. Whitethorn. We’ll probably need you to clear a few things up.”

Aelin hated the blush that sprang to her cheeks at the implication that she could be married to Rowan, and she almost laughed. As if she could ever marry someone like him. Their protests are cut off by the creaking of the door and neither Aelin nor Rowan bothers to correct the doctor as she leads them to a section of the hospital filled with open hospital beds and shitty curtains for ‘privacy.��

Pulling one shut, Doctor Towers gestures for Rowan to sit on the bed. Once he does, she leans back on her heels and pulls out her own clipboard. 

“Okay, what seems to be the problem today?”

They’re silent for a moment, both looking at each other with wide eyes, not knowing what to say. Eventually, Aelin clears her throat. 

“Um, we had a bit of an accident-”

“I would hardly call it an ‘accident.’ She-”

“He decided to walk through a crosswalk during a green light and-”

“You hit me with your car!” 

It seemed the entire hospital went silent for a moment before sound resumed once more and Aelin allowed her head to fall into her hands.

“It wasn’t like that. I-”

“You slammed straight into me!”

“I barely knicked you!” 

Doctor Towers had been watching the sparring match between the two with wide eyes, clearly still hung up on the fact that he had been hit by a car and was still alive. It took a moment before she shook her head and scribbled a few things down on her piece of paper. 

“I hate to ask this,” she cleared her throat. “Was this- um, a crime of passion?”

Aelin and Rowan stared at her blankly before turning to each other, both confused. She tried again.

“I mean- when a wife hits her husband with a car-” Realizing what she was implying, Aelin and Rowan were quick with their rebuttals. 

“She’s not-”

“I’m not his wife!”

“Most definitely not-”

“As if I’d ever marry this prick-”

“I would rather hit myself with a car than voluntarily pledge myself to her.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her defensively. “Now that’s a little dramatic.” 

“Well, you did hit me with a car.” If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would say that it almost looked like amusement twisted his lips. 

“You’re never gonna get over that, are you?” 

“Not likely.” 

Doctor Towers cleared her throat from beside them, causing the two to snap their gazes back to her. Whatever they found there had them shut their mouths like scolded children.

“So…” she arched a brow. “It was an accident?”

Rowan nodded while Aelin muttered, “Unfortunately.” 

Doctor Towers ignored the comment in favor of looking at Aelin closely. She watched in despair as it clicked in her head who exactly was standing in front of her and Aelin found herself holding her breath. But surprisingly enough, the doctor said nothing, simply turning to Rowan with a knowing look.

“So Mr. Whitethorn, what hurts?”

“Besides everything?” Rowan grimaced as he circled his shoulder. “Mostly my shoulder. I don’t know if I pulled it today specifically, but it’s been bothering me for a while. I think today just aggravated it.” 

“It could be a stress fracture,” she mused. “Has anything happened recently in your life that could have caused your anxiety and stress levels to shoot up? It could be anything really from, an increase in work to a big change or big news…”

Rowan let out what Aelin assumed was some sort of laugh. She ignored the shiver it sent down her spine.

“You could say that.” 

Doctor Towers didn’t press for more information, merely nodded and wrote something down before looking at Rowan again.

“The only solution I can really offer you right now is to ice it as often as you can for about eight to ten weeks, and it should heal on its own. No cast necessary.”

“Really?” Aelin exclaimed, unable to hold back the relief in her voice. Maybe her mother wouldn’t kill her after all. “That’s great.” 

“It is,” Doctor Towers gazed at her through a knowing smile and narrowed eyes. “Just try not to hit people with your car anymore Pr-, ma’am.” Aelin almost laughed at the comment, even more at the mistake she had almost made, but instead nodded with a small smile.

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

Turning to Rowan, Aelin found him already watching her, a strange look on his face as he gazed between the two women. He opened his mouth to speak when the door to the ER burst open, and the Queen herself strutted through.

Aelin thought that if a look could set a flame, she would be ashes by now. 

She felt herself pale as her mother walked toward her on near-silent footsteps, leaving citizens bowing in her wake. But the Queen only had eyes for her daughter. Very angry eyes. 

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,” she hissed, and Aelin tried not to cringe. “You are in so much trouble young lady.” Aelin opened her mouth to defend herself. “Sneaking out, close to Yulemas in fact, when crime rates are highest, stealing a car-”

“It’s not stealing if it’s mine-” Her mouth snapped shut at the look her mother gave her. 

“You’ll come to learn Aelin, that as future queen of this country, you have a status to uphold. You have an image- a reputation, one that should not include sneaking out of the palace unsupervised and ending up in the ER.” 

She felt the words like a stab to the heart. Aelin knew the last thing her mother wanted to do was hurt her, especially with her words. But Aelin felt the truth of them to the bottom of her toes, and she was swept into a tidal wave of disappointment in herself. No wonder her parents wanted to marry her off. Of course she couldn’t lead a country on her own.

“Mother, I’m sorry I snuck out. I was just so upset with you. And do you think I meant to end up in the ER? I hit him with my car for Gods sake! I couldn’t just-”

“You’re the princess?” 

The surprisingly choked voice came from Rowan, and the two pairs of Ashryver eyes snapped to him in a millisecond. Rowan was looking at Aelin like he had never seen her before, and she frowned at him in confusion. Maybe he hadn’t met a princess before, but this was hardly how she thought he would react. It was as if he was going to be sick.

From beside her, Evalin let out a strangled laugh and Aelin gazed at her mother incredulously. From beside her, Aelin’s mother burst into peals of laughter. 

“Well, this is quite the situation, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was a moment before she composed herself and turned to Rowan.  “Rowan Whitethorn. I suppose introductions aren’t necessary.” 

Rowan was bowing, green eyes hard as they met Aelin’s and stayed there, even as he addressed her mother. “Your majesty. Allow me to express my gratitude for welcoming me into your country.” 

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Evalin insisted, still smiling as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. “You’re practically family, after all.” 

And that was when it hit her.

Let’s just say I’m involved with politics.

Doranelle.

Recent stressful news.

His name. 

Rowan’s eyes were on hers as the realization struck that Aelin not only fell into the statistics of people who hit attractive strangers with their car but also happened to hit members of royalty.

No- Aelin thought as she gaped at her betrothed- she most definitely did not fall in favor of most statistics. But they had fallen with her on one account.

The Prince of Doranelle was handsome. 

~~

this prompt was: “i accidentally hit you with my car”

taglist:

@story-scribbler​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@live-the-fangirl-life​

@claralady​

@surielandiareendgame​

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

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

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

word count  :  2.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

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

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

       “I know.”

       “What?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

[alienheartattack]

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

[tchallasbabymama]

Funeral

Hey y’all, here’s Chapter 12 of Playlist. Catch up on the story and read my other fics by checking out my masterlist HERE! Also, In a couple weeks I’ll be starting up “Ménage `a Trois”, a T’Challa x  OC x M’Baku throuple fic. Check out the preview here!

CW: Smut (consensual non-consent, knife/claw play, cutting, blood play). Basically if edge play bothers you, don’t read the last scene except for the verrrry end. Child endangerment. 

Word count: 10,313

The King and Queen of Wakanda, along with their newborn baby girl, stayed in the royal birthing chambers for the rest of the day so the midwife could keep an eye on mama and umntwana. T’Challa spent almost the entire time holding and talking to his daughter, only easily giving her up when it was time for her to eat.

“Challa, can I have my child please?”

“Our child,” he said as he carefully handed her off to her mother.

“I know that, do you?” she said with a look that made the king’s cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“O-of course, I just-”

“Shhhh, I’m kidding,” she chuckled before her face changed as Siyanda latched on for the second time since she’d been out in the real world.

“Does it hurt?”

“No it’s just...a weird feeling, but it’s good.”

T’Challa climbed in bed next to her and stroked her hair out of her face as she fed their daughter.

“I already want another.”

“Can my entire bottom half heal first, please?”

He chuckled and kissed her temple.

“I can be patient.”

Ashanti shot him another look and he changed his tune.

“When it comes to this, anyway,” he said with a smile.

When the princess was all fed and burped they felt it was finally time to let their loved ones in to see the new addition to the family.

Ramonda, Bisa, and Chidi came in first, each crying tears of joy over their baby’s baby. However, when it came time to hold her, T’Challa’s reaction surprised them all.

“I...I’m sorry, was that a growl?” Ashanti asked her husband, dumbfounded.

“...No.”

“Sounded like one to me,” Chidi said, cautiously stepping back from the bed.

“It’s just the herb in his system making him extra protective. Those panther instincts really kick into gear when you have a child,” Ramonda chimed in.

“Oh so is that why I barely get to touch my own baby?”

Ramonda nodded and reached for the baby, causing yet another deep rumbling in T’Challa’s chest.

“Down, boy,” Ashanti joked as she handed Siyanda to Ramonda and reached for her husband’s hand.

“How are you feeling intyatyambo?” Bisa asked, sitting on the bed next to her daughter.

“I’m tired and everything is sore, but I’m floating in the clouds everytime I look at her.”

“That feeling never goes away,” Ramonda chimed in as she looked down at her granddaughter. “You know, it’s too early to tell for sure, but she has N’Yami’s eyes, just like her baba.”

“That’s what T’Challa said!” she looked over to him as he followed Ramonda’s every movement with his eyes. Ashanti squeezed his hand and he broke his gaze. “Baby, stop. Nobody here is going to harm her.”

He lightly cleared his throat and nodded. Deep down, he knew that to be the case, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Ramonda walked over to Bisa and carefully placed Siyanda in her other grandma’s arms.

“Bast, she’s beautiful,” Chidi stood behind his wife and stared down at his granddaughter, too afraid to touch her out of fear that her father would rip his head off.

“Do you want to hold her?” Bisa asked him.

“That’s probably not such a good idea right now,” Ramonda noticed how T’Challa reacted everytime Chidi got close. T’Chaka had done the same thing. He had been wary of anyone touching Shuri, but other men brought out the predator in him and his territorial nature flared. It calmed down after a while, but it was the worst when she was a newborn. “In fact, I’m not sure if Daka can even come into the room.”

“Why is that?” Ashanti asked.

“Look at how he is with a normal man. We’ve never had two panthers at the same time, so I could be wrong, but I would give it a couple weeks for him to calm down...just in case.”

Ashanti nodded and kissed her husband’s cheek, his eyes still glued to their baby girl.

“I’ll go bring in Shuri and Kwame,” Chidi offered before heading out the door, a little hurt he couldn’t hold his granddaughter.

Ashanti lightly slapped T’Challa’s chest, “You hurt his feelings.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.”

“Try closing your eyes or something.”

“I’d still hear it.”

“Not with my headphones! I’ll be back,” Shuri had barely made it in the room when she ran back out, and when Kwame entered he went straight to his best friend and pulled her in for a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re a mama now! Where is the little bundle of joy?” he looked around before his eyes landed on Bisa rocking her granddaughter in the corner.

“If you want to hold her I’d suggest waiting a couple weeks, baba might attack you,” Chidi complained from the doorway.

“No worries, I don't like holding them when they’re fresh out anyway. Too delicate.”

Just then, Shuri returned with her headphones and T’Challa tentatively placed them on, turning around to look out the window as a distraction, still holding Ashanti’s hand and bouncing his leg from the anxiety of not being able to know what's going on with his baby girl.

“Ok, now try, baby,” Bisa said, handing Siyanda off to her umakhulu.

“She looks just like you did when you were born,” Chidi added, walking closer to Kwame so he could see her cute little face.

“Awwww she really is cute!”

Everyone laughed as Chidi passed Siyanda to her auntie, but it was quickly cut short when everyone noticed the look of complete adoration on the older princess’ face.

“She...she’s beautiful.”

She stared at her little nose and her little round cheeks and swore to herself that she would protect her niece with her life.

There was a light knocking and everyone looked up to see the prince, never really one to follow directions, standing in the doorway.

“Stay there, don’t come in,” Ramonda warned.

“So I don't get to see my baby cousin?” he pouted.

Shuri looked at her brother, still turned towards the window and unaware of what was happening, then to Ashanti and Ramonda. Ashanti nodded and Ramonda let out a deep breath before doing the same. Shuri walked over to N’Jadaka and placed her in his arms after taking one last look at her distracted brother.

“Wow...she’s so tiny.” he played with her little fingers as she looked up at him. T’Challa shifted and they quickly but carefully placed the baby back in Shuri’s arms. N’Jadaka stayed in the doorway as Ashanti reached to take the noise-cancelling headphones off her overprotective husband.

Shuri placed her niece in her baba’s arms and T’Challa’s tension melted away.

“I apologize, I don’t know how to control it yet,” the king said softly while staring at his greatest creation.

“You’ll get there,” Ashanti placed her head on his shoulder and he smiled, kissing her temple.

Just then, Binta and Ramla entered to check on mama and baby so the family left to give them some space. After Ramla made sure everything was safe, she allowed the new little family to return to their quarters to start their new life together.

--------

Princess Siyanda was a very sensitive and reserved child. As an infant, she only wanted her parents and would cry whenever anyone else held her. It took her a few months to warm up to the rest of the family, but she eventually got there and they were able to step in and help take care of her.

As she grew, she continued to be a shy baby. During her crowning after her first birthday, it was almost impossible to get her to stop crying, seemingly overwhelmed by all the attention. After a few more months, the princess started to come out of her shell a little bit, but she was still very cautious around new people and people she wasn’t fond of.

Siyanda was also a quiet child, and she didn’t speak until she was almost two. Now, at three years old, Princess Siyanda was the chattiest little thing to people she deemed worthy, but still very silent in the presence of those she didn’t like. Like Mala and Ode, for example. Siyanda had been coming to council meetings since she was an infant, sitting in one of her parent’s laps as they ruled the kingdom, and even then she grew anxious when the Merchant and Mining tribe elders approached her. Now she would hide behind whatever family member was closest. It had started to become bothersome to the two elders who felt disrespected by the child’s behavior, which only fueled their already deep disdain for her and her common mother.

Ashanti and T’Challa were head over heels for their temperamental little girl, so when they found out the reason for her actions they were floored that they had missed the signs.

It all started with a headache that just wouldn’t go away.

“Mama? Baba?” came a little voice from outside their door, prompting T’Challa, who was a much lighter sleeper than his wife, to get up and let in his baby girl.

When he opened the door she squinted up at him and looked as though she were seeing him for the first time. She burst into tears as her baba crouched down to scoop her up, but she wiggled out of his arms.

“What is it, sithandwa?”

By this point, Ashanti had made her way over to the doorway and stood behind her husband as he tried to calm their daughter down. Siyanda’s tears subsided for just long enough for her to speak, “My head hurts. You’re too bright.”

“What do you mean bright, baby?” Ashanti crouched down to Siyanda’s level with T’Challa, hoping to stop her baby girl from crying.

“My head hurts, and it woke me up. You’re too bright.”

“Who, baby?”

“Both of you.”

T’Challa and Ashanti looked to each other in confusion before turning back to their daughter.

“Close your eyes, baby girl,” Ashanti said as she reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her into a hug.

“Now, tell us, how are we too bright?” he rubbed her back in slow circles to calm her down, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“There’s colors around you and-and it hurts my eyes,” the little princess huffed out between sobs.

“Colors?”

“Mhm.”

The two parents were perplexed as they turned to each other with their eyebrows furrowed yet again, both unsure of what they were hearing.

“Why don’t you come to bed with mama? Baba will make you some tea to help you sleep, ok?”

“Ok mama.”

“Keep your eyes closed, baby.”

Ashanti carried Siyanda to the bed while T’Challa disappeared to the kitchen to make a quick cup of tea. The princess kept her eyes closed as her mama sang her favorite lullaby and played in her soft curls that she got from her baba. Slight whimpers left her lips as a dull aching throbbed in her head, but she preferred it to the stabbing pain of the bright colors.

T’Challa returned and he set the tea down to cool before crawling into bed with his two favorite girls. “Tell us what you see, sithandwa.”

She sniffled as Ashanti wiped the tears coming from her eyes and T’Challa held her little hands in his. She tried her best to explain to them the bright purple and yellow light radiating from around them that they couldn’t see, but they just couldn’t wrap their heads around her words.

“How about we go see Umakazi Shuri tomorrow?”

“Ok baba.”

Ashanti helped Siyanda drink the tea with her eyes closed and eventually she drifted off to a fretful sleep, tossing and turning between her parents all night. They desperately needed to talk  about the situation so they texted on their beads so as not to wake their sleeping child up.

A: It sounds like she’s seeing auras.

T: Isn’t she too young for that kind of thing? A: I always thought mutations kicked in at puberty.

T: They normally do.

A: Maybe it’s not a mutation?

T: I don’t know what else it could be.

A: Me either, but I’m worried about her.

T: Me too, Kitten.

They both gazed at their sleeping daughter’s not quite so peaceful form as she slept, neither one of them getting much sleep of their own that night.

The king, queen, and both princesses were missing from breakfast the next day, leaving Ramonda and N’Jadaka to dine alone. Siyanda found that she could open her eyes as long as she didn’t look at anybody, but that proved to be a harder task than she expected so she just kept her eyes closed behind sunglasses the whole way.

As they entered Shuri’s lab, she immediately sensed something was wrong with the usually much more excited princess.

“Yaya! What’s up?” she picked up her favorite niece and spun her around, surprised by the lack of giggles. “Ok something is wrong, talk to me.”

T’Challa cleared his throat, “We think she is seeing auras.”

“She has powers?!”

“Well that’s what we want you to help us find out,” Ashanti added.

“Sure thing, it’ll only take a second,” she set Siyanda down on the table before putting a painless blood collection device over her arm and distracting her while the machine drew her blood.

Shuri connected the device to her computer and the results appeared on the screen. After combing through the data, Shuri felt almost ready to make her declaration.

“I’ll need to run some more tests, if you don’t mind.”

Ashanti grabbed T’Challa’s hand and he looked down at her concerned face.

“Challa, I don’t want her to feel like we’re experimenting on her.”

“She won’t, I promise. I’ll do it with her.”

Ashanti nodded and the four of them spent the whole morning in Shuri’s lab. It turned out that Siyanda could in fact see auras and she had most likely been empathic since she was an infant.

The adults watched her play with fake gauntlets Shuri made just for her as they spoke in hushed tones.

“So that’s why she’s picky about who she lets near her?”

“Looks like it,” Shuri swiped through the screen until she came across a picture of a brain. “You see here? This is my brain.”

Ashanti and T’Challa watched the synapses fire and light up the screen.

“And this is ubhuti’s brain,” She pulled up another projection, this one with even more synapses lighting up the screen. “The heart shaped herb altered his brain so that he could have heightened senses and panther instincts, so that’s why he’s got more going on up there...I’m still smarter.”

T’Challa rolled his eyes as Ashanti grinned at her sister-in-law.

“But this...this is Yaya’s brain.”

All three adults stood in awe as they watched parts of her brain spark in ways they hadn’t ever witnessed before.

“What is that?”

“That’s her visual, emotional, and sensory centers firing off. Now look at this scan from when I had her look at T’Challa.”

“Bast…”

“Is she...this won’t keep hurting her will it? She has a headache and it gets worse when she looks at us, I don't want her to-”

“My love,” he grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“Sorry, right.” Ashanti took a breath, “Ok so what now?”

“I’m thinking: glasses.”

“Wh...glasses?”

“Yes, if I can filter out at least some of the light it’ll be more manageable for her. She’ll probably grow out of the headaches when her body gets used to her new power.”

“What if she develops more powers? Can you tell ahead of time?” T’Challa asked his little sister.

“Not unless she’s hooked up to machines when it happens.”

“So you for sure found the mutation in her genes?” Ashanti chimed in.

“Yep!” She swiped across the screen and brought up a swirling double helix before typing in a code and pulling up the exact genome. “Here it is, the X-gene.”

Ashanti’s mouth was wide open as she released her husband’s hand and stepped towards the screen, taking it all in. Her mind raced all over the place. She knew these things usually came from the mother, but as far as she knew there were no mutants in her family. She’d have to talk to her parents, and soon.

Despite her confusion and fear for her child’s safety Ashanti couldn't help the slow smile creeping up her face as she turned back to T’Challa.

“Our baby has superpowers!”

--------

“Umakhulu!”

“There’s my grandbaby!” Chidi swooped Siyanda off the ground as she giggled, but he paused when he noticed something was a little different. “What’s with the goggles?”

“Auntie Shuri made them for me because people were too bright.”

Chidi looked at Ashanti in total confusion and she waved him off.

“Yeah, I’ll get to that in a little bit. Where’s mama?”

“She should be back from closing the restaurant any time now. You know, I’m surprised you have her up this late...is everything ok at home?”

“Yes baba, T’Challa would’ve come but he got called into a meeting with the Avengers.”

“Your baba is such a busy superhero,” Chidi whispered to his granddaughter, making her giggle right as Bisa opened the door, saying hello to the Dora Milaje stationed outside.

“Well hello you two!” Bisa kissed everyone’s forehead and sat down next to her husband just in time for Siyanda to crawl into her lap and make herself comfortable. “Where’s my son in law? Somewhere getting on your nerves?”

Ashanti chuckled, “Not today mama, he’s working. Actually I’m here about Yaya...and her glasses.”

“Yeah, what’s up with these? They make her look so old.”

“They do, but she needs them until Shuri can come up with a better idea,” Ashanti took a breath, “Mama, baba...she’s an empath...a mutant.”

“What’s a mutant, mama?”

Ashanti took in her parents’ shocked faces before looking down to her child.

“A mutant is a person with special gifts.”

“Gifts?”

“Mhm, like how baba and Daka can run really fast.”

Siyanda nodded and went back to playing with Bisa’s bracelets, shaking her out of her daze.

“You said she’s an empath, what does that mean?”

“She can see auras and feel people’s energy. Shuri thinks when she’s older she might be able to feel peoples’ emotions, but we can’t know for sure yet.”

“What colors does she see around us?”

“Yaya?”

The toddler looked up from her grandma’s beaded wrists and her big brown eyes landed on her mother. Ashanti couldn’t help but smile down at her cherubic face. Siyanda was her little twin, she looked and acted just like her mama, right down to wearing her emotions on her face.

“What is it baby?”

“You don’t see the colors?”

“No, that’s your gift, not mine.”

“It’s pretty, mama. You’re yellow and baba is purple. And when you’re together it swirls.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” she turned to her grandparents, “And you’re green and blue mixed together.”

“What do the colors mean, intyatyambo?” Bisa asked, her eyes wide with wonder at her granddaughter's gift from Bast.

Siyanda shrugged, taking in the swirling colors around them with a smile on her face.

“So what are the glasses for exactly?” Chidi asked. Much like his daughter and granddaughter, Chidi wore his emotions on his face and his bewilderment was still very obvious.

“The colors are really bright and they hurt her head, so Shuri figured out how to filter out the light so she can still see them without it hurting. Hopefully she’ll grow out of it.”

“Auntie Shuri said I’m a superhero like baba!” The princess jumped up and started play-fighting with her granddad, who then chased her around the living room and into the backyard.

“Those two,” Bisa chuckled, shaking her head before turning serious. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m ok as long as she’s ok. I’m just confused on where it came from. Does anyone else in our family have powers?”

“Well that depends on who you ask...the women in my family have been gifted for centuries, but it was mostly through dream work and divination, not as empaths. Though I’m not really sure what the difference is between a gift from Bast and a mutation.”

“I don’t think there is one.”

“Me neither.”

The mother and daughter sat in silence for a moment before Siyanda’s screeching laughter rang out as Chidi chased her back into the room. Ashanti scooped her up into her lap when Chidi plopped down on the couch, resting his head on his wife’s shoulder.

“I'm too old for this.”

Siyanda nodded and Chidi’s hurt face sent Ashanti and Bisa into a laughing fit. After they came back down to earth Ashanti felt her stomach growl and invited her parents to come back to the palace for dinner.

The four of them arrived just before everyone else and took their seats as the rest of their small party filed in. All except for the king, that is.

“Where is my son?” Ramonda asked.

“Yeah, where’s baba?”

Ashanti sighed and pushed back from the table, kissing her daughter’s head before sauntering out the room and down the hall towards the business side of the palace. When she reached his office she didn’t even bother knocking before she swung the doors open.

“T’Challa.”

He looked away from the documents on his screen, his tired eyes filling with worry as he took in her tone. She almost never said his whole name, so he knew he was in for it.

“Is something wrong, my love?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s dinnertime. Let’s go,” she turned to usher him out of the room, but he didn’t move.

“Kitten, I have work to do. We spent half the day in Shuri’s lab and then I spent the rest dealing with the Avengers-”

“You have to eat, don’t you?”

“Yes, I was going to have it brought to me.”

Ashanti crossed the room and rolled his chair back from the desk, sitting sideways in his lap.

“Your eyes look tired baby, give them a break from all the screens. Mama and baba are here...Yaya misses you...I miss you,” she pouted.

“I know what you’re doing-”

She placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m not doing anything,” she said before kissing his cheek, then his jawline. Her lips trailed to his Adam's apple and back up to his earlobe before whispering in his ear.

“I miss you, Kumkani.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he mocked, making his wife giggle. The king let out a sigh as Ashanti kissed up and down the column of his neck. He had already made up his mind about going to dinner, but he was also very willing to see how far she’d take her seduction.

Ashanti moved in his lap to straddle him and they connected in a passionate liplock, her hips grinding slowly into his. He let her have her fun before he stood and placed her on his desk, reaching his hand up the leg of her flowy printed shorts until he made it to his destination between her thighs. She moaned as his fingers grazed her clit, slowly stroking it through her underwear.

“You come in here and distract me.” He pushed her panties to the side and ran his bare fingers up and down her juicy slit, “All you had to do was say please.”

“Please kumkani,” she begged as he continued to tease her lips and his fingers slowly made their way deep inside her. He held her gaze as he fingered her slowly.

Ashanti wanted more, she needed more.

“Fuck me.”

“What was that? A little louder.”

“Fuck. Me.”

“You are giving orders now?”

“Please baby.”

“That’s better,” he said with a salacious smirk resting lopsided on his chiseled face. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his dick so she could feel how hard he was. “You think I don’t miss you too, my love? I miss your taste-”

He planted a sloppy open-mouthed kiss on her lips.

“-your smell-”

His head nuzzled into her neck and he took a deep breath, letting out a moan as he exhaled.

“-How you feel around my dick when I’m inside you.” He had her pussy hanging out the leg of her shorts, exposed to the elements as he stroked her clit and looked into her eyes as he spoke. The next thing she knew she was filled with her husband. His hips snapped into hers and his hands found their way to her hair, grabbing a handful of her curly faux locs and pulling her head back. He licked and nibbled on her throat as he buried himself in her and all she could see was stars.

It had been about a week since the King and Queen of Wakanda had been able to have any alone time, and they were both at their limit. They were used to going long stretches without any physical contact when he was away on missions, but when they were together they could barely keep their hands off each other. A week was way too long.

Her legs tried to wrap around him, but he was in no mood for that soft and sweet shit. He wanted to tear her to pieces and she wanted him to do it.  

Ashanti’s eyes rolled back in her head and she felt the tension rise inside her as his thumb circled her clit. Her body melted into the desk and she struggled to stay up on her elbows as he leaned over her, teasing her.

“You miss me?”

“Y-yes Kumkani.”

“What do you miss?” He loved teasing her, especially when he knew she could barely speak.

“Mmm fuck. I...I miss your hands on me.”

He slowed his strokes and his large hands made their way up and down her body. His left hand found it’s home at the dip of her hip, gripping her tight. His right hand rested just below her throat as a tease, refusing to squeeze her the way she wanted.

“What else?” he slowly dragged his tip along her g-spot and a shudder went through her body.

“Your lips.”

He trailed kisses on every inch of her body he could reach, ending on her chest. His tongue brushed across each nipple as he french kissed her breasts, pulling each bud into his mouth and nibbling softly as she moaned in his ear. His hips kept a slow and steady pace until he released her from his mouth and dug deep inside her.

“Kumkani!”

“Mhm, what else do you miss?” T’Challa’s hands gripped her hips tight as he leaned over her and pulled her into him to meet each stroke. Her hips grinded up into his until he pushed her legs back further, damn near folding her in half and laying his weight on her as his hips rolled his dick deeper inside her.

“This. I miss this.”

“I bet you do, Kitten,” he chuckled before slowing down his strokes and kissing her softly. “I miss this too.”

Their tongues danced against each other as her body tightened and released around him, coating him in her juices.

“Where do you want it?” He couldn’t hold on any longer and desperately needed this release.

“Right there, baby,” Ashanti cooed as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in tight. The tension in his body rose to an alltime high and the vein in his forehead threatened to pop before his body jerked and he stilled inside her.

The two of them laughed as they untangled themselves and came back down to reality.

“You think they know?” Ashanti asked as she straightened his tunic. He twirled her around and was surprised there was no visible wet spot.

“We got lucky this time. You’re going to have to start keeping a change of clothes in here,” he slapped her ass just to watch it jiggle.

“Challa!”

“I’m sorry, let me kiss it-” he grabbed her and started kissing down her neck again as he firmly gripped her ass.

“No, we have to go,” she giggled as she struggled to get out of his grasp. “We can get back to this later.”

“But I want it now, you started it,” he whined and bit into her neck. “Let’s skip dinner.”

“Challa, I invited my parents.”

He visibly deflated and let out a deep sigh. He loved his in-laws, but he would much rather be blowing Ashanti’s back out in their quarters. He released her from his arms with a roll of his eyes and tried his best not to pout as she pulled him out the door, but his sad face was quickly replaced by one of great amusement as he watched his wife limp down the hallway.

Later that night, T’Challa was called to an emergency mission with the Avengers and was gone for a whole month.

--------

Ashanti had passed her creative genes right on down to her daughter. The little princess loved to draw and regularly surprised her parents with colorful portraits of the people in her life. They loved seeing the world through her eyes and kept every picture, even when the subject was unrecognizable. Their favorite was a picture she drew of the whole family holding hands, each one of them glowing in their different colors. N’Jadaka was red, full of passion and strength, and Shuri’s ambition came through as a vivid orange color. Ramonda was surrounded by a peaceful cloud of light blue and the bold blues and healing greens of Chidi and Bisa’s auras swirled together in perfect harmony. She even drew pictures of her favorite aunts and uncles, capturing how M’Baku’s red aura danced around Shani’s pink glow. The twins were a bright yellow with tinges of purple and blue, Okoye’s aura was the same fiery red she wore as armor, and the blue light emanating around Zina contrasted beautifully with the pink surrounding Jafari.  

Siyanda’s drawings were always so bright and colorful, until one day she surprised her mother with a much darker piece of art.

“Who’s that, baby?” Ashanti asked with concern as she looked over her daughter’s shoulder. She was drawing a dark cloud of putrid greens and browns around a group of blacked-out people.

“I don’t know. I saw it in my dream.”

“Was it a bad dream?”

Siyanda nodded as she continued to focus on her dark masterpiece.

“Tell me about it.”

“I just saw the people.”

“These people?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“No, mama, they’re just the people.”

“Did they do something in your dream?”

“They were just there. It was scary.” She reached for the black crayon and scribbled around the perimeter of the peoples’ collective aura, encasing it all in the darkness.

That night, when Ashanti’s beads trilled with T’Challa’s special tone she quickly pressed her communication bead, prompting her husband’s figure to rest in the palm of her hand.

“Something’s wrong,” she said before he could even speak.

“What is it?”

“It’s Yaya...she drew this.”

Ashanti held up the wild crayon drawing and T’Challa’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Who is that supposed to be?”

“I don’t know, she just kept calling them ‘the people’. She saw it in her dream, Challa.”

“Her dream?”

Ashanti nodded, “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

“And she never uses dark colors like that, not even for an outline...what happened in her dream?”

“Nothing. She just saw this...she said it was scary.”

T’Challa was quiet for a while, wheels turning in his head.

“And these ‘people’ aren’t anyone she knows?”

“Nope. I’m worried about her, what if this is some sort of premonition? I told you what mama said about the women in our family.”

“Kitten, if it’s a premonition I think we should all be worried. It doesn’t look good.”

“No it doesn’t...when are you coming home?”

“I’m cutting it short, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Don’t they need you?”

“Probably, but I am needed even more elsewhere.”

The next morning, a very sleepy Siyanda waited for her baba on the tarmac with her family. Shuri held her on her hip as she rested her head on her shoulder, but the second the Talon came into view she perked right up and jumped down from her auntie’s arms. She tried to take off towards the ship, but Ashanti grabbed her arm before she could go anywhere.

“Not yet, baby. Wait until the doors open.”

“Ok mama.”

Her little leg bounced in anticipation and the second the doors opened and Ashanti gave her a nod, she took off towards the ship, running almost as fast as her Baba, when she noticed he wasn’t alone.

“Daka!” She tackled her big cousin and he “fell” to the ground.

“You’re getting strong, Punkin!”

She giggled as he tickled her until a throat clearing stopped them both.

“No love for me?”

She sprung from the ground and into T’Challa’s arms, leaving a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“I missed you, baba!”

“Not as much as you missed him,” he pretended to be upset.

“It’s been longer since I saw Daka, baba.”

“It’s ok to say you missed me more. Don’t let him pressure you,” N’Jadaka said with a wink.

Siyanda giggled as the three of them disembarked the Talon and the returning Udakus were greeted by their family.

After a month apart, T’Challa and Ashanti were relieved to be back in each other’s arms. They held each other for a moment before going in for a kiss. They tried their best to keep their hands to themselves, but their kiss turned heated until Ramonda cleared her throat and Ashanti  looked up to see Shuri shielding Siyanda’s eyes.

“Sorry, it’s been a while,” Ashanti hid her face while her husband laughed and pulled her in for another kiss.

“Eewwwwww,” the littlest princess was disgusted by her parents’ display, prompting Shuri and N’Jadaka to join her in her protests.

“Yeah, ewwww.”

“Mmhm, y’all nasty.”

“Alright, alright, damn. I can’t love on my husband?”

Siyanda shook her head.

“And why not?”

“Because it’s gross!”

T’Challa chuckled and scooped her up, placing her on his shoulders as they walked back into the palace. “You just keep thinking that for the next twenty years.”

“Make it thirty,” N’Jadaka chimed in from behind them.

“How about forty? Fifty, just to be safe?”

“Sounds good to me, man.”

“Stop it, you two,” Ramonda slapped the back of her nephew’s head at the same time her son received a deadly glare from his wife.

“Ow, ok. Twenty it is.” N’Jadaka laughed as he dodged his auntie’s hand, sending a wink to his big cousin who was trying very hard to not look down at Ashanti.

“So, what have I missed, little one?” T’Challa asked his daughter.

“I rode a rhino!”

“You did?!”

“Mhm. Mama almost didn’t let me, but Auntie Okoye talked her into it.”

“Well thank Bast for Auntie Okoye,” he sent his friend and protector a smile.

“Anything for our princess,” Okoye said, trying to keep a straight face since she was on duty.

“Anything?” Siyanda’s eyes were filled with wonder as her mind raced through the possibilities.

“Anything within reason,” Ashanti interjected before she got too carried away, booping her on her nose as they continued down the hallway to the living quarters.

--------

“Your highnesses, there is a rebel faction within our borders,” explained T’San, the River tribe elder. He had asked for a private audience with the king and queen to discuss sensitive matters, and they were intrigued when he said it was something he didn’t want to announce in front of the council.

“What proof do you have?”

T’San nodded to the guards stationed at the door and they opened it to reveal two River tribe warriors with a very angry looking woman between them.

“Let me go!” she struggled to get out of their grasp, but they held tight as they walked her into the throne room.

“Thetha,” Ashanti ordered. The woman stared at her in contempt and remained silent.

“Your queen commanded you to speak. Now speak.”

“She is not my queen,” the woman spat, eyes narrowing at Ashanti, who shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She could almost feel T’Challa’s blood pressure rising.

“She is and you will respect her. Ungubani?”

The woman remained silent until the River tribe warriors squeezed her arm tighter.

“Ouch! Ok, damn. My name is Iniko, your highnesses,” she said sarcastically as she gave them a weak Wakandan salute.

“Enough of your disrespect-”

“T’San, thank you,” T’Challa cut him off, standing and slowly walking towards Iniko. “Tell me, what is it you want?”

“We want a real queen, not some common whore.”

“That is enough! Take her to the holding cells, I will deal with her later.”

The palace guards collected her from the warriors and she thrashed in their arms as they led her out of the room.

“You’ll never stop The People!”

Ashanti and T’Challa made eye contact right as the doors closed. He made his way back to his throne and sat down, taking the queen’s hand in his.

“My sincerest apologies, my queen, my king.”

“Thank you T’San. How many more are there?” Ashanti asked, still a little shaken up from what she just heard.

“She is the only one we have found so far, my queen. My warriors are questioning her friends and family as we speak”

“Good. Keep us updated on what you find, and T’San?”

“Yes, my king?”

“Don’t breathe a word of this to other council members, I will address it in our meeting.”

The elder bowed his head in understanding.

“Anything else, T’San?”

“No, my queen, that is all.”

“Well, the king and I would like to thank you for your service to Wakanda.”

“It is my honor,” he saluted them and left with his warriors in tow.

As soon as the doors closed behind him Ashanti hopped up from the throne.

“She saw them in her dream, Challa.”

“I know…”

“This isn’t good.”

“I know…” He was in a daze. Not only was there a rebel faction out to get his wife, but his daughter was certainly having premonitions.

“Yaya has another power.”

“I know…”

Ashanti turned to look at him slumped down in the throne with his head resting on his hands. She went and sat across his lap, burying her face in his neck. They stayed like that for a few minutes before T’Challa shifted to check the time.

“It’s time to make our rounds, love.”

Ashanti sighed and got up, shuffling towards the door with her husband on her heels. They made their way to Ramonda’s vegetable garden to find her and the littlest princess digging around in the dirt, harvesting yams. Siyanda looked up and excitedly ran to her parents.

“Can we go see the rhinos now?”

“In a little bit,” Ashanti chuckled. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

“Mama, these look delicious.”

“They do,” she said proudly. “We’ll find out for sure at dinner.”

“I’m already hungry, let’s go before I bite into one of these things raw.” Ashanti said just before her stomach growled. “Zana Cafe for lunch?”

“Yes!” Siyanda was always excited to see her grandparents.

“We had better get going. See you later, mama,” he kissed her cheek.

“Don’t be late for dinner, I can’t promise N’Jadaka won’t eat all the yams again.”

“Oh we’ll be there, and tell him I’m not above fighting him over food,” Ashanti said with a serious look on her face as they walked away. Ramonda chuckled and went right back to tending to her garden.

T’Challa always loved making the rounds to the different tribes, but this time he was on high alert, as were the Dora Milaje that guarded the family of three. Siyanda had inherited her baba’s love of interacting with the tribes, and while her parents took care of the business side of things, she got to play with kids all over Wakanda. They’d swim in the river, play hide and seek, ride rhinos, and sled down bunny slopes. Naturally, she liked visiting the Jabari and Merchant tribes the best because she got to see some of her favorite people in the world.

Siyanda loved her big cousin M’Bari and followed the nine year old everywhere, but she really loved her uncle M’Baku. He always joked that she was his second child, even as his actual second child was still baking in the oven. It didn’t help that “Siyanda” was his suggestion.

“You know, I am the one that named you,” he told the little princess as she threw a snowball at him before hiding behind M’Bari.

“Really?”

“Yes, your parents could not figure out what to call you, but your Umalume M’Baku knew.”

Shani and T’Challa rolled their eyes as Ashanti chuckled.

“He brings that up at least twice a week,” Shani deadpanned as they watched M’Bari show Siyanda how to make the perfect snowball.

Getting Siyanda to leave Jabari land was like pulling teeth. She loved it up there and if Shani and M’Baku had anything to say about it, she could stay as long as she wanted to, but the royal family still had to visit Ashanti’s tribe. They said their goodbyes and Siyanda pouted most of the way down the mountain until T’Challa leaned in and started tickling her, making her frown go away.

They walked through the bazaar hand in hand, with Siyanda in the middle between her two parents. They spoke to passersby as they made their way to the center of all the hustle and bustle. Before settling in at the Cafe, Ashanti decided to stop by Taj’s, which was now completely run by Zina and Jafari.

“My queen!” Zina shouted when she saw Ashanti, almost knocking her over in a hug. Jafari poked his head out the back and smiled at the scene.

“Your majesty,” he bowed sarcastically, making Ashanti roll her eyes and pull him in for a hug.

“Stop that.”

“Where’s the rest of the family?” Zina asked, looking behind her for the princess.

“Across the way, stuffing their faces. Come eat with us.”

The three of them closed the shop down and joined the Mostafa-Udaku clan for lunch. Chidi and Bisa were already seated on either side of Siyanda and Ashanti took her place between her mama and husband, across the table from her friends and former employees. The seven of them chatted for what felt like hours before the princess let out a yawn.

“Nap time?” Bisa asked the king and queen.

“A little bit past it, actually. We should go before she starts getting cranky,” T’Challa responded, already standing from his seat.

The royal family said their goodbyes and returned to the palace so Siyanda could take her midday nap. While she slept, her parents figured they could get into some grown-up fun, but just as things were heating up both of their beads trilled.

Iniko was dead.

--------

Another week passed with no leads on Iniko’s death or on The People. T’Challa spent almost every waking hour pouring over evidence that led to a brick wall every time. He decided to call in the only reinforcements he knew he could trust, and as usual they answered.

Steve, Bucky, and Nakia appeared as holograms in the middle of the room as T’Challa explained the situation to them. N’Jadaka leaned against the door and M’Baku took up most of the couch, both listening intently as the king spoke.

“All my leads are coming up short, so I’m opening the floor to suggestions.”

“I could always go undercover. It won’t be hard for people to believe I turned my back on you,” N’Jadaka suggested.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Ashanti chimed in from T’Challa’s desk chair. He nodded slowly, wheels turning in his head.

“Let’s keep that in our pocket for now. Convincing Wakandans to accept you took too much time, I don’t want to impede that progress.”

“I will see what I can get from my contacts,” said Nakia, already typing away.

“What is it they want again?” Bucky asked.

“This ‘common whore’ off the throne.”

T’Challa bristled as she said the words again and everyone grew silent.

“Do they have a replacement already in mind?”

“We don’t know, we don’t even know how they communicate, where they meet, who’s in charge...nothing. Yet,” Ashanti tried to remain hopeful.

T’Challa let out a sigh and leaned back onto his desk.

“Maybe it’s time to let the council know-”

“The only one I trust other than M’Baku is T’San. He’s the only one of them who respected her before her title.”

“That’s good though,” Steve chimed in, making everybody turn to him, confusion written on their faces. “You already know some of them are untrustworthy, so pluck 'em one by one and see who squeals. One of them is bound to know something.”

“How did ole girl die, again?” The prince asked for clarification.

“Cyanide.”

“Damn, that’s too easy to get your hands on. Did Lil Bit track where it came from?”

“Ground up apple seeds.”

“Ok so we know they’re DIY-ing it, which means they probably don’t have the resources to do anything big yet. I’d say go with Blue Eyes’ plan for now.”

“You, Ashanti, and I will head the interrogations. The rest of you, keep your eyes and ears open.”

The three holograms disappeared and a hush fell over the room.

“Challa, I don’t think I should be there when you question the council members.”

“You won’t be, but I want you to come in towards the end so I can gauge their reactions to you,” he ran his hand over his face and sat down in the chair across the desk from his.

“You look tired...you both do,” M’Baku pointed out.

The king and queen looked at each other and took in their appearances. They both had bags under their eyes.

“Yes, well, it’s been a long few days.”

“Why don’t y’all take the rest of the day off? Dr. Jekyll and I can handle the kingdom. I’ll even take Punkin for the night, I know y’all need some alone time.”

“Is the word not ‘pumpkin’?” M’Baku asked, genuinely confused.

“Not if you’re Black. Anyway, what do y’all say?”

“Shuri won’t like that you volunteered her to run the kingdom…”

“Then I’ll run it and she can take Punkin, doesn’t matter to me.”

T’Challa thought it over before he noticed the hopeful look on his wife’s face.

“Ok, we’ll take the day, but you have to tell Shuri.”

“Damn, aight I got it. Y’all go take a nap or some shit.”

And that’s exactly what they did. A couple hours later they woke up and ordered dinner to be brought to them. They lazed around in the nude, watching movies, stuffing their faces, and just enjoying their time together not having to act as king and queen but simply T’Challa and Ashanti. They laid in the bed with his head resting on her stomach as his fingers lightly traced invisible symbols into her skin.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

“Challa, I know when you’re lying. You’re not good at it.”

He chuckled and sat up before sighing.

“I’m thinking about The People-”

“No work!”

“I know, my brain just won’t stop going there.”

Ashanti brought him back down to her and played with his hair as he spoke.

“I’m just worried about how you’re holding up in all this.”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts.

“I can’t say it’s easy to hear that people want me dead-”

“They never said-”

“Challa, we know...they don’t have to say it. I’m just worried about where Yaya fits into all this.”

“Her premonition?”

“Yes and no. I’m more so worried about what their plan is for her. Is she in danger too or just me? I can handle being a target again, but my baby?” Ashanti fought tears as she thought the worst. She unknowingly fiddled with her pinky and T’Challa pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

He hadn’t even considered that his little girl might be in danger, too. Just as he started to spiral down that rabbit hole he felt Ashanti move to the side of the bed and stand up.

“Come on, get up.”

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere. We need to get our heads right.”

Ashanti went over to the balcony and sparked up one of the pre-rolls they had ordered from Amare, the royal grower. T’Challa came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing his chin in the crook of her neck as she held the blunt to his lips. He turned her face to his and shotgunned the smoke into her mouth before taking a hit of his own.

“More Snow Goddess OG?” He took another hit of his favorite strain before passing it back to Ashanti.

“Mmmhm, Amare must want a little prince running around here.”

“Or another princess,” T’Challa smiled just thinking about it.

“Don’t get too excited-”

“Too late,” he said as he kissed her neck.

“I mean about another baby, Challa,” she giggled.

“I know, and I mean this.” His hips thrust forward and she could feel his thickness between her cheeks.

“Oh well in that case, please do continue.”

He pulled away and she felt the chill of the night air on her back. The queen took another hit before ashing the blunt and following her husband back inside.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“Stay here,” the smile on his face intrigued Ashanti. She hadn’t seen him look that giddy in a while.

When he came back she was very confused to see he was empty handed.

“Where is it?”

He pointed to the panther necklace that he definitely wasn't wearing before, eyebrows bouncing mischievously. Before she could say anything he called the suit on.

“Ok...I’ve seen the suit before baby.”

His smile grew as the suit retracted from his body, but stopped at his waist. Ashanti watched in awe as the suit partially covered and uncovered him. His hands were exposed while his torso was covered, then the nanites fused into his mask as the rest of the suit retracted into the necklace.

Ashanti reached out to feel the fibers and sure enough, it was the same as his old suit, just a little more...flexible.

“Shuri finally did it,” she said in awe.

“Mhm, and it took me forever to convince her. Of course, I didn’t tell her why.”

She had wanted to fuck him in the suit ever since she first saw it on him in Shuri’s lab all those years ago, and now her dream was finally coming true. Ashanti was about to fuck the Black Panther.  

“Put it back on.”

“You don’t give the orders here.”

A shiver travelled down Ashanti’s spine as he circled her.

“So tell me,” he whispered in her ear as his fingertips lightly ghosted along her hips and down to her thighs before turning her around to face him and grabbing two handfulls of her ass. “How do you want it?”

“Push me to my limit,” she whispered and a deep rumbling chuckle erupted from T’Challa’s chest.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes, Black Panther.”

The chuckling was soon replaced with a growl as he pushed her up against the wall.

“Say that shit again.”

“Yes, Black Panther.”

He attacked her lips and his tongue slithered into her mouth as his hands pressed her hips into the wall behind her.

“That’s how you’ll address me tonight, understand?”

“Yes, Black Panther.”

“Mmm...you remember the safeword?”

“Papaya.”

“Good girl,” he grabbed her by her jaw and made her look at him. “You sure you want to be pushed to your limit?”

“Yes, Black Panther.”

He licked his lips and looked down at her as he called his suit on all the way, leaving his face visible.

“Hey Kim, play ‘Kitten’ playlist,” he called out to the AI and a shiver went down Ashanti’s spine.

Send my regards to the mother and father

'Cause somebody's daughter I just fucking slayed

Blood on the carpet, it came from my heart

Once I start, I can't stop it, and now we are prey

“I’m not stopping unless you say ‘papaya’. You can say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ all you want, it won’t work. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Black Panther,” Ashanti shivered as she spoke. She could feel the wetness pooling between her lower lips. He had always been dominant, but now he felt downright dangerous and that excited her.

“Go get my kit.”

Ashanti’s eyes lit up and she damn near ran to their closet. She found the small suitcase and rolled it out to the bedroom. T’Challa was seated at the edge of the bed with his suit completely on, face covered and all. She laid the suitcase on the chair and unzipped it, splaying it open.

I wanna dive in you tonight

Wouldn't that be special? (special)

'Cause you're so fucking special (special)

And that pussy ain't a rental (no)

I wanna get you so high (high)

'Til you feel it in your mental (mental)

Do you feel me in your mental? (mental)

I'm fucking drilling in your dead soul (woah oh)

“Did I say open it?”

He was behind her in the blink of an eye, but she never even heard him move. His hand wrapped around her throat and she shuddered.

“No.”

“No, who?!” he squeezed the sides tighter, putting pressure on her pulse.

“No, Kum- Black Panther.”

“I’m glad you caught yourself, you’re still a good little slut,” he held her face still with one hand as the fingers on his other hand slapped her cheek. “Vula”

She opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue, prompting him to remove the suit from his hand and stick his fingers down her throat.

“You better not fucking gag...good girl,” his helmet disappeared as he dangled his tongue from his mouth and let his spit drop into hers. “Swallow.”

She did as instructed and a sinister smile took over his face.

I lost my mind, yeah

So I made yours mine, yeah

Two souls and a dance with the de-

Only one comin' alive

“Get my favorite toys out,” he instructed and she hopped to it, pulling out her remote control buttplug and her clitoral and g-spot stimulator.

“Put them in, slowly.”

She reached for lube and put a generous amount on the plug before working it inside her. Once she was full of it, she then slid her other vibrator in and made sure it was situated on top of her clit.

“Good girl. Now stay just like that.”

She squirmed from the feeling of being filled in both holes as he dug through the suitcase, pulling out a blindfold. He stopped for a moment to press his beads and she released a moan as her buttplug started vibrating, followed shortly by the internal portion of her vibrator in her pussy.

“Don’t move.”

“Yes, Black Panther, but I-I want to be able to see you. Please don’t blindfold me.”

“Only because you said please,” he gave her a peck on the lips as he turned the vibrators up to the next level, making her moan even louder. “Bast, I love that sound. Come here.” He picked her up and placed her in the swing that had come down from its discreet hiding place in the ceiling, strapping her in and tying her wrists to the bar at the top before turning on the clit stimulator.

Send my regards to the mother and father

'Cause somebody's daughter I just fucking slayed

Blood on the carpet, it came from my heart

Once I start, I can't stop it, and now we are prey

Ashanti convulsed as an orgasm washed over her and she squirted all over the floor. He laughed at her as she came back down to earth and he continued to take her there over and over until she was a blubbering mess. Eventually he took pity on her and his suit covered his face again and uncovered his lower half. He ran his fingers along her pussy and removed her vibrator before stroking his already hard dick with her wetness and plunging deep inside her.

Go until you see the light

(Yeah)

Baby, do you see the light?

(That's right)

She stared into his eyes through the mask and struggled against her restraints as he took her there, suspended in the air and at the complete mercy of the Black Panther.  

Call the coroner tonight (tonight)

Blacked-out girl, it's a funeral (funeral)

She was dead on arrival (arrival)

Heart crossed, hand on the Bible (alright)

Ashanti  cried, she screamed, she begged him to stop, but not once did she want to use that safeword. In all the time they had been together she had never seen him so unhinged. If the bite marks up and down her body were any indication, he seemed to enjoy being so rough with her. They both looked forward to seeing her bruised skin in the morning and wondered how long it would take for the teeth indents to go away.

The one thing T’Challa didn’t expect from her was her excitement at seeing the razor sharp claws extend from his fingertips. They had engaged in knifeplay before, but it was more so his kink than hers. However, the sight of those claws flipped a switch in her, and he could tell.

'Cause I lost my mind, yeah

So I made yours mine, yeah

Two souls and a dance with the de-

And only one comin' out alive

“Tell me what you want, I see you staring.”

“I want you to cut me.”

He double checked that the first aid kit was in his suitcase before his thumb sliced a very shallow incision right down the middle of her thigh. He removed his mask and his tongue came out to lick away her blood, making Ashanti moan out with pleasure. She hadn’t expected that.

Send my regards to the mother and father

'Cause somebody's daughter I just fucking slayed

(Call the coroner tonight)

Blood on the carpet (it's a funeral tonight)

It came from my heart (my condolences tonight)

Once I start, I can't stop it (go until you see the light)

And now we are prey

When he kissed up her body and finally made it to her lips their tongues lapped at each other and she tasted the copper of her blood. It turned her on even more just thinking about it, her bloodthirsty apex predator.

He called the suit back into the necklace and undid her restraints, kissing the marks on her wrists.

“How do you feel?”

“Really good,” she smiled drunkenly. He wrapped her arms around his neck and removed her legs from the straps, wrapping them around his waist and walking to the bed. He placed her down in the center and grabbed the first aid kit.

“Challa, I’ve had paper cuts deeper than this, you don’t have to do all that,” she chuckled.

“Please, for my peace of mind.”

Ashanti sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, but placed her leg across his lap and allowed him to tend to her wound anyway. “‘Only because you said please.’”

T’Challa laughed as he cleaned her cut, “You think you’re cute, huh? Even after all that?”

“Yes, Black Panther,” she giggled out as he tickled her other thigh. “We should do that more often.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. Even that little surprise at the end,” she gestured to her leg. “Bast, I love how nasty you are.”

“And I love how you’re such a good little slut for me, Kitten.”

Ashanti bit her lip and leaned in for a kiss, but they were interrupted by a banging on the door.

“AYE, GET UP!” N’Jadaka yelled, almost busting down the door. T’Challa’s suit immediately came on as he ran to the door and swung it open.

“Wh-”

“We gotta go, NOW!”

T’Challa and N’Jadaka took off running and Ashanti just sat on the bed, confused and concerned. She only sort of heard the beginning of N’Jadaka’s sentence as they ran out the room. Someone was being held hostage, but she didn’t hear who. She got up and ran the bath that T’Challa was no doubt planning to run for her before their night got interrupted by business. She soaked in the water for a while before she heard T’Challa’s tone coming from her kimoyo beads.

“Take care of it already?” She asked before looking up at the hologram to see the unthinkable. There was her baby girl with a blaster pointed right at her temple with tears in her eyes. Her lip quivered as she stared at the man with the slimy black tendrils surrounding him, his aura unlike any she’d ever seen.

“Hello, my queen,” seethed an unrecognizable voice behind the camera. “You have ten minutes to get here before I pull this trigger...or maybe they’ll pull one of theirs.” He panned the beads around the lab and she saw Shuri, N’Jadaka, and T’Challa with masked people standing behind them holding blasters to each of their heads.

“Please...please don’t hurt them, I-I’m on my way right now. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Nine minutes,” they teased before ending the call.

Ashanti threw on whatever clothes she could get to quickest and ran out the door towards the lab. There was no way she’d make it in nine minutes on foot, so she alerted her Dora detail before hopping on T’Challa’s hoverbike and taking off as quickly as she could towards Shuri’s lab, praying to Bast she would make it in time.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @ljstraightnochaser, @determinednot2fall, @dersha89

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 11]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 3.6k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: part 11!! whew- i think its almost halfway? im sorry if the series is taking too long ;^; but thank you to those as well to whoever enjoys this so far! i really appreciate it! <3 

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself​ @minihongjoong @i-purrple-u @taetae123094 @jeonartemis @barcelona-sergei  @theoinkypiglet @sparklychangbin @krystal-cole @mangotexts @tooweirdforyou 

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The skies today were as blue as the crystal seas as fluffy white clouds filled the heavenly bodies. The sun peeks over The Capitol, basking the townsfolk in its bright but warm rays. The city village teemed with life as people went about their business. 

Today was actually a good day. But not for the delegates- today was the day of elimination.

The small dining hall the young delegates ate in was quiet. No one said a word, if they did it was done in tones no louder than a whisper. Only the ear-piercing sound of utensils scraping against the ceramic plate was heard along with the occasional clinking of mugs against the wooden table. 

The atmosphere was thick with tension. Each one of these young people felt as if they were Atlas, bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders. No one and nothing could ease them of the uncertainty on whether who gets to stay or not. Even the cockiest person among you was quiet.

You on the other hand felt as if the weight was doubled. You didn’t know how you would be questioned regarding the chapter you had painstakingly read. You had wasted so many nights and lost so much sleep over that you could only hope you didn’t fail whatever task Hae-seong had in mind. 

Breakfast passed by quickly and you soon found yourself lined up by the courtyard. Haeseong stood in front of you as Byron, and a few other knights, stood by the duke’s left. A rack of training swords was soon rolled in, the inanimate object seemingly taunting you. You knew the final exam was about to take place. 

“Delegates,” Haeseong called out in his annoyingly nasal voice. “Today is the day of elimination. We’ve reviewed your grades from training and academics and unfortunately, half of you are going home.”

A few gasps erupt from around you. You could feel your palms sweat with anxiousness and the fabric of the uniform seemed to itch more. You tighten your hands into a fist, silently praying that you’d pass this first set of eliminations.

“This just proves how incompetent you people are.” Haesong continued to earn a disappointed sigh from the large man beside him. 

“Nevertheless, it didn’t mean you didn’t try your best,” Byron interjected and sent a tiny glare to the duke who brushed it off nonchalantly. “Anyway, as your final exam- you’d be partnered off randomly to duel with the training swords.

“And for safety precautions, we shall be putting each of you in light armor.” 

You tense at that. Though you weren’t helpless when it came to swordsmanship- you weren’t sure if you were good enough either. Nevertheless, you just hoped you’d make it far. You glance to your right to see Siyeon’s lip quivering with nervousness. Your fingers discreetly tangled with hers, receiving a grateful squeeze of your hand in return. You send her a small smile to encourage her. Although she was still tense, she had relaxed a bit and had steadier breathing.

As you were all being suited up for the exam, a few of the royal court had come to watch. Among them were two of Hae-seong’s sons- the eldest who was a couple of years older than you and his youngest son who was only eighteen. You’ve seen them around the castle a few times. The younger, Minjae, was a bit spoiled but respectful nonetheless. He could be a little boisterous but you chalked that off to his teenage hormones. 

The eldest, on the other hand, Beom-seok, was just as nasty as his father or not worse. Not only was he prideful or an elitist, oh no- he had no respect in general. He would eye some of the female delegates like they were pieces of meat and pick on the castle servants when he walked around. What was worse is that whenever no higher-ups in the court were around, he’d strut along the palace as if he owned the place. He was disgusting but not many seemed to care because of his charming looks and stature in life. He had a strong jaw, a sharp nose, and fierce eyes. But his aura was just so repulsive not many really stayed friends with him. 

You saw him whisper to his brother as he glanced over at all of you. The pair snickered but the younger seemed to do so just to get his brother to shut up. Beom-seok must have been spewing some hateful stuff again so you chose to ignore him. Instead, you glance up the large window of the palace in the middle of the courtyard, hoping to see the prince. 

Seonghwa managed to plague your thoughts often ever since he had met you. He was just so different than you imagined- you didn’t think you’d grow fond of him in the way you do with your friends. You hoped that you do succeed in becoming his bodyguard because that way, you could still maintain your friendship with him.

As your gaze lands on the window, you see the prince looking down at all of you with interest. But beside him was Lady Ayeong, looking as ethereal as ever. A gentle yet curious smile was settled on her delicate lips as she surveyed over all of you. You found it hard to believe that an angel like her was the daughter of the devil. 

Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours and he sends you a subtle wink. You roll your eyes in amusement but nodded your head at him before focusing your attention on the knight in front of you to start donning the armor for the final exams. 

“Is it really this serious that light armor is needed?” Ayeong asks Seonghwa, looking up at him with a concerned glint in her eye. 

The prince merely nodded but gave her a reassuring smile in return. “Don’t worry. No one gets seriously injured during these. It may hurt but nothing that could kill.” 

Once you were all settled with the armor and the weapons, you were all ushered to the side as Byron called out two people’s names to duel. One was Julian- a city dweller with a flamboyant personality. His bouncy auburn hair glinted under the afternoon sun as he strolled up to the middle. His confidence was outstanding, it was his biggest asset. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be his biggest downfall either. 

The other was Gahyeon. You and Siyeon, as well as other folks from Trelark, sent her silent cheers. You all watched as both delegates took their positions across each other, arms raised and weapons held firmly in their hands. 

This was it.

Everyone watched earnestly as Gahyeon struck first, clashing her sword against Julian’s. The sound of wood on wood was heard throughout the courtyard. Several cries rang out and the nasty sound of splinters cracking soon joined in. 

By the end of the first duel, Gahyeon ended up with her back flat against the cobble and the wooden sword pressed to her chin. Julian was panting heavily and looked like he could collapse at any moment. Gahyeon proved that if she was going down, she was going to do so with a fight. 

Hae-seong says nothing, just dismissing the two and making them return to their spots in the line. “Julian wills the duel!” Byron announces before calling up the next two. 

Several more pairs came up. Some of the cockiest delegates had karma coming and lost the duel. Others surprised you like the quiet girl, Ursula, from the farming village in the South. She generally kept out of everyone’s business and was shorter than the average woman your age but she was quick on her feet and managed to take down her much bigger opponent pretty quickly. 

You were still marveling over Ursula’s assassin-like skill when Byron called your name. You snap out of your thoughts and head over to the middle where your opponent was already waiting. It was one of the bigger boys from the mining villages. You gulp nervously as you take your training sword from Byron and face your partner. 

You could feel your palms clam up and your heartbeat rapidly against your chest. The two of you assumed duel stances, swords in hand, waiting patiently for the signal to start. By this time, more of the royal court had come out to watch. You saw two young men that often accompanied Seonghwa stand off to the side. Maybe they were his friends but their presence just added some pressure to you. 

You inhale deeply and let out a shaky sigh right before Byron gives the signal. You make the first move, dispelling all your nerves with a short yell and bringing down your sword against your opponent’s. You managed to catch him off guard as he stumbled with his weapon, clearly not anticipating your strength. 

And for a short moment, you felt a bout of victory— that was until he pulled back his sword and swung at you. You stepped off to the side and blocked his blow, the force of the impact shot up your arms and to your shoulders. It was a rather harsh one, leaving you to grit your teeth to keep them from chattering. 

You step back when he swings at you again and you retaliate by blocking it off and swiftly following up with a slash near his middle. He narrowly avoids your move, hopping backward to do so. Your movements came right after the other, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You could practically hear your heartbeat thrum in your ears. Dust kicks up around you as you advance towards him, giving him blow after blow. Your opponent was left to defend rather than attack, his bigger stature causing himself to slow down at your faster movements. 

You felt confident that you’d win this duel. That is until Hae-seong calls out your name and distracts you. Your foot hooks against your ankle as you mean to step forward, causing you to trip. Your opponent takes this moment to swing his sword at your foot, making you fall onto your front. Several gasps were heard around you along with a ferocious cry. You look up to see your opponent actually bring down his sword against you. 

Luckily, you manage to roll away in time and the training sword lands against the spot you were on. “Are you crazy??” You exclaim. That blow could’ve killed you. You stumble back onto your feet, now weaponless as your sword had fallen out of your grip when you tripped. Your opponent takes a moment to kick away your sword and advance towards you.

You dodge another swing from him, shifting your feet to help you avoid him. “Aren’t you going to stop him?” You ask Byron and Hae-seong. The former remains silent but there’s a glint of sympathy in his eyes. The nobleman on the other hand simply grinned and shrugged.

“This is part of your test, _____. Remember the book I made you memorize? Well, I decided to quiz you— right now. I want to see how focused you really are.” He sneers. His eldest son laughs at his father’s words, making your blood boil. 

You eye your sword that was only a few steps away. Your opponent wasn’t an idiot— he knew what you were trying to do; he was doing everything to keep you from getting it back. But you were determined and stubborn as a mule. 

“First question, ______,” Hae-seong calls out as you step to the side and dodge another hit. “Name all seven kingdoms and what each are known for,” 

“The Nessa Empire: the kingdom near the sea,” You start out, trying your best to focus on the man in front of you while answering correctly. “Our kingdom of Sarem: the kingdom of the earth; the Kingdom of Velaris..” You continue on with the list and successfully manage to answer his questions.

This goes on— Hae-seong throwing question after question at you while you respond correctly- much to the duke’s annoyance. Of course, you would stumble every now and then, fatigue slowly creeping up on you, but you push through it. And finally, you see an opening. 

Your sword lay a couple of steps away and your opponent was far enough for you to reach over and grab it. You briefly glance over to the weapon and keep your gaze trained ahead of you. You patiently wait for Hae-seong to ask you another question, slowly inching towards your sword.

“Final question,” The nobleman huffed, trying to get you to mess up. “Sarem takes pride in our trade in grains and precious stones; true or false?” 

You almost answered “true” but you remembered what the prince had said the first night you met. 

“Don’t believe everything that book says— especially the part about how our kingdom trade works. It says something about grain or stones but that section is terribly inaccurate.”

You thought it was nasty on Hae-seong’s part to pull that trick out on you but you didn’t pay any attention to that. 

“False!” You answered just as your opponent was about to bring his sword down on you.  You rushed to pick up your own and swing it up to block his strike. This caught him off guard, allowing you to kick your foot out under him and make him lose balance. He falls flat against his back and you scramble to kick his own weapon away, pointing your sword against his throat. 

Byron takes this as a chance to end the duel seeing as both of you were tired. Your turn went longer than anticipated. “_____ wins this duel.” He announces, earning a few applause from the bystanders. 

You almost collapse to the ground in relief as victory floods your system. Thank the heavens. You helped your opponent up and gave him a bow of your head to which he responded in kind. You were still pretty banged and up and bruised since he got more hits in but it was all worth it to be able to make it past this final exam and to see the annoyance on Hae-seong’s face. 

It was obvious he hoped you would mess up but at least he knew to give credit when it’s due, even if it hurt his pride. He turned his pointy nose up and waved the two of you away to return to your spots and allow other delegates to go. “Moving on—“

You plop down onto your original spot, Siyeon shaking your shoulder excitedly. “You killed it!” She cheers quietly, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m so proud of you, Yellow.” 

“Thanks, Wolfie.” You reply, giving her hand a squeeze. 

You tear your gaze away from your friend and up to the window to where Seonghwa and Ayeong were watching. From your spot on the ground, it was clear that he had the brightest smile on his face.

“Her fighting spirit is commendable,” Ayeong praises, referring to you. She turns to her husband to be with a curious tilt of her head. “Don’t you think so?”

The prince felt his chest swell his pride, a warm feeling running through his veins. Though you two had met recently, he felt as if he was your friend for his whole life. He couldn’t help but feel proud of what you had achieved today. He nods in response to his companion. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The final dueling exams ended late into the afternoon. It felt exhausting to watch and go through- after all there were 20 pairs that had to go through this. Despite that- tensions were still high as everyone anxiously waited for their results. 

Some looked hopeful while others remained dejected. It was clear to some that they were convinced that they would be eliminated; regrets of not trying hard enough during the first few days due to their reluctance flooded their thoughts. Only hushed whispers and silent sobs were heard through the courtyard as everyone let their frustrations out.

Amihan scoots over to you as she clutches her splinted hand to her chest; she had fallen down during her duel causing her wrist to be sprained. Her face had dejection written all over it; it was far from her usually laid back look. Raviv follows behind her like a concerned mother hen, brows furrowed. 

“I think I’m going to be sent home,” She admits quietly to your group, eyes glazed over with tears that were threatening to fall. Both you and Siyeon immediately move to comfort her, taking her hands in yours. “I should’ve tried harder,” 

“Ami, you did your best. That’s what’s important,” Siyeon says as she comforts the older girl. “You’re such a fierce fighter Amihan. Maybe you’d pass.”

You nod in response as you offer your friend a comforting smile. “Just shout it out to the world and think of it, it's sure to happen.” 

Amihan only shrugged in response but thanked both of you nonetheless. She sat back on her heels and sighed, looking down to her palms. “Thank you for comforting me… but think it’s useless either way. I’m injured so I can’t go on with training.”

“Maybe they’ll excuse you,” Raviv interjects and settles a hand over her shoulder. “Please don’t be so down on yourself, Ami..”

Before any of you can say anything more, the duke clears his throat and catches all of your attention. He had a roll of parchment in his hand, most likely containing the list of all delegates who made it past the first half of elimination. Right now, there were fifty of you, twenty females and thirty males. All that could change after tonight. 

“I shall now be announcing the delegates who passed.”

Tension rises and a pregnant silence fills the atmosphere. It was absolutely suffocating. You could feel your heart beat erratically against your chest as you laced your fingers with both Siyeon’s and Amihan’s hands. You didn’t want to go home— not when you were this far. The weight of the pendant your father gave you seemed heavy against your chest, a constant reminder of why you were here in the first place. 

“Abel,” Hae-seong started listing out. One by one, a name was called followed by a deep sigh of relief. Stifled tears and quiet sobs were soon heard when the duke failed to call their name. 

One of those unfortunate ones was Amihan. When Duke Hae-seong continued on with the list, the names now starting with B, your heart fell. You look over to your friend who had a resigned yet accepting look in her eyes. You couldn’t believe it. Your friend was no longer going to be with you. 

“Ami..” You mutter quietly, chest heavy with grief. She only smiles at you, cupping your cheek and brushing away a hair that stuck to your face.

I’ll be okay. She whispers to you before doing the same for both Raviv and Siyeon. You felt numb. It was such a short time since you’ve known her but you’ve created a deep bond with her since your stay— it would be hard to see her go. 

The names went on and luckily, you, Siyeon, and Raviv was still safe. For a moment your solemn thoughts turned into relief. At least you were safe, you were still in the game. You still had the chance to win this thing. 

“That’s all, you are now dismissed. You may return to your rooms. To those who were eliminated, we thank you for trying your best,” Hae-seong drawls out, oddly chipper. Maybe he was just glad that he didn’t have to deal with any more “brats.” “A carriage awaits you tomorrow morning so I suggest you start packing up.”

Usually, the walk to the rooms would be lively and full of playful banter. Now it was just glum and filled with frustrated cries. Whispers of comfort floated through the air as the group parted ways to head to their respective rooms. But before Raviv could part with the rest of you, he walks over to Amihan and gives her a tight embrace. They exchange a few words, only whispered between the two of them, before separating ways. 

You and Siyeon were on either side of Amihan’s side as you walked down the hall, trying to make the most of your last moments with her. Your friend had long stopped crying, her tears turning down to sniffles. She was quick to accept her fate. 

“Well, at least I got to live in a palace for 2 and a half months.” She jokes in hopes to lighten the mood. “Even though it was a short period of time, I’m glad I was able to make friends with you two…”

She turns to both of you, pulling you to the side to allow others to enter the room without blocking the way. “I’ll miss you both.. better write to me or else I’m coming back here to hunt your asses down.” 

She managed to pull some laughs out of you and Siyeon before bringing you into a group hug. It was a bittersweet moment and none of you could stop the tears from falling. It was kind of cathartic to be able to cry after a long while, even if they were grieving their separation from each other. It was Amihan once again who pulled herself together and straightened up. 

“I hope one of you wins. And I know one of you will.” She says with such conviction in her voice it was hard to not believe her. 

As you help her keep her things for her leave tomorrow, you couldn’t help but allow this moment to fuel something within you. You had another person to fight for, and that’s exactly what you needed. If things were hard now, they were surely going to get harder. 

[selfships-in-spanish]

The Queen of Demons

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC, Levi Ackerman x OC

Rating: Gen (the rating will go up as the story advances! But it will totally be explicit ;D)

Warnings: None for now, but sexist and misogynist upbringing (Eva's father is a huge asshole).

Word Count: 2.085

ALSO POSTED ON AO3

A/N: This is it! The first chapter of the Arranged Marriage!AU I've been working and drawing about! I'll be posting it on AO3 too since I don't know if Tumblr will screw me over again and give me trouble for posting text >_> This wouldn't be possible without @spirit-in-the-library's help, so I got so much to thank my friend for <3 I really hope you enjoy the story, I've got so much written and planned already jajajaja Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1: THE PATH TOWARDS PERDITION

The scenery before her was breathtakingly beautiful, although it sent her a chill down her spine as she knew she went further into the unknown and her sealed fate. Snow was pretty, but silent and deadly too, and these woods weren’t familiar to her. The serene landscape didn’t calm her as it should have, only sending her nerves into a spiral of never-ending anxiety.

The cold bit at her hands and feet, the carriage did what it could in matters of isolating the cold, and she burrowed further into the thick winter coat, clinging desperately to it. Her handmaiden, Flora, looked pitiful too, her cloak not as thick as Eva’s. They tried to talk to ease both their minds, but it turned out it was better to let silence reign over them and try to enjoy the ride and the scenery as much as they could. Eva had never ventured this far when she accompanied her brothers on their diplomatic missions, Flora always excitedly travelling with her, eager to know the neighbouring kingdoms and people; she was a social hurricane and always ended up making friends with all the other maids (Eva made sure Flora could send letters and gifts, often pulling strings herself to make sure the packages were delivered safely), so both women knowing this was their final travel sent a freezing cold knot deep in their guts.

Eva saw Flora shiver, and with a tiny smile she scooted over, making room for her handmaiden under her cloak.

“Come here, I don’t want you to freeze.”

“Your skirt will wrinkle, your Highness.”

“As if it wasn’t wrinkled enough from sitting here for God knows how many hours. Come here, you stubborn mule.”

Flora snorted but obeyed, not wanting to be in the cold any longer. Eva covered them both, cuddling and letting out a sigh as she let her cheek rest on Flora’s head, looking out of the carriage’s window. She always hated the cold.

Eva probably dozed off while Flora was talking about some silly nothings, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and the shared warmth under her thick winter cloak. She realised Flora put her hood on so she didn’t let her neck stick out for too long.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! I won’t let Diana know you fell asleep listening to her epic romance with the guard captain’s son.”

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t tell her, she wouldn’t stop reminding me of it.” Eva rubbed her temples, still hazy.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Flora crossed her heart and looked at Eva trying to stifle a giggle. She failed, and both women laughed out loud, picturing Diana’s irked expression and waving hands.

They kept looking out of the window, enjoying the small moments as this one; they both knew they would be sparse now.

The landscape outside the window changed, having less never-ending fields of pure white snow and heavily covered trees and mountains, to more fenced fields with cattle and horses roaming around with some lonesome wooden houses in an architectural style so different from the ones back home.

Eva’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, knowing the carriage ride was about to end as they neared the fearsome warrior’s village walls. Flora squeezed her when the carriage came to a stop, trying to reassure the princess upon seeing the gate guards on the entrance talking with the royal soldiers at the start of the entourage, and the tremendous amount of people running around inside the village as both women peeked from the cold glass. They looked at each other in a silent and mutual exchange of comfort.

The townsfolk stopped on their tracks upon seeing the carriages entering the village, their gazes wary and distrustful,  a contrast to the children shouting excitedly at the shiny armour the royal guards wore. Their mothers stood proudly, in defiance, reminding Eva of the fierce stray cats that roamed the Royal Palace gardens, hissing and standing tall whenever someone approached their kittens. Eva recalled the talk she overheard of Father and his advisors about this nation of warriors, how every single one of them had the blood of a terrifying fighter running inside their veins, how every single member of their society was trained to enter combat. Demons , that’s what her Father called them more than once, The Demons of Eldia. Whether that was true or not, Eva was downright terrified. Hostility was clear in their eyes and postures, not happy at seeing foreigners entering freely their territory. How did Father suppose she could survive this?

The carriages kept going, entering further into the maze of beautifully crafted houses. Flora parted from her embrace with Eva, knowing they would step out of the secluded space soon, and would need to make Eva look as if she hadn’t spent countless hours inside a wooden box; she had to make a perfect first impression. Eva wondered how different the village would look without all the snow covering every inch of it. Would it look as intimidating, but still beautiful, as it looked now?

Lost in her thoughts and Flora’s fussing, the entourage stopped in front of the biggest house Eva saw until now. It was massive, artfully crafted by the best artisans when it was built. Intricate markings decorated the wooden pillars holding everything together, and Eva could tell they had a meaning for these people. Right in front of the steps Eva saw more Eldian warriors, and in the middle stood those who Eva guessed probably were the welcoming party. She wondered how this Chief her father gave her hand into marriage was. Would he be a decrepit old man? A greedy one with lecherous fingers? A barbarian who would only use her for his own gratification? Was this Chief so entitled to himself and his pride that he would not even step down his throne, or the equivalent these people used, to greet them properly? What saddened her deeply was how her brothers, Hans and Friederich, agreed with Father.

Her questions would be answered in just a moment, hearing how the other two carriages, where her older brothers were, opened their doors, their heavy boots falling down the snow with a solid thud. Both women heard voices and movement outside. It was time.

“Remember, your Highness,” Flora began, giving her hands a final squeeze. “You have the strength to proudly hold your head high. The people of Gottesreich are by your side in here.” Flora touched with her finger where Eva’s heart was. “And I will be right behind you.

Eva let out a shaky exhale, a trembling smile on her lips.

“Thank you, Flora.”

The door of the carriage opened and a gush of freezing cold air hit both women. Flora tightened her cloak around her and waited patiently for Eva to exit first. It was Friederich who came to get her, gracing Eva with a tired smile while he offered his hand to help her out. Eva delicately posed her hand on the outstretched hand of his brother, the other pulling slightly up the skirt of the dress so she wouldn’t accidentally step on it and cause a scene. God forbid that happened, she couldn’t afford any humiliating mishaps of any kind. Eva stepped aside as Friederich also helped Flora out, and turned just once to see her sister following him behind, still with her hood pulled up; that was definitely Flora’s doing, knowing how the woman liked the tiny dramatics. Friederich huffed, amused.

Once they stopped just right next to Hans, his stance truly the epitome of a proud and regal prince, a member of the Eldian welcoming party walked over them, bowing their head lightly and making his light brown hair move.

“The people of Eldia welcomes you, your Highnesses, and hope you had a pleasant and safe trip.” The man had a soothing voice, calm, and such feelings carried into his eyes. “My name is Moblit and I’ll be your interpreter throughout your stay.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Moblit. I’m prince Hans Stein, heir to the throne of Gottesreich.” The crown prince bowed, right hand on his chest, and waited for Moblit to translate his words into the Eldian language. Looking at each one of the Eldians of the welcoming party, Hans turned to his other two siblings. “This is the second prince of Gottesreich, and General of our troops, Friederich Stein,” Friederich mimicked his brother, bowing respectfully too with his right hand on his chest as Moblit kept translating. “And last, princess Eva Stein, our younger sister.”

Eva felt her hands tremble and not because of the cold. She could feel everyone’s eyes fixed on her although she kept her own to the floor as her father taught her— never look at them in the eyes, only when you are being presented, but then quickly look away, never speak unless you are being spoken and addressed first, never—

She could do this.

Eva raised her hands, carefully lifting the hood of the cloak so it wouldn’t disturb her hair and tiara, and let it fall gracefully on her shoulders. She raised her head to proudly display her long neck, knowing it was being accentuated by the collar of the dress she was wearing, and looked at each member of the welcoming party before elegantly bowing towards the Eldians while delicately lifting the sides of the dress skirt as she was taught as a child. Once done, Eva returned to the position she was before: gloved hands in front of her, clasped together, head slightly tilted downwards and her eyes refusing to meet anyone’s unless she was required to do so. Father would be proud of how well she performed.

Some warriors whispered to each other, and Eva didn’t know if to feel grateful to not know what were they saying. It was just a quick glimpse as she wasn’t able to properly focus, but, where were the horns? The claws? The evil smiles with mouths full of sharp teeth? Her books depicted Eldia as demons, as creatures taking humanoid forms but with grotesque features. Eva couldn’t help but to feel thoroughly confused at the difference. Were the books wrong? Were they waiting for the right moment to show their true selves...?

A deep baritone voice quieted all the murmurs, speaking in a calm and collected tone that didn’t leave room for questioning. Eva would have called it a beautiful voice if she wasn’t being eaten alive by her fear and anxiety. The voice kept talking, and was now joined by Moblit’s translations. It was time to raise her eyes again.

“We welcome you, your Highnesses, and thank Goddess Maria for your safe journey to our land.” Eva briefly looked at Moblit, and was taken aback by the gentle appearance he displayed; she expected a brute, like her books said, but was met with soft amber eyes and sandy brown hair. Her attention was swiftly moved to the Eldians before them as Moblit gestured towards them. “My name is Erwin Smith, Chief of the proud Eldian tribe, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance too, your Highnesses.”

Eva’s eyes frantically fixed on the man Moblit was gesturing with his hand and claimed to be the Eldian Chief. Her husband to be. Eva was met with an icy blue gaze and intense like the sea she saw once when she traveled with Hans to a southern kingdom, but Eva noticed a hidden cleverness behind the stern glare. The eyes belonged to a handsome face, with sharp and chiselled features like his cheekbones, a beautiful aquiline nose and thick, blonde brows framing his face. His blonde hair was neatly parted to the side and Eva never saw a haircut such as the one he was displaying, both short and even shorter hair, but judging by the other Eldians, it was a common style. He was big, tall, and Eva saw the true poise and demeanor of a proud warrior. The blue war paint smeared on his face and exposed arms made Eva unconsciously gulp down; he looked terrifying. Even if the Chief was wearing thick clothing, there was no doubt there weren’t feeble sticks for limbs underneath them.

The princess was taken aback, unable to tear her gaze away from the Chief’s ones, and going against all her modal teachings. Those blue eyes were hypnotic and unreadable, like his face.

That was the man she was going to marry.

Erwin Smith.

[everlarkficexchange]

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan​

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams​

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous] 

Rating: Mature 

Warning: Mention of whipping 

A/N: My thanks to @everlarkficexchange​ ; @javistg​ and @xerxia31​ for allowing me to go way over the deadline. It was a real struggle but I’m so excited I finally have something post-worthy. My apologies to the 2 anons who have been so patiently waiting for their prompts to be turned into stories. I hope you like what I’ve written. A special thank you to @sunsetsrmydreams​. This story would be nothing without you. 

 ~~~

Chapter 1

“Trust me.”

I did. I trusted Katniss with my life, and so it seemed at the time…with my impending death. 

After everything we both went through to survive, enduring the pain and horrors only The Hunger Games could bring, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. 

The Capitolites craved this abhorrent form of entertainment and under the watchful and devious eye of President Coriolanus Snow, thrilled at the sight of children kill and be killed.   

As it was in previous games, once the first wave of bloodshed was spilled, tributes from Districts 1 and 2 formed packs like wolves and hunted down the weak and vulnerable one by one before turning on themselves until only one was left standing.   

The Victor.

All this savagery was broadcasted live each year across Panem in all its goriest detail and deemed mandatory viewing for every citizen.

Through it all, Katniss and I beat the odds and fought our way out of the gruesome web the Gamemakers spun to be the last two remaining tributes from the same district. But I should have known better…should have never allowed myself to be duped into believing the odds would at last be in our favour. 

All our valiant efforts to stay alive was thrown in our weary and battle-scared faces. 

President Snow had no intention of honouring the change in rules by allowing both of us to live and for the first time in The Hunger Games infamous history, have two tributes jointly crowned as Victors. So when the words bellowed in the air announcing the revocation of those rules, it came as little surprise to me. 

The promise of a peaceful life and all the wealth any citizen could ever want held no sway over me. Already knowing the odds would never be in my favour, I accepted my fate. 

For as long as I could remember, it had always been a fanciful dream of mine to live a life with Katniss, if she would allow it. Dreaming of our toasting and the vows I would say to her as I broke a piece of bread I baked myself and brought it to her sweet mouth. The feel of her soft body as we made love for the first time, even as far as raising a family of our own someday was a stupid pipedream, and I foolishly clung onto it all. Any hope of it becoming a reality was ripped from my grasp and shattered into a million pieces. 

The choice was a simple one. When we were reaped, I vowed to do everything I could to protect Katniss even if it meant sacrificing my own life so she could live. I had no chance of winning and besides…no one needed me back home. But it became apparent Katniss had other ideas. 

“Together?”

The sound of her voice echoing my question came as a soft whisper and in that moment we understood each other. If we couldn’t leave the arena together, then we would die…together. 

In the face of death itself, that one singular word gave me a strange sense of calm and peace. 

“One.” 

Starting off the count knowing how little time I had left in this cruel and merciless world, the chance to tell Katniss what I’ve always felt in my heart was before me…and quickly ticking by. 

“Two.”

I inhaled a deep breath sure the words would flow but instead my voice fell silent. Time was clearly against me but how many words would I need to express what Katniss meant to me?

In the precious dying second, my hand as if possessed with a will of its own, reached for her braid. This was something I had always longed to do and if I couldn’t say those words to Katniss, then I hoped she would feel them through this one innocent touch.

I would have given anything to sketch those steel grey eyes staring back at me. A chance to kiss her deeply and unravel her braid as I gently combed my fingers through the silky dark tresses the way I hoped she would like. Just one last chance to watch over her as she slept soundly in my arms and whisper the words she should have heard me say years ago.

But this was the cruel reality I was faced with and the closest thing I would ever get to realising any part of my dream. And I made sure not to let that final moment between us slip by.  

“Three.”

I focused on the only image I would take with me into the darkness…her eyes.

Slowly, we brought the handful of poison berries to our lips, ready to end this before the Gamemakers took the choice away from us when the deafening sound of Claudius Templesmith’s desperate shout rang out from the hidden audio speakers, freezing us both from any further movement.

“STOP! STOP! STOP”

…and so we did.

***

All that seems like a lifetime ago instead of weeks. The Hunger Games, The Victory Tour and everything in between changed after the cameras finally stopped rolling and we boarded the train for home. And as we sped closer to District 12, Katniss began to withdraw from me and eventually shut me out completely and it confused me.

What did I do to make her feel so indifferent towards me?

Those lonely nights on the train were the hardest to deal with. Sleeping without Katniss beside me was a new torture all on its own but it was what she wanted. I guess in the end, conscience got the better of her and I was finally put out of my misery with the hurtful truth.

It was an act…a show that Katniss and our mentor Haymitch Abernathy devised to fool the Capitol into believing we were star-crossed lovers desperate to be together even in death, only it was me who was completely fooled.

But their plan worked, and it kept us both alive. The cave…the embraces…the whispered words…all those kisses were just part of the act and she wanted to forget them all…but I didn’t.

When we finally arrived home, the citizens of Twelve were all at the train station to welcome us home. To my astonishment, they were cheering us both as heroes. Perhaps they too, were acting in front of the cameras. But as soon as the scripted speeches were done and the crowd slowly dispersed taking Katniss and her family along with it, the finality of it all hit home.

I was alone.

***

Living in the Victor’s Village was a new start. But even in our proximity, Katniss avoided having any sort of contact with me. I tried my best not to let it affect me, but the hurt I felt inside festered like an open wound.

I missed her so much.

At first, I blamed myself for Katniss distancing herself from me. She said she wanted to forget and maybe I reminded her too much of the arena and the nightmares those memories brought her.

But I had nightmares too.

Hearing her screams in the dead of night will haunt me forever and even now, it takes all my willpower to stop myself from crashing through her front door and rushing to her side.

She doesn’t need me.

At first, I thought time alone would help her figure things out in her head and I of all people, understood. But time wasn’t what she needed. I finally came to terms with what was real.

Gale Hawthorne had been her choice all along.

***

As one lonely day slowly creeps into the next, working in my family’s bakery has been my saving grace, helping me cope with my new life a little more each day. With both Bran and Rye learning new trades from the Merchant businesses they successfully married into, it left my father with no resources to help run the bakery, making me his only viable option.

The strain showed on his face and although dad would never admit to it, especially in front of my mother, I knew he needed my help desperately. So, when I suggested I could work in the bakery for a few hours each day, he accepted my offer in a heartbeat. In an odd kind of way, it felt good to be needed even if I was being used to keep our family business afloat.

It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

Understandably, my older brothers were quick to register their new living and working arrangements at the Justice Building, automatically forsaking any claims of inheritance or ownership of the bakery. But it was a small price to pay as far as they were concerned, if it meant being free from under our mother’s thumb.

So, technically speaking I am now part-owner of the Mellark Bakery with all rights and privileges bestowed to any Merchant business holder, making mother my employee.

An ironic twist in fate.

***

Safely hidden in the darkness of my own room, my racing heart begins to calm after waking from my usual nightmare. As it is on most nights, my first compelling impulse is to rush towards the opened bedroom window and look in the direction of her room and breathe out a sigh of relief when I see her.

“It’s okay…just another bad dream…she’s safe,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the shadowy figure pacing the floor from across the way. Even in the darkness of her room, I would recognise her silhouette anywhere and she’s becoming alarmingly thinner by the day.

Katniss always leaves her lamp on during the night because she fears being left in the dark. Her phobia started soon after her father’s tragic death in the mines and the thought of him being buried alive in the explosion has left her emotionally scarred. At least that’s what she told me once before she drifted off to sleep in my arms.

Now, each night I watch on helplessly as Katniss paces her room. When I leave my house in the early hours of the morning for the bakery I try so hard not to look, but it only takes two steps outside my front door before my eyes dart towards her dimly-lit bedroom. She’s always there. Standing at her window, sleepless, anxiously twirling her messy braid around her fingers. When she spots me, she’s quick to move from sight.

I tell myself I must be imagining it, but I swear I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as I walk along the pathway, towards the gate. But I won’t allow myself to turn around and see if I’m right. She’s probably glad to see me leave while she waits for Gale Hawthorne to arrive.

It’s no secret Gale and Katniss are together now. My mother takes great pleasure in reminding me of this fact.

“Stop pinning over that Seam trash! She used you! It’s a known fact what she does with that Hawthorne boy in those woods. She’s probably carrying his brat inside of her. Time to get on with your own life and find a wife to help you in the bakery…a nice Merchant girl…someone pure like Delly Cartwright. She’s smart, pretty, comes from a respectable family. Those qualities are a rarity. Delly’s the perfect choice for you.”

Choice. Why do I always cringe when I hear that word?

I can’t continue to ignore the facts before me. Katniss hates me. She spends every Sunday with Gale sneaking off to the woods for hours. When they return, he stays at her house until late and the curtains in her bedroom which are usually left open even during the night, are drawn until he leaves.

I’m surprised Mrs Everdeen who was brought up with Merchant values would allow such a thing, but I guess after watching us in the cave during The Games and The Victory Tour, she’s not troubled by it now and happily overlooks her daughter’s lack of propriety because it’s with Gale Hawthorne after all.

I’m sure to hear the announcement of their toasting soon.

I need to keep reminding myself what Katniss does with her life is none of my business. What made me think it ever was? She’s clearly moved on with her life and maybe it’s time I thought about doing the same with mine.

For once my mother may have a point.

tbc…

[astraeagreengrass]

exile [the woods part 1]

When you wake up in the floor of your apartment, you have no idea of how much the world has changed

Word Count: 2.708

Warnings: angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, PTSD, brief allusion to a panic attack.

A/N: A month ago, Taylor Swift released her eight studio album folklore and, unsurprisingly, it took over my life. The stories Taylor beautifully narrates in her songs inspired me to write something of my own: the woods is a four-part, post-Endgame story, with some slight changes to the canon, featuring Steve Rogers. Updates will be every Friday. Thank you to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this and @thegetawaywriter for encouraging me to write. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. Here is exile. I hope you like it ♡

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now? you were my town, now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before so i'm leavin' out the side door

Being pieced back together was like a hangover.

Like drinking too much wine one evening and then waking up on a foreign bed, not knowing how you got there. It was a pounding headache, a churning stomach, a dry throat. The back of your teeth were sensitive and the sound of sirens rung too loudly on your ears.

In the aftermath of your intoxication, the city is deafening.

You groaned at the light - you must’ve been so wasted if you’d forgotten the blinds. Every breath took a toll of your lungs, stretching your muscles beyond their strength, creaking your joints as you exhaled.

Someone gasped, startling you.

The familiar floorboards of your apartment greeted you when your eyes opened. Timeworn almond timber, the New York staple. Craning your neck, you saw a foot. Shit. You weren't one to bring one night stands home, or actually have them in the first place. Little ol' you was a little too square, a little too cautious, struggling to keep her trust issues from spilling out of her hands. Definitely not the best candidate for loose-stringed affairs, but your grandma always told you there was a first time for everything.

The foot’s owner nudged you, and you groaned again.

“Miss?” they said. “Are you alive?”

I don’t know.

Your gaze focused and you noticed the person was a boy of eleven or twelve, with a beautiful dark mop of curls and soft brown eyes. What the...

“Who are you?” you managed to croak. There was an ashy taste in your mouth, as if you’d swallowed dust.

The boy looked up and across, and you noticed that, on your left side, his father was crouching beside your body. He looked just like the kid, except a couple of decades older, so you assumed he was the father.

“My name is Cal,” the man said, spacely, as if he’d might frighten you if he spoke normally. “This is my son Daniel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

"Nice to know the invaders won't hurt me," you tried to say, but it came out a jumbled, messy current of words, like a baby first learning to communicate.

"Invaders?" the boy exclaimed, insulted. "We live here!"

"Daniel!" his father chided. "Miss, what is the last thing you remember?"

You pressed a palm to the ground, trying to lay your weight on it so you could stand up. You weren't about to answer an unknown man's questions while laying face-down on your own apartment floor. You might be hungover, but you had more dignity than that. When your body crumpled like a twig under a boot, Cal held you up, helping you to a seating position facing the window.

Craning your neck to shield your eyes from the sun, you noticed it.

Golden brown leaves.

Golden brown leaves that shouldn't exist in May.

You clearly remember opening the windows yesterday to green, lively foliage. New York was many things - loud, chaotic, more often than not dangerous - but it’s seasons were consistent, enduring. Through the tempests and disturbances, nature persevered in her year-long cycle, living and dying and living again.

These particular leaves belonged to October, perhaps even early November, never May.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What day is it?” you whispered, wide eyes going from the window to the man aiding you.

Cal grimaced. His boy was suddenly very quiet.

When you were a child, you used to have nightmares: a ghost in the attic, a wolf haunting the woods outside your house, an IED blowing up your father's convoy in Iraq. They'd trap your consciousness, suffocating your mind with fear and panic, and no night light or teddy bear could stifle the onslaught of relentless screams that rattled the walls and hallways of your childhood home, until your frantic grandmother shook you awake. The reality that greeted you on the floor of your apartment was that Twilight Zone all over again.

“Please,” you pleaded, perhaps to the man, perhaps to yourself.

Cal sighed.

“Today is October 17th, 2023,” he said and you learned that the only thing scarier than a nightmare is life itself. “You’ve been dead for the past five years.”

“We could go to the house in the woods,” you mumbled to the warmth of Steve’s chest.

He tightened his hold around your body, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “You’ve got me for the weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” you smiled at him, finding the reassurance you needed in his indigo gaze.

Steve kissed you again, a fierce press of lips this time. Mouths and tongues and teeth intertwined, your hand finding hip, his hand finding you thigh.

“The whole weekend,” he breathed in the shell of your ear, right before the two of you became nothing more than a mess of pillows and sheets, drowning in love and want and lust. “And then forever.”

When the world ended, several hospital units closed down due to lack of patients.

When the Avengers managed to reverse the effects of the Snap - no one knew how they did it, but everyone knew it was them because of course it was - the mayor of New York declared the interruption of all kinds of activities in the city in order to help those returning. It was in a campaign hospital in Bryant Park that Steve Rogers found you, sitting up cross-legged and wrapped up in a grey blanket, having your temperature checked by one of the volunteers.

Wearing dark clothes and a cap, Steve was nothing more than a shadow behind the woman's shoulder. A lesser-trained gaze would glide past his figure in a quarter of a second, but not you. Never you. You'd recognize him in a sea of people, as if the blood that sustained you and the bones that built you knew exactly where to find him.

Steve had the decency to wait until the woman was done to approach you. With slow, clearly measured steps, he came closer, taking a seat at the foot of your stretcher. If he reached out his arm, he'd touch you, but he refrained and you were glad he did. In your mind, you saw him days ago, but reality told you differently. The calendar at the nurse's station, the newspaper you got a hold on, the constant broadcast of news: all of them mocked you, tormented you. Five years had gone by - more time than you’d ever had with the man across from you. And if there was ever any lingering doubt in your mind that this was some elaborate trick to fool you, they faded when you noticed the modest signs of aging that nothing but time and grief could inflict on a Super Soldier.

Again, a lesser-trained gaze probably wouldn’t catch them, but that would never be you when it came to Steve Rogers.

The two of you stayed in silence for minutes, watching a CNN report of a family reuniting in Idaho. The mother snapped right after the birth of her daughter - now a little girl with ginger pigtails, hugging her legs and kissing her hands. Everyday since you woke up on the floor of your apartment, there'd been thousands of stories such as this: parents finding children, husbands finding wives. The fallen - that's what the press called people like you, the dead that weren't really dead - all had the same lost look in their eyes. You supposed that's what happened when your clock was five years too late.

“What happened?” you finally asked when the broadcast changed to twin brothers reconvening in Hawaii. “What went wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at you, instead he kept pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“He was too strong,” he sighed. “And I thought I could fight him without Tony, but…”

You nodded.

“One of the nurses said he was badly wounded in the battle upstate,” you mentioned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But he’ll recover. Banner is looking after him. He’s got a kid now, you know? Tony. Her name’s Morgan.”

“Wow,” you smiled genuinely. “That sounds unbelievable and incredible at the same time.

“She’s a good girl,” Steve said. “Keeps Tony on his toes.”

On the TV, the two brothers embraced with a beautiful sunset as background.

“What about Sam and Nat?” you wondered.

Steve's fidgety hands stilled. With the left one he rubbed his mouth and chin until his skin was reddish.

"Sam was like you," he muttered and the implicit words hurt more in his voice than anyone else's. "Natasha… She didn't make it."

She didn't make it.

Natasha Romanoff. Natalia. Your mentor, your friend. The strongest woman you'd ever met. She didn't make it.

"What?" you gasped. "What do you mean 'she didn't make it'? Didn't she come back?"

Like Sam and the mother in Idaho and the twins in Hawaii. Like you.

Steve shook his head.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "She survived the Snap. Spent years trying to find something, anything, even the smallest possibility of getting everyone back and when we finally did… She sacrificed herself so we could have the Soul Stone."

"Sacrificed herself? For a stone?" you were extremely agitated now, the grey blanked falling from your shoulders as you looked at Steve searching for any sign of emotion. "Steven, look at me!"

 His eyes were glazed, a big blue sea threatening to spill over in waves of sadness.

"It wasn't a simple stone, Y/N. I'd rather not explain to you here, people can't know about this," he whispered, looking over his shoulder for anyone that could be listening.

"You mean they can't know why they disappeared and were brought back together like broken toys?" you exclaimed. "Toys that the Avengers can grab and then toss aside however they please? I'm not your toy, Steve!"

You knew you could be cruel. Ruthless. A child yelling ferociously at the top of her lungs until she got what she wanted. An angry teenager. An intelligence officer with obscure morals. But even when he left you without a goodbye, you'd always kept your forked tongue away from Steve Rogers.

Until now.

"Please," Steve pleaded. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything to you when we get there."

"I have no home," you spat. "I had a home three days ago when you came in saying something bad would happen, only to leave me again. Now I have nothing!”

Your tears were hot when they streamed down your face.

“I don't even know myself anymore,” you admitted and somehow that was worse than knowing you were alone in a world you didn't recognize. "All I know is dust. My bones were dust and now they're not. My heart was dust and now it's not. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm safe and that 'it's all over', but what is?"

You gasped, trying to breathe in some tranquility and breathe out some of the agony twisting your insides, but all that came out was a distressing wheeze.

"How do I know that I will not disappear again?" you cried and there was no more Steve, just a curtain of water contorting his figure, like one of those paintings he loved and you never understood the meaning.

The stretcher creaked when Steve pulled you to him, rubbing your arms back as he whispered your name.

"Breathe, Y/N. Breathe."

But you were so scared of breathing. So scared that you'd taste ash again and your lungs would collapse in dust, leaving not a shred of the person you were for people to remember you by. So scared of losing a game you didn't even know you were playing.

"Steve..." You weeped, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I'm here, my love. Just breathe."

You weren't expecting him.

After two years, the hope that kept you up at night waiting for him grew tired, dwindling until it was mere utopia. So you shut the windows, changed the locks and turned off the bedside lamp. Perhaps that's what brought him to your door, you thought. Maybe, wherever he was in the world, he felt your devotion waning, so he returned to haunt you.

You had to admit, though, that of all the ways you imagined Steve Rogers coming back to you, him ringing your doorbell at midnight wasn't one of them.

He looked handsome, with shaggy blonde hair curling at his ears and a beard, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.

It's hard when the one that hurts the most you looks so unfazed, meanwhile you're just a shell of what you used to be.

"You've lost weight," was the first thing he said, as if he'd left to grab groceries instead of becoming an international criminal.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, ignoring his greeting. If that could even be a greeting.

He sighed, mentioning with his head to the hallway behind you.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, letting him walk through. You didn’t bother turning the key because if anyone really wanted to get to him they wouldn’t be worried about leaving your door in one piece. Steve stood in the middle of the living room, his hands on his waist. An onlooker would never guess that he once belonged there.

“Did you hear about Tony?” He asked when you sat down at the armchair next to the window. The one you bought together in Ikea and Steve insisted he could assemble on his own.

“Yes,” you said. Tony Stark went missing after an alien ship appeared in Midtown. It was exactly the kind of disaster that would bring Steve Rogers to New York. “Have you found him?”

“No,” he replied. “But the same aliens that took Tony attacked Vision in Edinburgh. We managed to stop them from killing him, but he’s badly wounded. When he heard about Tony we flew to the Compound.”

You nodded. It was strange how you could feel so detached from these people- Vision, Wanda, even Tony in a way. They were once your friends, your colleagues. Now they just felt like characters in Steve’s tale - no longer part of your life, only his.

“And why are you here?” you asked.

Why did you come to the home we used to share? you meant to say. Did you miss it? Did you miss me?

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you could’ve found something on Tony and…”

“If you went to the compound it means you saw Rhodey and Rhodey has most definitely told you that I quit my job when the Avengers split,” you interrupted him. “I have no tech, no machinery, no means whatsoever to find Tony here, nothing that Rhodey has at his disposal Upstate. So why are you really here?”

He was a stranger. Cold and detached, like the house that once trapped him. There was no tenderness in the blue of his eyes.

“Something bad is coming, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I… I wanted to see you. I wanted to know that you were safe.”

You thought Steve Rogers was done breaking your heart. You thought that when you stopped expecting his return you’d go back to who you were before him, even if you couldn’t find that girl amongst the mess he made of you. You thought you’d be safe from love, and trust and kind soldiers with blue eyes, but you’d never be safe from him - your fellow and your foe.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” you croaked, holding back the tears swimming in your throat with a cough.

Steve fisted his hands, and for a moment you swore that he was stopping himself from holding you. But he just hung his head, tearing his gaze from where you were sitting by the window.

“Just stay home, ok?” he stated. “Try not to leave the house until this situation is resolved.”

Then he turned around and left again.

[poepoe-thebunny]

Damien The Littlest Brother

Or: Stuff Damian does with his siblings.

Dick

Dick in some ways was another form of idolization for Damian. Damian was so very young when they first met, younger still when Ra's and the league sunk their teeth into his heart and tried their best to tear it to shreds. Dick's role, part sibling part guardian, was the first major form of stability Damian had. Little Damian had been born with the mythos of The Bat hanging overhead, and the hope of measuring up to first his grandfather's and then his father's standards had nearly broken him.

Like a lot of children Damian didn't necessarily understand or appreciate what Dick was trying to do for him until he was older. But just like other children Damian clung to the emotional support and care Dick gave him, the care he had so often been deprived of.

Damian wasn't necessarily there for the events that shaped Dick and the rest of their family, but he is growing up in the aftereffects of it. Dick chose to give Damian the love he deserved, Dick chose not to punish a child for the situation he was born into. But Dick isn't perfect. He loses his temper, he gets frustrated, he gets things wrong, he makes mistakes, he bleeds. Dick, at least initially, was real and human in a way Bruce wasn't to a little boy who already had his future decided for him.

While he may not admit it, Damian looks up to Dick because in a lot of ways Dick is a better person than most. Dick is a good man, a better man than Bruce in some ways. He shows Damian what a hero actually is, and that the concept of being a hero isn't tied to the suit. Dick shows Damian that he can and is a good person, that he can make those decisions for himself and that his own emotional needs are not anything to be ashamed of. Damian is a boy first, not a weapon.

So Damian leans into his affection. There are shared naps after patrol, and days out getting ice cream or going to the zoo. Damian wakes a tired Dick up with a pillow to the face, and pillow fights and laughter ensues. Dick comes along to the school showcases, where an embarrassed Damian has pictures and paintings of their family up for all to see. He never once mocks Damian's desires, instead listening with seriousness to every moment of Damian's vulnerability.

That's what sticks with Damian the most. That Dick wholeheartedly believes Damian is a good person, that Damian can be good and kind and soft. He sees Damian fumble with his cool demeanor, growing shy and embarrassed when chatting with students his own age. Damian knows the names of most of his classmates, takes down random details that shouldn't be important to a stranger "We're NOT friends Grayson," but Damian talks to the youngest students about animals, and how to properly hold puppies. Damian has lists of underfunded animal shelters and regularly sends them to Bruce and Tim when preparations for the Wayne Foundation charity events come up. Damian knows most of the officers in Bludhaven since he occasionally stops by with something for Dick, a late lunch or hot drink or Dick's spare clothes in case he needs out of his police uniform. After many coos, head pats and cheek pinches, Damian is occasionally "babysat" by some of them while Dick is out on patrol of the police variety. He does not realize how much he has charmed Dick's co-workers, talking about his pets or his brothers.

Dick is the kind of hero, the kind of person, Damian was told wasn't real. That heroes were childish nonsense, that mercy and love were weak. The concept that someone could love him, that he was deserving of love instead of being forced to earn it, was foreign. But Dick Grayson was all of that. So Damian puts up less and less of a fight over the silly pictures they take together. Dick buys books about animals, and Damian grudgingly wears the cute stupid animal ear headbands Dick buys him. While part of Damian knows he won't be, the part that viciously beats "heroes" and "love" and "ice cream" back with a vengeance, another part of Damian, a very small fragile part, thinks that maybe if he grew up becoming like Dick Grayson the Person (TM) it wouldn't be so bad. "Awww thanks Dami!"

Jason:

Next to Tim, the Cain Instincts are strongest with Jason. Jason is constantly ruffling his hair, calling him names, and sitting on him. Jason does not give a single iota of a damn for any sort of authority except Alfred. Jason is not afraid of Damian.

So when Damian latches onto Jason's neck ready to strangle him, he laughs like it's the best thing he's ever seen, and a wrestling match ensues. They bond over it, over the goading and the competition.

They bond over books too, over stories and musicals and words Damian shouldn't care about but he does. Damian says he's too old for fairy tales even though he never had them to begin with, never had stories told when tucked into bed unless it was for a harsh life lesson. And yet Damian will find books as gifts for Jason, and Jason will read them aloud after Damian annoys him by pressing his feet into Jason's side. He swears up and down that the exaggerated voices and accented narration from Jason are done purely to annoy him. Damian constantly interrupts him, always asking questions and Jason tells him to shut up and be patient, "learn to listen demon brat."

They watch Disney and Ghibli, Laika and Illumination, and after a very enlightening conversation with one Tim Drake, Jason introduces Damian to theater. From Antigone to Romeo and Juliet, from West Side Story to Hadestown to Heathers the Musical. Bruce has walked in on them recreating various iconic sword fights too many times to count, quoting lines while dressed in blanket robes and crowns made of craft feathers and stick on jewels. Alfred thorough enjoys their riveting performances.

Like a lion teaching his cubs through play, Jason teaches him that he's never too mature for anything and screw anyone else who doesn't like it. Jason teaches him fun in a way Damian never allowed himself to have before, to look past his mission, and do things for enjoyment. He teaches Damian defiance and rebellion, two very important things for him to learn even if it's only interrupting rude rich people and disagreeing with his father over whether he needs to attend another gala.

Damian and Jason have a strange relationship, and initially aren't quite sure how to act around one another. Such large parts of their identity and experiences were formed by an indirect overlapping influence. Jason's death and the effect it had on the family and how they treat Damian, Jason's time with the league and the lazarus pit. But at the same time they understand each other in a way some of their other siblings don't. The strength and struggle in establishing their independence and identity means that their grudging respect turns into fondness with time.

Tim:

It appears that Cain Instincts don't particularly care if one is related or not, given the sheer amount of times Tim and Damian are at each other's throats initially. But with time they settle and grow more comfortable with each other, the words turn from anger to a grumbly sort of discontent, like irritated puppy's more than anything.

They bond over pride. They bond over failure. The two aren't that different really. They've seen each other at their worst. Missions with too many close calls, where the knife wounds cut too close and the bullets bit to deep, when the snap of Gotham's jaw came to close to closing over them and the only thing saving Gotham's Rogues from the collective wrath of two angry Robin's was the weight of their family's morals.

They had to learn to trust each other. But they do.

The insults are more to fill the silence, partially affection and partially with the need to annoy. They watch reruns of Star Trek and play Legend of Zelda in pajama pants (Tim) and hoody's (Damian), half draped over each other with his feet in Tim's lap. When Damian couldn't find one to his satisfaction, he gifted Tim a new skateboard with his own hand drawn and painted design. He sends a video to the family group chat of him laughing when Tim faceplants.

They are the DEFINITION of annoying to each other. Damian chucks clothes at Tim to make him shower, they get into slap fights over breakfast, they sneer at each other's drinks. "With all the coffee it's no wonder you don't grow Drake," While handing a sick Tim herbal tea for his throat.

It's an underlying trust that rarely needs to be affirmed. But when it does Damian won't hesitate to let his opinion be known. Whether it be high school bullies mocking his gangly brother, reporters trying to pit the "blood son" against the "Boy CEO", or shady members of the Gotham elite with too much interest in his family and his company, Damian's blunt attitude comes back with a vengeance. There will be no Wayne Charm, no shop talk, no backhanded compliments, when Damian Wayne gets between them and his brother. It's "I trust my brother," and "No business with the likes of you," or even "When I said you two weren't on the same level, I meant that you were the incompetent one."

Tim always tries to scold him, tells him he shouldn't be petty, I can protect myself demon, but he smiles while he says it.

Stephanie

She teases him mercilessly, will smile sweetly while "blackmailing" him and challenges him to do things he has never done before. Damian won't admit he enjoys any of it even upon threat of death. She's loud, annoying, and demanding and unapologetically so and Damian is convinced she was dropped on her head as a child. Stephanie is his sister and he loves her as a younger brother would, hurling insults at each other while fighting over french fries drinking smoothies in some fast food restaurant at 2 in the afternoon on a day out.

What strikes him about Stephanie is that she demands respect because she knows on a fundamental level that she deserves it, that all of her hard work was her own and she knew she could do it even when everyone else thought she didn't belong. As he grows Damian comes not only to admire her, but finds this a very important lesson to learn for himself.

Stephanie pushes him, she encourages him even if it's hidden under mutually shared insults. On days where she "babysits him" (she does not, Damian tells himself he doesn't need a babysitter he doesn't) she's perfectly happy to work on their motorcycles together, or have random picnics in the park with bags of fast food, or challenge him to rounds of ping pong. They learn eventually that they make a very good team together. Either destroying Tim and Jason in video games, the occasional local ping pong or DDR tournament when visiting Gotham U, or spur of the moment plans in a night time fight. Stephanie is crazy enough to believe it will work, and Damian is crazy enough to believe Stephanie will follow.

Stephanie understands what it feels like to constantly have to justify yourself, to be told you can't measure up and that you're place isn't here, even though you know it is. To have the weight of your family's decisions hanging overhead for the judgment of others.

So they learn to love each other through healthy competition and teasing remarks. Stephanie shoos him off to "talk to kids your own age, don't be so serious!". It's normal, in some ways the closest to normal Damian has had in a long time. And though they won't say it out loud, it's nice to know someone else agrees that they are entitled to these moments of happiness, these moments they were stripped of and denied for so long. They believe in each other and their right to happiness. Damian will never doubt Stephanie's strength, as spoiler or Batgirl or robin or Stephanie, and in return she will never doubt him or his place in their family.

...

Even if that means trying to escape when she wants to play dress up. "I am not your doll Brown," "Fine fine, whatever you say short stack."

Cass:

The moments between Damian and Cass are silent, but if you believe nothing is said then you are entirely wrong. They speak to each other quite often even if they don't use words.

He watches her dance, and thinks she is so strong. Damian swears she could have been a princess in another life, if life had not sunk its fangs in and poisoned her with pain instead. Just as he would have been a prince. While he initially tried to hide it, Cass always knew he was there. Damian watches her. Damian hears her words, her joy and her tears, and puts it down on to charcoal and paper. I hear you, and he shows them to her, how her form litters his pages as she pats his head. There is, Damian thinks, a poetic irony in seeing something so dangerous create something so beautiful. She is art and deserves to be heard, and Damian is grateful that she hears him too. He lets her look at pages of charcoal and ink, at canvases of paint full of everything Damian can't put into words quite yet, and finds understanding.

But while he is a Wayne, he was an Al Ghul at one point and his mother gave him the training every prince should have, skills beyond his sword. So one day, as she stretches, he brings in a case and sets it down with a clunk. He tunes the strings and plays Tomaso Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor, as she watches him with eyes that understand far too much, eyes that say I know, I hear you baby brother. Damian almost wishes she didn't, partially due to the struggle of his own pride, but also because no one should ever have to understand that kind of pain.

Moments with Cass are quiet, but they are never silent. Cass teaches him understanding, helps teach him empathy. And while Damian knows he can never dance the way she can, he can play and sketch and paint and between them their secrets can no longer be secrets. Cass doesn't teach him how to feel ,no, he's always been too good at that. Instead she teaches him ways to coax them out when the words won't come, to look around him with the wonder he wasn't allowed to have before, to let him be defined by a different set of skills that shows he can create something beautiful too.

Duke:

Damien thinks Duke is "cool", like the kind of cool you see in movies and TV shows, the average teenage boys in jeans and sneakers who fight for the underdog and stand up to bullies in a 3-on-1 fight even if they know they won't win. There is a conviction in Duke that rivals Damian's own, and Damian can't help but admire someone willing to strike out on their own and do something when they felt others were failing.

Duke is "Chill" as Jason likes to say, he's low pressure and not pushy in a way that Damian appreciates. He's calm, not in the stoic way of some of the others, but in a way that doesn't put Damian out of his comfort zone with expectations.

Time spent with Duke often consists of puzzles and card games, or movies. Duke is very good at using Damian's own pride against him to "trick" him into playing, but together they do everything from DnD to Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters. It's relaxing.

Duke tells him about school and if Damian is having trouble with the more normal things of being a tween, like worrying whether other kids like him, or wearing something embarrasing, Duke brings him out of his own head. Duke plays along with his competitive nature, challenging him to races the few times they patrol together. He finds Damian outside drawing, and teaches him soccer. Other times they sit there together, Duke writing whatever comes to mind while Damian sketches. Damian gifts Duke a detailed portrait of himself; standing in the center of the crowded streets, body spliced into neat clockwork-style segments with patches of his Signal uniform, the red jacket from his time in the "We R Robin" crew, his sports uniforms, and casual clothing, the bright light of his powers bursting from within in a halo under the Gotham smog. He is Gotham's daylight protector, unique and gifted, and Damian respects that.

It's not easy, Damian is still young and cocky, still isn't very good at saying what he feels. But Duke sees right through his attempts to play it off, and it's always met with head pats and a "Whatever you say lil' D." Damian won't say it out loud but he thinks that the sheer conviction Duke has for doing what's right bleeds into every aspect of him, and that maybe with time it will do the same for himself. Damian admires his strength of will and determination, and the work Duke is willing to put in to get what he wants.

[springtimebat]

Dragon-Smoke

The monster was born on an October morning. 

The mother lay on a makeshift bed, her legs in the air, her hands grasping the iron bars of the headboard. Three midwives, three fates cutting a golden thread, three phantoms, three pairs of pincers held her down and interfered with parts of her body she never let anyone touch. Not even the father. Her hair, once golden brown, had greyed. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her nose was snotty and her mouth yelled obscenities at the autumn air. She screamed at the looming circus tent, at the freaks, at the demon, at the father, at the husband and finally, at the cross. It lay there. Just...lay there. Golden, holier than thou, on the old steeple wall in the mother’s mind; it scoffed at her with an imaginary mouth and wicked eyes. She’d been a nurse years ago. She’d wanted to be a nun. 

“Bless you,” The cross snarled from another place not so far away.

The father stood outside the tent, his golden curls waving about his head as the wind danced. At every other birth he’d been in the operating room when the time came. The first few times holding this wife’s legs down with the rest of them, leaving sticky, silky marks all the way up her calves when he had a passionate turn. The last few times he’d sat in the back, smoking a pipe and yelling encouraging words over his wife’s curses. It had been in the afternoon then; that was no time for a man to lose himself to the throes of passion. His eyes were just slivers as he looked up at the warm morning skies, their golden reds and their dark golds twisting among the stars and the waxing moon. A waxing moon. All the others had been delivered on a full moon. The father took a puff of his cigarette (he had just moved on from pipes, at a companion’s request when the smoke became too thick to stand) and gave a smile that would make the devil shiver. This would be a special one.

The father, all alone, began to think of past times. He began to remember what it had been like to be Billy Young, over a lifetime ago. He’d never done that before. The name seemed so stifling then. Once it had chained him down, placed a giant padlock on his chest, directly over his heart. He’d not been a man of power. A man of importance. He’d just been Billy; the third son of Harold Young. After that, the fourth child out of a future nine. He was one of nine. That’s how he was seen. By his father. By his mother. By his older brothers and sisters. Nothing special. Nothing extraordinary. But he’d shown them. They were all gone now. He’d outlived them. Once, there had been a family of twelve, ruling the carnival freaks. Now, only Billy Young remained. The freaks answered to him and only him.

Lucy Albarn floated past him, a dove in the guise of a penguin. He’d noticed her one day. One ordinary day with a not-so ordinary outcome. Billy Young had been marching with his freaks; a top hat sat on his head, a smirk spread across his face, a clown and a blind girl held onto his sides, begging for scraps of his glory to devour. Billy Young was a king. The father sighed wistfully as he recalled his top hat; his crown. He’d seen all sorts that day, as usual, but no one stood out. A cold eight in the morning had turned into a boiling four in the afternoon and wearing his jacket hadn’t been such a grand idea. He tried to find a place where he could calm down, compose himself, as the heat threatened to strip him away. That was when he saw Lucy Albarn, her eyes like saucepans, staring. At him. At him! Not Harold Junior, not Allister Young two years his senior: him. She saw him gazing at her, taking notice, and her mouth opened slightly in a little gasp. He shifted a little, his stance grew askew. His hand flew up and gave a wave. Lucy Albarn waved back. He saw her now in the cigarette smoke, waving and grinning slyly. It was funny; he was there for a short time, always moving, always changing, always followed by a circus, always shadowed by the tent. She had been there, in that town (he couldn’t remember the name), probably all her life, and she stood there, looking him in the eye (and oh, how big her eyes were), smirking at him. Grinning. It was a secret smile, the one Lucy Albarn had given him that day, in the horrible heat, just before her other penguin friends whisked her away from him for a short while. It was a friend’s smile, it was a lover’s smile, it was a wife’s smile. It was a smile that he’d tried to get her to show him ever since. It was the smile that made Billy Young realise he liked Lucy Albarn. It was that secret, devious, evil little smirk that made him realise he wanted to marry her. 

The next few years were a giant blur, cut into ribbons by his addiction to cigars, rum and producing heirs. An incident in an alleyway may have happened, involving Billy Young, Lucy Albarn and three or four strongmen and a burlap sack. At least, Lucy Albarn had testified that it had happened. But, as everyone knew, she wasn’t quite… right anymore. She hadn’t been since the first baby, the clowns would occasionally mutter. Billy disagreed. He’d say she went wrong on their wedding day. He stood at the altar with the priest who’d kindly agreed to officiate (abruptly, suddenly, there was a flash of a gun cocking, a bat being drawn from the carnival folks mass of hands, claws and hooves), waiting proudly, patiently, as she walked down the aisle. Her hair was still a golden brown, hidden by his mother’s old veil, and she hunched over as she stumbled up to them, ashamed. And, as the priest began to recite his scripture, she looked up at Billy Young for the first time in weeks. She gazed at him, her owl eyes glazed over like glass. Then, she gave him a small smile. It was not the smirk he desired; no she’d never pull it again, not after the first one got her into so much trouble. It wasn’t really a smile, if he was being honest with himself. It was just a slight curve of the lips. It was a small cry of mercy. Billy Young realised, then and there, that this was Lucy Albarn’s final attempt to plead with him. After being taken from her home, being beaten by a group of strangers and being caged in a freak show for three never ending weeks, she was about to break. As she gazed at him with those glass eyes, she searched this man for any sign of Billy Young; the boy with the top hat, the boy with golden curls, the shade of the sun, the boy who noticed her in a crowd of thousands. The boy she had smirked at. He smirked instead, when she looked down and her shoulders slumped. Moments later, a priest declared that Lucy Albarn was now Lucy Young, her husband lifted her off the ground and strode towards his tent (their tent now) and to their bed. 

His wife’s silence finally brought Billy back to earth and he turned back towards the same tent, now threadbare and drenched of colour. The three midwives pushed their way outside, their mangled hands holding bloody towels. They began to bicker amongst themselves, about pay, about personal rights, but they saw their master out of the corner of their eyes and put on their brave faces. They were all simpering and sweet smiles. It made him feel sick. Lucy would do the same thing once he made his way to her. That was the worst part. 

Billy Young of Young’s Cabinet of Curiosities cleared his throat, “Everything in order?”

“Yes sir!” One midwife with a missing eye said.

“A normal birth sir!” one with a snout for a nose said.

“Here’s hoping it’s a healthy one sir!” the last with a stump instead of a leg said.

“One to live a long and happy life sir!” They all croaked together as a loansome chorus.

“Hmm cheers,” Billy grumbled, “How’s Lucy?”

“Fine. Fine. Could have another ten chillies, if you wish it sir.”

“Good,” Billy changed focus to the tent. Inside was silent. Unnaturally silent.

“I’d like to see my family. I won’t be at the big top for the rest of the day,” with that, Billy let his cigarette fall to the ground and crushed it under his rider’s boots, “Wilson is in charge ‘till I return. You three get back to work.”

The midwives raced away towards the shadowy hills, grumbling about promotions and the unfairness of it all. Billy watched them go, taking his time. He had all the time in the world. Lucy had all the time in the world. The baby had all the time in the world. Slowly, he lifted the flap of the tent up and stepped inside to greet his family.

How many was it now? Surely it had been about ten right? Ten babies. That meant it had been at least twelve years. Twelve years full of babies, travelling, Billy Young. In all of those years, Lucy had never given birth to a child that didn’t scream. Margot, Janie, Billy Junior, Kyle…. All the others that had gone before she could give them names. They’d all had a powerful set of lungs. 

“They all took after their father,” Lucy thought grimly as she pulled herself up out of bed. They’d left the tent in disarray; towels had been thrown onto the floor, a shelf had been pushed on the way out, leaving her books in disarray and a stained mattress growing strange, green fur out of its sides had been put next to Lucy’s bed. The monster lay on that mattress, wrapped in the threadbare blanket his brothers and sisters had been nursed in. Still, something else was wrong. 

“Something’s missing,” Lucy realised, scanning the room.

Then it hit her. She turned to the tent entrance. The cross that had taunted her was gone, stolen from the patchwork wall.

Lucy sighed,”Strange thing to take,” she thought to herself as she went to meet her new baby. Still, she shouldn't be surprised. She knew she was surrounded by strange folk. 

The baby was small and thin, which made Lucy worry. 

“I can’t have another one,” She whispered, picking the thing up, “I know I can’t.” 

Then, the baby’s hand, bright pink and chubby, grabbed onto her wrist and the mother’s fear faded away. It was a boy, which would please the demon once he decided to make himself known. He had hair; all his siblings had been bald. Not only that but it was a dark, dark brown, wild and curly as his little head swivelled around looking for food. Lucy pulled her dress down and put him to her chest, being rewarded with a clumsy slurp a few moments later. As he ate, his eyes went up to her face, startling her. He wasn’t squinting. No, he was staring at her, as if he were fully aware of everything. His eyes were blue. Forget me not blue. Lucy smiled. All the others had green eyes,their father’s eyes. These were her eyes. They were the one pair of friendly eyes she’d seen in a long, long time. It sounded crazy, but this baby looked almost...sad. It seemed to understand everything within minutes of its birth. Lucy relaxed and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, listening to her son’s noises as if they were a lullaby.

“You’re gonna be ok, aren’t you?” she asked her baby quietly. The baby blinked in response.

The father strolled in from the morning light, his top hat on his head, his eyes tired and weary. Billy smiled proudly once he saw his wife feeding their newborn son on the bed. 

“You’re gonna be ok right?” He asked, with a voice like honey. Lucy grunted, trying to focus on her son, who’d stopped eating and was now nuzzling his head against her breast. Quickly, she hauled him over her shoulder and patted him on the back. The baby burped quietly soon afterwards.

Billy chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed. Lucy tucked their son back into his blanket and pretended to look at the wall. 

“Can I hold them?” Billy whispered. Lucy sighed. She hated when he begged her. He sounded so pathetic. She slowly handed the boy over to his father, taking extra care to support his head. Billy smiled at her then turned to his son. 

“It’s a boy,” Lucy whispered, lying back on the pillows. Her back made a terrible cracking sound, making Billy turn to her. 

“You just relax for a while. I’ll get the midwives to nurse him for you,” He stroked the baby, curling a few locks of his hair around his thin fingers. The boy gurgled and his father cooed in delight. Lucy furrowed her brow, suspicious. 

“No, I want to do it. He’s mine.”

Billy shook his head, “You need to rest. You can’t even take care of yourself, much less a baby,” He stood up and walked the baby around the tent, bouncing him in his arms. The boy squealed, “You got a name in mind yet, honey?”

“No,” Lucy closed her eyes. She never thought of the names. 

“Huh. Ok.” Billy stroked his son’s cheek, thinking. The baby began to gnaw at his nail.

“I like this one,” Billy chuckled. Lucy groaned, “How about Owen eh?”

“Sure that’s nice,” Lucy moaned. She just wanted to sleep. Billy bent down to sit next to his exhausted wife in bed.

“Look at that, you’re both out like lights,” He showed her Owen, who had begun to snore. Lucy rolled her eyes. Billy stroked her forehead with another hand, catching beads of sweat. 

“You two get some rest for now okay? I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Sure.”

“Love you honey.”

“Yeah, I love you too.” 

Billy handed Owen back to her and lay down on the bed, staring happily at the ceiling. Lucy glared at the sleeping baby in her arms; the son her husband seemed to adore almost immediately.

“I thought we had a deal,” she thought, “This is not how you stay okay.” 

The newborn answered with a snore.

Lucy kissed her son’s forehead and fell asleep with him her aching arms.

[a-libra-writes]

Steady - Stannis x Wife!Reader

Hi, no one asked for this shit but hERe I AM WITH IT. I swear we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled imagines and alphabets after this hahaha. Thanks for being patient while ive been recovering, i finally feel human again :p

Summary: idk its smut and domestic fluff and some backstory i just. This stuff gets away from me, yall. Takes place just a year or two after Robert was crowned.

Y/N finished her cold drink with a speed that was quite unladylike. She at least refrained from releasing a heavy breath as she set the goblet down. Her handmaiden gave her a look of understanding and a handkerchief to pat herself down.

“Shall I bring you another drink, my lady?”

Y/N wanted to say yes, but drinking this much honeyed ice-milk probably wasn’t great for her stomach. The sweetness was going to catch up to her. She patted her brow with the handkerchief and said, “Just water, if you please.”

The handmaiden bowed and exited the room. The woman’s face had only the slightest pink on her nose and cheeks, and she still looked cool in her simple clothes. She probably didn’t sweat until she walked at a brisk pace.

Y/N was the Lady of Dragonstone, sister-in-law to the king, and yet she felt far less elegant sweating like this in her parlor. She’d braided her hair and wrapped it high in a bun to give her neck some relief; coincidentally that was also the fashion in the South. The only jewels she could manage to wear were simple and light, and most of her Northern wardrobe was changed out for beautiful yet thin dresses of linen.

Her father would’ve balked at her wearing them, but he wasn’t the one withstanding this Southern summer. The ocean air coming from Blackwater Bay and these damned iced drinks were her only reprieve in the day.

At least in the evening, the air was blissfully cool and smelled of the ocean, although she had to be careful of the direction of the wind – she still wasn’t used to the more rancid smells of King’s Landing, and she likely wouldn’t ever be. She’d rather sweat to death in her own skin than invite that filth into her room.

She moved to the cushioned seat below a great window that overlooked Blackwater Bay, and as she opened the window, she saw the water peppered with all manner of boats, ships and sails. There was nothing like watching the sea and ships to help pass the time, and they were often her companions when she read or wrote.

She had brought her book and only read a few pages before she became distracted. One of the sails looked familiar, and it reminded her of one of the first nights she’d arrived and marveled at the bay, and the beautiful view right here in her chambers.

Y/N wondered how long she stayed sitting on the roomy windowsill, propped up by her pillows, watching them all. It must have been some time, because her newly wed husband approached her of his own accord.

“You’ll want to close that window before you sleep,” Stannis said. He had to lean down a little, as to not completely tower over her. “There’s all sorts of foulness in the air here.”

Y/N nodded, she’d already smelled it as she arrived. “I was just watching the sunset, and the ships. I love how the water sparkles under them.”

He said nothing, and Y/N had grown used to that in the short time they’d been married. She rather liked it, as she was not much of a talker herself. Too much of her childhood was her father forcing her into the circles of well-to-do ladies with eligible sons, and then in her maidenhood, being forced to talk to the sons themselves.

She had pointed out into the sea, toward a large vessel. “I’ve only seen that sort of ship twice. What is it?”

Stannis stepped closer, enough that she could pick up his body heat, and his tall body leaned over her to look out to the bay. “A Myrish trade ship, likely the property of a spice merchant. Do you see the scorpion on its sail? That’s common for Myrish ships. It’s either reptiles or insects, or coins. The thread embroided on that sail is gold, I’m sure of it.”

He grew up on Storm’s End, after all, watching the coast of Shipbreaker Bay, and his current seat was the island of Dragonstone. She wondered if Stannis Baratheon had ever been away from a coast for more than a few weeks.

Likewise, Y/N had never been away from her mountain home until she married. As horrid at the heat of the South was, she could tolerate it if it meant she stayed by the sea.

“I love it,” Y/N said, and meant it. She smiled at him like she smiled now, remembering the distinct color that rose to her husband’s cheeks that evening. It was strange how the court talked about him, how they had such distaste for what they considered a rigid and cold person. She hadn’t seen him that way.

True, he was always tense, but that’s because he was always thinking about far too much, far too often, concerning himself with this or that issue with the realm. It was his job as part of the small council, after all, but he seemed to carry a heavier burden than the others. Y/N wondered about that.

Lady Y/N was so lost in her thoughts, she forgot her handmaiden was returning with water. She thanked the girl and asked, “Would you happen to know when the small council meeting will finish?”

“Perhaps not for another hour, my lady.”

She had some time, then. Y/N returned to her book and leaned against the cool stone wall, glancing at the waves now and again. Again, she began to neglect the words on the page and let her mind wander.

From the beginning, Stannis was different. He traveled all the way to the North to formally ask permission for her hand. He wanted a proper courting period, but being the relative of the King and having a duty so far away, he had no such luxury – not that her father would dare split hairs about tradition when it came to a king’s brother.

Still, he took her hand in the foyer of that cold, frigid castle and apologized for not giving her a proper courtship, one a lady of her standing deserved.

At that moment, Y/N realized that she had never been apologized to. She was certainly never given one by a lord.

He was sincere, Y/N could tell. She could always remember the suitors who lied, who made empty promises to her father and emptier ones to her. Her father sniffed them out eventually, often too slow for her liking, and threw them into the cold. It wasn’t for her sake, not really - he wanted a powerful alliance with an older house, to give standing to their relatively newer name.

They had money and a beautiful daughter,  and what name was more deserving of both than the one that held the throne? Y/N should have been humiliated by his brazenness, but with Stannis, she could keep her dignity. All in all, Y/N could have done much worse.

She was never foolish to fancy what her marriage would be like; it wasn’t a luxury she allowed herself. Still, Y/N’s heart hurt at the thought of not marrying in a Godswood, as true Northern women ought to do. It was during this whirlwind courtship that Y/N asked, “My lord, is it true there’s a Godswood in the Red Keep?”

“There is, but it is no true Northern godswood,” Stannis said. “It is an acre of fine trees that are centuries old, but the heart tree is not a weirwood.”

He won’t lie to me. She thought. Not even to spare my feelings.

She always tried to keep her expressions even, to never betray her true emotion, but she must have shown something. Stannis added, “The ceremony will be in the Great Sept. It is a grand building, with seven towers. Many a bride would wish to marry there.”

“Many a Southern bride, perhaps.” Y/N said. She would be honest, too. “Still, I’ve heard much about the Great Sept’s beauty, and its seven towers and stained glass. Are they as grand as everyone says?”

“Yes.” Stannis responded curtly, and they stood in silence for some time. He suddenly continued. “The heartree at the Red Keep is not a proper weirdwood, true, but is a great oak. Tall as some towers, covered in old vines that try to curl into the wood. The gardeners have grown bright red flowers underneath, to honor the weirwoods in their way. It is not a proper Northern godswood, but it is a vast and well-kept wood in its own right. The ceremony can’t be there, but afterward, you can visit it anytime you like.”

He was trying to comfort her, Y/N had realized. He will try to spare my feelings then, in his own way. What a peculiar man.

When the day arrived, the Great Sept was indeed beautiful, unlike anything she’d ever seen. All seven towers glittering rainbows down in the sun, and inside, the beauty of the marble and statues of the Seven stole her breath. Even if they were not her gods, this was their place, and she felt their presence and humbled herself.

The stained glass shone bright across the marble floor, a motley of dancing colors, as though the gods were glad of their union. She ascended the tall steps in a dazzling gown of white silk and diamonds, Myrish lace and a train that followed long behind her. Stannis waited for her at the top, looking as still as the statues of the Sept, but she saw his eyes fill with softness as she took his hand and he helped her to the top step.

His fingers brushed her shoulders gently as he removed the cloak embroidered with her family’s sigil. With just as much gentleness, he wrapped her in a cloak of gold and black. His rough fingertips brushed her bare shoulders during the exchange, and it made her shiver a little.

The Great Septon spoke many elegant words, and Y/N was thankful she faced away from the crowd for most of the ceremony. She was positively sweating from the silk and warm Sept, but she kept her head high. She could feel a nervous energy radiating off Stannis, even without looking at him, although she stole some glances. He cut a good figure in his own groom’s clothes, although he stood as though he weren’t used to it.

A week after the ceremony, when she still struggled to adjust to her new living quarters and the Red Keep itself, Stannis suddenly asked her to accompany him. She took his arm and wondered with great curiosity where they were going. Then she understood.

It was an acre full of Northern trees, the godswood he had mentioned some time ago, and the great, stately oak was before her. It had more twisting, knotting branches than she could count. Two large men could hug the trunk and their fingers wouldn’t touch, and it was covered in a blanket of soft ivy vines, with a swath of red and white flowers growing under it. It was far more beautiful than he said.

Y/N couldn’t find her words, and she gazed at the heart tree until she heard Stannis ask, “Is it acceptable?”

As if either of them could change it if it wasn’t. This godswood had existed since the Red Keep had, after all. She spoke honestly. “It’s far lovelier than I could’ve thought. What an elegant heart tree.”

Stannis was pleased, she could tell. He didn’t tense up when she squeezed his arm and stood closer, or when she slightly pulled him down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I did nothing deserving gratitude,” Stannis said, although he didn’t speak with his usual assuredness, and he glanced away from her.

He was terribly awkward with women, she knew, and even months later he was trying a very methodical way to approach their marriage. It was what he knew, and that comforted him in this strange, new territory. Y/N understood, but she liked to trip him up when she could.

In fact, she was quite fond of doing so. One could say Y/N was fond of him. It was a novel idea, being fond of one’s husband, looking forward to toying with him, and being quite amused when he tried to please her.

More than that, she liked seeing his cheeks or ears turn red when she thanked him for helping her, praised something he did or gave him sweet affections. It seemed he was unused to such things, and didn’t know how to respond to them – and Y/N wasn’t a woman of conceit, but she was confident her beauty only contributed to his reservations.

Recalling these fond memories and thoughts, Y/N decided she wanted to fluster her husband a little more, and she was growing frustrated that he wasn’t here. Finally, she heard doors opening in the parlor room, and the shuffling of a chair.

Being the brother of the king, and a member of the Small Council, Stannis was given fine dwellings inside of the vast Red Keep. The apartment was made of several rooms - a parlor for entertaining that often went unused, an office for Stannis that included a small library, a bathing area, a dressing room, their shared chambers, and so on.

Y/N noticed both she and Stannis preferred to hide away in their apartments when the court was becoming too much, as it often did in the Red Keep. She set aside her book and found him by the large table in the center of their parlor, mulling over papers and books that likely didn’t fit on the desk in his office. Had he carried all of these here? Y/N recognized a star chart, and a diagram of a galley.

First, she pushed aside several curtains to give the place more light. Then she walked toward the serving table, already stocked before Stannis arrived, and poured two goblets. She set one down next to Stannis, then she sat next to him on the settee. He didn’t look up.

Hearing a sound she didn’t like, Y/N scooted closer to her husband and gently took his hand in her chin.

“What–?” Stannis startled, nearly knocking a goblet off the table. Before he could speak, Y/N ran her finger along his jaw.

“You shouldn’t do that,” She said, speaking softly as not to disturb the peacefulness that had settled over the room. “Your jaw will ache by the evening.”

“I know,” Stannis said briskly, but he touched his jaw where her fingers were a moment ago, and there was color rising to his cheeks. He really didn’t seem to notice how often he ground his teeth, and Y/N noticed him wincing and rubbing his chin.

It was amusing that just a small touch like that, or their shoulders brushing together, or her adjusting his doublet in the morning or offering to unbutton it in the evening; all would stir the stern man to blushing silence. It’s not that he disliked her, Y/N was sure. He just wasn’t always sure on how to proceed, and besides, his mind was often occupied with work.

Even if she admired the work ethic, sometimes she worried about the toll it took on him. Y/N smoothed his shoulder, sorting out a wrinkle in his grey doublet. Stannis’ dark blue eyes darted straight to her hand.

“The council ran late today, didn’t it?” She said, using words to distract from her touches. “Perhaps you should take an early supper, and continue this work afterward. You could use the respite.”

Stannis responded how she expected. “It’s important that I get the fleet up to shape by the end of the year. Renly has been dodgy with the standards of quality, and Littlefinger still needs to find the coin for the sailors and shipbuilders.”

From what she understood and heard around the Keep, Stannis was often at odds with the small council, but especially his younger brother Renly. They were of a different generation, years apart in maturity and experience, not to mention how the King favored Renly’s more lackadaisical governing. Y/N understood being in the middle of strong personalities. She nodded, “Indeed, but you’ll find yourself in dire straits if you don’t nourish your body or rest your mind. I could have your dinner brought here.”

Stannis considered it. “You would be dining alone in the great hall.”

“Yes, I want to avoid that, so I’ll dine here as well.” The king’s courtiers could be far too rowdy, and gods forbid if Y/N had to spend another evening pretending to enjoy the queen’s cloying smalltalk.

Before Stannis could protest, Y/N added, “I won’t be in your way. I’ll eat here in the parlor, while you take the office, or whichever works. Perhaps I’ll watch the ships.“

Stannis still had a thoughtful expression, considering her words. Y/N took the opportunity to place a surprise kiss on his cheek. She could feel the taller man shift a little in surprise.

“You won’t hear a sound from me,” She said sweetly, her lips still ghosting next to his skin. She felt him shiver, too.

She knew what the courtiers and lords whispered about them. They had the nerve to pity her, as though she’d made a poor match.

“That will keep,” Stannis finally spoke, now looking pointedly at his papers and not her. "You don’t have to … stay in another room. We can supp together.”

Pleased with his answer and her progress, Y/N stood slowly, ensuring their bodies brushed together a little, and making sure he could see how her dress clung to her hips. “Then, I’ll leave you to this for now. I’m going for a walk.“

She left the parlor, hoping he was watching her go as the thin dress fluttered about her legs and swaying hips.

She was sitting upon the bay window and gazing out at the Blackwater again, as she did in the evenings, but it was exceptionally late. Stannis thought she had gone to sleep after they shared supper. Most of the candles in the chamber were extinguished, save for a few on a tall table beside the window. The flames danced sharply when the sea breeze came in.

“You’re still awake,” He said, speaking quietly as though their voices would waft out of the thick stone walls and wake someone. “Did you sleep?”

His lady wife was in a nightshift made of thin cotton, specifically the one that hugged her waist tightly and dipped to expose her chest. Those features, plus how it pooled at her feet even when she sat, made it seem a bit inconvenient. He’d say as much to her, but often he was distracted with how the fabric slid along her body.

She smiled at him, and it was comforting to see that at the end of a tiring day. He found himself looking forward to it more and more. He wouldn’t consider the Red Keep his home, nor was Dragonstone, but something about Y/N gave him that feeling.

“Oh, I woke up and thought I would wait for you.”

“You don’t have to do such a thing. You ought to sleep and keep away from the window,” Stannis said, but it came out much less stern than usual. Y/N noticed how his broad shoulders weren’t as stiff as they usually were, and when he removed his boots it seemed to take more effort than it should’ve.

Y/N glided off the windowsill, as graceful as a ghost, with her skirt flowing behind her. She promptly began removing the fasteners on his doublet. Stannis wanted to tell her it was unneeded, but his energy immediately went to stifling a yawn. It came out as a harsh breath, instead.

“You deserve to get some proper rest,” Y/N said, using that tone. Combined with the graceful fingers that had already opened the doublet and touching his chest, he shivered. He bent his knees so he could slide the doublet off his shoulders, and Y/N set it aside carelessly.

Her fingers pressed against his chest and nudged him in the direction she wanted. “It’s the dead of the night, dawn is only hours away, and you’re still up. You should look after your health, dear.”

Her sweet endearments and worry was completely at odds with how her lips kissed at his neck and her hand traced downward. He must’ve been more tired than he thought, because when she held his face in her hand his chest squeezed as though she held his lungs instead. Y/N kissed him and he leaned against the wall behind him, pulling her in closer.

He leaned into her touch, yearning for it, something he didn’t know he needed right now. Y/N broke their breathless kiss but quickly went back to kissing along his jaw, making his stomach flip with each one. When their lips met again, his hands squeezed her waist and the other ran down her hips. He could feel her warm, flushed skin perfectly through the thin nightgown, and didn’t want to admit how much he loved running his hands down it.

He may have been much stronger, but Stannis didn’t resist as Y/N lightly pushed him properly against the wall. She was lovely, soft and warm, and he was helpless when she was like this, running her hands up her chest and wanting him - he hoped it was want, even affection, anything other than duty and obligation driving her actions.

Stannis pulled her closer, grasping her hips, hearing her become breathless again. A moan caught in Y/N’s throat as his strong grip squeezed her, and his burning face pressed against her sweet-smelling neck. His feverish kisses were firm and made her squirm against him. “Y/N.”

“Come to bed,” She shuddered as he moved down to her collarbone. Her order was followed eagerly. Stannis easily gathered her in his arms, her nightgown slipping up her legs. She still planted kisses on his face and neck that made it difficult to navigate the dark to their bed.

Stannis tried to set her down easily, but her warmth and touches were distracting, never mind his own arousal. Before he could make sense of the darkness, Y/N was tugging on his shoulder to bring him into another kiss. He found her waist and pulled her close.

Y/N slipped her legs up his sides, her dress falling easily and his fingers made up for the chill that touched her skin. Stannis slid up the fabric until it pooled at her waist. In the candlelight, she could see how flushed he was, and his blue eyes had darkened enough to almost look like the bay.

“Not tired anymore, hm?” Y/N teased.

In spite of their current position and what they were just doing, Stannis felt himself flushing anew. Bluntly, he responded, “No, not at all.”

She giggled in a way that made him want to steal even more of her breath, so he did, kissing her neck and feeling her skin tremble under him. His other hand ran up the leg that was already hooked at his waist.

Stannis pressed himself against her, grunting at the friction. He was surprised at his own desire to stay here and not pull away, even if his damned trousers needed to be dealt with. He was bombarded with a myriad of lustful thoughts, especially as he touched Y/N’s thighs. Of all the thoughts, a distinct one kept surfacing: He wanted to lick them.

Maybe if he wasn’t sleep deprived and in a lust-addled haze, he’d be scandalized. It seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do right now, reasonable, even. Y/N had wonderful legs. They should be kissed and appreciated like the rest of her.

His thoughts were interrupted when she impatiently tugged at his arm. “Stannis, touch me. Please.”

It was then he realized the candles were fast going out, and it was mostly shadows in the room. He wanted to see her face so badly.

“Y/N, I ... I want to taste you,” He stumbled out in a mess of words, his breath coming short.

Y/N’s hips rolled up and grinded against his, making him groan and quickly pin her down in place. She always moaned from his rough tough, like now, and her legs nudged him. “Then do it,” She said, her impatience laced with lust.

With that consent, Stannis pushed her long nightshift aside so roughly, he thought he heard threads rip. He slid down and kissed her legs, relishing in how hot they were. He kissed her thighs, tasting their delicious warmth, and grabbed her calf as he pushed her open further.

“Ah, gods-!” Y/N gasped. She squirmed again, so Stannis gripped her legs harder, feeling how his fingers sunk into the soft skin. She was so beautiful. Stannis had seen pretty women, objectively beautiful ones, and heard how men lusted and admired after them. He’d never understood until now, and he was sure Y/N couldn’t compare to any of them. They must’ve not, if he hadn’t felt this way until now.

He kissed the inside of her thighs, feeling her quiver under his lips. She arched into him as he kissed just outside her smallclothes. She was soaked through; he could smell her warmth and even feel it. There was still anxiety in the back of his mind, the fear of doing something wrong, as he often seemed to do with women… Although he hadn’t ever thought of doing these things to them.

Stannis slipped off her smallclothes and let them hang around her ankle. The anxiety still climbed up his chest, and he wished he could see her, not just the shadows of her lovely body.

He ran his thumb over her clit, feeling how wet she was, hearing her instant reaction. Y/N’s thigh flexed under his other hand’s firm grip. “Ah! Stannis, please …”

Having his sweet wife beg under him was almost too much, so Stannis didn’t make her wait. His tongue ran up her cunt, pressing against her clit, tasting all of her wetness. Having her warmth around his cock was much different than this. If Stannis stopped to think about it, he might enjoy this more - but he couldn’t think anymore.

Y/N arched back sharply and raised her hips, so he had to hold her down again. He may have been more slight than Robert, but he still had a man’s strength, and Y/N whimpered as he used it.

Stannis took a heavy breath. He tasted her on his lips. “Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, you aren’t. Don’t stop, keep like that.” Y/N quivered. Her heart is beating quickly, but she knows his is probably thumping like a rabbit. Just to please her, her husband gave a tight squeeze to her hips with both his hands while his tongue lapped at her.

Y/N didn’t try to quiet her moans, and she said his name and praised him. Stannis’ hand slipped up from her hips to up her stomach, feeling her flushed skin. He wanted to focus on her pleasure, something to think about so he wouldn’t come undone so early.

Her fingers found his hand and she squeezed it before bringing it to her lips. She came as she kissed his fingers, her lewd voice filling up the room, and for once Stannis didn’t worry about anyone overhearing. The sensations of her warm breath, soft lips and wet core were taking away all his attention.

Y/N enjoyed the feeling of his strong fingers around her’s, still rough in spite of him being a lord. Coming down from her high, she playfully licked a few of his fingertips and said in a low, sweet voice, “Thank you, Stannis. It felt so good~”

“Y/N,” Stannis almost stuttered her name, and felt foolish for it, but he was buzzing while she was still coming down. He found himself pressing his body against her smaller one, his heart hurting and his cock aching at the same time. She reached for him, and he more than eagerly pulled her into his grasp.

She wanted him to be close, she wanted him. Stannis kissed her neck and when she ran her hands down his broad back, he almost buried his face in her shoulder to hide. It was too much, she was too much. He wanted to think straight, for just a moment, but he could still taste her juices on his lips and he wished it wasn’t over so quickly.

The stormlord felt fingers running through his dark hair, nails gently scratching along his scalp. The other hand traced up his back and made him shiver.

“Come here,” Y/N still had some breathlessness in her voice, but she was ready to keep going. Her desire hadn’t cooled off, if anything, it was stronger. “Stannis …”

With her sweet words, the strange feelings in his chest - panic? - kept swirling. Stannis remembered his own arousal, and moved his hips against Y/N’s, effectively pinning her underneath him. She sighed and wrapped those legs around him, bringing him closer.

“Please,” She said, and that was all it took for Stannis to set to awkwardly removing his trousers. They were a damned prison, and he was glad to be rid of them.

He grasped her hips again, his fingers pressing into bruises he already made earlier, but she still melted and moaned under him. An anxious thought tried to pull him away, telling him to be careful – but that became an afterthought as she spread her legs and he easily sunk himself in. If her skin was on fire, then her core was an entirely different heat that he wanted desperately.

Stannis bit at his lower lip harshly, knowing he wouldn’t last long. Y/N met his thrusts by rolling her hips, digging her nails in his arm and gasping words he lost track of. He heard his name several times, and when he picked up his pace, she stumbled over it in the most wonderful way.

For a few minutes, the sound of their bodies and breathes was the only noise, until Y/N cried out and her moans faded into whimpers. Stannis felt her squeeze around his cock, and for the dozenth time he wished for light so he could see her wetness drip around him. He wanted to clean her with his mouth, he thought instantly.

The image of her core dripping from their union and his tongue back inside it was enough to make the Baratheon shudder and groan her name. Stannis thrusted harshly and came shortly after that.

He had to catch himself on the bed, the fatigue of the day and their actions catching up at once. Y/N’s hands idly wandered up his arm, then held his face, and the darkness bothered him again. The candles had long been out. Y/N tried to kiss him, but she missed and got his nose.

Stannis flinched and Y/N giggled. Her fingers slowly felt for his lips. “Sorry, let me try again.”

Her legs were wrapped around his waist, he was still inside her, and Stannis felt a bit lost. He lowered himself, very careful not to rest too much weight on her, and let her pull him into a long kiss.

What was he supposed to say? What were the words for the thoughts that came racing back, like they always did after he and Y/N were together? He didn’t want to leave her warmth, but it was late, and his body felt heavy.

They eventually untangled themselves, and Stannis found a cloth to clean Y/N’s legs. He was willing to leave to get their nightclothes, but Y/N pulled him back and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Are you thinking?” She asked.

“Yes.” It was a strange question, but he answered simply. His tired mind was rattling off all sorts of nonsense, of the council and his duties and Y/N and their marriage.

“Try to sleep first,” Y/N said, knowing saying that was usually futile, but she knew he was exhausted. “Let’s discuss it in the morning, hm?”

Stannis didn’t want to leave his wife’s embrace, but he’d be damned if he’d fall asleep by her whilst lacking an undignified amount of clothes. After adjusting some blankets and finding some clothes, they were back to Y/N resting her head on his chest.

“Do you want your nightshift?” Stannis asked, trying to be casual about the bare body pressed against him.

Y/N hummed. “Hmm, no.”

He tucked the blanket around her anyhow. Being from the North, she claimed the night’s humidity and heat was enough, but Stannis was still convinced she’d get a chill. She eventually moved off his chest, but still stayed close, her breathing starting to even out as she fell asleep.

Tired as he was, Stannis still couldn’t rest until after her. When she was close like this, it gave him hope that she cared. Fulfilling the expecting duty of a wife didn’t have to include being as close and comfortable as a cat, but here she was. In the morning, if he accidentally woke her up as he got ready, he knew there’d be a sleepy smile for him.

Stannis frowned but fought the urge to start grinding his teeth. Intead, he pressed his cheeks against his wife’s soft hair and took in the smells of her soap and perfumes. His breath crossed her forehead, and Stannis’ last thought was wondering if it troubled her.

"I understand there are congratulations in order,” Sabitha said, getting straight to the point, as she often did. As they pulled away from a strong hug, she wasted no time in looking pointedly at Y/N’s abdomen. “That dour stag got a fawn on you. What a fine thing.”

Y/N shook her head at her old friend’s words. So direct and a bit unladylike, as always. It was good to see her again. They grew up together, their fathers and Houses being close, but then Sabitha had been married off and sent all the way to the Reach. The day she left, it was like losing a sister. Y/N was so sure they’d never see each other again.

Now, given her position, Y/N could arrange visits, especially with Sabitha’s husband being involved with trade in King’s Landing. She and Y/N planned to take in the sights and enjoy the court feasts, but more importantly, they had lots to catch up on. It had been almost three years since they last saw each other.

Their laughter echoed softly through the winding garden, and soon the two ladies arrived at the private docks that led to the back of the Red Keep. Ships rarely came here directly, but one could get a clear view of which galleys were coming into the main ports of King’s Landing.

The sea wind blew their hair and dresses where it pleased, and they ducked under rows of orange trees to get a break from it. A bench was waiting for them, and Y/N found herself absently touching her stomach as she tidied her white linen dress.

“You’re hardly showing,” Sabitha commented. She was quick to retrieve a ripe orange from one of the trees. “I can’t imagine you’ve had to let any dresses out yet.”

“Wrong on both counts, Sab. See?” Well, she wasn’t showing as much as some would expect, but Y/N definitely experienced the annoyance of digging through her closet for something to fit, then giving up and just having the royal seamstresses do their magic. She imagined she’d have to call on them several times.

"Enjoy that, and how you look now, because soon you’ll be waddling about and looking like someone strapped pillows over your stomach and tits.” Sabitha finished peeling her orange and happily bit into it.

Y/N rolled her eyes and took a few oranges from the trees for herself. After some idle back and forth, Sabitha leaned against her friend and said with a mouthful of fruit, “So, tell me the truth of it, esteemed Lady Y/N of Dragonstone.”

Y/N made a face at the mess Sabitha was making, and retrieved a handkerchief to dab at her friend’s chin. “What do you mean, most dearest Lady Sabitha?”

“Don’t be coy. Your lord husband, the king’s brother. I’ve heard things about him, but none of it interested me until now. Tell me all about it.”

"About what, exactly?”

Sabitha sighed with impatience. "Your marriage bed, obviously. That’s his fawn, now tell me how he got it on you - details, please.”

"Sabitha!” Y/N blushed, but her grin matched her friend’s. Sabitha was trying to keep a straight face, like they were discussing a dull ball, but her own facade was cracking. She didn’t blame her friend, she knew the castle was whispering about it, people she’d never met congratulating her and courtiers staring pointedly at her abdomen. Some days she just stayed in the apartments.

A pregnant lady was nothing special, not normally. The problem is the Queen wasn’t with child yet, and Stannis was, well … Stannis. His cold reputation, combined with his brother’s known affairs and the Queen’s harsh temperament made for a volley of unsavory rumors that Y/N was constantly dodging.

Thank the gods Sabitha was here to distract her. Y/N didn’t tell her friend that she’d made excuses and avoided the court for the past week. She was strong, but the North was never like this, and while Stannis would grind his teeth and harshly rebuke any rumors, sometimes it was just easier for Y/N to get away from it all.

“I mean it. He’s tall, so he’s proportionate, hm? Not too bad in the shoulders, I suppose, and if he’d just smile once in a blue moon. Anyway, how do you talk him into it?”

“Sabitha, I’m not – oh no, I’m not entertaining this.” Y/N sputtered, and gave a light shove to her friend’s shoulder.

“You were always cold with men! I’m curious!”

“That’s because Father entertained some of the most foolish men I’ve ever met, if you could even call them that. I’ll have you know, Stannis takes very good care of me, and I’m fond of him.” It was a little embarrassing to admit such a thing, but it was the truth, and Y/N felt the warm affection come over her all over again. “He works hard for the realm, and for my comfort.”

Sabitha made an undignified little snort. She was halfway through another orange. “Oh, I see.”

Y/N blushed. “What.”

“Well, well, I suppose this summer air can melt anyone, hm? This is high praise, coming from the girl who’d step all over the Manderly boy’s feet to keep him from dancing with her, and made a Glover cry -”

“I didn’t! Well, so I did, but he shouldn’t have been so brazen!”

Sabitha laughed. “He kissed your cheek! You and Lord Stannis are perfect for each other. A glacier meeting an iceberg, both melting from a lustful summer heat - Ow!”

Sabitha cried out with surprise as an orange pelted her shoulder, then another at her chest, and she was quick enough to hop off the bench and run to avoid the third. She ended up falling over and giggling madly as she hid behind the trees.

“Y/N! Just because it’s summer – that doesn’t mean you can waste perfectly good fruit!”

“You’re lucky I don’t have tomatoes!” Y/N managed to pelt Sabitha one more time, and the lady squeaked with laughter. Anyone watching them would think they’d gone mad, or were two silly girls playing, not two married ladies.

“Please, my sweet lady, forgive me,” Sabitha cooed, finding her way back to Y/N and giving her a hug.

“Hugs won’t let you get away with everything,” Y/N said, even if she was already returning the gesture. She missed her friend and her family’s Northern keep, even her silly father and busybody mother. She sighed, leaning into the embrace and not liking the idea of Sabitha going home.

She felt her friend patting her hair, like she always did. “You can’t let the court control you and frighten you into hiding, not even the Queen.”

“Stannis thinks I should go to Dragonstone.” Y/N said. She hadn’t told Sabitha this yet. She’d never seen the gloomy fortress herself, but she’d heard tales of it, and read the books. She’d seen Stannis’ face and demeanor turn dark when he talked about it. Still, it was a reprieve …

“You shouldn’t,” Sabitha said, a little too quickly. She corrected herself. “I mean, I’ve heard the rumors. Some of them are … not pleasant. I think it would make you look guilty.”

“I am the Lady of Dragonstone, technically it’s my place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you and your husband have been doting and cooing - oh, don’t give me that face, as much as Stannis can - and for you to suddenly be sent away? It doesn’t look good, Y/N.”

Y/N sighed heavily. The weariness was catching up to her now. She felt like she had to expend more and more energy to do the things she always did, and Y/N wasn’t sure if that was because of the baby or all this sudden attention and intrigue that was being paid to her.

“You have a point.” She conceded. “I don’t want to go. I just … gods, no one really cared before. Now the Queen glares at me with those green eyes and anytime she talks to me, it’s like the whole room is staring.”

Sabitha nodded, and the two women sat together on the bench again, stray oranges around them. The sky and sea were still glittering brightly, but the mood around them had darkened. Sabitha tried to bring up a light subject. “Have you both considered a name?”

Wanting to change the subject too, Y/N said, “Stannis seems content to let me name the child, even if it’s a son.”

“How surprising. I’d think a man like that would have some sort of stuffy family name pocketed away, or worse, he’d go the boring route and name the child after the king.”

Y/N almost choked on a laugh. “Oh, Stannis would never.”

“And thank the gods, one is enough. Can you imagine a Roberta? Though my bet is on a boy with the look of his father.”

“You think so?”

“Well, I’d prefer a pretty girl or boy with your sweet face. Oh, that reminds me. Do you remember that knight who fought in the melee at Winterfell, it was some years back, let me think …”

While Sabitha told a long story, Y/N’s thoughts were still distanced. The worry of the court had been pressing on her so much, she hadn’t even thought about what the child might look like or be like. She thought of a steady boy with Stannis’ temperament and those clear blue eyes. Or maybe she’d have a pretty girl, one who looked like her, but with long black hair.

They were funny and strange thoughts, ones that gave her an odd mix of excitement, anticipation and a little anxiety. Had Stannis thought about it too? She wanted to ask him. Maybe he didn’t entertain such things, but she wanted to know.

She smiled, already thinking of what blunt answer he may give, or perhaps his eyes would soften, and he’d tell her something new. Something she didn’t know about him. In the safety of their shared chambers, he’d talk about Storm’s End, the good and the bad memories.

The Others can take the Queen and her tittering ladies. Y/N thought with resolve. I won’t hide anymore. I’ll smile now, and I’ll smile when I hold our child in my arms.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 1: The Princess

(from the ‘The Conman and the Maid’ series)

…in which a trip to the South changes a princess’s life forever. 

Word count: 5.4k

AU: princess!y/n, prisoner!harry, conartist!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage and her father’s rotten kingdom in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

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PROLOGUE

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a beautiful princess fell in love with a charming prince. It was love at first sight, and the prince risked everything and fought the evil to rescue the damsel in distress. After the victory, they ruled the kingdom in harmony and lived happily ever after...

But that was not the story you're about to read.

In this faraway land, the bad guys didn't always cloak themselves in black nor were they easy to spot. They lived among the good ones. Princes weren't always charming. But the princess didn't need a prince.

She needed a sword.

~~~

The snow fell weightlessly downward from the pure white sky, like colourless confetti in a wintry ballroom. It alighted on Y/N's face as softly as her mother's kisses, but it was cold, very cold. Her tiny gloveless hands were numb as she tightened her fingers around the grip of the wooden sword, trying to keep balance on her two awkward legs. Her mother had told her time and time again never to go outside without her gloves. But the little princess would rather lose her fingers than lose her weapon during a fight.

Her brother Egon stood a few feet away with his sword in his hand, mirroring her fighting stance, ready to attack. Egon was ten and she was eight. He was strong and fast, and their father — the King, was very proud of Egon's sword skills. Y/N knew there was no way she could beat him. She couldn't do that indoors let alone outside while she was freezing like this. Still, she didn't want to give up, so she hoped she would last longer this time.

"On guard!" Egon shouted and charged straight at her like a swift arrow. She managed to swing her sword and shielded her head from his wooden blade, but he continued hitting and she could only defend herself while stumbling backwards. One hit in the stomach and she was sent to the snow-covered ground.

"This is why a girl should not hold a weapon," Egon said with a smirk as the tip of his sword was just an inch away from the tip of her nose. "You can't fight, little sister. You only get yourself hurt."

Y/N propped herself up on her elbows and watched her brother lower his weapon and turn away, content with his victory.

"Can I try again when we get back?" she asked.

Egon looked over his shoulder, a corner of his mouth quirked up when he saw Y/N struggling to get up as her feet were sinking into the snow.

"Sure, dear sister," he said. "Then I can beat you up again and mother can't say anything about it."

Watching Egon race back to the castle, Y/N heaved a sigh and came to pick up her sword. The cold that had seemed mild at first was now almost unbearable so she must return home before she began to freeze, or worse, her father realized she had left her chamber.

.

.

.

"Y/N! You are late!"

"I'm so sorry, mother. I was—"

"Fighting again?" King Willem raised his voice and the distinct chattering of his men faded to silence. All they could hear now was the desperate howling of the wind through the portcullis. Everyone was looking at the little princess, for whom they had been waiting in the awful cold.

Y/N fidgeted with the fur on her white coat, her eyes were glued to her feet. She was too afraid to look up into her father's eyes.

"Please forgive me. It won't happen again," she pleaded, despite believing she'd done nothing wrong.

If she hadn't had to take a bath, change into a dress and wait until the maids finished braiding her hair, she wouldn't have shown up late. But she knew every word she said now would only get her into more trouble. It was better if she stayed quiet, like a lady should.

Meanwhile, Egon was sitting in his carriage with a mischievous smirk on his face. She knew it was him who had told their father where she'd been. Of course, he must have purposely forgotten to mention that he'd been with her the whole time. But even if she'd told the truth, her father would rather believe she was lying than punish his perfect son.

"Get the horses ready."

Willem turned away and the crowd of guards and servants scattered at his command.

The cold that was spreading across Y/N's skin was nothing compared to the look her father had given her as he headed to his carriage. If it hadn't been for her mother's sympathetic smile, she would probably have burst into tears.

Queen Meira kneeled down in front of Y/N and held her tiny face between her palms. The gloves felt so warm against the princess' cold flushed cheeks, which put a smile back on her face.

"Remember what I said, darling?"

"A princess should always be punctual." Y/N sighed, nodding her head. "I know, mother. It won't happen again."

Despite knowing she would break that promise one way or another, Meira still let Y/N get away with it and stood up, squeezing her daughter's gloveless hand.

"Come, my dear. Let's not give your father more reasons to be angry."

.

.

.

Every year, King Willem and his court would travel to the kingdom of Theros in the South to attend the annual summer festival. Edgar Connell was Queen Meira's younger brother and also the king of Theros. It was he who had taught Y/N how to fight with a sword and he was probably the only one who loved her more than Egon. In fact, her uncle Edgar didn't even like Egon, and that was another reason for Y/N to love visiting him. Egon couldn't lay a finger on her during their stay in their uncle's castle. Besides, the South was so much better than the North.

In the South, Y/N could stand under the sun and feel the warmth of those brilliant rays of light. She could also dance on a cushion of green while watching the strands of grass move in the breeze as easily as her hair.

Here in Isolde, it snowed all year round. Winter, spring, summer, fall, no matter what season it was, it was always snowing. Y/N guessed as you lived too long in the cold, your hearts would begin to freeze until it reached a point where you could feel nothing at all. That was why most of the people in this kingdom were so dull and sad.

Thanks to the Gods, she was blessed with a warm heart like her mother, a true Southerner.

Queen Meira had grown up in Theros, and it was only until she was married to Willem that she moved to Isolde. She had always said Y/N was more like her, while Egon was a Northern man like their father. That, and being a boy, had made life so much easier for Egon. He could go anywhere with his sword and fight anyone he wanted. But of course, Y/N didn't want to be like him and hurt innocent people for no reason. She just thought it was unfair that he was praised for violence while she couldn't even be seen anywhere near a toy weapon.

There was this one time her father caught her fighting imaginary enemies with a stick, so he broke the stick and locked her up in her chamber for two days. If her mother hadn't convinced him to change his mind, who knew how much longer she would've been punished? Nevertheless, Y/N didn't think she was wrong. It wasn't her fault that her father had never shown affection for her. He probably wouldn't have treated Egon the same way if Egon hadn't been a boy.

Y/N had overheard some servants in the castle call him a heartless monster who only loved the crown on his head and himself. And even though she understood why they had said something so cruel about her father, she knew for a fact that it wasn't true.

The one thing King Willem loved the most wasn't the crown or even himself. It was the woman who had been by his side ever since they were children.

"It was love at first sight," the queen had told Y/N. "He was everything I'd ever wanted. He was kind and patient and prudent. But to put on that crown, he had to leave so many things behind, one of which was that young boy I fell in love with. I love him very much, and yet, sometimes, I still miss the person he used to be. That's the price one has to pay to wear the crown, Y/N."

It was a lot for an eight-year-old to take in and Y/N supposed she would get it when she was older. Even if she didn't, it wouldn't matter. It was Egon who would be on the throne one day, not her.

.

.

.

It took about a month to travel from Isolde to Theros because the king and his court had made a few stops here and there before arriving in the South. Willem hated delays. But for every annual trip to Theros, he allowed one more stop by the Vidarr river right outside the castle. That was where he had met Meira for the first time.

It had been fate. They were supposed to meet in the castle, but Prince Willem had decided to explore the foreign land alone on that beautiful summer afternoon, and Princess Meira had decided to go to the river and pick some flowers for her mother's birthday. Their love story was almost perfect.

Y/N knew one day she would marry a prince as well, so hopefully, it would be someone who was just as madly in love with her as her father was with her mother. And of course, she would make sure that her husband stayed kind even after becoming king, the one thing her mother had failed to do.

Hopping off the carriage, Y/N turned a blind eye to the judging look her lady-in-waiting was giving her, and stretched her limbs like she'd normally do before a fight. Then, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was the smell they didn't have back home. The smell of flowers, of fresh dewy grass, of mud, of freedom, of summer. Real summer. So while her parents were lost in their own romantic world and reliving the good old days, Y/N snuck away from her lady-in-waiting and followed Egon into the forest. The children raced along the riverbank until they found a large tree and were far enough to be the only two there.

The water was green this season, darker in the shadows and more pale in the light, but still green. Y/N got down on her knees and flicked it with her hand to watch droplets scattering over the surface like rain, another thing that didn't exist in the North, just like snow in the South.

Just like her mother, Y/N loved the rain. It rained a lot in the summer in Theros so she got to see it every year. Meanwhile, many people in her father's kingdom had lived their entire life not knowing what rain was. And Y/N felt very lucky to be born with such a great privilege, which she always had to remind herself every time her brother made her feel miserable.

"What are you doing?" Y/N asked when she saw Egon stripping off his shoes and stepping into the river. "You cannot swim, brother. Neither can I. I won't be able to save you if you fall into the deep end."

"Does this look deep to you?" asked the young prince as he spread his arms, his knees hadn't even gone beneath the surface. "Join me, little sister."

Y/N shook her head without a second thought. "We should probably get back."

"Get back?" Egon snorted. "Go ahead. You're such a girl."

Those four words were all it took for Y/N to kick off her shoes and stand barefoot on the sun-warmed grass like a "girl" she should be. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea after all, she thought before holding up her dress and taking careful steps into the river. Once the water was flowing around her limbs and drinking away her body heat, she thought she could just stand there all day long.

But then, the princess felt something soft and mushy around her ankle. She tried to brush it off with her other foot but—Was it...moving?!

A loud scream tore through her tiny body as it collided with the surface and sank deep into the dark green water. Her arms and legs kicked out desperately as she tried to swim up but she couldn't. The water swirled around her, trapping her. Her head was throbbing and her lungs felt like they'd been set on fire. Where was Egon? Why hadn't he pulled her up? Those were the only questions she could ask herself before she felt a hand clasped around her wrist, dragging her upward to the daylight above.

It took a moment for her vision to clear, and a shadow towered over her, blocking the blinding southern sun.

"Can you hear me?" the stranger asked, his voice echoing in her head. And when she felt the warmth and softness of the grass beneath her body, she realized she was still alive and jolted right up, her forehead bumped into the other person's, both gasped in pain.

It was a boy. A kid, just like her.

"There, there," he said while rubbing her back as she coughed uncontrollably and spat out the water she'd involuntarily drunk. "Why did you go swimming when you couldn't swim?"

The little princess wiped her mouth and shot the boy a spiteful glare. "I didn't. I fell into the water. There was a snake!"

She expected him to be scared or at least shocked, but he only laughed and said, "there's no snake in this river. Maybe it was a fish."

Embarrassed, Y/N decided to ignore him as she pushed herself up and looked around, trying to recall which path would take her back to her family.

"Well, a 'thank you' would be nice?" said the boy as he jumped to his feet and wrung excess water out of the dirty old shirt he was wearing.

Y/N almost told him to get lost and stop wasting her time, but after taking a whole second to eye him up, she mumbled, "thank you."

She wasn't a monster. She felt very bad for how miserable he looked because of her, but she supposed she didn't look any better. She was drenched, her dress was stained, and her hair was once again an unruly mess. She didn't look like a princess anymore. She looked like...him.

With a smile, the green-eyed boy brushed his wet brown curls out of his face and extended a hand for her to shake. She only stared at it, and then at his face.

"Not a handshake person then?" he joked, yet she only responded with a shrug.

Normally people would bow when they met her or at least kiss her hand. This boy didn't know she was the princess so she couldn't blame him, but it didn't mean she wasn't slightly offended.

"What's your name, peasant boy?"

"Peasant boy? I just saved your life!" The boy chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not telling you my name. You sound like that crazy lady in my village."

His comment made her roll her eyes. "How old are you then?"

"Ten. I don't know what you could do with that information but—"

"So you're the same age as my brother Egon," she said, giving him a once-over.

This boy was taller than her so she had expected him to be older. What surprised her was how he was nothing like her brother at all. He talked differently and behaved differently, and he had just saved her life when her brother had left her to drown. So it was true then. Not every boy was the same.

"I'm eight," she finally told him. "And you are very strange."

"Me? Strange?" He pointed a finger to himself, looking quite amused and surprised. "Have you heard everything that came out of your mouth?"

The princess gave a slight shrug and ducked past him to follow the path she had recognized.

"Leave me alone. My family won't be so happy to see you."

"Why? I saved you, didn't I?"

"Yes, now it'd be nice if you saved my time by leaving me alone."

"That was uncalled for," said the boy, but he kept on walking with her anyway. "And I'm not following you. I'm playing hide and seek with my best friend."

"Hide and seek?" Y/N stopped immediately. The look on her face as she turned around made the boy cackle.

"What? You've never played hide and seek before?"

She had, with the maids, who were all older than her and always let her win. Egon had never played and would never play this game with her, for he believed it was made for the girls. So, no. The princess had never played hide and seek, not properly at least.

"Of course I have! All the time!" she lied and waved him off. "Now leave me alone and get back to your friend. He must be worried."

"She. Her name is Kenny. She's pretty like you, but much nicer."

"Your friend is a girl?"

"Well, she looks like one," he said, trying not to laugh, but his snarky remark went right over her head.

"Is she your betrothed?"

"What is a betrothed?"

"Someone you'll marry when you're older."

"I don't know." The boy shrugged, pursing his lips. "Maybe. If we both want to."

"If you want to?"

"Why should you marry someone you don't want to marry? It doesn't make sense."

Y/N didn't know that. She had always thought everyone was betrothed to someone when they were small and eventually fell in love with this person their parents had picked out for them. So it didn't work this way then. Interesting...

"Crow! Where are you?!"

The voice from the distance made both kids turn their heads.

"Oh, that's Kenny! I have to go!"

"Crow?" Y/N smirked. "Your name is Crow?"

"No."

With that one-word answer, the boy ran away without a goodbye, shouting, "I'm coming, Kenny!" and then, he was gone.

Y/N thought she was insane for even considering asking to come along. He might have been slightly annoying, but she really wanted to play hide and seek like a normal child for once. But then the thought of her angry father reminded her that she must get back immediately; otherwise, there would be severe consequences.

"Oh, hello there."

Y/N gasped, completely blanched at the stranger she'd bumped into. It was a woman, young and beautiful like her mother, with piercing grey eyes and icy silver hair. Her face was white, corpse-like white, and her lips were as dark as the color of her cloak. As she flashed a smile, her gold front tooth turned Y/N to stone. The princess took a step back when the smile on the woman's face slowly disappeared.

"Are you lost, Your Majesty?"

"Wait, how do you—"

Y/N didn't get to finish her question when a loud piercing scream tore through the serenity of the forest. The strange lady now stepped aside to make way for her.

"You should get back before it's too late," she said, smiling again.

Frightened and confused, Y/N started running. She sprinted as fast as she could, following the scream which she had recognised. It only got louder as she got closer, and by the time she'd made it back to her family, it was already too late.

She knew there would be consequences, but this was even worse than she'd imagined. Her legs gave in as she watched the whip crack down on the maiden's back. The princess' lady-in-waiting was screaming and begging the king to spare her life, but King Willem just kept on whipping until her light blue dress was stained with fresh blood.

"Y/N!"

The whipping stopped.

The whole scene sank into silence as Meira dropped down to her knees and pulled her daughter close. Willem finally dropped the leather whip in his hand, catching his breath and told the guards to take the maid out of his sight. She was unresponsive when two men dragged her away.

"Is she...is she dead, mother?" Y/N asked, tears were streaming down her face and she was shaking in her mother's arms.

"No, she just...she just fainted..." said the queen, yet she sounded just as afraid.

"Where have you been?"

"Willem—"

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

"I-I fell into the river, father!" Y/N cried out while clinging onto her mother in fear of being dragged away just like the maid. "Egon was there! He left me there to drown!"

"She's lying!" Egon pushed past the guards and rushed to the front. "I was looking for her but I couldn't find her so I came back to tell you, father!"

Willem put a hand up to silence the boy and glowered at Y/N, who was sobbing into her mother's chest.

"The princess will stay in her chamber for the rest of our stay. No one is allowed to speak to her except for the maid who brings her food."

"Father, no!"

"Willem, please..."

"And you." He turned to the queen and his voice started to break. "If you say one more word to defend her, you'll be locked up as well."

When he stormed off, Y/N looked up at the queen. That was the first time she'd seen her mother cry.

.

.

.

"Crow! Why are you wet?!"

Now, where could Harry begin?

He could tell his friend that he'd just saved a girl from drowning in the river, or he could make something up and save himself from hearing Kenny's same old lesson. But when the little girl gave him that worrying look with her big shiny eyes, he couldn't help it. He panicked. And whenever he panicked, he tend to mess up what he actually wanted to say.

"I met a girl."

"A girl?" Kenny arched both eyebrows in shock. "In the forest?"

"Yes. She was lost. I helped her get back to her family."

"That doesn't explain why you're wet though."

"Right..." The boy chuckled as he combed his fingers through his hair which had dried from staying out too long in the sun. "She...she splashed water on me."

"She splashed water on you?" Kenny gasped, her eyes only grew bigger. Harry knew he was going nowhere with this lie and he should back out while he still could.

"Just forget about her. She's gone now." He gave his hand a wave before reaching for hers to pull her along, but she didn't move. She shot him an angry look instead.

"Promise me you won't scare me like that again," she said, frowning.

Harry was left with no choice but to give her a nod and pull her into a tight hug. "Never again, I swear."

Everyone in their village knew about what had happened to Kenny's father last year. One day he was wandering to that same river and he never made it back. They found his body washed up on the bank a few days later. There had been many different rumours about how he'd died, but nobody actually knew what had happened. And since that day, Kenny had never come near a river or a lake again.

"Come on, let's get back to help your mum!" Harry said cheerfully with an arm around her shoulder. He felt like a weight was lifted from his chest when she plastered a smile on her face.

"You're only eager to help so you can attend the king's festival dinner tomorrow night!"

"Well, that's not...wrong," he said and they both laughed. "One day, Kenny, I'll become a lord, and the king will invite me to his festival dinner every year. I won't have to help in his kitchen to be able to attend."

"Will you take me with you?"

"To the king's dinner?"

"Yes!"

"Anything for you, my lady." With a smile, he took her hand and gave it a kiss.

He knew if he'd told anyone else about his dream, they would've laughed and made fun of him. But Kenny was different. She believed in him, and she always made his unrealistic dreams feel a little more achievable.

Ever since Harry could remember, he had fantasised about living the life of a prince even though he'd never even set foot near the portcullis before. That forest was the closest he'd ever been to the castle. As he climbed to the top of the tallest tree, he could see almost everything on the outside.

The walls stood mute as grey stones rose from the ground, defying entrance and protecting what had been entrusted to their care. Someday, he swore he would stand where knights stood and see what kings and dukes saw. Someday he would look through the window on one of those highest towers and the rest of the world — this forest, this river, would be so tiny.

But today, his place was in the kitchen.

His family was poor but Kenny's was not, relatively. Her mother worked in a kitchen of the castle which was quite a big deal for someone from their village. The Rowleys didn't like him very much. In fact, Patricia Rowley had bigger plans for her youngest daughter than being friends with a poor boy like him. Harry's father was a blacksmith, his mother was always ill, so his sister had to take care of most of the housework. He had no future at all. The Rowleys would never want him to be Kenny's—

What was that word the crazy girl had told him again?

Right, betrothed.

They would never want him to be her betrothed. But did he want that? What about her? Did she want that?

A smack on the head made Harry jump out of his daydream. He looked up and saw Patricia frowning at him. "You are here to work! Go out there and help Kennedy!"

Frightened, the boy hurriedly picked up the tray and carried the food out of the kitchen, to the tables at the back of the dining hall. They didn't let servants go anywhere near the royal family or their royal guests, but to see them from a distance was also a dream come true for him.

"That's the king of Isolde," Kenny told him as they hid behind the curtain at the very back to enjoy some fruits they had stolen from a drunk gentleman.

"Why is that seat empty?" Harry asked, pointing to the chair next to the Northern king.

"The princess couldn't make it. I heard that she was sick."

"Maybe it's too hot for her here," Harry joked, making Kenny laugh. He loved it when he made her laugh, even if it was unintentional.

"Maybe," she said with a nod. "The queen is very beautiful."

"Indeed. Do you think she's beautiful as well?"

"The princess?"

"Yes. I've never seen a princess before. I think she should be the most beautiful girl in her kingdom."

"What would you do if you could talk to her?"

"Oh, I would ask her to dance!"

Kenny didn't comment on Harry's answer, but as she stormed out, he realised it wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"Kenny, wait—"

Chasing after the girl, Harry accidentally bumped into a stranger at the entrance. His heart almost flew out of his chest when the beautiful woman flashed him a shiny smile and headed straight toward the king's table. Just like everyone else in the room, he couldn't take his eyes off her.

While all the guests were wearing the most colourful clothes, she was dressed all in black. Her skin was so pale it didn't look any warmer in the candlelight and her footsteps were so light it seemed as if she was floating. She looked like a ghost. A beautiful one.

Then, something else caught Harry's attention. He spotted a gold hairpin under the royal guests' table which he supposed someone had dropped, and nobody else had seen it because he was the shortest person in the room. The first thing that came to his mind was how pretty it would look on Kenny's hair. He had to get it for her, no matter the cost.

As King Edgar rose from his chair to welcome the mysterious lady to his castle, everyone was too busy paying attention to her to notice the little servant crawling under the tables.

"This is Madam Maggie," Edgar said. "She's a prophet, the most powerful one in the land."

"So she's a witch?"

"You can say that," Maggie smiled, unbothered by Willem's cynical remark.

"She communicates with the gods, and she can foresee the future," Edgar said, turning to the king from the North. "Willem, my brother. Would you like to see?"

"How?"

"I can read your palm and tell you about the future of your kingdom, my lord," Maggie said and there was already chattering in the background.

Willem was probably the least superstitious man in the room, so he just laughed it off and told her, "how about you read my son's palm to see what a great king he will be?"

Excited, the prince gave Maggie his left hand.

"The left hand represents your inborn fate while the right hand represents your destiny affected by different decisions and outcomes," said the prophet. "People's fates are governed by God while fortune is created by themselves. So which would you prefer, my lord?"

"Tell me about his destiny," Willem said after a moment of thinking.

"All right, my lord." Maggie gave a nod and stepped closer to take the prince's hand. The whole table fell to silence as she observed the palm closely and ran her fingertips across its lines. "You have two beautiful children. May I ask where the princess is?"

Edgar cracked a smile when he saw the looks of shock on his sister's and Willem's face and others'.

"The princess doesn't feel well so she cannot join us tonight," the queen said. And look on Maggie's face made her tremble.

"Is that so?" said the prophet as she turned to Egon. "If this boy becomes king, and he will—"

Egon sat up straight and fixed the crowd on his head as his father and mother smiled proudly at him.

"—your entire dynasty will go down in flames."

"Nonsense!" Willem roared as Egon withdrew his hand immediately. The whisperings of the other guests got louder as fear was etched on Willem's face, but Maggie still looked as serene as when she first arrived.

"This woman is mad! Guards!"

"Willem!" the queen cried out, but Edgar had already put up his hand to stop the guards before they could get to Maggie.

He turned to Willem with a stern look on his face. "Remember that Madam Maggie is my guest and so are you. A guest cannot request another guest to leave."

Willem was just about to reply when Maggie suddenly spoke, "the little princess, however."

"What about her?" asked Queen Meira.

"Princess Y/N is your only hope."

Maggie's short answer sent the whole table into chaos. While the other guests were discussing what the answer meant, the Northern family was frozen in their seats.

"Have a lovely evening, my lords and lady."

Bobbing a curtsy, Maggie turned away, and suddenly a tiny human jumped out of nowhere and dashed out of the nearest exit before anyone could figure out who it was. When they turned back, baffled and fearful, the lady in black had disappeared without a trace.

.

.

.

"Kenny! Guess what just happened in there!" Harry called out as he ran across the courtyard to where his best friend was sitting on the doorsteps.

She didn't look so thrilled when she asked, "is it about the princess?"

"Yes, it's—"

"Do you like her?"

Surprised by the question, Harry took a step back when Kenny got up and closed the distance between them.

"I haven't even seen her face!" he said, making her frown.

"You don't have to see her face to like her. Everyone knows she's beautiful!"

"She's a girl I don't know, Kenny."

"What about the girl in the forest? The one you do know." Kenny crossed her arms, her nose stuck up.

"She probably returned to her family already, and I won't ever see her again," Harry said and blew out his cheeks. "What is this all about, Kenny?"

The girl fidgeted with the hem of her dress for a moment before she could finally close her eyes and blurt out, "I like you."

"I like you, too," he said innocently.

She stared at him with wide eyes and mouth agape for a moment, but then realised he didn't get it so she waved him off and turned away. "You know what? Forget it."

"Wait, I got you something!" Quickly, he grabbed her by the arm and put the golden hairpin into her hand.

Kenny's eyes popped out when she realised she was holding actual gold.

"Did you steal it?!" she exclaimed, making him laugh.

"No, someone dropped it. Do you like it?"

"We must give it back, Crow!"

"We don't know who it belongs to," he reasons, giving a half-shrug. "Even if we did and returned it, they would probably think we stole it. I mean, look at us! Look at me!"

The way he humorously overreacted put a smile on the girl's face.

"Right," she agreed and pinned the hairpin on her hair. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry mumbled as his dimples popped up.

The children stared at each other for a long moment, and Harry believed his heart had never beaten so hard and fast. Before he could stop himself, the question just slipped right out, "do you want to be my betrothed?"

"What is a betrothed?" Kenny squinted her eyes and gave him the same look he'd given the crazy girl at the river.

"Someone...someone you'll marry when you're older."

"Oh...okay, then..." Kenny sucked in a breath, trying not to smile so wide. "Of course, Crow. I'll be your betrothed."

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Written for @azulaweek​. Prompt - Smile. (Thanks to @piandaoist​ for the screenshot!)

Summary: Azula doesn't know it, but when she smiles, the older members of her family see a ghost.

~~~

Y'know that smile Azula has? The one so scary it has its own leitmotif in the musical score? (Which might just be Azula's leitmotif but Azula and her smile are pretty intertwined so *shrug*) Yeah so here's my headcanon on that.

Title is 100% a Good Omens reference.

Enjoy!

~~~

It was easy to convince Zuko to play with her. All she had to do was sigh and say that it was fine if he didn’t want to, she understood, he couldn’t shoot his flames as high as she could anyway -

Zuko scowled and stomped towards the less-flammable part of the garden to warm up for what were sure to be some spectacularly average fire blasts. Azula smirked, pleased. Her brother didn’t see.

Lo and Li did.

Azula was only six, but she noticed the way people looked at her. She was learning how important opinions were in the Fire Palace, and how the simple act of observation was a necessary survival skill. She’d certainly had plenty of practice observing Father’s reactions to her firebending practice.

Azula’s smirk faltered, and she studied Lo and Li for a careful moment, wondering if they wouldn’t approve of her methods of acquiring a playmate. It might be trouble if they didn’t. Lo and Li had served the royal family for decades. They’d overseen the upbringing of most of Azula’s relatives, and they had the ear of Fire Lord Azulon. If Azula misbehaved, Father would hear of it.

Lo and Li didn’t look displeased, however. If anything, they looked briefly startled, and then oddly fond. Lo smiled, and Li shook her head.

“Best not to keep your brother waiting, Princess,” said Lo.

“Not after he so graciously agreed to play with you,” said Li.

Azula huffed and paid the old servants no more mind, dashing off to show Zuko how to do a proper fire blast.

“Up for some early morning practice, are we?”

Azula whirled around to find her grandfather had entered the training grounds. Fire Lord Azulon regarded her bemusedly, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a seven-year-old. He probably wasn’t - Azula had noticed he didn’t seem terribly fond of children.

She pulled herself up straight and looked up at the old man. “Yes,” she said. “I’m practicing my tornado kicks.” She was practicing her tornado kicks because Father had taught her the move yesterday - Father had, not Master Kunyo. Father had taken it upon himself to give Azula a special lesson, as a reward for how quick she was learning. Azula had been so proud, Father never gave Zuko that kind of attention.

Except the tornado kick had proved tricky. She hadn’t gotten it right on the first try. Or the second. Or the tenth. Father’s frown had grown more and more pronounced with every failed kick, until he’d finally scowled and dismissed her with a scowl that had made Azula’s heart miss a beat. Father wasn’t patient, but she wasn’t weak. She knew she couldn’t leave it at that.

So here Azula was, drilling herself to perfection.

Grandfather raised an eyebrow. “Before sunrise?”

Dawn was a blur of pink light on the horizon. “I wanted to start early,” Azula said.

Grandfather hummed. “You have a better work ethic than some of my generals,” he said, and Azula couldn’t help but preen at the praise. She didn’t know Grandfather very well, but she knew he hated laziness. “Well then,” Grandfather said, taking a seat on a bench at the edge of the training ground. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on?”

Azula froze. “But...Father isn’t here.” It was a stupid thing to say, really, but - she barely knew Grandfather. She only ever showed him her firebending when Father wanted to present her progress to the court. Grandfather had never seemed very impressed.

Grandfather huffed. “Can a man not wish to see his own granddaughter’s progress? I should like to see what you’re capable of without your father hovering in the background. Come now.” He waved his hand at her. “Show me what you’re working on.”

She didn’t want to show him her tornado kick. It was far too sloppy, she wasn’t getting the twist right, her landing was unbalanced, and she was so focused on getting the form right that she could barely put any power in the flames. It wasn’t perfect, and Azula knew she couldn’t show off anything less than perfect.

But Grandfather was the Fire Lord, and the Fire Lord wanted to see her tornado kick.

She faltered her way through three in succession before he said, “You aren’t shifting your weight properly on the first swing. Practice that part a few times before you try again. You want to make sure you’re steady on your right leg before you push up into the jump. And do it without fire for now.”

Master Kunyo said stuff like that a lot, usually when he was trying to get her to focus on technique rather than power. Azula’s instinctive reaction was to huff and roll her eyes, but she managed to stop herself from doing so, because this was not Master Kunyo. This was the Fire Lord.

And it was more advice than Father had bothered to give her yesterday.

She did a few weight shifts in quick succession, feeling how to properly lean into her right leg, and then she bent her knee and sprang upwards. The actual spinning part of the kick was still sloppy, the landing still unbalanced, but - but she’d managed the first part.

“Much better,” Grandfather said, and that was more praise than Father had bothered to give her yesterday, too.

They kept at it as the sky turned pinker and pinker, Azula going through the motions again and again until she felt the memory of them sinking into her muscles, Grandfather calling tips from the sidelines. He wasn’t much of a teacher - but not in the same way Master Kunyo, who often over-explained and made things boring, wasn’t much of a teacher. Grandfather simply wasn’t a teacher at all, and often had to re-explain himself.

But finally, when the sky had turned from pink to gold, Azula landed without stumbling, and Grandfather said, “Almost perfect.”

“Almost isn’t good enough,” Azula said immediately.

“Indeed, it isn’t,” Grandfather agreed, “but you’ve still made more progress in one morning than some other people I could name. Come now, my dear,” he said, standing up from his bench. “One more kick, and then we’ll go get breakfast.” He gave her a sly look. “Use fire this time. Aim at me.”

Azula only balked for a second before she grinned and did as her Fire Lord instructed. Shift, jump, spin, kick -

The flames were more powerful this time, now that she knew how the movement went. Grandfather parted them easily as Azula came down for her landing, but he looked pleased. Azula felt a thrill run through her at this success, and she turned back to face him with a smile.

The look on Grandfather’s face faltered. He blinked down at her for a long moment, gaze strangely blank. Azula felt her smile start to slip from her face - but then Grandfather suddenly smiled back. “Well done, little princess,” he said. “You bring honor to your ancestors.” A strange thing to say, but before she could wonder about it he was reaching towards her, gesturing her forward. “Come now, let’s go have some breakfast, hm?”

That was his mother’s smile.

Iroh had never noticed before. In his defense, he had never spent much time around his niece. When she had been a child, he had been Crown Prince, and he’d spent months at a time on campaign in the Earth Kingdom, bringing honor and glory to their nation. When that honor and glory had turned out to be shame and tragedy and he’d returned home a different man, Azula hadn’t seen fit to spend time with him. He’d reached out to both children at first, after the loss of their mother, the loss of his son. Had wondered if he could help them, had hoped they might help him. Zuko had been receptive. Azula had not, but Iroh had made the attempt anyway, for Lu Ten’s sake. His son had loved both his cousins, and Iroh owed it to him to try. But Azula had soon made it clear she was her father’s daughter, and Ozai and Iroh had never been close.

Were far less close than Iroh had ever realized, apparently. It rankled every time he bowed to his brother, seated upon his stolen throne.

It would have been well within his rights to challenge Ozai to an Agni Kai, but Iroh knew a potential political disaster when he saw one. The Fire Nation couldn’t afford a civil war, not when they still had the whole world to conquer. And Iroh was so very tired, and after the loss of his son, the idea of fighting to reclaim what was his just seemed...pointless. So he bowed and called his brother Fire Lord, and Ozai smiled.

Iroh had always thought Azula smiled like her father. And she did. Even as a small child, she had the same smirk Ozai would make while sparring, or plotting, or watching some hapless politician make a fool of themselves in court.

Iroh had last seen her smile like when she bid her newly-banished brother farewell. Now, three years later, he saw it again, just before she shattered a seashell.

“Hm, must be a family trait,” she smirked. “Both of you so quick to get to the point.”

Shell fragments tinkled as they hit the floor, and Iroh realized.

He’d forgotten, but there it was now, gracing the lips of the first princess to be born into the royal family since Fire Lord Sozin’s reign. She was older than when he’d last seen her, a young woman now, her lips painted red, and as they curved up into something sharper than any knife, Iroh felt a pang of bittersweet nostalgia.

It wasn’t Ozai’s smile. Not originally.

It was Fire Lady Ilah’s.

How had he never noticed that Ozai had their mother's smile?

His mother had smiled like that when she managed to put Azulon on the defensive in a sparring match, when she aimed her arrow at a tricky target, when she discussed battle strategy with advisors, when she’d outmaneuvered political opponents. She’d learned that smile from her mother, the Fire Nation’s most brilliant tactician in the early years of the war. Grandmother Bhanupriya had worn that smile at the Battle of Han Tui, at the Battle of Garsai, at every assassination she arranged to get Prince Azulon on the throne.

There'd been a time in Iroh's life when that smile had meant safety, and love, and that things were going to fall perfectly into place and everything would be alright.

It was a dangerous smile, the smile of a predator cornering her prey, of a woman who knew what she wanted, how to achieve it, and was already assured of her victory.

And now he and Zuko were on the receiving end.

Iroh hadn’t fully appreciated how terrifying his mother’s smile was until he saw it on his niece’s face.

~~~

Author’s Notes

Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated and will help me get through the ridiculousness that is bound to be my Monday this week. *headdesks*

Uh...notes? Let's see.

I'm operating on the assumption that Lo and Li were some sort of...idk indentured servant maids for Ilah and followed her into the royal family and stayed in their service after her death. They raised that whole family.

Azulon really DOES NOT know what to do with children and is probably trying to pull up 40-year-old memories on what raising Iroh was like. XD This is one of the very few times Azula spends personal time with her grandfather. It's not enough to make her care when he dies.

Here's what a tornado kick looks like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pn9gTVQWZDI I am by no means learned in martial arts so idk if the tips I had Azulon giving are viable or not.

While it's pretty awful that Iroh decides Azula "is crazy and needs to go down", I do think it was the only decision he could make. She was actively hunting them, had just shot him, and pretty obviously meant to do them harm. That's not the time to reach out to your antagonistic niece and try to get her to go on a life-changing field trip with you. And in my case, in their meeting scene in The Avatar State, I'm pretty sure Iroh, after giving her the benefit of the doubt, greeting her courteously, and getting rebuffed, is very quickly recalibrating everything he knows about Azula. They left her in the Fire Nation three years ago, she's obviously grown, gotten more skilled, has had no one but Ozai to influence her, and now she's here smiling and acting like the most dangerous woman Iroh ever knew. No wonder he suspected a trap from the start.

If you want to know more about my take on Ilah, please check out my fic Eye On Target, it's hilarious.