#when he disappeared the war wasn’t even in full swing yet

[even-starsburnout]

I can’t stop thinking about all the things Ezra doesn’t know about. Like obviously he doesn’t know about Jacen and we’re all looking forward to that but he also doesn’t know they won. He doesn’t know about the Death Star or Alderaan. He doesn’t know that Lando Calrissian of all people became a general and a war hero. He doesn’t know that Obi-Wan and Yoda are dead. He doesn’t know that Luke is training a new generation of Jedi. He doesn’t know what happened to Mandalore and Sabine’s family. HE HASN’T SEEN LOTHAL

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello! I'm in love with the way you write c! Ranboo like hsgsj- amazing! So I would like a request Yandare c! Ranboo and tubbo with a soft reader that is oblivious on how they act twords them but loves them unconditionaly (just fluff please maybe maybe put a Micheal seen in there as well because Micheal is the best character 😌)

I think this is the best compliment I have ever received... Thank you so much🤍🖤

I didn't know whether or not to do headcanons or a full-length fic, so I went with a shorter story if that's alright. ^^ if it's not feel free to send another request!

FYI THIS CAN BE SEEN AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo

It was very common for you to see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked, you only saw a bunch of purple particles drifting slowly towards the earth due to gravity. You just assumed there were quite a few endermen still hanging around Snowchester, or some of the goats had come down from the mountains when you saw small little horns peeking out from behind bushes.

There were a couple times a day where you accidentally and very conveniently bumped into Ranboo out in the crater of L'Manberg or Tubbo when walking around Snowchester. It honestly was funny to you that you always seemed to bump into them when you were feeling sad or lonely. Plus, after talking to them and spending time with them, your problems almost magically seemed to disappear!

Such as, there was one time when you were helping clean up the red vines around buildings and Fundy was nagging at you for being so slow or bad at doing everything. After storming away and ranting to Ranboo about it on the verge of tears, Fundy practically scrambled up to you the next day shaking and almost crying, apologizing for every single thing he's ever said or done.

Huh... Maybe he felt that bad about it to the point where he was crying?

Although Fundy never said anything mean to you again, he also stopped hanging around you completely.

When you mentioned this to Tubbo, he explained that Fundy must not have been a real friend and that he and Ranboo would always be there for you before anyone else.

Once the mansion was built, the two platonic husbands eagerly invited you to stay with them, even saying they had Foolish make a room specifically for you! At first, you quite enjoyed your home around L'manberg, but then one day you returned home to a wall of your home completely destroyed by vines, deeming it unlivable. Although a tad convenient..

Tubbo and Ranboo had heard about it through your sobs when you called them, saying you had no clue what to do anymore. They had arrived at your side in almost minutes and quickly helped you pack and move everything to the mansion.

"I thought Snowchester was like... Half a day's walk away from here..." You sniffed, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. The two men of greatly varying heights tensed up momentarily.

"We were in the area." They both blurted out at the same time before glancing at each other.

Tubbo cleared his throat first, "I was in the nether, but luckily for you, I was close to the old L'manberg portal!" He smiled softly at you as you three walked away from your old home.

"M-Me too!" Ranboo coughed awkwardly, causing Tubbo to shoot him an odd look that you decided to brush off, "Now, uh, come on! Michael needs to meet his new mother!"

You blinked in surprise at the new title but didn't question it much, assuming it was simply just a title. Unbeknownst to you, your two best friends already thought you were part of their platonic relationship, despite you never agreeing nor denying, or them even asking.

It took a few days, but the zombie piglin warmed up to you and practically saw you as another one of his parents, which made Ranboo and Tubbo extremely happy. Instead of placing you into one of the regular rooms, they had Foolish turn the basement into two heavily secured rooms a few days before your house had been destroyed, strangely enough, and even designed one perfectly to your liking!

After washing the fruits you had, you walked towards the bookshelf and pulled on the fake book that caused the shelf to swing open. You walked down the quartz stairs after shutting the hidden door, then made your way up to one of the two doors with a pink sign with 'Michael' written in yellow cursive paint. Punching in the code, the iron door slid open and you stepped in before closing it behind you.

A loud cooing grunt was heard and the sound of quiet tapping echoed through the room before a pair of arms wrapped around your leg. "Hello, Michael." You giggled softly as Michael made grabbing hands up towards the bowl of fruit. Placing it down on the table, the child eagerly ran over and began munching on the food as you brushed over the books on the shelves to find one you haven't read to Michael before. "What about... The story of Persephone?"

A disappointed grunt was your only response.

"Guess I did read that one... Hm... Oh! What about the story of Icarus?" This time his response was a happy squeak and tippy taps of his hooves against the warm quartz floors. You sat down in the rocking chair and waited until the child scrambled over and jumped into your lap.

You opened the book and began reading to him for an hour until your eyes slowly slid shut to the quiet snores of the child of your two best friends, who at this point was beginning to see you as a mother.

Quiet 'meh' sounds and 'vrrr'ing noises and a dim flash woke you up from your spot in the rocking chair. Cracking open your eyes, your arms shifted around the nether hybrid as you saw Tubbo holding a camera making happy bleating noises, while Ranboo, who was the source of the buzzing noises, took the book you had been reading from your limp hand to put it back on the shelf.

"What time is it?" You murmured softly to keep the child asleep as you rubbed the back of your stiff and sore neck.

"It's about 5:30pm. Still rather early. Tubbo walked over and gave you a gentle yet affectionate headbutt while he scooped Michael up from your lap to bring him to bed. This caused an odd whining noise to come from the enderman hybrid before he quickly walked over and rested his forehead against yours, resting it there for a few moments before pulling back, his cheeks flushed the same colours as his eyes.

You giggled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head as he helped you up. He held onto one of your hands as Tubbo eagerly went for the other, jokingly sticking his tongue out at Ranboo who gave a noise of mock offense, causing you three to giggle softly as you left Michael's room and went upstairs.

Tubbo and Ranboo weren't big fans of you leaving the basement on your own, and you were rarely allowed to leave the mansion even with the two boys at your sides. The former president told you it was because he heard rumours of Technoblade searching around for all the members of his cabinet back when he was in charge of L'Manberg, and he just wanted to protect you.

You saw no problems with his story as it was extremely believable. Your history with Technoblade hadn't been the cleanest and he would've definitely taken one of your canon lives back during the attack on L'Manberg, had a stray black and white firework not saved you that day. It had fired off and must've swerved a way that wasn't predicted, because it hit Technoblade hard enough in the chest to knock him away from you.

You don't remember much of that day, except for Ranboo immediately running over to you and dragging you away from the destruction and chaos. Thanks to him, you were almost completely scar free and standing proudly at three canons lives.

A gentle hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you saw two sets of eyes staring at you with concern. "Hey... Are you feeling okay?" Ranboo asked softly, tilting your head up to place his free hand against your forehead, "See. I told you she should be getting more sunlight, Tubbo!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" You laughed softly at their worry, rubbing your thumbs along the back of their hands, "Just... Remembering the war with Dream and Techno..."

"What about it?" Tubbo asked, bringing you into the living room to sit down with your friends on either side of you.

You pursed your lips together for a moment as you looked at the ground, "Just how... Scary Techno is. And how he was about to kill me without a care about who or what I was."

Angered growling and seething noises came from Ranboo and Tubbo as you felt their grasps tighten around your hands, almost to a painful degree. You looked up and saw their expressions stone-cold and steely although vastly different from each other.

Ranboo's green eye was purple, and the black tone of his skin was beginning to seep into the side with the lack of colour. The corners of his mouth were slowly splitting open wider and wider as his lips parted, allowing you to see the glowing purple colour inside his mouth.

Tubbo's was less obvious. His eyes were blank but also had a bright fire, one burning for revenge, reflected in them. His ears weren't flicking and neither was his tail, his entire body stiff except for a faint sound giving away the fact that his teeth were grinding together.

As much as you tried to endure it, the grip became too harsh and you couldn't help but give a small pained gasp. This caused all physical contact with you to suddenly vanish as the two boys immediately flung themselves away from you, horror and fear in their eyes.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you okay?! Do you need an ice pack?!"

"Or a bandage from my claws?!"

They were both kneeling on the ground in front of you with both of your hands in their grasps again. They repeatedly turned your hands in their own, testing the joints and checking for marks or bruising. "Boys, boys!" You laughed softly, placing your hands on their heads to ruffle their hair gently. You pulled your left hand adorned with two beautiful rings and held it up for them to see, flexing it and moving it around, "See? Perfectly fine. No pain whatsoever!"

While they seemed to have calmed down a lot, they still seemed to be extremely upset and guilty. "I'm still going to get an ice pack... We don't want our wife to be injured..." Tubbo murmured as he quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"I will get started on dinner. And as an apology, I'm making your favourite. (F/f)." Ranboo tried to be a little more upbeat than Tubbo, but you could still see the small amounts of guilt as he turned and followed after the goat hybrid.

Sighing softly at their overreactions, you leaned back against the couch...

Before doing a double-take.

Adorned with rings?!

You quickly flung yourself forward again and looked at your left hand. On your ring finger were two diamond rings, one gold with a green gemstone, and the other silver with a black gemstone, both glistening a faint purple from enchantments...

...

When did these get put on you- wait... Did Tubbo say... wife?

[icarushasfallenfromthestars]

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!Tubbo

Hello! I'm in love with the way you write c! Ranboo like hsgsj- amazing! So I would like a request Yandare c! Ranboo and tubbo with a soft reader that is oblivious on how they act twords them but loves them unconditionaly (just fluff please maybe maybe put a Micheal seen in there as well because Micheal is the best character 😌)

I think this is the best compliment I have ever received... Thank you so much🤍🖤

I didn't know whether or not to do headcanons or a full-length fic, so I went with a shorter story if that's alright. ^^ if it's not feel free to send another request!

FYI THIS CAN BE SEEN AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC

-

It was very common for you to see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked, you only saw a bunch of purple particles drifting slowly towards the earth due to gravity. You just assumed there were quite a few endermen still hanging around Snowchester, or some of the goats had come down from the mountains when you saw small little horns peeking out from behind bushes.

There were a couple times a day where you accidentally and very conveniently bumped into Ranboo out in the crater of L'Manberg or Tubbo when walking around Snowchester. It honestly was funny to you that you always seemed to bump into them when you were feeling sad or lonely. Plus, after talking to them and spending time with them, your problems almost magically seemed to disappear!

Such as, there was one time when you were helping clean up the red vines around buildings and Fundy was nagging at you for being so slow or bad at doing everything. After storming away and ranting to Ranboo about it on the verge of tears, Fundy practically scrambled up to you the next day shaking and almost crying, apologizing for every single thing he's ever said or done.

Huh... Maybe he felt that bad about it to the point where he was crying?

Although Fundy never said anything mean to you again, he also stopped hanging around you completely.

When you mentioned this to Tubbo, he explained that Fundy must not have been a real friend and that he and Ranboo would always be there for you before anyone else.

Once the mansion was built, the two platonic husbands eagerly invited you to stay with them, even saying they had Foolish make a room specifically for you! At first, you quite enjoyed your home around L'Manberg, but then one day you returned home to a wall of your home completely destroyed by vines, deeming it unlivable. Although a tad convenient..

Tubbo and Ranboo had heard about it through your sobs when you called them, saying you had no clue what to do anymore. They had arrived at your side in almost minutes and quickly helped you pack and move everything to the mansion.

"I thought Snowchester was like... Half a day's walk away from here..." You sniffed, rubbing your red and puffy eyes. The two men of greatly varying heights tensed up momentarily.

"We were in the area." They both blurted out at the same time before glancing at each other.

Tubbo cleared his throat first, "I was in the nether, but luckily for you, I was close to the old L'Manberg portal!" He smiled softly at you as you three walked away from your old home.

"M-Me too!" Ranboo coughed awkwardly, causing Tubbo to shoot him an odd look that you decided to brush off, "Now, uh, come on! Michael needs to meet his new mother!"

You blinked in surprise at the new title but didn't question it much, assuming it was simply just a title. Unbeknownst to you, your two best friends already thought you were part of their platonic relationship, despite you never agreeing nor denying, or them even asking.

It took a few days, but the zombie piglin warmed up to you and practically saw you as another one of his parents, which made Ranboo and Tubbo extremely happy. Instead of placing you into one of the regular rooms, they had Foolish turn the basement into two heavily secured rooms a few days before your house had been destroyed, strangely enough, and even designed one perfectly to your liking!

After washing the fruits you had, you walked towards the bookshelf and pulled on the fake book that caused the shelf to swing open. You walked down the quartz stairs after shutting the hidden door, then made your way up to one of the two doors with a pink sign with 'Michael' written in yellow cursive paint. Punching in the code, the iron door slid open and you stepped in before closing it behind you.

A loud cooing grunt was heard and the sound of quiet tapping echoed through the room before a pair of arms wrapped around your leg. "Hello, Michael." You giggled softly as Michael made grabbing hands up towards the bowl of fruit. Placing it down on the table, the child eagerly ran over and began munching on the food as you brushed over the books on the shelves to find one you haven't read to Michael before. "What about... The story of Persephone?"

A disappointed grunt was your only response.

"Guess I did read that one... Hm... Oh! What about the story of Icarus?" This time his response was a happy squeak and tippy taps of his hooves against the warm quartz floors. You sat down in the rocking chair and waited until the child scrambled over and jumped into your lap.

You opened the book and began reading to him for an hour until your eyes slowly slid shut to the quiet snores of the child of your two best friends, who at this point was beginning to see you as a mother.

Quiet 'meh' sounds and 'vrrr'ing noises and a dim flash woke you up from your spot in the rocking chair. Cracking open your eyes, your arms shifted around the nether hybrid as you saw Tubbo holding a camera making happy bleating noises, while Ranboo, who was the source of the buzzing noises, took the book you had been reading from your limp hand to put it back on the shelf.

"What time is it?" You murmured softly to keep the child asleep as you rubbed the back of your stiff and sore neck.

"It's about 5:30pm. Still rather early. Tubbo walked over and gave you a gentle yet affectionate headbutt while he scooped Michael up from your lap to bring him to bed. This caused an odd whining noise to come from the enderman hybrid before he quickly walked over and rested his forehead against yours, resting it there for a few moments before pulling back, his cheeks flushed the same colours as his eyes.

You giggled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head as he helped you up. He held onto one of your hands as Tubbo eagerly went for the other, jokingly sticking his tongue out at Ranboo who gave a noise of mock offence, causing you three to giggle softly as you left Michael's room and went upstairs.

Tubbo and Ranboo weren't big fans of you leaving the basement on your own, and you were rarely allowed to leave the mansion even with the two boys at your sides. The former president told you it was because he heard rumours of Technoblade searching around for all the members of his cabinet back when he was in charge of L'Manberg, and he just wanted to protect you.

You saw no problems with his story as it was extremely believable. Your history with Technoblade hadn't been the cleanest and he would've definitely taken one of your canon lives back during the attack on L'Manberg, had a stray black and white firework not saved you that day. It had fired off and must've swerved a way that wasn't predicted, because it hit Technoblade hard enough in the chest to knock him away from you.

You don't remember much of that day, except for Ranboo immediately running over to you and dragging you away from the destruction and chaos. Thanks to him, you were almost completely scar-free and standing proudly at three canons lives.

A gentle hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you saw two sets of eyes staring at you with concern. "Hey... Are you feeling okay?" Ranboo asked softly, tilting your head up to place his free hand against your forehead, "See. I told you she should be getting more sunlight, Tubbo!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" You laughed softly at their worry, rubbing your thumbs along the back of their hands, "Just... Remembering the war with Dream and Techno..."

"What about it?" Tubbo asked, bringing you into the living room to sit down with your friends on either side of you.

You pursed your lips together for a moment as you looked at the ground, "Just how... Scary Techno is. And how he was about to kill me without a care about who or what I was."

Angered growling and seething noises came from Ranboo and Tubbo as you felt their grasps tighten around your hands, almost to a painful degree. You looked up and saw their expressions stone-cold and steely although vastly different from each other.

Ranboo's green eye was purple, and the black tone of his skin was beginning to seep into the side with the lack of colour. The corners of his mouth were slowly splitting open wider and wider as his lips parted, allowing you to see the glowing purple colour inside his mouth.

Tubbo's was less obvious. His eyes were blank but also had a bright fire, one burning for revenge, reflected in them. His ears weren't flicking and neither was his tail, his entire body stiff except for a faint sound giving away the fact that his teeth were grinding together.

As much as you tried to endure it, the grip became too harsh and you couldn't help but give a small pained gasp. This caused all physical contact with you to suddenly vanish as the two boys immediately flung themselves away from you, horror and fear in their eyes.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you okay?! Do you need an ice pack?!"

"Or a bandage from my claws?!"

They were both kneeling on the ground in front of you with both of your hands in their grasps again. They repeatedly turned your hands in their own, testing the joints and checking for marks or bruising. "Boys, boys!" You laughed softly, placing your hands on their heads to ruffle their hair gently. You pulled your left hand adorned with two beautiful rings and held it up for them to see, flexing it and moving it around, "See? Perfectly fine. No pain whatsoever!"

While they seemed to have calmed down a lot, they still seemed to be extremely upset and guilty. "I'm still going to get an ice pack... We don't want our wife to be injured..." Tubbo murmured as he quickly got up and walked towards the kitchen.

"I will get started on dinner. And as an apology, I'm making your favourite. (F/f)." Ranboo tried to be a little more upbeat than Tubbo, but you could still see the small amounts of guilt as he turned and followed after the goat hybrid.

Sighing softly at their over reactions, you leaned back against the couch...

Before doing a double-take.

Adorned with rings?!

You quickly flung yourself forward again and looked at your left hand. On your ring finger were two diamond rings, one gold with a green gemstone, and the other silver with a black gemstone, both glistening a faint purple from enchantments...

...

When did these get put on you- wait... Did Tubbo say... wife?

[rekrappeter]

there’s so much you don’t know

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: after the death eaters swarm bill & fleur’s wedding, fred can’t keep his feelings at bay in fear that something might happen

warnings: mention of war, mentions of torture, mentions of death, swearing, typos, small bit of angst, fluff

notes: please let me know what you think of this, feedback would be amazing thank you

The woman that stared back at you in the cracked mirror was someone you barely recognised in that moment. It was surreal that a purple dress hung loosely on your body, your hair pinned to how you wanted it, and the make-up that decorated your face was hiding the heavy bags and stressed acne that the past few months brought. Everyone thought it was deranged to have a wedding in the current times, when the wizarding world was falling apart, but everyone also knew they needed a distraction. People needed one night to themselves before everything went wild. ‘The calm before the storm,’ Arthur Weasley forced a smile during the conversation at dinner a week ago. 

“The calm before the storm,” you whispered to yourself, trying to zip your dress up from behind with unnecessary struggle. You have been sharing a room with Hermione and Ginny for the past week, helping Molly prepare for the wedding and calming Fleur down in moments of madness. Walking over to the ajar door, you called out Hermione’s name and when there was a steady silence that followed, you tried Ginny’s. But no one answered your calls for help until a head popped out from the room just above you, looking over the ballister. 

“Everything okay, love?” Out of everyone that was scattered around the house, of course it had to be Fred Weasley. It wasn’t that you disliked him or held any cynical feelings towards the older boy, it was the complete opposite in fact. When you met his younger brother, Ron, on the train during your first year at Hogwarts, you never expected to fall madly in love with his family member. It was hard not to fall for Fred when he introduced you, and at first you pushed it off as a crush but here you were, nearly seven years later, with a blush painting your cheeks and the nauseous butterflies swirling in your stomach. 

“I’m okay, have you seen Hermione anywhere?” you called up to him, trying to calm your heart before it jumped out of your chest - that would be a gory sight that you weren’t ready for. 

“I heard mum call them out help with the decorations,” Fred replied.

“Great, Ginny as well?” 

“Yes, y/n,” An amused smirk tugged on his lips, watching your eyes dart between the stairs and his face. He found it entertaining that you couldn’t keep eye contact with him, after seven years of knowing each other he would have thought that you’d have warmed up to him by now. “Do you need my help?” Before you could make any noises of protest, Fred was already bouncing down the steps to your door. 

You knew there was no use in objecting to his offer, you had to get your dress zipped up before going downstairs and if he was the only person available to help, you’d have to suck your feelings up and get on with it. You brushed your hair over your shoulder, exposing your bare back, and turned so that Fred would understand what you needed help with. Because your back was to him, you missed the way he gulped at the sight of you, a red tint painting his cheeks. You gasped as his fingers trailed over your back, and he muttered an apology about his cold flesh but it wasn’t that that made you lose complete control, it was the fireworks igniting in your stomach at him touching you. The dress slowly started to tighten around your body, hugging your curves nicely as he zipped it up agonisingly slow. 

“Thank you, Fred,” you mumbled when he finished, taking one big step to create as much distance between your bodies as humanly possible. 

A small smile rested on his lips, his eyes flickering over your figure, “You look beautiful, y/n.” 

“Thank you,” you repeated, and you used this opportunity to take in his own appearance. He had his flaming red hair brushed back neatly, and the way the hair contrasted against his black suit made him look even more dashing than he usually did. “You look very handsome, Fred.” 

Fred bowed playfully, making you roll your eyes and giggle, before accepting his outstretched arm and letting him walk you down the stairs to join the other. You caught the eye of Ginny who gave you a wide eyed look, sneaking a wink in your direction when Fred bid you a quick goodbye before dancing out to where George and his other brothers were getting ready to lift the marquee. 

“What was that?” Ginny swayed to your side, she bumped your shoulder with her own.

“Nothing, he just helped me with my dress when you were no where to be found,” you snapped playfully, walking out to the garden and taking in a deep breath of the fresh air. 

Ginny filled her mouth with a pig in blanket, wiping away the crumbs to hide the evidence. “Oh, I heard you, I just knew Fred would be there as well.” 

“Ginny!” you gasped, the sudden outburst made George and Fred glance in your direction, but you didn’t notice, too focused on their little sister being a minx. “Will you ever stop playing cupid? It didn’t work last year, it won’t work this year.”

“You two are both just stupid, you’re in love with each other and won’t do anything about it.” 

“She’s not wrong you know?” Harry chimed up, stepping out of the door behind you and you shot him a glare. 

“What’s this? Gang up on y/n day?” 

“That’s everyday,” Harry smiled, complimenting you before turning his attention to Ginny. You rolled your eyes at the pair, who were they to talk about being too oblivious to notice when someone was in love with you? 

After a beautiful ceremony that announced Bill and Fleur newlyweds, the golden chairs that decorated the tent slowly started to disappear and the walls that kept all the guests inside opened up, highlighting the beautiful orange sky that was settling over the countryside. You excused yourself to go back inside the Burron, embarrassed of the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. Weddings always made you cry, it was a weakness that you never wanted people to know. The thought of two people expressing their love and promising to spend the rest of their lives together made you emotional. 

When you returned, the party was in full swing. You scanned the crowd, seeing Ron and Hermione dancing together, well Hermione was the one dancing. You couldn’t make out what Ron was doing, it was a mix of a jig and a waltz, his arms swaying in the strangest of directions. You spotted the disguised Harry talking to Luna Lovegood, sending a small wave her way when she caught your eye. You tried to look busy, hoping she wouldn’t make her way over to you. When you spotted Fred, your heart leaped with an ache at the sight of him dancing with a distant cousin of Fleur’s. You tried not to focus on how beautiful she was, her long blonde hair swaying as Fred laughed and spun her around. You quickly grabbed a glass of Elderflower wine off the tray as the waiter passed you, downing it in one gulp. 

“Slow down there, princess,” George smiled at you as he walked with you to an empty table, but before you could take a seat, he grabbed your hand and dragged you over to the dancefloor.

“George, you know I don’t dance,” you whined, pouting up at the taller boy. 

“You can stand on my feet, I’ll do the moves,” You hated how you were so comfortable with George yet you could barely string a full sentence when Fred was around. You tried your best to follow George’s lead before you gave up and stood on his toes, his feet a lot bigger than yours. 

You let him spin you around, laughing at his comments about the women’s hairpieces and how he wondered if he was at a wedding or a zoo. It was a lighthearted conversation, something that you needed to distract you from his twin dancing with an angel on the other side of the room. Everytime George spun, your eyes automatically found Fred’s figure, the curiosity getting the best of you. George stopped spinning you, his back to Fred as you found yourself looking over his shoulder at him. 

“He’ll come to his senses soon,” your eyes flickered to George’s, feigning confusion but yu knew exactly what he was talking about. “He feels the same as you do, he’s just in denial.” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” A bellowed laugh erupted from George’s lungs, his red hair bouncing as he shook his head in amusement. “Shut up, G,” you hissed, as curious eyes landed on the pair of you. 

“You think I don’t know how you feel about my brother? It’s painfully obvious, love,” you groaned at his words, the dancing soon stopped. 

“Then what’s wrong with me? Wh-Why doesn’t he like me?” 

“Have you ever told him?” George questioned, the frown on your face giving him his answer, “And he does like you, it’s disgustingly cute. Trust me, the sooner you two get together the better. I can’t keep losing sleep because he can’t make up his mind on which way to tell you.” 

“Really?” you piped up, any doubt you’ve been experiencing over the last twenty minutes completely vanished. George reassured you, about to make another comment when a bolt of blue flickering light ceased any further excitement. It took you a moment to notice the patronus in the centre of the dancefloor. 

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

In a heartbeat, chaos erupted around you. Guests were yelling for their partners, others disapparating as far away from the Burrow as possible, and your wide eyes glancing up at George as the Death Eaters stormed the marquee. You pushed through the crowd, your fingers intertwining with George’s as your eyes scanned the crowd trying to find the missing twin. Spells were being casted from every angle, members of the Order protecting guests but they were too strong. A hand grabbing your free arm made you jump in surprise, but relief washed over you when Fred’s eyes connected with yours. Immediately, you felt safe. 

Hours had passed, each member of the Order getting interrogated by the Death Eaters that swarmed the reception. You had excused yourself from the worried eyes of the Weasley family, and the tears spilled from your eyes the moment you shut the door to the bedroom. You knew you were being watched so you tried to stay away from the window, sliding down the uneven wall and bringing your knees to your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly due to the fear washing over you. 

The door to the bedroom creaked open, Fred popping his head in as he sent you a sad smile. “Are you hurt?” he asked, sitting down across from you. His long legs folded in front of you, the blood drizzling from a cut just above his eyebrow. 

“M-my wrist is sore, it could have been worst…” you whispered, you were thankful that everyone was safe and no one was harmed as much as you would have expected from the Death Eaters. "How is everyone downstairs?"

Fred sighed, his head hanging, "Everyone is a bit shook up but at least we're alive." 

An unexpected sob passed by your lips, your hands visibly shaking at his words. The thought of losing anyone in this house sent shivers down your spine, but you only just realised now that it is a possibility. Someone could have died tonight, someone could die tomorrow night. The war was happening and there was nothing you could do about it. "W-we're only kids," you sobbed, unconsciously falling into Fred's side as his arms immediately wrapped around you. He nuzzled his head into your hair, muttering words of reassurance as he let you cry on the floor. His fingers rubbed circles around your bare arms, the dress that was once so beautifully ironed creased and torn at the ends.

Silence stretched around the room, the sound of your sobs echoing off the four walls. Fred thought carefully about the words he spoke next, he was fearful that he had left it too late. But the possibility of not making it out alive settled within him tonight, the fear of taking his feelings for you to the grave overcame the fear of being rejected by you. "Y/n, I have to tell you something."

You leaned your body back from him, panic written across your features but the light smile on his face seized any worries. "What is it?" You whispered, moving to lean on your knees beside him. Your heart was pounding against your chest, you were praying and hoping that this was going in the direction you’ve dreamt about for years. 

Fred heaved a heavy sigh, his head falling back to hit against the beige wallpaper with a bang but he didn't care. His eyes stared into yours, watching how your tongue danced across your bottom lip and how your eyes were flickering from his to his mouth. There were no words to explain how he truly felt about you. Instead of speaking, Fred jumped forward and connected his lips to yours within seconds. Your eyes were wide, his were too but when neither of you pulled away, your eyes fluttered closed and you relaxed into his body.

His arms lay limp at his side before you shuffled closer to him and he brought his hands to cup your face. You shifted to rest both of your knees on either side of his body, the kiss deepening and it was everything you dreamed of. You lost count of the amount of times that you’ve dreamt about this moment, the countless nights you’d stare at the ceiling hoping and wishing that this would happen. When the fight for air became too much, you pulled away from Fred. A twinkle appeared in his eyes, his lips twitching to a smile as he breathed out in disbelief. 

“Why did it take you so long to do that?” you asked, your hand caressing over his face as you brushed away a couple of strands of his hair. 

A pink blush settled over Fred’s cheeks, and he sighed placing his hands on your waist. “If anything happens to me, I just wanted you to know how I feel about you.” 

The reality of what was happening slowly draped over your shoulders, your heart heavy knowing that blood will be lost during the upcoming war. The thought of losing Fred when you’ve only just got him made you want to never let go of him, the idea of running away and leaving flashed through your thoughts but you knew you couldn’t. Neither of you would abandon the people you loved. “We’ll get out of this alive, all of us.” 

The look Fred gave you made your heart shatter into tiny unmendable pieces. You were living in a dream, and you knew it, but you wanted to hold onto hope until you took your last breaths whether they come in two months from now or twenty years. “Some of us have already died, there will be more to come.” It hurt Fred to speak the truth, the thought of losing you was something he wasn’t equipped to deal with just yet. 

“Can we just have tonight then?” you whispered, looking longingly into his eyes as you brought your lips to his again. He nodded into the kiss, his hands trailing up and down your body as he brought you closer to him. He’d die happy if it was in this moment. 

[cerises-amoureuses]

Firstly, what we need to realise is that Harry was incredibly attracted to Ginny throughout HBP, to the stage where seeing Ginny kiss another boy drove him up the wall. He spent a better part of the year wrestling with his emotions, which is something he didn’t go through with Cho Chang. Of course, this could be because Ginny, being Ron’s little sister, posed an interesting dilemma, but also because Harry’s feelings extended beyond a simple crush. The easiest way to deduct this is to go back to Harry’s infamous first kiss: he did not enjoy it, nor did he express any sort of desire to do it again. But in Ginny’s case, he had barely worked out his feelings for her when he started envisioning himself kissing her. Harry only ever thought Cho was nice-looking, but he experienced a very typical, boyish sort of lust and want when it came to Ginny.

“She began popping up in his dreams in ways that made his devoutly thankful Ron could not perform legilimency.” – Harry, HBP.

It does not take a genius to figure out exactly what he and Ginny were doing in Harry’s dreams. This inneuendo is remarkably suggestive; Harry had begun having sexual, inappropriate dreams about his best friend’s little sister that made him feel guilty and embarrassed. Moreover, note the instances when Ginny and Harry came in contact; they were often punctuated with Harry either feeling a “swooping sensation” or getting so tense that goosebumps erupted on the back of his neck. There is no evidence of Harry ever feeling jumpy by a girl’s slight touch before, which begs the question why it flustered him so physically in the first place. All evidences point to the thick sexual tension that Harry was feeling between himself and Ginny.

Simply put, Harry’s attraction to Ginny had permeated the boundaries of innocent crushes and gone straight to lustful thoughts and wild dreams.

“… He had received a lot more Bludger injuries during practice because he had not been keeping his eyes on the Snitch .. “ - Harry, HBP.

There is little room for argument for one trying to say that Harry was admiring Ginny in all innocence from a broomstick suspended in midair. This is another not-so subtle allusion to Harry’s burgeoning sexual attraction. Being a sixteen-year old boy, it is fairly plausible that Harry was being highly inappropriate, possibly undressing Ginny with his eyes, and he needed the force of a Bludger to snap him out of it. It is ridiculous to insinuate that Harry wasn’t looking a little intently than he ought to at Ginny; how else could he have ignored a Bludger speeding at him?

Quite apart from the fact that Harry described his impromptu mid-common room snog with Ginny in a remarkably heavenly fashion, he also explicitly went on to say that if they had time, they would talk about the Quidditch match. This does not specifically point to anything too scandalous, but it does make very clear that Harry intended on taking Ginny to a deserted area for more kissing. This seems a terribly bold step for two people who haven’t even started dating yet. It speaks a lot about their relationship that they started things off with a good, (presumably) lengthy snog, and jumped headlong into the opportunity to snog some more. It insinuates that the two were already very comfortable with each other, and already moving very fast in their relationship.

If that didn’t scream CLUE!!! enough, the next sure indicator was Harry’s feelings while they were dating. His narration was light, airy and genuinely happy – a dramatic change from the teenage angst that readers had been dealing with since GOF. It might be in my imagination, but I have always thought Harry in that period to be all kinds of insufferable, walking around with a goofy grin on his face and not paying much attention to anything – that lovestruck behaviour is largely hinted at in the books,after all. Hadn’t Professor Slughorn attributed Harry’s detoriating Potions grade to “lovesickness”? This obviously meant that Harry had been displaying visible symptoms of the same, which prompted that line of reasoning. What else could make the Boy-Who-Finally-Got-A-Girlfriend “happily impervious to gossip”?

On a particularly striking instance, Harry states that he was reliving a happy moment spent with Ginny in the grounds – if it was “happy” enough for Harry to dwell on it later, what could they have been doing, one wonders? (Cough, cough). Harry expressed explicit frustration that he could no longer spend time with Ginny, and there a very choice things that would, per say, “frustrate” a sixteen-year old boy.

Perhaps it isn’t overly obvious on skimming HBP, but if one analyses Harry’s narration, as I have, it becomes laughably clear that Harry and Ginny were almost definitely being adventurous. Ginny, for her part, is described as fiery and passionate – nothing in her character suggests restraint or holding back. A war, of which Harry was a main part, was going on in full-swing outside the cosy walls of the castle. It is additionally suggestive that JK Rowling also wrote in a specific conversation where it was revealed to Harry that people often elope during times of war. Ginny herself had commented playfully on it. If taking that step as such a young age wasn’t exactly responsible, the could hardly be blamed for it.

Another compelling argument is the fact that Harry, in particular, was, for want of a better word, especially well-equipped. For goodness’ sakes, the boy owned a legitimate Invisibilty Cloak, the Marauder’s Map and was an active user of the Room of Requirement. While Harry made use of these magical items for relatively noble and innocent purposes – in a non-Voldemort dangered world, what else would students want to make themselves invisible for? Ginny, in particular, doesn’t seem the type to ignore the dual potential of items like the map and Cloak.

Lastly, the dealbreaker was the stiflingly unbearable encounters between Harry and Ginny in DH. If there was slight sexual tension in the air between them in HBP, this was magnified about a hundred times in DH. Not many people choose to dwell on this, but I invite you think for a moment – imagine being boyfriend and girlfriend scarcely two months ago, and having a blissful, perfect relationship. Now, imagine being forced to live under the same roof – two teenagers – when they were so unwillingly forced to break up. They had barely spent a month dating, only to be brutally separated, and then made to live together again? Forget Crucio, there’s nothing more torturous than that.

Every time Harry made eye-contact her, he starts to recall moments spent with Ginny in secluded parts of the grounds, which is possibly the least subtle reference in the entire franchise. Again, he experiences acute, agonising frustration, to the point where he is actively trying not to brush against her while they eat dinner – it sounds almost as if he doesn’t trust himself. Another extremely suggestive moment is when Aunt Muriel makes a comment on the scandalous, revealing quality of Ginny’s bridesmaid dress, and the latter turns around and winks at Harry.

No explanation needed.

Need I dwell on Harry’s absolutely endearing jealousy while Ginny danced with other boys at the wedding? He, quite literally, leans against a pillar, folds his arms, (presumably with a glare on his face) and stares fixedly at Ginny.

One confusing instance, however, was Ginny’s – ahem – birthday present to Harry, in which he says, “And then she was kissing him like she had never kissed him before ...” This could somewhat serve as proof that they never progressed farther than snogging, but this greatly contradicts that aforementioned alusions to the same. It also seems a little naive to assume that they were exceedingly good little children while they disappeared for hours to secluded corners and fondly dwell on those instances to the point of distraction afterwards. No, it is my belief that it had been so long since Harry kissed her that he was automatically prone to over-exaggerating their sudden reprisal.

As I come to my conclusion, a few worthy mentions – Harry’s thoughts just before Voldemort struck him in the Forbidden Forest in DH: “And Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –“ Alas, he never completed his train of thinking, but it does leave considerable food for thought.

Therefore, one can comfortably assume that in at least one area of his life, Harry acted like any normal boy his age. He had strong, passionate feelings for Ginny, and she unquestionably felt the same about him (“I never gave up on you. Not really. I always hoped …”), and those kind of things are recipes for teenage intimacy. However, anyone clinging to childhood beliefs can also safely predict that they waited. We may never know, but the evident has always been there, just as JK Rowling intended.

What are you thinking? 🤔

[nestasgalpal]

The ball is in his court

Fixing ACOSF Part 8

Masterlist | AO3

Summary:  Cassian knows Nesta is supposed to dance with Eris and lure him into a stronger alliance with the Night Court. He knows he's been forbidden from getting close to her during the whole event. He knows she loves to dance. He knows he wants to be the one swinging with her.

A/N: angst because Cassian got very little character development in the book for someone who had that much family drama to deal with. It's not that big of a change as other chapters, but I thought it made sense to add this here with how these three acted in the ball.

Tagging: @gwynriel @zoyaslai @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr  @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron  @jemstan300 @nessiantrashh @azrielsgirl @poisonus-bloom  @loveadora @frosted-crackers  @mireillemystique @pataytayo @968sunflower968 @caram267 @jainadurron @darkshadowqueensrule @amphiptree @finae-bookshelf @niytavia @brainlessfruit @dontgetsalmonella @messyhairday-me @sunsummoner  @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @wannawriteyouabook @psychoticminx @misswonderflower @drielecarla @silvernesta @k0ombayamylord @nina-zcnik​ @arinbelle​

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list in the upcoming chapters!! 

Cassian stood firmly on his feet as he made Mor spin once again. The House was playing music for them, and in some strange way, he felt it getting annoyed at how many times he had demanded to go- "Again". The waltz had just finished, and he was already positioning himself to start all over.

"Cass, you already know the moves, you've been dancing these for centuries" she laughed it off "I honestly don't think you need any more practice for tomorrow."

"Again" he insisted.

With a sigh, his friend went back to first position, seven feet away from him. The sound the House played for them was more like a trumpet with a shoe stuck in it than the beautiful harmonies they had been practicing with.

"Please, I want to make sure I get it right before we leave for the ball" Cassian gave her his best pout face, which made Mor roll her eyes.

"You are not going to dance with her, Cass. You got clear instructions from Rhys about that. I don't even know why I'm helping you with this, we both heard you are not allowed near her." The House probably felt like Mor was doing a good enough job at remprimanding him for his stubbornnes, because the melody of the waltz started playing again, and they moved to the sound of it. "Gods, you two are already making this way harder than it needs to be with your non-stop fucking" Cassian laughed, but Mor was not in the mood for joking, "This is serious. I heard Rhys complain about how long it took to hide your scent on her." With their palms in the air almost touching, they turned and gave two steps back "Behave." she reminded him of what his role was tomorrow night, and how important it was that he didn't ruin Nesta's mission by approaching her at all.

Cassian smiled again. "I'll try my best".

"Cassian" her tone made clear that she was not amused by the idea of what he may do with with all this dance practice.

"I know, I know. I'll be a good General Commander and stand by my High Lord's side the entire night, while she dances with Eris Vanserra" the lightness with which he spoke did very little to hide the feelings behind it. The jealousy.

Mor let him guide the dance, shadows in her eyes. Their imminent visit to Hewn City must be disturbing her, specially knowing both his father and Eris would be there. The stress of the negotiations with Vallahan was wearing her down as well.

"Why do you insist on going after her?" The sudden dryness she spoke with took him by surprise, and so did the question itself. Nesta and whatever the nature of his relationship with her was, wasn't a topic they ever talked about. For the last couple of years, they avoided the subject, pretending it didn't exist. That's why it felt so odd how mad she seemed to be now without any previous warning that the matter was present in her thoughts at all. That it could disturb her so much, was the most unexpected part of it.

It rubbed him the wrong way, but Cassian kept on moving, the smile in his eyes not fading one bit as he looked into hers to answer.

"Jealous that I'm spending my time with her and not you lately?"

The blonde's gaze pierced through him with a cold disdain he hadn't prepared himself for either. "Not at all. Unlike you, I understand what an order is." Ouch. "I don't blame you for following Rhys' command and babysitting her when he asked you to. She's your job, I guess."

"She is not a job"

"Cassian" His friend hardly ever called his full name. This was now the second time in a matter of minutes.

The conversation was taking a turn he didn't like as a sense of danger that made him on guard sat between them. But it was his best friend talking, his sister, so he ignored his instincts and kept moving to the rhythm. He tried to be graceful and move with precision, imagining it was Nesta's pale hand in his.

"I'm serious. You really need to come back from this recess sooner or later. Better if you choose the former, considering you have a job to do, a role to play as the rest of us do. Her included." The dance required him to spin her twice, an artificial pause in her speech as she twirled on his arms "I'm sure it was fun, but Feyre already revoked the order, so it's time you move on and take things seriously again. You have no idea how bad the treaty with Vallahan is going. We must prepare for the worse, have the armies ready".

"You think being here with her is some kind of vacation?"

The flow of her practiced movements didn't disappear for a second as she dissed Nesta, which was unsettling. Apparently, it came natural to her and putting these thoughts into words required no effort. For how long had Mor been thinking this way about his stay in the House of Wind?

"You sure smell like you are having a good time". Mor gave a step forward to the beat of the orchestra. Cassian didn't follow her movement, their bodies colliding.

It was now making him truly angry. Not just her usual dismiss of Nesta, which he had grown accustomed to, but the little care she was showing for him. He hadn't been working less on Illyria for the past months, his duty with Nesta being piled up on top of his previous responsibilities, and in addition to his new assignments as courtier to cover up her absence. He was working his ass off.

Countless, sleepless nights trying to come up with new ideas to help Nesta weren't something he had told her about, but she certainly knew about the exhaustion they put him through. The fighting, the struggle. Having to finally face how lost she was and stop pretending he had nothing to do with it had been a wake up call. Trying to put the pieces together, a painfully slow process they were still working on. They were achieving it bit by bit... and together, he wanted to think. It had been anything but a vacation.

His biggest regret, however, was printed all over her words, truth slipping through the cracks in the lie he had crafted for himself so long ago. That's why Mor's words hit him like a punch in the guts, because he had actually treated Nesta as a job in the beginning, and Nesta probably had thought the same thing -if she didn't still feel about it like that. A job. Cassian flinched. An order given to him to follow, and not his own decision to sought her and be there for her after the war.

"This is not time off for me, and, again, she is not a job."

Mor wasn't listening, "You need to be honest with yourself, Cass. You need to come to terms with whatever it is your cock feels for that female, and move on."

"You did not just say that" Cassian was speechless.

Knowing what she knows.

Cassian put distance between them and scanned the room looking for a chair, needing to sit down. There was one left alone by the wall where they had pushed it to have more space for their dancing. He sat before he felt his blood drop to his feet, his head uncomfortably light as his sight became dizzy.

Mor hadn't just said that. She would never cross him like that. Denial took over, his trustful self convincing him he just needed a moment to focus. Once he felt better, he would realize her words were only a friend worrying, not an attack on him. She was helping. Mor was always there for him when he needed a friend. She was only trying to give him some advice.

Then why did it hurt so much to hear those twisted truths from her mouth?

"Oh, come on!" she was saying behind him. Mor's words were distant and distorted, as if he were underwater. It took him a moment to understand and process them. "You saw what she became after the war just as clearly as I did. You did nothing about it, just like I did. And we were okay with that, we have our own life, Cass, and she doesn't fit in it. There is another war waiting for us in the corner that threatens to break this moment of happness we've built. For our future, you need to come back to be who you are, the Cassian I know. I miss him."

Once again, the plain truth. He had drifted away like everyone else. They had all decided that space was what she needed, and when that didn't work, it was once again them deciding what to do with the pieces that were left. He had agreed to every plan, convincing himself they knew what they were doing and they knew her better than she did. That they had any right to pick a path for her, the biggest lie of them all.

And now Mor's words were shattering the wall of self-inflicted fabrications he had slowly built while Nesta faded away from his reach. He took in his friend's words, their meaning. What she thought, and some of his friends -family- shared.

It made his heart skip a bit to realize that Nesta probably saw it like that too to this day. He had already accepted his mistakes to himself, he knew before the blonde said it what he had done wrong. Yet Cassian hadn't thought about how his actions were read from the outside. Nobody had called him out on his bullshit. Nobody had interfered -wasn't that what friends were supposed to do? So there it was, the reason why none of them had ever tried to help him smooth things between them: they didn't want him to. Stupidly and blindly trusting his friends would have the respect for him he had proven to have for them, he assumed they were just as blind as he was. Apparently, they weren't, and they had purposefully left her to rot.

Up until now, Cassian hadn't entertained the thought that she most likely didn't let him in because she also considered his presence there a task for him to handle, even if they had grown to be... friends.

That was it -a dead end for them.

No matter how hard he insisted on being there for Nesta now, he had already failed her too many times, and she simply wouldn't allow him to get closer a second time. Not the way he wanted to, at least.

His pulse was in his ears. Or maybe he was hearing again the dreadful noises the house played for them before.

Oh, Nesta.

Had she agreed to the plan because she didn't really care for him watching? Did Nesta not care because she simply didn't want to be anything else than friends in the end? Did she even trust him enough to call what they had a friendship?

A glass of red wine appeared on the table next to him and was it was in his hand a second later. Cassian swallowed its content in one sip. It was refilled instantly. Realization hit him right then and there, that he might be in time to save her, yet too late for what he wanted from her. And his ass would be the only one to blame for that. His cowardice. And how could he hope for a second chance from someone who didn't grant one to herself?

A movement in his field of vision took him out of his trance. Mor, who was carefully approaching him, gave a jump back when he got up from his chair, letting it fall back. The loud noise scared her too.

Those damned reports. He should have never agreed to that stupid idea. Nor to the plan they had for tomorrow night. Yes, she had agreed to it, but maybe if he had asked her not to... No, she would have still done it, convinced it was the only way she would not be seen as a coward.

Who gives a fuck about how anyone sees her. She certainly didn't use to. And he used to love that about her.

But now she clearly did, and was ready to do anything to change how he and his friends saw her. Even seducing Eris Vanserra right in front of him.

"Why can't you just leave her alone?" he asked, defeated at the thought that Nesta was indeed going to allow him to be by her side, but probably where he was right now was the closer he would ever get to tearing down her walls.

Mor looked back at him, marking the way his arms hung by his sides, the picture of a defeated male. She showed no compassion.

"Because I can't forget what she did to Feyre. I still remember the night she told us her story, what she went through. I see her grow every day and I'm reminded of who broke her in the first place. I can't let that slide like nothing." Cassian opened his mouth to say something, not knowing what exactly. He closed it again as Mor lifted a finger to stop whatever words he would have come up with from escaping his mouth. She was angry, "She let her 14 year old sister go wonder the woods next to the Wall all alone. Feyre was a child, Cassian. A kid who had to risk her life on a daily basis because your lover didn't want splinters in her fingernails."

Cassian sighed, tired of a conversation that kept circling back to the same point over and over again. He knew what Nesta's choices had meant to Feyre, but he had seen her regret as well, and what those same choices had done to her. Cassian had seen and heard the forgiveness coming from Feyre herself, her actions a window to what his High Lady needed: to move on. They had talked about it, his friend had opened up to him and she was obviously determined to have her sister back at any cost. And so was him. He was determined to help his friend and at the same time assist Nesta with whatever it was she needed... once she came to terms with what it was.

He had taken her to the old cabin they used to live in and had stand by her side as she scanned the place, finding only bad memories of the person she used to be. She wanted to move on as well. So if the two people involved wanted the same thing, why did their friends keep getting in the way using a wound that was already healing as an excuse.

"But you can forgive Elain?"

"Elain has at least tried to be one of us, Nesta has done nothing since she arrived but be against us."

Cassian laughed at that, a bitter, joyless laugh. "Elain is trying to be our friend, while Nesta doesn't like us. Is that it?" He chuckled again. "Are you telling me that the only reason you pick on her is that she doesn't want to be your friend and you can't just accept that? I thought it was her actions to Feyre in the past, but yes, this makes way more sense now." This time it was him stopping her from talking back, "I can see a pattern there. Isn't that the same reason you don't trust Lucien no matter how hard he works to help us? That he has his own life beyond us?" The volume of his voice went in crescendo as his anger rose to meet hers, "You can't be seriously expecting me to leave her because of a petty fight that only exists in your head."

"It's not just me, Cass. It's all of us. No one likes her, no one wants her around, and we are not having our days ruined every time she shows up so you can fuck her. You are not like this, you are not selfish like that." The indignation simmering in her brown eyes didn't make her an inch scarier to him, the childish reasons for it almost making him consider the argument over, hadn't him been so heated himself. "I want my friend back. And so does Rhys, who can't look at her -or Lucien, for that matter, without being reminded of what his mate went through before he found her."

Cassian snapped.

His siphons glowed scarlet red, goosebumps in his arms from the contained adrenaline rushing through his veins. He screamed at her in anger for the first time in... for the first time in as long as he could remember.

"Don't you dare try to make me feel like I'm a bad friend to Feyre to justify your bigotry. Don't you dare try to convince me that I'm the one hurting others, so I stay in my place while you do whatever the fuck you want and then blame the problems that surface on me. Don't you fucking dare play the victim of this when it's none of your business."

There had been genuine happiness in Feyre's eyes the night Nesta and her decided to give themselves one last chance.

Now Mor was reducing Feyre to nothing but an excuse for her own grudges. She was trying to yield her past suffering as a weapon against her sister, which would make Feyre just as furious as he was. She would never use the damage she experienced to hurt someone she loved, and that was the kind of friend he wanted in his life giving him advice. That was the kind of friend Cassian needed.

He had taken Nesta to the mountains and listened to her cry. He had heard from her mouth how she felt.

Worthless.

She had felt like she didn't deserve to be alive.

And apparently, Mor agreed.

It couldn't be wrong to have sympathy for her. It couldn't be wrong to want her. And he did want her. Cassian wanted everything with her. Was he a bad friend to Feyre for that? How, when his friend wanted the same thing?

"She saved my life twice. She was ready to die with me instead of running away. Does that mean nothing to you?" Above all, what broke Cassian's trust in her wasn't simply her disapproval of Nesta. Rather than that, what Cassian wasn't sure he could forgive was how little care she showed for him. "If you don't like her, that's fine. I don't care, and I can promise you she doesn't either. But don't you dare use Feyre or me as an excuse for it."

"I won't apologize for caring. I won't apologize for protecting my High Lady and my best friend, and the life you really want and deserve".

"At what point exactly did you decide Feyre's happiness was above Nesta's life? Was it after you met her, or had you already ranked your priorities the night Feyre told us about her sisters? Oh, sorry, our priorities, since apparently you know what I want better than I do." Cassian wasn't sure if he would have stopped his ranting right there if he had seen any regret coming from Mor, and he never got to find out. His friend's face was a mask of faked boredom as he spoke. "From all people, I would expect you guys to know what it's like to be perceived by outsiders in a way that's different from who you are as a measure of protection. You simply fail to understand that, for her, we've been the bad guys she has to be wary of since day one. And the reason is precisely that we made our minds clear about her in that fucking dinner party and refused to change it independently of what she did to be better".

He would know about it.

A blank expression was painted on her face. "You need to chill."

"Leave." he ordered. It was no up for discussion. Cassian couldn't even look at her right now. He was fuming and didn't want to say things he would later regret. As he opened the glass doors for Mor, he knew he would, unless one of them left.

"Are you seriously going to let a stupid fight about her get between us?"

It was the way she said her. Like she had said it a hundred times before, like others had pronounced as well, including him not so long ago.

Cassian turned to face the blonde, a special kind of anger glimmering in his eyes.

"Me?!" he screamed. Mor gave instinctively a step back, "Am I going to let it get between us!? You are the one who brought her up, Mor. You are the one who has a problem, and I'm the one pretending you don't trash her at every chance you get, so we can still be friends. I'm not the one letting an argument get between us, for the only thing I've been doing over five hundred years is make everything easier for you. And now, I'm done." Her eyes went wide.

But Cassian was now beyond turning. He had tried to leave and make her go to avoid exactly what was about to happen, "Are you seriously going to let a stupid sister fight only you care about at this point get between me and my happiness? You really despise her so much you would take the chance of being happy with Nesta away from me only to make her miserable?" he spat.

Cassian took a step forward and Mor gave another one back at the same time, recoiling. There was fear in her face as he made his way to her, a kind of fear he had never seen on her features whilst looking at him. "Just look at me in the eye and answer this question, Mor, and I promise there won't be more fights between us for better or worse: Would you rather have me unsatisfied for the rest of my days than have me happy, if that requires her being blissful as well? "

Her silence was too long. It was too damn long.

Cassian spread his wings, the glimmer of his siphons mirroring his anger, and went for the glass doors.

"I only want to protect you." Mor cried behind him. Cassian walked fast, but she was at his heels when he reached the banister, begging him to stop and listen.

One single tear run down her beautiful face. If any other person had made her shed a tear, he would be the first one going after them to make them suffer unimaginable pain. Mor was his best friend, had always been. Cassian thought there was nobody in the world he wouldn't at least beat up for making her sad the way she looked now. But he heard her whimper, saw the hurt, and realized it was too little compared to what she had inflicted on him. On Nesta.

She had gone too far. And at the same time, she was giving him too little.

He turned to face her, needing to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. A part of him refused to believe this was actually happening, wanted to trust in that, once he met her eyes again, he would see regret in her pupils. The hope he had learned from her ages ago making him give her one last look before he aimed for the sky.

Of course, Mor was too stubborn to show any kind of surrender. Too proud to be regretful.

"I am a 500 year old warrior. She is a 25 year old female whose family she can't talk to without pushing them away. And you think I'm the one who needs protection because she is mean to those she doesn't like."

It was not a question. Cassian wanted Mor to hear what her case sound like to him. Before he left, Cassian wanted her to know this was not going to be a short argument and they wouldn't be having lunch together next week. It was a breaking point in their friendship, and he was going to stand on this hill as long as it took, unmoving no matter how many jibes she trowed at him or how many tears wetted her face.

Mor cried in silence, and only because the winter breeze was cooling him down, he didn't get angrier at her for that, at himself, and at the world. Why did they always find a way to make things harder than they should be?

"Wait, please, don't go." The sound of his wings spreading again almost prevented him from hearing her whimper as she said, "I can still teach you one last dance," she murmured. Cassian listened carefully, she didn't dare moving, monitoring his position as if he were a wild animal and she was a rabbit trying to be discrete to not become his prey "There is one gavotte they are likely to play. She is so good at it, you would think she's known the moves for decades and not days."

A temtative hand reached for his arm and stayed there. He had never seen Mor stutter, especially when it came to him. Cassian had always been her best friend, the one who never got mad at her and she could count on. Now she was unsure if he was leaving for the day, or if he was flying away from her for Cauldron knows how long. She didn't tighten her grip on him when he didn't push her away, it remained light and unsure. "I think you already know it, but we can practice that one a couple of times. Just in case you get a chance to dance with her. You'll look great by her side... like it's meant to be".

Cassian noticed his cheeks were wet as well. His gaze burned so fiercely Mor couldn't hold his stare. With anger still painted all over his features, Cassian nodded and followed her inside again.

Mor didn't say a bad word about her for the rest of the evening, and even if he couldn't know where she went afterwards to rant about it, he appreciated her silence.

---

A couple of minutes after her orgasm, Nesta's legs were still shaking. Cassian drove his hand up and down her thighs, feeling her soft skin with the excuse of a massage to help her muscles relax.

He needed to calm down as well -it had been a particularly long day. Nesta had been happy to follow him into his room after dinner, feeling something was off. He had to restrain himself from telling her when she asked about it. First, because he didn't want her to know he was taking dance lessons with Mor. She would know the reason behind it in a second, and he didn't feel like exposing himself like that for a second time that day.

He also couldn't tell her about the argument that hours later still kept his head bussy. He didn't want her to know how frivolously she had been discussed, what both Mor and him had said about her in the same living room where their kisses after dinner had started.

Nesta's breathing was steady, tranquil. His cock was still inside her. He needed to feel her touch. She wasn't in conditions to leave his room even if he came out of her, but Cassian didn't want to give her a chance to get rid of him just yet. He needed her presence there a little longer.

Nesta's fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pressing his head to the crook of her neck. He kissed the soft skin and felt her pulse beat fast against his lips. The path of wet kisses he planted all the way up to the spot behind her ear made her moan.

Cassian felt his blood rushing back to his cock.

With his hands, he cupped her breasts. A sigh escaped her swollen lips, his own closing around a hard nipple. Cassian marked with kisses and playful bites his way down her abdomen to the apex of her thighs. Nesta's let a loud moan escape when his tongue hit with precision her bundle of nerves, drawing circles around it. Teasing her. Making her wetter if that was even possible.

Unaffected by Nesta's pleas, he enjoyed playing with her, his mouth exploring her folds as if wanting to drink her in. Cassian couldn't hear anything, the sinful sounds she let out a song his blood echoed, roaring in his ears. Her hand found his head, her hips clashing against him as she tried to ride his face. Oh, he loved it when she did that, so desperate to have him closer, for his touch to never leave her.

It was his lust what determined every movement his body made, convincing Casian he could reach heaven just by climbing up her hips. Cassian didn't stop until he felt her thighs clench the sides of his head. The hand that held him fixed between her legs became a fist in his hair, encouraging him to keep going, keep licking and keep playing with her most sensitive spot until his tongue took her over the edge one more time.

Yet he hadn't had enough of her. He needed more and more, and after each time they slept together, the urge to have her again grew stronger, as Cassian became more impatient for the next time. Nesta felt the same way, by how her hands found his wings by reaching behind his shoulders and aroused him again. A grin spread through her face when he let his lover play with him in whatever way she pleased. Whatever she wanted from him, Cassian would give.

He climaxed one more time all over her breasts, before he finally renounced to her body. He was content resting by her side, their legs tangled under the sheets.

It was now a matter of time before Nesta left his room.

Cassian's legs tangled with hers. Nesta moved idly against him, making herself comfortable. Their bodies fitted together like pieces from a jigsaw puzzle, their breaths the only sound in the room. He could tell she was cold as he once again found himself caressing her arms, pale like porcelain under the moonlight that came through the window. Cassian pulled the sheets to cover them and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Nesta had her walls down. She looked so peaceful curled up against him.

"You don't like us, do you?" even if he whispered the words, they were loud in the silence of the room.

Nesta was fighting to focus her sight, just as tired as he was. "What do you mean?" Oh Cauldron. That raspy voice of hers after sex. Too much moaning for her own good. And he hadn't even enjoyed her throat that night. He had to picture terrible things in his head so his cock would behave and not react to her "that was really great sex" voice.

"My friends and I. The Inner Circle as a whole, you could say." His hand rested in the small of Nesta's back, drawing lazy circles.

She maneuvered to get rid of his touch, sitting up on the bed. The absence of her body against him was painfully obvious. Cassian laid on his back, fighting the impulse to sit up as well. He moved his hands to his nape with faked laziness, as if the question was simple small talk. Yeah... the small talk they never had after sex. Not weird or suspicious at all.

Good job, you idiot. She's not coming to your room in weeks. He cursed himself.

He couldn't withdraw now, it was too late. Nesta's gaze was feline. On guard.

"I don't think I dislike any of you more than you dislike me."

"Hey, I don't dislike you!" he ignored the cautiosness on her tone. He would pretend everything was okay and pray Nesta somehow went with it, "I would say, in fact, that I am very fond of you. And so is Az, for what's worth."

She smiled, a cold grin that didn't seem to fit with the rest of her face, still flushed, eyes glassy and tired. "Then you don't have to worry about it." He said nothing, only kept looking at her. He had learned that, if he waited long enough, she would go on. It could be only to insult him and then leave... but she would go on.

---

Nesta sighed. Where was he going with this? What was she even supposed to respond? No, she didn't like half of them... that if she counted the ones she barely tolerated. But she could sit in the same table as them and be civil. She was even working for them, so why he would bring that up two minutes after he came all over her, was beyond Nesta.

"I thought you didn't care what your friends thought of this" she pointed between the two of them, her gesture just as calculatedly casual as his had been.

A wet washcloth appeared on his nightstand. Nesta mentally thanked the house for her timing. If she was forced to have this conversation, she would rather be clean for it. Nesta rubbed it on her chest, Cassian's gaze following and fixing on her breasts. She cleared her throat, urging him to answer.

"And I don't. I was just curious if you did."

Nesta sigh.

"You've snapped at me before for calling one of you an asshole, Cassian. Do you really expect me to go on a detailed answer on how much I value them and their opinions?" Cassian tightened his jaw, but didn't answer. He waited for her to go on, knowing his silence was pressure enough for her to give in and talk.

If she said she didn't mind what they thought of her, she would be lying. But if she told him she did care, she would be lying as well. It wasn't that simple, a "yes" or a "no".

Nesta cared and worried about their opinions, not because she valued their judgement, but because she was still afraid she didn't have enough power in that Court to face their truth with hers. She had her own thoughts about them, but they didn't have the weight on Cassian one word from any of his friends had.

Nobody ever asked her what she thought of them, because it didn't really matter. Yet everyone expected Nesta to take into consideration what they wanted -who they expected her to be. They had crossed the line in the most disgusting ways to make sure she did the right changes to fit into the mold they had created for her. And Cassian had been a part of it.

Now, from all people, Cassian was asking.

"Don't mention them when we are in bed if you want to see me here again." that was the little bargain power she was sure she had over him. The territory she could claim for herself.

Once again, it took Cassian some time to come up with his own words. Nesta's brain was going a thousand thoughts per minute, reading his face, his body, trying to anticipate where he was going to strike next. He had chosen to bring this up right after sex, when she was slower with her wit. Prick.

When Nesta thought he simply wouldn't answer, Cassian finally sat on the mattress, shoulders down, his body apparently relaxed, his muscles tense and wings tucked in "I know this is just sex, and that's enough for me. I'll take it." As he mouthed the words, Nesta came out of the mist that clouded her thoughts, ready to cover up any crack on her armor. "I just want to know if my friends have anything to do with you not wanting... more."

For that, the answer was yes. She did worry what they thought of Cassian and her being... close, only because she wasn't sure what Cassian would do if they didn't approve of them together.

Nesta didn't care, but she worried what it would mean for her if they asked him to leave. Nesta was sure she meant enough to Cassian for him to put on some resistance. But when push came to shove, if they ever asked him to choose, she doubted Cassian would put her before them.

And she wasn't ready to be broken like that.

There was one thing about Cassian she admired above anything else he had and was, and that was his loyalty. Absolutely unmoving. She saw first-hand how this male loved, so ardently, so unwavering. If Cassian was asked to choose and chose his friends, she wouldn't blame him, she would understand. She had seen him put his life on the line for them without thinking, the act natural to him.

It was knowing that Cassian wasn't the obedient dog others had claimed him to be what would be devastating for her. To be so sure that he didn't feel the need to follow his High Lord to the end of the world.

If he chose them, duty wouldn't be the reason. Cassian would do it because he literally loved them more.

It was precisely that what made her so afraid to let him in. To not know if whatever he wanted from her would ever mean to him as much as the bonds he already had. If there was a chance for him to value it even above those. Because she wouldn't take less.

Nesta couldn't tell him she didn't care what they thought, for it would be a lie. And she couldn't tell him about her reasons either without bearing her heart more than she was ready for. And every time she reminded him -or herself- that it was just sex, she remembered why she refused to give him anything else.

So yes, Nesta cared about what they thought only because she feared them in a way Cassian wouldn't understand. He had defended them against her in the past like he didn't know that side of them existed at all.

Unable to answer, Nesta nodded.

Cassian took in her gesture. At his silence, Nesta practically launched herself out of Cassian's bed, aiming for the door and grabbing her nightgown on her way.

He was there before she could grip the knob. His hand slammed the door to make sure she couldn't open it. Nesta turned on her heels to face him, angry at how aggressive his gesture was. At the audacity to behave like this after she gave him the answer he had asked for, only because he hadn't liked it.

She was trapped between his body and the wooden door, her face an inch apart from his naked chest. Because they were still naked. He banged his head against the door and closed his eyes.

"You know I would give my life for you. In a heartbeat. Without hesitation." Nesta could feel her mouth dry. She couldn't believe he was making a scene about this, considering what her mission the next day. What had happened that afternoon before she came back from the Library to shake him like this? "You know that, right?" Cassian insisted.

She nodded one more time, her forehead brushing his shoulder.

"I know you have good reasons to want them far away from you, Nes, but they are part of my life. My family. When I ask myself what I want in my future, I know I want them in it. We've been through so much together that I really can't picture my life without them at this point. To be honest, I don't want to picture it either."

Nesta's throat burned and so did her eyes, lined with tears. She wasn't ready to listen to this coming from his lips.

"But I want you too, and I don't even know if you think that's possible or if I'm making a fool of myself by trying to go after you."

She was glad Cassian had his eyes closed so he wouldn't see the mess she became as his words hit her. Nesta closed them as well, so the tears didn't come out. "We have a mission tomorrow, Cassian. I need to get some sleep and be well rested."

He didn't move.

"Let's not jeopardy the mission for a question you already know the answer for".

In a matter of hours she was going to be dancing with Eris in Hewn City trying to lure him into an alliance with his beloved friends because they had asked that from her. And she had agreed because the future of the frail political situation they were in depended on it. She needed to focus her mind back on that. She told herself that by doing so, she would forget about his confrontation, and by some miracle he wouldn't bring it up again after that.

"Why did you even accept to help with that plan, Nesta?" Cassian asked again, an angry whisper in her ear.

Because it's worse to stay in my room while you are there with them and wonder if you would vanish away once again if I don't follow all of you wherever you go.

The low light of the lamp threw shadows on Cassian's hazel eyes when he opened them to look straight into hers. They were so beautiful. He stretched his arm to cup her hand, but Nesta hid it in her lap before he could.

His arm hung there for a moment, as if not knowing what to do with it.

Don't worry, Cassian, I'm choosing this for myself. I'll do it. I want to do it.

And in return, she only asked him to keep things casual.

Nesta knew it was unfair to him. She was giving him no choice. It was selfish. But no one expected anything better from her anyway. She was self-absorbed, everyone knew that. It seemed to be her defining characteristic in their eyes from the beginning. No need to change that now. The only thing Nesta was willing to replace was her relationship with herself, with who she was. The only goal in her mind was to be as ready to fight for her life as she was to give it for others. Only then, she would be able to share her heart the way she wanted to. And if he was still around when that happened, she would gladly give him a piece. Just not yet.

It would take time, but he had promised to stay no matter how long it took. He had sworn.

Her voice was too close to cracking. "You should go get some rest as well. Don't think too much about this, Cassian. It's just sex, remember?"

"Just sex" he agreed.

Nesta moved her hands up and carefully placed them on his chest to push him away. He obediently gave a step back, freeing her. She went straight for the door knob and opened it. Nesta exited as fast as she could to turn her back on him before he saw the effect his damned questions had had on her.

"And I have no intention of changing that for my own reasons. Your friends have nothing to do with it."

It's you, she thought.

"So many things are happening to me at the same time," she said instead, "that...I don't even know how to deal with them and not have a breakdown every five minutes. I need you to be the one thing in my life that is easy. Please." there was no point in hiding her weeping anymore. "And I don't need anyone to die for me. I would hate that, actually. I want someone who is going to stay alive and by my side all the way. And that's why you need to let go." Nesta wasn't sure whose heartbeat she was hearing, but it was thundering at an alarming pace.

"I understand" he said. His voice was not her lover's caring tone, nor her friend's easy-going voice. He was putting distance between them, making it impersonal. She didn't blame him, as she did the same thing and closed the door behind her.

She went straight to her room and asked the House to warm up the cold space.

There were no dreams for her that night.

---

On the same room one floor above, Cassian stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to find sleep.

The sun came up before he got to close his eyes, still thinking about what Nesta had asked from him. What his High Lord had asked from him aligning with her request as well. What Mor thought of it all. The ball and Eris being the one to spend the entire night with Nesta Archeron.

He had a job to do, a character to play he knew too well to mess it up even if he had gotten no rest, so that part didn't worry him one bit.

Only when he finally got up with the first rays of sunshine, Cassian came to terms with what he would do that night and how far was he willing to go. If what he wanted for himself was worth risking all the good things he already had, both with his friends and with her.

Maybe it was time to stop being a coward who adapted to the group's needs. Maybe it was time he gave the first step. Or perhaps he would do better waiting, not rushing things and allowing people to come to him whenever they were ready. No. The person he had in mind the entire night and kept him from resting would never go to him, pride and uncertainty preventing her from taking risks with him. Yet one step too far could mean three steps back, and then none of it would be worth it.

Mor was right, he was not being his old self as he took a cold shower, put on his leathers, and flew to the River House to put Rhys' plan for tonight into motion. Cassian was not being the illyrian Commander they had always known when he stepped into Hewn City armed to his teeth and ready to improvise and do absolutely everything his heart asked him to do.

[heliads]

Breaking Barriers

You are a Winter Soldier, used to being a hired gun anymore and nothing else. When Sam Wilson calls you to help with the Flag Smashers situation, you assume it’s just a job like everything else. He might convince you otherwise.

masterlist

When you first see the call pop up on your phone, you’re not sure whether you should answer at all.

You recognize the name, you know who’s calling. You know who’s waiting on the other end. You also have a sinking feeling as to why they’re calling- you know you couldn’t stay dormant forever. You were a Winter Soldier, after all, and you would never be allowed to stay away from a fight for too long. No matter how much you wished you could avoid it.

In the end, you answer. James Barnes, as you suspect, is waiting for you to reply. He’s not alone this time, joined by one Sam Wilson. The Falcon, a possible Captain America, now an ally of the very man who once tried to kill him. Then again, if you were going by people who tried to kill him, you would also be on that list. You operated under harsh mind control, you lost every fragment of your reality and ability to think for yourself. You’ve only been able to recently claw back some semblance of control, and even that has been hard-won.

You had hoped that staying away from the fight, whatever fight it may be, would do something for you. After the war against Thanos, when you had fought your hardest only to die and be reborn into another fight, you had taken advantage of the time to relax. In a way, that brief death was one of the only true moments you had to yourself. In that instant, watching your fingers give way to ash and dust, you had thought for just a second that you would finally stop being someone else’s weapon. Then you had been brought back to life, and a gun had been shoved into your hands as you had been told to fight once more.

It wasn’t their fault, of course. The Avengers needed help, you were there. However, there is something nice about being asked whether or not you wanted to join Sam and Bucky’s cause this time around. Yes, there are strings attached, as there always seem to be, but there have rarely been jobs without them. You know Sam Wilson is a good man, and Bucky tries his hardest to be one. Of all the fights to start, this might be your best one so far.

You meet them at a small airport in the outskirts of Latvia. You’ve managed to make record time on your flight, but even from your first few footsteps in the dusty tarmac, you can tell that you arrived too late. Seconds before you landed, you saw the videos trending across the world. You saw John Walker, that false Captain America, raising Steve’s shield like a barbarian and using it to slaughter a man who was begging for his life. You know what this means, and you know why you’ve been brought here.

Even without the video, you can tell that something terrible has happened. There’s a haggardness in Sam’s face, a weariness that seems to line his brow. You hadn’t spent that much time socializing with the Avengers, as even the world’s mightiest heroes tended to shy away from silent, potentially mind-controlled soldiers who tend to operate between the darker shades of gray, so you couldn’t claim to know Sam as well as his other coworkers.

This being said, you’d come to see Sam as someone who always knew what to say. You’d watched with grudging admiration as he plied the tools of his trade: soft knocks on the doors of people who needed to talk, gentle reminders that it’s okay to let one’s guard down. He’s tried them on you before, but they never really stuck. You didn’t know him well enough to fully go along with his talks, or he was still too wary of you. 

You could hardly blame him- even Bucky Barnes was known first as a kind, courageous 40s-era veteran. No one knew anything about you; no files to prove your worth, to save you or damn you as someone worth the Avengers’ time. HYDRA had essentially erased you from history, and all the world knew about you is that you were one of the Winter Soldiers tasked with mindless killings up until Sam and Bucky had pulled you out. Even Bucky had Steve to back him up, but you had nobody. That is the way of the world, you suppose, not everyone has a protector. Some people have to pave their own way through.

Despite all this, though, it still shakes you to see Sam so worried. You didn’t realize how often you’d looked to him as a source of calm and reason until you saw him concerned. This alone is enough to make you lengthen your strides, closing the distance between you and the pair of Avengers until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Sam extends his hand without hesitation, and you try to match his trust when you take it.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. You look well.” From anyone else, this would be a nothing, a pleasantry designed to get past the first few stages of protocol. From Sam, however, you feel something different. Like he might actually mean it, or know how to look for the good and bad in you. You’re not sure you were ready for that, or that you’re entirely displeased with the fact that he’s already looking out for you.

Sam gestures towards an awaiting vehicle at the far side of the airport, and the three of you begin walking. You nod once at Bucky, he nods once at you. Winter Soldiers, always knowing when to hold your tongues. Sam raises an eyebrow at this. “So the staring thing isn’t just him?” You smile inwardly. There’s the Sam you remember. Even this brief moment of humor, however, disappears quickly to be replaced by a look of concern.

“Judging by the fact that you’ve gotten here so quickly, I’m assuming you’ve seen the videos. John Walker has to be stopped before he does more damage, and we think he’s taken the super soldier serum. We could use your help in trying to get him to stand down or in taking the shield.” Even this last saying is phrased like a question. You can’t help but compare this to the way HYDRA or even the Avengers used to talk to you. Their speeches were always full of brief, harsh sentences saying exactly what would happen. You would fight, the enemy would not get away, you would stay until the job was done. 

Sam, on the other hand, always leaves a way out, an escape route if you need it. You’ve already taken his call, already arrived in Latvia. There’s no chance you wouldn’t be willing to take on this job, yet Sam still checks to make sure you’re fully on board with the idea. This simple act of empathy is oddly heartwarming, and you find yourself trusting the man even more.

You nod at him, forcing yourself to recollect your thoughts. You’ve been a soldier for a long time, far longer than you should have. You can at least pull yourself together and not act like a starstruck teenager just because Sam’s the only one in years who’s truly looked at you as something more than a weapon. But it does strike like something different, doesn’t it? That’s why it’s so hard to push aside.

“Sounds good. Walker won’t come quietly, though. He saw those cameras and kept going, I doubt he’ll hand over the shield without a fight.” Sam tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I would be surprised if he did. That’s why we’ve got you, though.” You raise an eyebrow. “Backup?” Sam grins. “A friend in case we die.” Maybe he keeps surprising you after all.

John Walker, as it turns out, does not like the idea of turning over the shield any more than you had thought he would. It ends up in a fight, as it usually does. Sam and Bucky approach first, as you had agreed, with you waiting in the shadows in case Walker decided to come out with fists swinging. When things had looked particularly dire, you had jumped in, using your enhanced strength to begin forcing the shield away from Sam’s exposed head.

Walker had glared at you, recognizing you the same way he had Bucky. “You’re another Winter Soldier. You’d turn to criminals instead of staying on my side?” This last part is directed towards Sam, who stands up with a grunt. Something flickers in your chest at the sight of blood slicing up his face. “She’s not a criminal. She is an ally.” Sam says. You’re surprised to hear the honesty in his voice. He truly believes you to be a friend. He might be the first in a long time.

Walker turns back to you, attacking with renewed vitriol. “It doesn’t matter. I am Captain America. The shield is mine, even if I have to take down another super soldier to get it.” You shake your head. “It’s not about the super soldiers, Walker. It’s about making the right call. And I’ve fought enough super soldiers in my time to know that this is the right one.” You manage to wrest the shield away from Walker long enough for it to clatter to the ground. At the sound of ringing metal, the fighting momentarily stops as everyone- Sam, you, Walker, Bucky- turns to face it. 

The din of metal on the ground fades away as it comes to a halt, and then everyone dives to either retrieve the shield or stop it from being retrieved by someone else. In a way, it kind of reminds you of the golden apples of immortality from the Greek Myths- one thrown, groups of mortals falling after them. The shield doesn’t just represent power as it does to Walker, it’s a legacy to uphold. The immortality of a name always seems to come with a legacy.

The fight ends with Walker unconscious on the ground, the shield finally returned to Sam. You watch as Bucky strides away after nodding one last time to Sam, then stand up yourself. Sam calls after you and you turn, seeing him silhouetted in the light of the empty door. The dark of the garage seems to hang around everything but him. It somehow seems right on him.

“Do you have a place to go? Somewhere safe? After this business with Walker, you’re going to get some unexpected callers.” You nod slowly. “I’ve been able to keep HYDRA off of my back for years. Disappearing without a trace is my specialty. I’ll be gone before you know it.” Sam considers this for a second. “What if you didn’t have to do that?” You cock your head at him, confused, and he takes a step forward. The light from the door seems to follow him in, reflecting off of the sharp white lines and metal details on his suit. 

“There’s a place in Louisiana. Delacroix, near the harbor. I have family there. You can come visit, if you like.” You smile, feeling the refusal already rising to your lips. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but if you’ve got family then I probably shouldn’t be there. I attend to attract trouble.” Sam shakes his head. “So do I. So does everyone in this line of work. It doesn’t mean you have to be on the run forever. Take a chance, Y/N. It might pay off.”

With that, he leaves, disappearing into that window of light to the outside world once more. You watch him go, thinking over what he said. There’s a small motion from Walker and you glance over sharply, relaxing when you realize he’s still unconscious. Well, he’s going to wake up eventually. You might as well take a trip and see what you find in Louisiana.

Bucky ends up having the same idea as you, and the two of you meet up for the drive in. Once in Delacroix, it turns out to be fairly easy to find Sam- just follow the train of people congregating around one particular sun-bleached boat bobbing away by the dock. Sam’s gaze lights up when he sees you, and for some reason seeing his happiness makes you feel a little better about coming. You had always been taught that this lightness in your chest, this carefree feeling, was a distraction, something that would only serve to make you worse at your job. Yet why do you feel stronger now then you have in a while?

You don’t have that much experience with boats, but everyone around you seems willing to teach you. You’re not sure whether they recognize you as a murderous Winter Soldier from the news or are just willing to overlook it, but everyone seems ready to accept you as yet another visitor. You can see how this place shaped Sam- his unwavering kindness is present in every single face you see.

You end up working almost all day, and find yourself relaxing on the dock as the golden light of dusk starts to reflect out across the horizon. You hear steps echoing down the dock, and seconds later, someone sits down beside you. “I’m glad you came.” You turn to Sam with a slight smile. “I’m glad too. There’s a new kind of feeling here, something I haven’t had in a while. It’s good to get away from everything and just take a second to breathe.”

Sam gestures towards you in agreement. “That’s the thing. We can all be excellent fighters, but you’re going to wear yourself down to nothing if you stay on the battlefield for too long. We all have to give ourselves a chance to rest.” His tone becomes softer. “That goes for you too, by the way. You are worthy of taking a break.”

You force yourself to laugh. “I didn’t realize I was going to be having this in-depth of a conversation tonight. I would have prepared myself.” Sam gives you a look. “You’re trying to avoid the topic by making jokes. You’re forgetting that I do counseling for the veterans. You can’t use any of the old tricks on me.” You raise an eyebrow. “I can try.” Sam shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “It’s too late, I already know what you’re up to. The point is, your past can only take you so far. You have a right to a good future, and you keep running from it.”

You sigh, staring out over the water. “I just- I’ve done so much. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be without it. Bucky had Steve, had an entire museum exhibition where he could go read up on who he was. I don’t know who I was before the Winter Soldier program because HYDRA wiped it all away. Without something to fall back on, how do I know who I am anymore?”

Sam reaches over, gently wrapping his hand around yours. It’s a surprisingly comforting gesture, and you end up getting so distracted by it that you forget to move your hand away at all. “I know who you are. You are Y/N L/N, the Avenger who would never give up on a fight if she thought it was good. You have a drive unlike anything I’ve seen before, and you’re the one person I called because I knew you would always have my back. I trust you, Y/N, and I know that you will be able to find a place for yourself. You found a place with me, if it’s worth anything.”

You smile at him. It’s a full smile this time, unburdened by worry or fear of the past. “It’s worth a lot, Sam Wilson. To me, it’s worth everything.” When he kisses you, you’re not surprised at all. Just happy that it would be him to finally break down your barriers, and to convince you that you are worth all of the time and energy and love that he will have for you.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[write-orflight]

Watch Over Me: Chapter One

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating: M

Words: 3.2K

Warnings: none for this chapter: innuendo, language

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Steve Rogers learns about the future from a woman stuck in the past.

A.N This is my jazz club reader fic I’ve been talking about writing. This fic isn’t gonna be long but I like it so I hope yall do too. I’m not using my perm taglist because it’s different than my normal content. reply, message, or inbox to be tagged. Devil Has Lilith will be updated Saturday.

Slang used in this chapter:

Dish: An attractive Woman

Butter and egg man: The money man, the man who comes to town to blow a big wad in nightclubs.

Dip the bill: Have a drink.

Corn: Bourbon

Cake-eater: A ladies’ man

Jalopy: An old car.

Drop a dime: Make a phone call

Chapter 1: There's a somebody I'm longin' to see 

“I can’t watch this anymore!” Tony said storming into the compound’s kitchen one night.  Steve looked up from his sketchbook in confusion. “I can’t watch you sit in here another friday night. It’s tragic!” 

“Ugh, not this again, Tony.” Steve says, sighing. Nat and Bucky begin snickering next to him, knowing where the conversation was going. 

“Yes, this again. Cap, I excused it for the first couple of years because you were adjusting to the times but it’s been years! If you’re not on a mission, you don’t go out! Sometimes, when Pep is having trouble sleeping I describe your social life to her, puts her right slee--” 

“Alright, I get it!” Steve cuts him off, slapping Bucky, who was in full hysterics at this point, in the arm. “I know my personal life is--” 

“Non-existent?” Nat provides.   

“Dead?” Tony adds, laughing.  

“But it’s my personal life. I’m over 100 years old. If I looked it, you guys wouldn’t be questioning my staying home.”   

“Exactly, if you looked it, I wouldn’t. But you are not that old yet.” Tony says. “Come on, let’s just all go out once. If you don’t like it, I’ll never make you go out again. I’ll even get you a coloring book or a model ship, or whatever old people do.” 

“Fine.” Steve sighed, as the man next to him cheered. “But nothing like those places you typically go to. They’re too noisy and sweaty and--” 

“Yea I got it, old-timer. We’re not going anywhere like that.” Tony provides. “My friend recently opened a restaurant where their back room is a speakeasy, very accurately themed, you need a password and everything to get in. You’ll fit right in.” 

“Prohibition ended in the 30s.” Bucky says. “Long before Stevie could even drink.” 

“Even still, work with me a little here.” Tony says. 

“Fine.” Steve sighs.  

“Awesome. Now, you’ve got to come in costume to these things so I’ve already taken the liberty of telling my tailor to make you guys something.” 

“What if I had said no?” Steve asks. 

“Oh, Cap. You should know by now I don’t take no as an answer.” 

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

  Steve shifted uncomfortably in his uniform. It was almost exactly like the one he would wear out during down times in the war though he knew it wasn’t the real one as that one was in the Smithsonian. Still, Tony’s tailor did a good job with seemingly all the costumes. Tony looked almost identical to how Steve remembered Howard back in the day. Bucky was in a uniform that looked similar to his back in the day, Glove covering his metal hand. Natatsha was in a sleek red gown, white gloves and pearls that was more modest than he’d seen her wear but still made her look drop dead gorgeous. 

Tony led them down a dark alley to what seemed to be a back door. Steve looked around confused as they entered the smokey hallway. At the end of the hallway there were two large doors and a lady with pinned up hair and a black shimmery dress, smoking with her feet propped up on the desk she was sitting at. 

“Evening gentlemen.” She croons in an english accent. “And lady. Are you lost?” 

“We have a meeting with Dr. Volstead.” Tony says, confidently. 

The woman tilts her head back giving all of you a once over. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” She asks. 

“Yes, it is. But I prefer the rain.” Tony says.  

With that the woman stands and walks over to the large doors and knocks rhythmically 3 times. The doors open to reveal a large dance hall where couples are in full swing, laughing and drinking. A trio of girls crooned a faced paced song as a jazz band was playing behind them. For a moment, Steve did actually forget he was in the 21st century. 

“Enjoy Paradise, my friends.” The woman smiles, before shutting the doors to the outside world. 

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

You were in the kitchen, taking a much needed headache break from the facade you had been putting up for your tables all night long when your Co-worker, Dalia, came up to you. 

“Y/N, Y/N! You have to trade tables with me.” 

You looked at her with a suspicious look. “Why?” 

“Come on, It’s a 4-top anyway. I’ll even trade you the party table for it.” That made you even more suspicious. “50 bucks for it, come on.” 

“Don’t trade, Y/N/N!” Your co-worker and friend/roommate, Jade added. “Tony Stark is in your section. I bet she only wants to give you 50 for it because she knows she’ll make 500.” 

“Come on, that’s not even why.” Dalia groans. “Black Widow is also at your table and you know she’s on my ‘Celebrities I have to fuck before I die’ list.” 

“God, are the rest of the avengers here?” You ask. 

“Not all but you know who is here?” Jade asks. “Steve Rogers.” She says, in a mocking singsong tone, jabbing you. Your crush on Captain America wasn’t really a secret anymore after you confessed it drunk one night. “And he looks almost edible.”  

You hum, you didn’t really feel like taking another table but this wasn’t a normal table. You doubt you had a chance but you weren’t passing up on serving Steve Rogers. 

“I’ll make you a deal. I still want that 50 bucks and we share the table, I’ll consider splitting the tip.” You say, the idea of making your rent in a night did appease you. 

“Deal.”

“Now ladies, I have a song to do.” You say, leaving the girls behind in the kitchen. 

—————————————-

Steve, for the first time in a while it seemed, was having fun. Tony was right, he did feel like he fit right in here. He clapped with the crowd, as the three girls bowed and left the stage. The piano man stood up and took the microphone Steve could tell was only styled to look old but actually wasn’t that old. 

“One more time for the Duclaw sisters folks.” The smooth voiced man said into the microphone, inciting another round of applause from the crowd. “Our next performer is actually the last of the night.” That incited a few ‘awws’ of disappointment. “Don’t cry just yet because Old Gary never disappoints, our next performer is my personal favorite. Sings like a Canary and the Cat who caught it.” That induces a laugh from the crowd and a small chuckle from Steve. “And maybe if you’re good she’ll come on for an encore later. Ladies and Gentlemen, The Sultry Sounds of Y/N L/N.” He says, moving from the mic back to the piano as the crowd cheers. Steve watches the stage as arguably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen seems to glide out from the backstage. She’s wearing a floor length silver gown that seemed to glimmer with every step she took. Her hair came down in long fingerwaves, pinned back so you could see the sculpt of her face. Steve would be lying if he said that wasn’t his favorite part of her facade. She had on simple eyeliner, foundation, and a bold red lip he could probably see from mars. You were beautiful, in a timeless sort of way. 

“My, my.” She crooned in an sultry old new york accent that reminded Steve of the women he grew up around. “What would your wife say if she knew I was your favorite, Old Gary?” 

“She’d agree!” The man called from the piano, inducing the chuckle from the crowd. And a deep sultry one from you. 

“Well as they say, two’s just fine but three’s a party.” She winked at the old man in a way that would make Steve weak if he wasn’t already sitting. 

“You ok there, Cap?” Tony said, snapping Steve out of the mystery woman’s trance. “You disappeared for a second.” 

“I’m fine.” Steve said, fighting the flush that threatened to spread over his face. He looks out the side of his eye to Bucky, who was smirking at him knowingly. Of course, he knew. 

“You know, you saying something about being good got me thinking, Old Gary.” She said, as the man softly played behind her. “A good man is hard to find. Great men are great, bad men are good sometimes too.” She winked to the crowd. “But every girl wants a good man, someone to watch over her.” Old Gary seems to take the cue to start playing her song. 

“There's a saying old, says that love is blind. Still we're often told, ‘seek and ye shall find’” She began singing and it made Steve sit up in his seat. She had the kind of voice that was almost beckoning. She was becoming his own personal siren. “So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind”  

“She’s a looker, huh?” The server, who introduced herself as Dalia, said as she sat down Bucky’s drink. “Y/N’s the main dish of this place.” 

“I think I’m more interested in you, doll.” Bucky flirted, shamelessly. 

“And I think I’m more interested in dames, Soldier.” She says, winking to Natasha who smiles coyly at her. Steve hardly pays them any mind as his focus was on you as you finished your song and thanked the crowd and waved while Old Gary helped her off stage. 

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

You were changing from your stage outfit into your floor outfit when Dalia burst into the locker room.

“Y/N/N, I actually think I might have a chance with Widow. I mean, she’s kinda been ignoring me the whole night but when I mentioned I was into girls she smiled!” Dalia ranted, excitedly as you nodded. You turned your back to her so she’d get the clue to zip you up which she does. “Also, you should’ve seen the way Steve Rogers was watching you sing. He totally wants to hit that.” That makes you perk up a bit. 

“I doubt it. I have it under good authority that he hasn’t hit anything in over 70 years. I doubt I’m what he’s been waiting for.” You laugh. “Still, it’s fun to think about.” 

Dalia tugs you out of the locker room. “Come on, let's get back out there.” 

You sighed before stepping out of the locker room and seemingly out of this century. 

You fake laughed with a guest at the bar as you grabbed your tray of drinks and made your way over to the table that had been making you nervous all night. You placed the four whiskey rocks drinks on the tables. 

“Courtesy of Dean.” You say, placing the drinks down. Stopping at Tony Stark. “Don’t know why? You seem to be the butter and egg man out tonight. 

“Butter and egg?” He asks, looking to Steve and Bucky. 

“Means money man, High roller.” Bucky explains, Steve nods. 

“Ah, well I am that.” Tony says, laughing. “I must say Miss, what was it? Y/N?” You nod confirming. “I have to say you are quite the performer.” 

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Stark. Go ahead, dip your bill.” You say pointing to the drink, Hoping they’d get the hint. They did of course, after seeing Steve and Bucky take a sip. You watch Steve grimace slightly at the taste of the liquor. 

“Everything alright, fella?” 

You watch Steve flush at the attention being tossed his way. You can’t help the confident smirk that graced your face knowing it was you that had Steve Rogers flustered. “I’m fine, I just don’t enjoy the taste.” 

You hum. “Yea, it’s the big cheese’s favorite drink and he’s known for liking it rough.” You wink, somehow making Steve flush more. That made you want to push it more. “I’ve got some corn in the back they call the Y/N because it feels really good when it’s going down.” That makes Steve choke a little and induces a hearty laugh from the group. “Can I get you a glass, Soldier?”  

“Y-Yea, I’d like that.” Steve flushes. It was almost fun at this point. 

“I’d love to try the real thing.” Bucky says, flirting right back with a smirk you knew has to make every girl in the 40s weak in the knees. You didn’t indulge him though. 

“Well, aren’t you a regular cake-eater.” You smirk. “I’ll be back with two glasses.”  

“I see the serum didn’t enhance your ability to talk to pretty girls.” Bucky laughs as you want away. Steve can’t help but become a little distracted by the sway of your hips. 

The rest of the night seemed to go like that. You bringing them drinks and flirting with the captain anyway you could just to see the pretty flush that spread across his face. But soon the time came for the superheroes to take their leave. As you sat the check in front of Tony, you brushed a hand over the Captain’s shoulder admiring the broadness of them. 

“You’ll come back and see me, Sugar?” You say, phrasing it like a question despite it not really being one. Steve nods, dumbfounded by you. You smile and wink at him before walking away. 

You’re in the kitchen eating the pizza you had ordered earlier when your manager, Dean comes out of his office for the first time that shift. 

“Y/N!” You roll your eyes when you hear him scream your name. “What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“I’m eating dinner. Something I could’ve done on my break if I ever got one.” 

“You know you’re not supposed to be eating anything that couldn’t be made in the 30s. People pay for the illusion and if they see you gorging yourself on pizza, it ruins it.” 

“No one’s looking in the fucking kitchen, Dean.” 

“Uh-huh, and another thing. You know what kind of songs you’re supposed to sing.” You roll your eyes harder. You knew this argument was coming. “That song is from the 50s and you knew it.” 

“None of those bullshit hipsters know who Ella fucking Fitzgerald is!” You yell. “Much less what years her fucking songs came out. That song killed and that’s all that fucking matters.” 

“Change your set or you’re fired.” 

That makes you laugh in his face. “Uh-huh, as if you’re going to find a singer who’ll work as cheap as me.” You say, brushing past him. “See you tomorrow.” 

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

Steve comes back to the bar the following week. He tells himself that it’s just for a quick drink but he knew the real reason was because he could not stop thinking about you. He also knew you were probably just being friendly because it’s your job to. He just needed you to reject him so he could go on with his life. 

He found himself in that hallway again approaching the woman he had seen last week. 

“Evening, Sir.” She says. “Are you lost?” 

“Umm.. I have a meeting with Mr. Volstead?” Steve questions, not really recalling the password fully. 

The woman hums. “Nice night, no?” She says. 

“I prefer the rain.” 

The woman sighs. “I’m sorry. I typically would let you in because I don’t really care but technically I’m not supposed to let anyone who doesn’t know the password in… even if  they are kinda famous.” She says. “The password changes every week. I’m sure if you ask Mr. Stark, he can find it for you.” 

“Oh, no worries. Sorry for wasting your time.” Steve sighs, turning back out the building. 

He’s approaching where he parked his bike when he hears a string of expletives being screamed followed with a car stuttering before not starting. He looks over to see a woman angrily get out of her car and lift the hood to see it smoking. The woman lets out another stream of expletives before kicking the tire and leaning her head on the roof of the car, defeated. For some reason, he feels compelled to go over and see how he could help. As he got closer he couldn’t believe his luck, it was you. He tapped you lightly on the shoulder and you turned with the beginnings of tears in your eyes. 

“Oh, Soldier!” You said, quickly turning around to wipe your eyes and putting the facade you typically used with customers back up. “I almost got offended when you didn’t come back to see me. Imagine a broad’s old luck.” You said, smiling flirtatiously. Steve didn’t buy that smile for a second. He could see in your eyes you were still upset. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“Oh, everything’s swell! This old jalopy has seen better days, gonna drop a dime to a friend hopefully--” You cut yourself off, switching into your normal speaking voice. “Listen, I’m sorry I just can’t keep talking like this off the clock. I’ll drive myself insane. Please, don’t tell my boss. I’m already on thin ice for not ‘maintaining the illusion’.” 

Steve laughs, a weight suddenly feeling lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly you weren’t this mysterious woman who seemed to have all the right things to say and how to say them. You were human, just like him. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He says. 

“Good.”  You say, smiling briefly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve gotta call Triple A for a tow.” You say, pulling your cell phone out. Steve had to admit it looked a little weird to see you with a cellphone in your olden days attire. 

“How will you get home?” He asks. 

“I’ll probably hoof it.” You shrug. “Or take the subway.” 

“At night?!” Steve says, incredulously. “No, I can take you if you’d like.” 

You look at him, hopefully. “I don’t want to be a burden.” You say. 

“You won’t be one.” He smiles. God, that smile made you feel a little weak. 

“Okay.” You smile back. 

“Are you hungry by chance?” He asks, as the two of you walk back to his ride. “I was going to eat in the bar but I couldn’t remember the password.” He says, sheepishly. 

That makes you laugh out loud. “Those passwords are such bullshit, Dean keeps changing them to keep it ‘exclusive’ but they always end up online anyway.” You say. “Every server has their own password, to keep track of regulars coming in. If you tell them you have a rose delivery for Mae, They’ll take you to my table no questions.” 

“Mae?” Steve asks. 

“For Mae West.” You explain, That makes Steve laugh again, of course you liked Mae West. “I could eat though. There’s actually a diner right down the road from here.” 

“Perfect.” He says, straddling onto his bike. He raises an eyebrow at you when you hesitate. “Something wrong?” 

“I’ve never ridden on a bike before is all.” 

“As long as you hold on to me, you’ll be fine.” He says, smirking when he sees a flush creep over your face as he hands you his helmet. It was about time for you to be flustered by your interactions. 

“I have no problems with that.” You say, placing that helmet on your head after you straddle the bike behind him. Your hands are tight around his waist as the two of you ride out of the lot, leaving Paradise behind. 

Taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink

[random-imagines-blog]

Tonight Tonight {Haldir x Elf!Reader One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2495 Summary: You are fighting alongside your brother, Legolas, at Helms Deep. But you grow distracted at another elven ally.

Despite the army of Uruk-hai still being some way off, you could feel the beating of their feet in your very veins. When you closed your eyes, you could see the formations of the dark beasts, imagine them walking towards the very spot where you, your friends, your family, the men of Rohan, were standing under the cloudy skies. Helm’s Deep. You looked beside you to where your brother, Legolas, was standing, and he was looking back at you. He could feel it as well, and you saw a tinge of fear in his bright eyes. The same was probably echoed in yours. You then looked the other way, catching the eye of Haldir, who had come all the way from Lothlorien just to be here for the battle, to be here for the men, with his army of archers. He did not look afraid. In fact, he looked ready for the challenge of war. It had been a long time since there had been this much of it in Middle Earth. And you hoped that, once Sauron was finally defeated, there would be no more to come for another age.

Rain started to fall from overhead, but no one went inside for cover. You all stood there in silence, looking out from the walls. The people of Rohan, the women, the children, the old and the feeble, were hiding safe inside, and they were your mission. Protect them at all costs. Take down as many as you can so that Frodo and the ring could go to Mordor with a touch more safety, and destroy the ring.

A shadow in the dark. A movement far ahead. The army had come.

The psychology of war was something that you had studied, and you were seeing it here. It was the youthful men around you that seemed to be the most fearless, despite them never having seen bloodshed like this before. They were the ones who first took out their swords, right as Aragorn was doing so. They looked like they were ready to charge in, all foolhardy. While the older were not in a hurry. They waited until the enemy was a little closer before loading their arrows into their bows. The elves did it with a very military-like efficiency, and you did it with them, holding the arrow back with ease. You knew not to shoot too early. You were waiting for Aragorn’s signal.

He gave it, and the war began.

There were more of them than you would have thought possible. But you stayed up high, getting as many of them with your supply of arrows, then picking some off of the dead bodies of your allies to shoot more. You were losing a lot of men. But they were losing a lot of uruk-hai, so it seemed a fair trade off. That’s just the way that things were in battle.

Your name was called from somewhere behind you and you turned around to see Haldir. Not a single hair on his beautiful blonde hair was mussed from the rain or from the enemy. He threw something towards you and you caught it one-handed before realizing that it was a full quiver. ‘My savior’ you mouthed to him, switching out your own empty one for this new one. He bowed his head and you could have sworn you started to see pink spots of exertion showing upon his cheek.

You ran over to him, stepping over the bodies of uruk-hais that had tried to climb over the defenses but ended up being squashed like bugs by you and the rest of the elves. Aragorn, Gimli and your brother Legolas had all disappeared into the battle somewhere, but you were not worried. They could handle themselves. “Haldir, are you alright? Do you need a rest?” You asked, putting your hand on his shoulder. Perhaps his years were catching up to him. Even you were beginning to tire, hoping that dawn would bring some relief.

“No, no,” He said, shaking his head vehemently. “I am proud to fight, and will until my dying breath.”

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t come to that,” You said, letting go of him, your eyes going back to the crowds below. “Though - there are worse places. And ways.”

“That is very true.” Haldir spoke softly, and his eyes remained on you. “Tell me - when this battle is over, what are you planning to do?”

“I’ll go wherever the King needs me,” You admitted.

“You would not consider returning to Lothlorien, with me?” He asked, his eyes dark and serious. You never even thought about returning there, though you had been a couple of times, and only recently with the fellowship. But be there - with him? Your heart beat in your chest, feeling like it wanted to come out and join the battle on its own. You put your hand over it to calm it down.

“Would you not consider coming with us?” You asked in return, but you knew his answer. He would be returning to Lothlorien after this battle. Even if it was a strong victory, he would not turn his back on his kingdom. He didn’t have to vocalize his answer. He met you with silence. You nodded, understanding.

“When my mission is over, when Sauron has been defeated...” You said, though you couldn’t bring yourself to promise that. You couldn’t even promise that you would live through the rest of this night.

The conversation couldn’t continue. The battle had caught up with you. Ladders were being climbed right up to where you were standing, and you had to stand precariously on the ledge and shoot your arrows downward. Haldir wasn’t far behind you, but he was working on another ladder, pushing it over before anyone could come up.

There weren’t many chances to talk, but you took every opportunity that you did have. Snippets between shooting off arrows. Eventually you had to switch to your sword as more enemies came in closer, and reloading took too much time. “You’ll come back - when your mission - is done?” Haldir asked, between shooting.

“Yes,” You finally said, after shoving your sword through an Uruk-hai’s gut. “I will.”

“Haldir!” A familiar voice called from below, and then yelled your own name. You looked down from the ramparts to see Aragorn looking up at the two of you. “Retreat!”

You nodded, as did Haldir, and got ready to do so, but there were still some enemies to fight off before you could even get towards where you were meant to go. Haldir called for the elves to retreat in his native tongue, while you stabbed through Uruk-hais that were trying to block your way. Big and nasty, these few were. Enough to even intimidate you. You  heard a heart-wrenching sound behind you, and turned to see that Haldir had been injured, his arm out in front of him. He spun around to face you, and you saw for the first time pain in his old eyes.

A Uruk-hai stood between you two, raising a sword in his hands. Before you could even think, you were reacting, running towards him, your own sword faithfully by your side. And before the enemy’s could be brought down into Haldir’s back, you shoved yours into the side with such force that the blade came out from the other end. You wrenched it out, and slick blood started to pour from the wound. Though not dead, the orc no longer had the momentum to follow through with his action.

You rushed to Haldir’s side as he regained his footing. Now, elves were not very big on contact, but you took hold of his hand as if you were his mother, and started to run, swinging your sword at anyone who managed to get in the way. Didn’t matter who, or what, you had to get Haldir back.

“You saved my life,” He said, his voice like one caught in a daze. “I thought I was going to die. I was ready to die.”

“Well maybe I wasn’t ready for you to go yet,” You said, half-carrying him down the stairs to a safe spot so that he could get a little rest. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

“It’s nothing too bad,” Haldir said, removing the armor from the area so that he could take a second look. “I’ll be alright.”

You didn’t really have the time to double check on that. The enemy was still coming in closer and closer. A retreat did not mean safety here. They were ferocious, but you and your own army were just as determined to win this as they were. “Stay safe, Haldir,” You spoke, and lightly kissed his pale cheek. And you left. You didn’t want to, but you didn’t have a choice. If there was to be any hope of winning this battle, you needed every person that was available to fight out there fighting. And that included yourself, though you left your heart behind, thinking of Haldir whenever you saw a flash of Elven armor, or even your brother’s blonde hair.

-

Not only was Helm’s Deep a victory, but the battle for Middle Earth had been an astounding success. There were losses along the way, and you had narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion. But Aragorn was crowned King, and you had somewhere that you needed to be.

The road to Lothlorien was a long one from Minas Tirith, but you made it on foot. You didn’t bring many things with you, so you had no need to bother a horse with such a long journey. It was the thought of Haldir, whom you have not seen since Helm’s Deep, that kept you going through those endless-feeling days.

The shade of the forest was refreshing. It certainly was better than the hot, hot sun beating down upon your brow. You paused to take a drink from the river which flowed close to Lothlorien, cupping a handful of water and drinking it down. You became aware of eyes on you after your second swallow. You finished up your drink, then got to your feet, your hands on either side of you, showing that you did not have weapons in hand.

“I am a friend to Lothlorien,” You spoke, turning around. You could just make out a shape in the darkness. A bow. An arrow, pointed at you. It may now be a time of peace but one could not be too careful. The last of Sauron’s spies may still be around, fleeing from their fallen city. “My name is Y/N, of Mirkwood. Daughter of Thranduil.”

Your name was enough for the archer to come out of the shadows and approach you. You faintly recognized him. He’d been at Helm’s deep with you. He  recognized you as well, as you could tell from the nod he had given you. But there was no happiness to see you - and you hoped it was just because he was a rather strict and aloof elf, and not because something was wrong.

He didn’t say anything, but turned and started to walk towards his city. And you followed. You kept your hands at your sides, no weapons. You didn’t need one. You knew that you were safe here, and once the other elves would see you, you knew that you were going to be among friends.

The lights first alerted you that you were getting close. And then those winding staircases that seemed to be as natural a part of the tree as the bark itself. Your eyes searched for Haldir’s, and when you finally saw them, they were staring right back at you. He was up high, speaking with another elf. But when he realized that it was truly you, he left the conversation promptly and descended down the stairs.

You waited patiently, adjusting your hair, rubbing your face to make sure there was no dirt on it. You should have checked your reflection in the water before you came. Eventually, Haldir did reach the bottom. Elves did not run unless it was absolutely necessary, so he had taken the stairs at his regular pace.

He approached you and took hold of your cheeks in his hands. His wound from the Uruk-hai had healed completely, you noticed. But then you couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so deep, so beautiful. The feelings that you had tried to suppress until the battle, the feelings that brought you here just as everyone else was celebrating in Minas Tirith, were bubbling over.

“We’ve received the news. The war has been won,” Haldir said, and you nodded, affirming it for him. He looked like he didn’t believe it until you confirmed it.

“Sauron has been defeated. Mordor and the ring have been destroyed. Aragorn is King,” You listed off the things that had happened since Haldir had returned to Lothlorien after Helm’s Deep. And it was a long list of things. He cut you off though, as you were explaining how you had overtaken the ships with the help of ghosts.

“There’ll be time for that later,” He said, continuing to hold your face.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. You put your hands over his and lowered them from your face so you could talk without feeling like your cheeks were going to cave in. “Because the war is won and - and I don’t have to go anywhere. So I would like to stay here, if you will have me.”

“Of course, of course!” Haldir said, without any sort of hesitation. “I will give you my own room.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” You urged.

“It is,” Haldir insisted. “I want you to have it.”

“Stay with me then.”

There was a long pause as the two of you looked at one another. His eyes were softer here than they were on the battlefield. He was a little more relaxed than he usually was. Or perhaps he was just touched by your request. “Stay with you?”

“Is it such a strange concept?” You asked, stepping in closer to him. There was barely room to breathe between your chests. “We’ve stood beside one another in battle, and I have not forgotten what we have said to each other. Or the heat of the moment when I saw you hurt, and I worried that I would never see you again. Or that I had kissed you and been thinking about it through every fight, working my hardest to get back here to experience it again.”

“I didn’t know that you were such a romantic.”

“You’ll learn.”

[imagine-xmen]

Warnings/Content: FLUFF, established relationship, and slice of life I suppose too.

A/N: Hi! I think I want to do imagines like this now? I hope you enjoy, I got a little carried away with this one lmao so sorry in advance if the ending seems abrupt. I left Reader being a mutant up in the air on purpose, guess I might just have to make a part 2? 👀👀

Setting: This takes place after First Class and the war in full swing but a few years before Days of Future Past. Charles is just starting to be sick of voices and using too much serum. I'm thinking roughly 1970.

Submitted by Anonymous

The day starts like any other. You’re the last one to wake up, drag yourself out of bed, and head downstairs to the breakfast nook. You find Hank already at the table with toast and orange juice, a slice already half eaten. He’s fiddling with one of the handheld radios, twisting the knob too fast to make out much more then static and the odd word here and there.

“Morning,” he says once he’s noticed you pulling out a chair and plopping down in it. He takes another minute to decide on a station to stick with, ultimately choosing to settle on music rather than the news for once.

He sits back in his seat with a sigh, letting the song fill the room for a moment before lifting the toast he’d already begun eating and offers it to you.

You lean in and take a bite, chewing thoughtfully before noticing the day’s newspaper on the table. Knowing Hank’s already done his reading, you scoop it up to do the same. Meanwhile, he takes his own bite.

Not even halfway through the front page article, you hear clanging pots and pans and muffled cursing coming from the kitchen.

“Your boyfriend sounds annoyed,” you say from behind the paper, scanning for news on Vietnam.

“My boyfriend?” he repeats. A short, disbelieving laugh escapes Hank’s lips before he can stop it. “Last time I checked, you were dating him too.”

You hum in acknowledgement, still sifting through the paper. Not a minute later, the clattering is heard again.

That’s all it takes for you to lower the paper so your eyes peek over the top. All it takes is a single shared look for Hank to sigh deeply. “Fine,” his chair screeches as he pushes back from the table, “but I’m telling him what you said.” He points an accusatory finger your way before disappearing through the kitchen door. You hum along to the music, shamelessly reaching over to Hanks plate and taking another bite of his food.

When they don’t come back right away, you rise from the chair with a sigh. Things were never simple in the morning, were they?

You come from behind the pair, softly smiling as you watch them before attaching yourself to Charles’ side. His arm easily wraps around your waist as your hand drifts up into his hair to play with the locks.

“Good morning, darling,” he says absentmindedly, quick to press a kiss to your temple.

“Good morning,” you greet back, lightly tugging at a piece of chocolate brown hair, “are you growing it out? It looks good.”

“Thank you,” Charles smiles earnestly, giving a comforting squeeze to your waist.

“What’s so important you're making a mess in here, hm?” you ask, pulling away from his embrace to pick up some junk mail that had fallen to the floor from the counter.

“He’s looking for the serum,” Hank supplies, earning himself one of Charles’ looks.

“Oh,” you say, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. It wasn’t a secret you weren’t a fan of Charles using it as a cure all for his powers. Without another word, you walk across the room to set the mail down. “Already?”

“Yes, darling,” he says fondly, if a bit exasperated. Charles seems to remember that he hasn’t found it yet as he goes back to digging through cabinets above the stove.

“Looking for this?” Hank is leaning against the counter, vial of the yellow serum held up between his thumb and pointer finger. He holds it out with a small shake.

Charles pauses his digging, turning his head. Once he zeros in on what he’s been looking for, offers a toothy grin and slides over to take the vial. Once in his grasp, he reaches up to press a quick kiss to Hank’s lips, “thank you, Hank.”

He can only seem to give one of his goofy smiles in reply but nods nontheless. Charles turns on his heel, eyes you approaching and offers the same kiss.

“I’ll be back down in five minutes, alright?” Charles refuses to break eye contact, the look on his face is begging you to understand.

You swallow, offering your own smile, “yeah.” Tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, you pat him out the door, “go.”

He doesn’t look away from either of you until he’s forced to exit the kitchen.

“Should we be worried?” You slink your way into Hank’s arms, resting your cheek against him while he gives a comforting squeeze in return. He begins to rock the both of you side to side absentmindedly.

“I don’t know, should we?” He looks at you, a gentle, encouraging smile playing at his lips. His head is tilted to the side, waiting for your reply. You take a beat to answer, unsure how to respond. Hank is kind enough to continue for you.

“He’s had so much taken away from him, should we also take away one of the only things helping?”

There’s a frown on your face as you mull over his response. At the end of the day, you knew Hank was right. If Charles thought this was for the best, there wasn’t any convincing him otherwise. To get your attention, Hank swoops in and steals a kiss. It shakes you out of your thoughts and furrows your brows.

“I could hear the gears turning,” he smirks, “even little smoke coming out of your ears.” He goes out of the way to start waving his hands beside your head, fanning pretend flames.

“Har har, McCoy. Sorry we can’t all be eloquent geniuses who graduate from Harvard when we’re ten years old,” you poke his side, making him jump.

“Stop,” he gasps, “it was fifteen, and you know I’m ticklish!”

You start to laugh, wiggling your fingers into both sides of his stomach. “What’s the matter, child prodigy? Can’t take a couple jabs to the stomach?” He’s nearly keeling over at this point, trying to twist away from your fingers. Seconds later, however, you hear a retaliating growl and arms wrap around your waist, hauling you up over Hank’s shoulder.

You screech in surprise, flailing your limbs in an attempt to reorient yourself. This only makes Hank chuckle, an arm cradling just above the back of your knees while the other reaches to land a single smack to your butt. He carries you through the kitchen, past the breakfast nook and an unphased Charles on the stairs.

“Do I want to know?” He asks, watching from the landing with arms crossed.

“Depends,” Hank says, turning to glance at him with a surprising, self assured wink. It’s sudden enough to cause you to shriek at the swinging movement, breathless from your continued giggling.

Charles pretends to think about his response as he comes towards the two of you.

“You two are so annoying.” you groan, beginning to feel the blood rushing to your head.

“Ah, and yet you still love us.” Charles easily hums back.

You bite your lip, unable to deny such an accusation. Yeah, you really did.

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Nothing Will Ever Change (This Love of Mine)

PAIRING: Marcel Gerard X Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,335

WARNINGS: None. Just fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

SUMMARY: Marcel returns from war to his estranged family, and his fiancée. When Klaus threatens her, Marcel realises it’s time to come clean about who he is.

A/N: Title taken from the song by Jimmy Jules. Also, I have a headcanon that Marcel is fluent in French, so translations in italics.

JANUARY, 1919

Whoever said money couldn’t buy status had clearly never met the Mikaelsons.

You didn’t know much about them other than what Marcel had told you: that they were farmers who were orphaned but managed to find some way up the social ladder by acquiring property all over the United States. It would be a heart-warming story if they weren’t so...arrogant.

Everyone could see it when they walked into a room - the way they always expected to be approached and never the other way around. Sure, some of them were always polite for the most part, but they all maintained an air of superiority, spoke to you in a way that reminded you that you’d never be them.

You weren’t fond of the Mikaelsons, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual. They’d reluctantly invited you to the party they were throwing in honour of Marcel’s return from the war. Elijah - being one of the few who tried to make you feel like a part of the family - asked on his family’s behalf which made it difficult to say no. Still, the party was for Marcel, and you’d been waiting four years to see him again, so you graciously accepted the invite.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived. You looked around, searching for any familiar faces, but found none other than the Mikaelsons. They were surrounded by people - the mayor being one of them - who were tripping over themselves to be gracious to the Mikaelsons and gain favour with them. 

Not wanting to join the other guests in fawning all over the family, you stood alone at the bar, nursing a stiff drink. All you could think about was Marcel. Before long, you began to feel eyes burning a hole in the back of your head and turned to find Klaus Mikaelson staring at you. It wasn’t obvious all the time, but you got the feeling that he didn’t like you very much. 

Ignoring his glare, you returned to your drink - impatiently waiting for Marcel’s return. But alas, Klaus couldn’t take the hint, and within seconds he was standing by your side.

A charming smile graced his lips as he greeted you, “Y/N. It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

“Is it?” you cocked a brow, “Because I think you only invited me because Elijah asked you to. Not that Marcel would’ve stayed longer than five minutes if he found out I wasn’t here. ”

He chuckled.

“I see you’re not in the mood to exchange pleasantries,” he said.

“What gave it away?”

His smile dropped and he leaned in closer, “Look, whatever I’ve done to upset you-”

“It’s not what you’ve done to me, it’s what you did to him,” you snapped, “Do you realise we wouldn’t even be having this party if it weren’t for you people?”

He avoided your eyes, his confident stance wavering.

“You drove him away.”

Klaus was silent for a moment as your words sunk in. It was clear by the guilty expression on his face that he knew you were right. You expected him to leave you alone after that, but instead, another Mikaelson approached - a smirk on her lips and a champagne glass in her hands.

“My, my, you could cut the tension with a knife.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the bar, “I’m not in the mood Rebekah.”

Klaus smiled as he looked at his sister, “Yes, she’s feeling a bit pissy this evening.”

You glared at him.

“Leave the girl alone, Nik,” Rebekah said, “She has enough on her mind.” 

He shot a glance at you, a thoughtful look appearing on his face, but then he let out a quiet sigh and walked away.

A breath of relief escaped your lips once he was no longer in your presence. Rebekah stepped closer to you and tilted her head as she looked at you. 

“So, what’s got you in such a mood?”

You let out another sigh. “I just need to see him, Rebekah,” you said, your voice sounding desperate, “It’s been so long and I just...I just need him here.”

She nodded and placed a hand on your back. “I understand, dear,” she smiled, “Come find me later, yeah?”

You cracked a smile and let out a sigh of relief when she walked away, thankful to be left alone. When you went to down the rest of your drink, the ring on your finger caught your eye and your thoughts immediately travelled back to Marcel.

Putting the glass down on the table, you twirled the ring on your finger, deep in thought. You never did manage to get it resized, there was never any time. Marcel had given it to you the night before he left. You’d been going out of your mind with worry since he decided to enlist, fearful of what could happen to him while he was gone. He called it a proposal, but it was obvious that it was more of a promise that he would come back to you.

And tonight he finally would.

You were reminiscing about the days before Marcel left when you felt arms circle your waist, and a face nuzzle into your neck. Heart hammering in your chest, you reached up slowly and touched the man’s cheek.

“Marcel?”

He hummed in response and placed a kiss on your shoulder. “It’s me, baby.”

A gasp escaped your lips as you closed your eyes and turned around, pulling his lips against yours in a fervent kiss. He grinned as you kissed him, a laugh even slipping out as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your hand resting at the nape of his neck.

You’d thought as soon as you saw Marcel you’d feel relaxed, but instead, your heart was beating out of your chest. Every inch of your body was lit aflame when he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer.

“God, I missed you,” he mumbled against your lips just as you broke apart. 

He rose one of his hands to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that had rolled down. 

“Hey. No tears, okay?”

You wiped them away, unable to stop smiling. “It’s just so surreal,” you said, “I can’t believe you’re here. I feel like I can finally breathe again.”

“You think you missed me?” he scoffed, “I practically drove the guys in my unit crazy talking about you.”

He still had his arm around you, not wanting to let go. You let yours fall from his neck, one hand resting on his chest, “Four years.”

“Four years.”

You shook your head in wonder as you looked at him again. From his perfect, dazzling smile to those loving brown eyes. Even after everything he’d been through, he looked exactly the same.

“You don’t look like you’ve aged a day.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “I could say the same about you, pretty girl.”

You looked away, heat rising to your cheeks, “Sweet-talker.”

He laughed again, surprised that he could still fluster you even after so long together. Glancing down, he noticed the sparkling ring around your finger.

“You’re still wearing it,” he said and raised a brow, “I take it I haven’t been replaced yet?”

“As if anyone could ever replace you, Marcel Gerard.”

He held your loving gaze for a moment before shaking his head in incredulity and leaning down to kiss you again. It was softer and much more tender this time. 

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “Let’s get outta here,” he whispered, looking down at you with lustful eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing as he pressed quick kisses from your cheek down to your jaw and neck. He took your hand, leading you towards the exit, when Klaus suddenly appeared in front of you. 

“Marcel,” he said, his hands clasped together behind his back, “I didn’t see you come in.”

Marcel let out a heavy sigh, but the grin on his lips never faltered. “Klaus. Nice to see you.”

Klaus looked taken aback by the response. “On your way out?” he asked, clearly offended, “Didn’t think to pop over to your family and say hello?”

Marcel rolled his eyes. “I just wanted some private time with my girl, Klaus, it’s really not a big deal.”

You noticed the sudden change in Klaus’ expression. In a second, his polite smile and mischievous eyes morphed into a look you could only describe as evil. You’d heard rumours about the Mikaelsons. About Klaus. Rumours you didn’t believe. But if there were monsters in New Orleans - you had definitely just seen one. 

But then like a storm cloud passing, his polite smile was back. “Well, perhaps you and I could have a drink upstairs before you leave, Marcel.”

“Klaus, I really just want to-”

“Or...we could take Y/N out for a drink.”

You felt Marcel’s body stiffen under your touch at those words. His jaw clenched as he gripped your hand tighter, taking a more protective stance in front of you. 

Eventually, he sighed deeply and shook his head, turning to you. “Attends ici, ma chérie,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I’ll be right back.” (Wait here, sweetheart)

Klaus’s smile widened, clearly satisfied by Marcel’s decision. The two disappeared up the stairs and into the Mikaelson family room.

                            __________________________

“So, Marcellus,” Klaus began as he poured himself a drink, “We throw you this party to welcome you home, even invite your little girlfriend to make you happy, and yet you can’t even grace us with your presence.”

“You visited me while I was gone, it’s not like you haven’t seen me in years,” Marcel said, “And she’s not my girlfriend, she’s my fiancée. And I haven’t seen her in four years.”

“So, you’d rather spend your first evening back with her than you would your own family?”

Marcel didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

“I see,” Klaus nodded and downed his drink, “Perhaps if the girl is taken out of the equation you’ll remember exactly where your loyalties should lie.”

Marcel sped in front of the door, blocking it as Klaus stormed towards him.

“You are not touching her, Klaus!” he yelled as he shoved Klaus back, “You’re gonna kill her because I wanna spend time with her? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I assure you, Marcellus, my reasonings for getting rid of that girl are just.”

“Like they were when you daggered Rebekah for five decades?”

“You haven’t been the same since she entered your life,” Klaus said, “She has been tearing you away from your family.”

“She is my family.”

Klaus’ face hardened. “Is that so?”

“Damn straight.”

He stepped closer to Klaus and began speaking in a scarily low voice. “I let go of Rebekah for you, Klaus, but I am telling you right now,” he said, eyes burning with anger, “I would see this city burn before I do the same with Y/N.”

Klaus was silent for a moment as he mulled over Marcel’s words. It seemed he had lost the fight, until a thought occurred to him.

“And what if she lets you go?” he said, the hint of a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye, “I wonder what she’ll think when she finds out just what kind of monster you are.”

Marcel’s jaw clenched, “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” he smirked, “I do believe that lasting relationships must be built on honesty and trust. I’d consider me telling her the truth a favour.”

Marcel balled his fists, looking away from Klaus to control his anger. He knew there was no winning a fight with an Original - even if he was burning with rage.

Klaus chuckled to himself and walked over to the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll allow you this one night with her,” he said as he walked out, “Welcome home, Marcellus.”

                            __________________________

Marcel was silent as you watched him put his hat down on your coffee table. He hadn’t been himself since you left the party. You twirled the set of keys in your hand, unsure of how to proceed. 

“You haven’t said a word since we left the mansion.”

He didn’t respond.

You let out a heavy sigh as you walked towards him slowly. “You know, I talked to a couple other ladies whose men came back from the war too,” you began, “They said that they weren’t the same. The things they saw over there...it changed them.”

You waited with baited breath for a response, almost afraid of what he might say. He hadn’t seemed different when you were at the party, but the quiet was making you think his mind was elsewhere.

“I’ve seen worse than I did when I was over there,” he said, his back to you, “That’s not it.”

“Then tell me what’s on your mind.”

For a second, you thought he wasn’t going to elaborate, and you felt your heart sink. Then he turned around slowly, a thoughtful look on his face as he spoke.

“You and I have been together for six years,” he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it, “And yet, there’s still stuff about me - my past - that you don’t know about.”

A nervous smile emerged on your lips as you moved closer to him. “What are you talking about? You’ve told me about your past.”

“Not about my parents. Not about the way I grew up.”

“You told me all that,” you argued, “You told me you never knew your parents. That Klaus’ family adopted you when you were young and you grew up with them as your siblings.”

He shook his head slowly, wiping his mouth with his hand in frustration and placing a hand on his hip. It was clear that he was wrestling with something in him - it was tearing him apart.

“Marcel,” you said as you took his hand, “Tu peux me dire ñ'importe quoi.” (You can tell me anything.)

He looked down at your hands, his eyes staying on them for a long time before he finally spoke. “I wasn’t honest with you about that,” his voice wavered and he paused to take a breath, “Klaus’ family didn’t adopt me...Klaus did.”

You froze for a minute, trying to understand what he just said because it made no sense.

“That’s impossible,” you said, “He would’ve been a boy himself.”

“I was born in 1810 on a plantation here in Louisiana,” he explained, “My mother was a slave, and my father, the Governor...he was her — our master.”

“What? If you were born in 1810 that would make you like—”

“A hundred and nine.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you snatched your hands away from his and stepped back, “Mon Dieu...” (My God...)

He reached out for you, but you took another step back, turning away from him to compose yourself. The stories you’d heard as a child, the ones every child in New Orleans has heard...they were all true.

“Demon of the night,” you whispered, “You’re one of them.”

“Yes.”

“And the Mikaelsons?”

“They’re all like me.”

You took in a deep breath and turned to look at him, arms folded as you eyed him nervously. He was standing a few feet away from you, clearly giving you space to digest everything. It wasn’t working however, because you had a million burning questions and no clue how to feel.

“The things they say about you, your kind...are they all true?” you asked.

“Some of it, yes. But not all of it.”

“So, the blood drinking and the mind control-”

“That’s all true.”

You sucked in a sharp breath once more and looked to the ground. All of this was difficult to hear. But it hurt more to know that he wasn’t honest with you.

“There’s a lot that I want to know,” you began as you lifted your gaze to meet his, “But I only have three big questions.”

He stepped towards you, surprised when you didn’t move back, and took your hand in his. “Anything you wanna know, just ask and I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

You nodded, mustering up a small smile before looking down again. “Have you killed people?”

“That’s a difficult question.”

“How is that a difficult question?”

“I’ve been a vampire for eighty-four years, Y/N,” he said, “During that time, I’ve fought in two wars. Yes, I’ve killed people, but never innocents. Not even when the hunger was unbearable.”

Again, you nodded slowly. You couldn’t deny the relief you felt after hearing that.

“Does Klaus? Kill innocents?” you asked, deciding on a follow-up question.

“He’s lived a lot longer than I have,” Marcel sighed, “I don’t think you get to be a vampire for almost a thousand years without getting some blood on your hands.”

“Wow,” you whispered. You’d always known there was something about that family, but you never would’ve guessed this. Suddenly you could understand the arrogance — you too would feel superior to everyone if you’d lived a thousand years of strength, speed, and the ability to get whatever your heart desired.

Marcel cocked his head at you, “You’ve been quiet for a minute. You wanna ask the rest of your questions?”

You blinked back into reality. “Yeah, uh...” you looked up at him, hesitant to ask him the next question, “This isn’t easy to say, Marcel, but I have to ask.”

“Go ahead.”

You bit your lower lip nervously, “Have you ever drank from me? Or used your compulsion on me?”

“Wow, um...” Marcel stepped back, your hand falling from his. He was taken aback. “No, I’ve...I’d never do that to you.”

“Marcel, I’m sorry, but I had to ask if-”

“I get it.”

“-we were ever gonna be comfortable with each other again.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I understand. It’s fine.” He spoke the words quickly, hoping to sound like he didn’t care, but it was clear by the way he dropped his shoulders and avoided your eyes just how much the question had hurt him.

You walked towards him, this time being the one to take his hands, “Je suis désolé.” (I’m sorry)

“C'est pas grave.” He placed a hand against your cheek and smiled softly. You leaned into it, closing your eyes as you sighed deeply. Even after all you’d learned, he still felt like home. (It’s alright)

“Final question,” you said as you stood up straight and looked at him earnestly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a vampire?” you repeated, “J'aime tout de toi, tu le sais. You’re my family, so why didn’t you trust me?” (I love everything about you, you know that.)

“I trust you, I just—” He paused to collect his thoughts. “At first, I was being selfish. You liked me as I was, and as a bonus, had a wit sharp enough to leave even Klaus speechless,” he chuckled as you rolled your eyes while fighting off a smile, “But soon enough it became about protecting you from all of that death and darkness.”

“Tu aurais du me le dire.” (You should’ve told me)

Marcel frowned and pulled you close, “Je t'aime et je ne voulais pas te perdre.” (I love you, and I didn’t wanna lose you.)

“Mon coeur,” you smiled as you placed a hand against his cheek, “There is nothing about you that could make me love you less.”

The way he looked at you when you said that — perfect and loving as ever — tugged at your heart strings. He didn’t say a word. He simply wrapped his arms around you and leaned down to kiss you. Your heart racing as he did so let him know that the truth hadn’t changed anything between you.

You pulled away and rested your forehead against his, “Dieu, je t'aime tellement.” (God, I love you so much)

“Tu es mon coeur, mon amour, ma vie,” he whispered against your lips, “Je t’aime.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Min Skat (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is for @maggiescarborough‘s and @gearhead66‘s birthdays 🎉 The truth is, I wanted to write two different fics but I had problems... As you may know, girls, I was on vacation. And the laptop I took with me was broken... So... I couldn’t write. I got home only 36 hours ago. That’s why I finally decided to write a single story, to share, for both of you. Hope you won’t mind. And since I know you both love fluff, then... fluff it is! 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVELY WOMEN 💖 🌷 💖

As usual, thanks to my lifesaver, @inforapound, for beta reading it so quickly 🌻

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Min elskede: my love - Min skat: my treasure

the gif belongs to @ohbelllaciao

Summary: You’re pregnant, childish, cranky, hungry, moody and it’s the middle of the night. How’s Ivar going to react?

Warnings: soft, soft, soft Ivar and a lot of fluff.

Words: 2308

Hands on your lower back in a futile attempt to ease the shooting pain coursing through your spine, you slowly cross the room. The faint moonlight allows you to see that Ivar hasn't moved. Covered by many furs, lying on his side, his eyes are closed, his steady breathing just loud enough to hear. 

 You honestly resent him for sleeping peacefully when you haven't been able to for weeks. There are so many reasons for your sleepless nights: the constant need to empty your bladder, the feeling of choking as soon as you lie down, the midnight cravings, your inability to find a comfortable position in your shared bed, or the frantic kicks from the tiny human growing inside you as soon as you try to rest… You're exhausted. And mildly jealous.

Getting closer, you sink heavily onto the bed, releasing a deep sigh. Ivar immediately moves and groans, annoying you. He should know better and not dare to complain. "Ivar, don't expect me to apologize! I am warning you!" You hiss through clenched teeth, furrowing your brows. "Carry a baby for nine fucking moons and then, maybe, you'll be allowed to say something!"

 Sitting up, he grabs a candle and lights it before shifting next to you. 

 Looking at him, you see his big, sleepy blue eyes staring at you, bewilderment written all over his face. "Min elskede, are you all right? Is there anything I can do?" There's no annoyance or impatience in his voice, and his gentleness stirs you up. You love him so much… Forgotten, your previous anger is replaced by an emotional roller-coaster bringing tears to your eyes. 

 Since you don't answer, he gets closer to you, squeezing both your hands in one of his. "Y/N, min elskede, why did you get up? Tell me please."

Using his free hand, he gently fixes a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

 "I don't know…" Shrugging your shoulders, you try to explain. "I had… I was too hot. And then I had to… pee…" You blush. "And now I wish I'd grab something to eat. I'm hungry. And I'm cold." Snuggling into his arms, you can't help but pout. 

 Smiling at you, he kisses softly the tip of your nose before speaking firmly, grabbing and patting a fluffy pillow. "I'll take care of everything. Lie down, min elskede." You're too exhausted to fight back and just do as you're told. Rewarded by a soft kiss on your forehead, Ivar folds several furs onto you and you give him a little smile.

 You watch him as he throws himself onto the floor and starts crawling. The glorious sight of his nacked, chiseled chest is mesmerizing and painfully appealing. If you weren't so pregnant, you'd probably jump on him for a long and passionate lovemaking session. But here you are, huge and so weary that the simple thought of moving again exhausts you. Frustrated, you close your eyes, sighing heavily. 

 "I'll be right back, min elskede." Stopping at the doorway, Ivar gives you a last comforting smile and then disappears. You do know he'll come back with everything you could wish for, and undoubtedly more. 

 From the very beginning, Ivar has always been different around you. Nicer to you than to other people. Less prone to anger. You know it's because of the way you acted when you first met him. That night, for the first time in his life, he had been treated first as a human being, and not as a cripple. 

   He'd traveled all the way to Vestfold to ask your uncle, King Harald, for his support in his war against Lagertha. You, the illegitimate daughter of Halfdan the Black, the king's brother, lived most of the time further north with your mother, who had only been a one-night stand to your father. But once or twice a year, Harald invited you to Vestfold, usually for his own benefit.

 That time, the king had asked you – urged you – to seduce Ivar the Boneless, in order to strengthen their alliance. You didn't like being treated like a courtesan and had locked yourself in your room. It had taken all your father's forcefulness to convince you to come out. When you had eventually entered the hall, the feast in honor of the youngest Ragnarsson was in full swing. Dressed in a beautiful burgundy red dress offered to you by King Harald, you had caught everyone's attention but only had eyes for your uncle's special guest. Immediately captivated by his perfect facial features, you had felt as if you were drowning in his unimaginably blue eyes as soon you had looked into them, your heart skipping a beat. 

 Sitting next to your uncle, the chair to his left was free, reserved for you according to your father's words. Taking your seat nervously, you had wondered if he could hear the frantic heartbeat in your chest.  

 From that moment on, it was just the two of you. You weren't even sure the world kept spinning. For hours, Ivar and you had been talking, smiling at each other, his hand grabbing yours under the table, your fingers stroking his knuckles. 

You soon had realized that Ivar's reputation – a selfish, bloodthirsty and ruthless prince – only reflected part of the man he was: outstandingly intelligent, curious about everything, funny, smart and clever. He had asked you a lot of questions, wanted to know everything about you. You had told him about your village, about your mother's people, the Sami, and their peculiar customs. He had listened carefully, often asking you to clarify some details. He had been more reluctant to talk about his life, claiming that yours was much more exciting than his own, made of wars and blood. 

 When your completely drunk uncle had ended the feast, Ivar had put his hand on your forearm, tentatively offering to see you again the next day. Much to his surprise, you had agreed right away, a wide smile lighting up your face. And then a frown had crossed his face as he had lowered his head. "Y/N, I… There's something you need to know… "The panic was written all over his face. "I'm… not like everyone else." Swallowing, he had kept his head down.

 Of course he wasn't. He was different. He had won your heart in a matter of hours. What was the problem? Then, realization had hit you. Of course. Speaking softly, you had grabbed his hand. "I know absolutely everything I need to know about you, Ivar."

 Releasing a shaky breath, Ivar had shook his head. "No, you don't. You wouldn't have agreed to meet me again if you did. You wouldn't have agreed if you knew that I'm a cr—" Shushing him, one finger on his lips, one hand on his chin, you had forced him to look at you. "Ivar, I know your legs don't work. I knew all along. I knew when I sat next to you." He was bewildered and speechless. Shrugging, you had explained. "I don't care if you can't walk, Ivar, it doesn't matter. What matters though, it's what's there,” your hand had briefly grazed his chest, you had pointed at his heart, "and there,”  your index finger had  brushed his forehead as you had smiled once again. "So yes, I definitely want to meet you tomorrow." And then, your lips had audaciously found his, leaving him astounded.  

 You were already utterly in love. And so was he. That night, you spoke with your heart and Ivar believed you. And more importantly, from that night on, he trusted you, allowing himself to be soft and caring when it was just the two of you.  

  Abandoned to your memories, you sigh lovingly. Gods, this man is your everything and you love being the one with whom he's his true self. You know him like no one else does. And you see him for who he is. Not a king, not a cripple. Just a man; your man. Often stubborn, sometimes hot-tempered but always and unwaveringly loving. 

 Since you are with child, Ivar takes even greater care of you, his unexpected yet unfailing patience both surprizing and delighting you. Whether you're screaming, crying or sulking, he's always there, smiling, cheering you up, whatever the time of day or night. And no matter what you ask, he's always trying to meet all your needs, making a point of doing everything on his own. 

 Every night, since your first cravings many months ago, he brings you something to eat.

 Every day, he massages your tense shoulders and your aching back, and then rubs your swollen legs. 

 At all times, he wordlessly endures your mood swings and tantrums. 

 Every morning, he helps you get dressed before braiding your hair while whispering words of love for only you to hear. 

 And every day, you feel guilty.

 Since you're pregnant, you're not yourself. Most of the time you can't help it, but sometimes you realize what you're doing and blame yourself for treating your husband so poorly. 

 "Min elskede!" His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

 Pushing a heavy wooden tray in front of him, Ivar carefully crawls his way back.  From where you are, you can see on the tray two bowls and one plate, all full of delicacies. 

 When he's close enough, Ivar hands you the tray before pulling himself up on the bed, taking a seat right next to you. Helping you sit up, he places a large cushion behind your back, his knuckles grazing your cheek while his lips briefly find yours. 

 Looking down, you stare in wonder at what Ivar brought you. Once again, he thought of everything: various dried meats, goat cheese, those blueberries you love so much and those pickled herrings you usually hate but are mad about since you are with child. 

 Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you let out an embarrassed laugh. "Ivar, I don't deserve this…" Blinking a few times, you grab his hand. "I don't deserve you."

 He shakes his head, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "Min elskede, you made me a man, then a husband." He tenderly puts his free hand on your huge belly. "And soon, I'll become a father. It's more than I could have hoped for. Of course you deserve this. You deserve even more than this." Before you can say anything, Ivar pops a blueberry in your mouth. 

 Patiently waiting for you to finish eating, Ivar keeps a soothing hand over your shoulders, absentmindedly massaging them while pecking you on the cheek. As soon as you finish, he puts the tray on the nightstand, nodding appreciatively as he sees the cleared plates. 

 "Min elskede, it's far from dawn, you should try to get back to sleep." You nod getting lost in a yawn and lay down, rolling on your side with effort. Ivar lays down as well, facing you, his right hand brushing your belly.  

 "I love you, Ivar, I love you so much. You're a wonderful husband and you're going to be an amazing father." Sighing, you close your eyes for an instant. "You'll be a much better father than yours or mine ever was." Your voice is shaky and you can see uncertainty on Ivar's face.

 "I'll try, Y/N, I'll try really hard. I can promise that I'll do my best." His breath hitches as he grabs your hand, squeezing it. "But tell me… Tell me again…" He stops, eyes clearly watering. Swallowing, he winces before taking a deep breath. "Tell me… What are we going to do if the baby is… like me?"

 That's his greatest fear. You know your husband is terrified. The thought of him passing his condition – his curse, as he says – on to your kid gives him nightmares. Since you have been with child, he's done everything he can not to bother you with it. Yet, the closer it gets, the less he manages to hide his worries.

 A hand on his cheek, you give him a reassuring smile. "If the baby is like you, my king, we'll love them just as much. We'll be there for them at every step, and you can teach them everything you had to find out on your own. If the baby is like you, it will be their strength and we'll help them to make the most of it. And I promise you, Ivar, growing up, this child will have everything you didn’t." Eyes bathed in tears, Ivar sniffles as you grasp his hand, firmly putting it back on your belly. "However, because of those vigorous kicks…,” Ivar almost jumps, wide-eyed, as he feels something hitting his hand and you stifle a laugh, "… I strongly believe their legs will be perfectly healthy."

 Closing his eyes, Ivar enjoys feeling the blows against his palm, but frowns as you hiss in pain, one of them reaching your ribcage. 

 Sitting upright and adjusting his legs, he takes the fur off, tossing it to the side before pushing your nightgown up. He gently presses his hand on your belly, his fingers freely running over your skin, before lowering his head. "Min skat, I know you can't wait to see the world, and the truth is, I can't wait to meet you. But for now, please, let your beautiful mother sleep." Whether it's Ivar's voice, or his touch, it works and you can feel your baby calm down. Ivar inhales deeply. "My father once told me that happiness was nothing. He couldn't be more wrong. Your mother made me a happy man, which I thought was impossible. She and I, together, will teach you love and happiness…"

 As you struggle to hold back your tears, Ivar peppers light kisses all over your belly. "Go to sleep, baby…" He whispers… "Sleep, min skat."

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @maggiescarborough @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @milkkygirls @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @shannygoatgruff​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @didiintheblog​ @zuxiezendler​

[seijorhi]

Untouchable

TW: Kidnapping, implied/referenced abuse & non-con

“Would you like something to drink? Water maybe? We have tea or coffee, or I’m sure we have some hot cocoa somewhere, it might not be the world’s greatest stuff, but it’s war-”

You plaster a tight smile across your face. “I’m fine, really.”

It’s a lie, but he nods politely anyway, the faintest hint of a flush dusting across his cheeks. He’s young, older than you obviously, but he barely looks old enough to be wearing the uniform at all, and certainly not old enough to be a Sergeant, but he’s shown you his badge, and Sergeant he is.

Sergeant Shinji Tanaka of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

But of all the officers they could have passed you off to, they stuck you in here with him - that had to mean something right?

He smiles gently, easing back in his seat. “Alright. So why don’t you start at the beginning, hm?”

You swallow, dropping your gaze to focus instead on your hands, twisting uneasily in your lap. Maybe this was a mistake. You weren’t thinking straight when you’d run, this- this was the first place you’d thought of coming.

This was the only place you’d thought was safe from him, but what if this was a mistake? Would they even believe you? Hell, what proof did you have?

You’d seen news footage once of some poor woman being rescued from her abductor's basement. Her captor had kept her locked away for months, he’d hurt her - understandably she’d been a mess. The image of the poor woman had stuck in your head for a long, long time afterwards. Sallow skin stretched too tightly over bones, covered in bruises and cuts, hair wild and untamed, and there had been this look in her eyes - hollow and vacant and yet so, so terrified. Nobody looking at her would ever doubt that she’d been through something awful, something traumatic.

You on the other hand… he always took such good care of you. He kept you well fed and healthy, made sure you had plenty of pretty things to wear, that your hair was brushed until it shined. He showered you in gifts, treated you when you indulged him and played along.

There were bruises and bite marks that littered your body - your breasts, the insides of your thighs, the soft, sensitive skin of your neck, but those were easily explained away. Love marks, left in the heat of passion. Hardly a smoking gun.

“It’s okay, take your time. There’s no rush, you’re safe here,” he murmurs, and it’s oddly calming. Your heart’s still pounding in your chest, and you’re terrified that at any moment that doors gonna swing open and there he’ll be with his arms folded over and that cold, disapproving stare… but despite that fear, it’s a little easier to breathe. He gives you an encouraging nod, “You can start with your name, and we’ll go from there.”

Your voice is little more than a whisper as you talk. You give him your name, and you don’t miss the way that his eyes widen just a fraction and the blood drains from his face.

“That’s not possible,” he breathes. He’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost, and you have to fight the urge to curl up in a ball and shy away from him. It’s not like the stares that you’re used to, but it makes you feel vulnerable all the same - as if he’s laying you down bare and peeling away whatever was left of your defences. “You-” he takes a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I thought you looked familiar when they brought you in, but I never…” he trails off, clearing his throat loudly. Your heart is pounding against your ribs, and you can’t bring yourself to speak, and you don’t know what you’d say even if you could. You can only sit in that uncomfortable plastic chair and watch as the Sergeant tries to process… whatever it is that’s going on in his head. 

He seems to realise that you’re waiting on him to explain and he takes a deep breath, swallowing audibly. “September 27th two years back, we received a call from a young woman, hysterical, crying that her best friend had been kidnapped. Two officers were dispatched, and sure enough, the girl’s apartment was a mess. There was blood on the floor, furniture broken - signs of a struggle. Clothes were missing, some jewellery, a few pictures, but nothing of value. It wasn’t a burglary.”

You can barely breathe, you can hardly hear him over the pounding of your own pulse in your ears. You don’t remember much from the night you were taken, but you know that there wasn’t much of a struggle at all - not with his Quirk. You never stood a chance against a Pro Hero like him. The blood, the destroyed furniture, he must have done that later.

Yet it’s not the reminder of that night that you were stolen that makes your throat tighten uncomfortably, but the mention of your friend, your best friend -Riko. 

Does she still live in the same apartment, not two blocks away from here? You’d thought about going to her first, she was the one person you knew would believe you, but the thought of him finding you there with her-

She was Quirkless. Innocent and sweet and you loved her more than anyone. You couldn’t bear the thought of putting her life in danger for the sake of protecting you - he wouldn’t hesitate, you knew it. Not if he thought she was standing between the two of you. 

Sergeant Tanaka kept talking, his wide eyes fixed uncomfortably on yours, “They assigned me your case in my first few weeks here. A test, I suppose, or maybe just luck. Pretty young girl abducted from the ‘good’ side of town. They even had some heroes trying to find you, Hawks and Midnight… Eraser Head, I think-” He misses the way you flinch, your hands tightening into fists in your lap at the mention of your captor, too caught up in his recollection. You didn’t know that Aizawa had been a part of the search for you, but somehow it doesn’t surprise you in the least. “But you were just… gone. There was no DNA evidence, no trails or leads, nobody saw anything, nobody came forward and well, eventually the case went cold…” he trails off, awkwardly rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, but you know plenty well what he isn’t saying.

You were nobody important. People went missing all the time - nobody expected him to keep searching forever, especially not Pro Heroes. Still, you can’t deny that it hurts, that your life, your disappearance was just shoved away into some file in a box in a room full of dusty old records.

A sudden memory flashes to your mind - long fingers brushing through your hair, his lips trailing a loving path from your neck up along your jaw. ‘Nobody will ever love you or care for you as much as I do,” he murmurs. ‘You know that, don’t you, kitten?’

Something flickers in the Sergeant’s eyes and he sits up straighter in his chair, “I can’t help but remember the cases that I don’t solve, all the people I’ve let down, but I never thought I’d ever see the day that you would just walk through those doors. I-I,” he exhales harshly. “I am so sorry.”

And suddenly you’re crying, tears spilling down your cheeks as your shoulders tremble. If anything, the Sergeant only looks more alarmed at the sudden burst of emotion and he reaches for you only to pause with his hand hovering awkwardly a few inches off your shoulder. “Please, I- I need your help,” you manage to gasp between sobs. “I can’t let him- I can’t-” you can barely finish your sentence, but the Sergeant just nods.

He ends up going to fetch you that cocoa that he mentioned. 

When he comes back it’s with your file, and a notepad and pen. “I want you to tell me everything, or as much as you can,” he amends when he notices the way you stiffen.

But there’s that nagging feeling in the back of your head that tells you he’s not going to believe a word of it, and what’s worse is that you can’t even blame him for it. Pro Heroes were supposed to be good, pillars of the community, role models for children everywhere.

Aizawa’s record is spotless. He might not have the rankings of Endeavor or Hawks, but he’s respected all the same, especially as one of the teachers at UA!

Your fingers play with the hem of your skirt, and you can’t bear to meet his gaze, so you just stare at the metal table instead, willing yourself not to cry again. 

This time, the Sergeant doesn’t miss your discomfort. “Hey, look at me,” he says, and reluctantly you tear your gaze from the shining metal surface to meet his stare. “Whoever it is that did this to you - they’re not gonna get away with it. They can’t hurt you here, I swear it.”

But they don’t know Aizawa like you do - the lengths he’ll go to for you.

You take a deep, shaking breath, “... Even if the person who did this is a Pro Hero?”

Tanaka’s eyes widen for just a split second before he schools his face into a blank mask. The seconds that tick by as you wait for him to speak feel like a lifetime, and the silence is deafening. 

You know the level of Hero worship that’s so prevalent in Tokyo, hell, you’d been guilty of it yourself before everything happened. They were your heroes too, they protected you, protected the City and they could do no wrong - at least, until Aizawa ripped that fantasy away from you.

You can’t read his face, you don’t know what he’s thinking and it’s awful. You have no reason to lie; you don’t want some big public spectacle or fame, you don’t even care if he gets punished, you just want to disappear somewhere and know that he can’t ever find you again. 

You just want to go to sleep in your own bed without having his arms wrap around you and pull you close.

It’s an eternity before finally, the Sergeant’s impassive facade breaks and he huffs out a sigh and shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believeable.”

It hurts. You’d braced yourself for it - the disbelief, a scoff or a roll of his eyes, but somehow it’s worse than you expected. You feel a wave of nausea rise up and suddenly, it’s all too much. The room is too bright, too quiet, and you can’t bear the thought of spending another second in there with the Sergeant. Tears prick at your eyelids, stinging, and you have to blink them furiously back. Part of you just wants to disappear entirely, but mostly you just want to run and hide and cry your fucking heart out. “I-I shouldn’t have come here,” you mutter, forcing your shaking legs to stand. “I’m sorry-”

Sergeant Tanaka stands so abruptly that it startles you. “A name.”

You can only blink owlishly at him. “What?”

“Which Pro? I need his name. Or hers.”

The tension in the room is palpable. You can’t bring yourself to hope, but… “You believe me?”

The Sergeant’s eyebrow quirks, but his face is stony and impassive. “Are you lying to me?”

“No.” Your voice doesn’t waver this time.

He nods, slowly lowering himself back into his seat, “Good, then I need you to sit back down and tell me everything, starting with their name.” When you don’t move, he sighs, his expression softening, “Please. I failed you the first time, and it’s not often we get a second chance. I don’t give a flying fuck how powerful or popular the Hero who did this to you is, I promise you - for whatever they did, they will be punished and, more importantly, they will never, never lay another finger on you again.”

“S-shouta Aizawa,” you whisper, sinking back into the plastic seat. “Eraser Head.”

He leaves shortly afterwards promising to bring water and something to eat. You’re shaking and food is the last thing on your mind, but you nod anyway. 

It could have been five minutes or twenty by the time he returns, there’s no clock in the interrogation room, and you don’t have any way of telling the time. When he does come back, he’s got a sandwich for you, and there’s another officer with him - older than Tanaka and judging from the pristine uniform, more senior. The Sergeant introduces him as Chief Inspector Ishizaki.

The two of them listen as you begin again, talking through the night of your abduction - or what you can remember of it at any rate. You tell them about waking up in Aizawa’s apartment, and the first few weeks there. They don’t interrupt when you describe the punishments - the degrading acts he so loved subjecting you to, or the first night that he fucked you, ignoring your desperate cries and pleading as he got himself off. You don’t have the courage to tell them that he forced you to enjoy it too - you can’t forget the feeling on his calloused fingers rubbing circles in your clit as he rocked into you, or the way that he’d eat you out for what felt like hours at a time, making you cum again and again until you begged him to stop.

They listen without judgement as you describe the first time you’d tried to escape, only making it to the end of the street - and the broken arm you’d earned for your efforts.

Shouta had been particularly cruel after that little incident, but there was a sick kind of satisfaction in his smile as he’d held you afterwards. He’d showered you in his kisses, tucking your sobbing form under his chin, murmuring threats so sweetly that you could have sworn they were soft declarations of love.

You can’t bear the thought of what he’d do to you if he ever got his hands on you again. 

The Chief Inspector’s phone rings as you finish explaining how you’d finally managed to escape, and with an apologetic bow to you, he leaves you alone with the Sergeant.

The silence that fills the room isn’t exactly comfortable, but you just don’t know what to say. Your head is pounding, and you’re suddenly grateful for the water that they’d fetched earlier. There’s more you can tell them - you’ve barely scratched the surface of the eighteen or so months that Shouta kept you, but you’re exhausted and emotionally drained and it’s taking all the energy you have left just to keep yourself sitting upright.

Tanaka’s face has remained a carefully sculpted blank mask since his superior stepped into the room, but it softens now that it’s just the two of you. He offers a small smile, “You’re doing really well. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you just nod.

“Is there somebody you’d like us to call, your family perhaps or-”

“Riko.” The words slip out of your mouth before you’re even aware of them, but Tanaka's smile widens just a fraction. 

“Of course. I’ll see if we can’t-” but his sentence is cut off as the door opens again. You can’t help but jump as a burst of panic jolts through you, but you calm yourself when you realise it’s only the Chief Inspector.

Tanaka says something but his words are drowned out as Ishizaki looks at you. His face is grave and pale, and there’s this look in his eyes which makes your heart drop into your stomach. He ignores the Sergeant entirely, focusing instead on you. “I-I’m sorry, truly. It was above my head.” 

With a bowed head, he steps aside and your heart seizes in your chest as another figure steps into the light.

Aizawa. 

He’s not wearing his Hero costume, just a pair of dark grey sweats and an old black sweater of his. With his messy hair hanging loose and his eyes bloodshot and rimmed in red, he looks disarmingly non-threatening, but you know better.

The moment that your eyes meet his, your world implodes. 

“Have you had fun, kitten?” he asks with a cold smile, his voice deadly soft. 

He takes a single step inside and you jump to your feet, “No,” you breathe, shaking your head. “No, no, no-” Unbidden, tears spring to your eyes and you lurch back away from the table, away from him, until you hit the wall. 

He can’t be here, he - you… no.

No.

You can’t comprehend the betrayal, the shame that burns on the Chief Inspector’s face, all you can focus on is the dark, possessive look in Aizawa’s eyes as he stares at you from across the room. It’s like a scene from your nightmares as he walks towards you, arms open as if he expects for you to just fall into him. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Tanaka growls, all but throwing himself between the two of you. “Chief, you heard what she said, what this piece of shit did to her!” he spat, glaring up at the Hero as you cower away behind him. “Like fucking hell am I gonna let him lay another finger on her!”

Aizawa’s smile doesn’t waver, “Move.”

“Chief!” Tanaka snarls as you cling to his back and whimper, a detail that isn’t missed by the Erasure Hero. 

The older man just sighs, “Stand down, Sergeant Tanaka. There is nothing we can do.” 

His words drop like the executioner's blade, and what little was left of your resolve crumples. But Tanaka just shakes his head, “Like hell there isn’t. He kidnapped her, he raped her! Since when do we stand aside and let monsters like him walk free?!”

“Since we received orders to do so from the Commissioner to do just that. I won’t repeat myself, Tanaka. Stand. Down.”

The unspoken words ring loudly in the air. Aizawa’s a Pro Hero; he’s all but untouchable.

Aizawa watches Tanaka impassively, his dark eyes gleaming as the Sergeant spits on the ground in front of him and glares, but he complies - reluctantly tugging himself free of your grip to step aside.

With Tanaka out of the way, Shouta grins at you, though it’s a far cry from the soft, loving smiles you know he’s capable of. It’s a look that promises pain - punishment - and revels in it. 

“Sweetheart?” he purrs, “It’s time to go home.”

You can barely force your legs to move as the tears spill silently down your face. You don’t want to go back to him, and every fibre of your being fights against it, but just like Tanaka, you know you don’t have a choice anymore. The longer you make him wait, the worse it’ll be.

Shouta lets out a barely perceptible sigh as you walk into his arms, and he wastes no time in tucking you against his shoulder and placing a surprisingly gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “There’s my girl, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into your hair.

You don’t reply. It’s only been a few hours since you’d escaped him, but you were never really out of his reach at all, were you?

[not-all-dead]

angstpril day eighteen: children fight their parents wars

CW: death, murder, fire??, burns/burning, swearing

fic under the cut

“Unbelievable,” Lin muttered under her breath, fixing her gaze on the wooden table that the group was seated at.

She, alongside Kya, Tenzin, Bumi, and Su, had been trying to reason with Firelord Izumi for the past hour. This year was the year that marked a hundred and sixty years of war between the Fire Nation and the rest of the world. They all knew it wasn’t their war to fight, it wasn’t even their parents’, and yet Izumi seemed set on keeping up the needless destruction.

“Unbelievable? Well, I’m right here, and so are you, so I don’t see how any of this could be unbelievable,” Izumi smiled at Lin from across the table, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

Lin fought the urge to yell at her right then, instead pushing her chair out and leaving the room. She tended to get the most angry about the war out of their group, her father’s insolence fueling her further with every passing day. She still couldn’t believe he’d come back after all those years, trying to enlist her in the army her mother fought desperately against, simply because he heard that she could firebend.

She stormed down the hall, blood boiling as she walked. Her fists were clenched at her sides as she shoved through the courtyard doors, and she let out a shout of frustration as soon as she was outside. She punched her fist at the sky, a ball of bright white flame shooting upwards and dissipating mid-air. She watched as it streaked across the grey sky, huffing when it disappeared and looking down at the garden she stood in. It seemed too nice for a family so set on hurting people, which only made her angrier.

She wandered down the path lined with cherry blossoms trying to calm herself down. She hated Izumi for all the awful things she’d done to people all over the world, but particularly her family and friends in Gaoling when she’d taken the entire city as a labour camp, stripping titles and stealing everything from her grandparents and every other major family in the city.

Just as she was starting to diffuse her anger, she heard someone come up behind her.

“Your friends are looking for you, troublemaker,” Izumi said in an irritatingly smooth, calm voice.

Lin spun on her heel and glared at Izumi, barely stopping herself from spitting on her.

“You really are the angry one, aren’t you?” Izumi took a step forward and created a tiny flame on the end of her finger, twirling it in small circles.

Lin watched the flame for a second before twitching her finger and putting it out.

“I’m leaving,” She huffed, brushing past Izumi and marching towards the door to get back inside.

“Don’t go,” Izumi called, causing Lin to stop in her tracks.

“Don’t you want to have a little,” She paused and sent a small burst of fire past Lin’s ear.

“Fun?” She finished as Lin turned back to look at her, digging her nails into her palms.

“Are you challenging me to an Agni Kai?” She asked incredulously.

“Only if you think you’re up to it, sugar,” Izumi smiled wickedly at Lin, knowing a taunt like that would piss her off more than anything.

“You’re on,” Lin snarled.

“Wonderful,” Izumi’s smile widened and she sauntered towards Lin, reaching forwards to straighten Lin’s collar.

Lin narrowed her eyes and pulled away from Izumi, clearing the path to the door before following her inside. Izumi led her down several long hallways before they came to another outdoor space, this one with a stone floor and no plant life anywhere. Izumi walked across the empty space, twirling lightly when she was a reasonable distance from Lin. She cocked her head to the side, feigning innocence as Lin stalked a large circle around her.

“How could you,” Lin said in a low voice.

“How could you hurt all those people?!” She shouted, sending a bright flash of lightning at Izumi.

Izumi reached one arm forward and caught the lighting, redirecting it right back at Lin. Lin inhaled sharply and rolled to avoid the strike, swinging her leg out and bending a white flame at Izumi’s leg. Izumi stepped calmly out of the way, a wide grin on her face.

“You still sure you’re up for this?” She teased, dodging two balls of bright flame that Lin punched at her head.

“You hurt my family, my friends,” Lin shouted, continuing her barrage on the Firelord.

“You’ve forced so many people into military service, and countless others into labour camps,” She continued, high-kicking a flame at Izumi’s head.

Izumi ducked the blow and stepped closer to Lin, opening her palm just in front of Lin’s stomach. Lin yelped and jumped back, pressing a hand to her scorched shirt. She growled and launched herself at Izumi again, punching fireball after fireball at her with no relent. Izumi continued to duck and dodge her blows, weaving her way across the open ground and making their fight seem almost like a dance.

Lin was panting when she finally got Izumi with her back to a wall. Izumi put her hands up in mock defeat, smirking at Lin’s dishevelled appearance and heavy breathing.

“Take it easy there, troublemaker,” She hummed, pushing herself off the wall so that she stood mere centimetres from Lin’s face.

Lin let out a feral yell and brought large white flames to her hands, shoving Izumi back against the wall. She was just about ready to make Izumi regret ever challenging her, when she heard a voice from behind her.

“Lin, what are you doing?!” Kya shouted at the top of her lungs.

Lin turned to see Kya standing halfway across the field, her eyes wide in horror. The fire at Lin’s hands dulled, turning back to yellow, then orange. Izumi took her momentary distraction to slip away from the wall, positioning herself to Lin’s right.

“I’m sorry she has to watch this,” She said wickedly, barely giving Lin time to react before creating a fire at Lin’s feet, quickly growing it so there was no way for her to get out. Her screams were muffled by the roar of the fire, but dissolved after only a moment.

Kya let out a loud cry and Izumi looked in her direction, smiling darkly at the waterbender. Izumi stayed where she stood until she was sure there was nothing left of Lin, only then letting the raging fire die. Kya had been frozen in place until their other friends found them there, rushing towards her.

“Where’s Lin?” Izumi heard Bumi ask.

“She just- she-,” Kya stuttered before her shock turned to pure rage.

“That bitch just killed her,” Kya hissed before running full speed at Izumi.

She pulled the water from her waterskin and turned it into a hundred icy daggers, sending them all shooting at Izumi with a raw yell. Izumi created a wall of fire in front of her, melting the daggers before sending a spiral of orange heat towards Kya. Kya was knocked back by the blow, but her companions weren’t far behind her.

Tenzin sent a gust of wind at Izumi, causing her to lose her balance for a split second. It was enough that with Su shifting the ground below her just slightly, she fell backwards. Bumi stepped around a now standing Kya, drawing his sword and extending it towards Izumi, pressing the tip against her throat. Izumi drew in a sharp breath and glared up at the four.

“You’ll only make things worse,” She seethed.

“My father would never forgive you,” She put her hand on the blade, beginning to heat it with her bending.

“The war will never end,” The blade was starting to glow beneath her grasp when Bumi noticed.

He pulled it swiftly back towards him, cutting her hand badly in the process. She grit her teeth against the searing pain in her palm, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You killed her,” Kya said, shoving past her brother to stand over Izumi.

“You. Killed. My. Lin,” Kya stared intently at Izumi as she stretched her hands out in front of her.

Izumi let a cry escape her throat as Kya lifted her off the ground, suspending her in midair. A tear slipped from Kya’s eye as she twisted Izumi’s limbs grotesquely. She felt as it dripped from her chin and rushed through the air towards the cold stone below their feet. As soon as it hit the floor, she clenched her fists to stop Izumi’s heart.

[thewayshedreamed]

Death Dance

Thank you for the prompt submission, Nonnie! I really liked this one.

Prompt: Can u write a Nessian fic involving Cassian seeing Nesta with her hair down for the first time? 🙏

A/N: This starts with an excerpt from A Court of Wings and Ruin, page 408. That scene was my inspiration for this prompt <3

acotar masterlist

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Cassian had been born for this—these fields, this chaos and brutality and calculation.

He didn’t stop moving, seemed to know where every opponent fought both ahead and behind, seemed to breathe in the flow of the battle around him. He even let his Siphons’ shield drop—to get close, to feel the impact of the arrows that he took in that ebony shield. If he slammed that shield into a soldier, his other arm was already swinging his sword at the next opponent. 

I’d never seen anything like it—the skill and precision. It was like a dance. 

I must have said it aloud because Mor replied, “For him, that’s what battle is. A symphony.” 

Her eyes did not stray from Cassian’s death-dance.

------

“STOP!” Cassian bellowed.

At his instruction, the clashes of steel ceased. Two flaps of his grand wings, and he was airborne, traveling the 100 or so yards to where Nesta stood. He landed firmly on the ground in front of her, sending vibrations through the earth beneath her feet. His brow was furrowed, nostrils flared, and his shoulders were tense as he assessed her.

“Problem, Commander?” she asked him dryly.

He huffed a breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders for the verbal sparring that he knew was coming.

“Nesta, who was your target?” he demanded.

“Cassian, I don’t understand the problem. You have trained me for battle, shaped my skills into what they are. Now, you scold me for employing them?”

It was true. The General Commander had started training her all those months ago, refining her physical competencies in battle as well as her strategy. Although resistant to his help when they originally arrived in Illyria, Nesta had been a talented pupil, her skills increasing at an exponential rate. Her wit and propensity for strategy served her well, and her mental tenacity helped fuel her progress through her lessons in technique.

Today was a day of group trainings, including battle drills designed to expose the legions to various strategies and threats alike. Nesta woke with an excitement on drill days, the opportunity to practice her skills pulling her from her bed earlier than any other day. She came alive in combat scenarios, as they allowed her to employ her newly honed skills without giving her the time to ruminate too much over which strategies to utilize. Only times of crisis were strong enough to compete with the brutality of her thoughts.

Additionally, she felt a compulsion to never find herself in another situation like the war with Hybern.

“Your skills are fine, and you know it. But you aren’t alone, Nesta.” His wings twitched, exposing his irritation. His voice was all rasp and intense focus; nothing of the pure and genuine male that existed off the battlefield.

“I’m fully aware, but I was disarming them easily. I don’t see why I shouldn’t take care of it.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, the end of it landing on her leathers just above the small of her back with a soft slap.

“You are engaging every enemy, but they are not your intended target. You need to evade them and allow your legion to support you as you move,” he reminded her firmly. “So I ask you again, who was your target?”

“How am I supposed to make peace with leaving my comrades behind me, unsure of their fate?” she spat.

His nostrils flared, his patience fraying by the second. “You have a responsibility to ensure your specific skill set is where it needs to be when it needs to be there. You are not a hero for clearing the field ahead of them, only to exhaust yourself prematurely or get yourself killed,” he seethed. “Your death leaves them unprepared for your intended target and increases the odds that they die as well.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered his words.

“So should I have left you there, too? Bleeding out on that battlefield?” she hissed.

He recoiled as if she struck him, obviously surprised to hear her mention the moment they shared during the battle with Hybern. This was the first and only time she had done so.

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Who,” he asked through clenched teeth, “was your target?”

“You,” she said through a snarl.

“Correct. Move through this field, allow your fellow soldiers to support you. Save your energy for when you get to me.” he ordered, leaving no room for protest. He took off without waiting for her reply, the wind from his wings blowing back the loose strands of hair around her face.

He repositioned himself in the target location, his shield in place. Once he lowered it, they were to begin. Nesta fell in line with the other soldiers, steeling herself for when that red shield disappeared. She was still angry, but she felt a sense of calm wash over her as her focus shifted. Cassian waited for the opposing soldiers to move to their positions, then he dropped the shield.

Nesta ran, opting to pull a long dagger from the sheath along her thigh rather than pulling the sword from across her back. She knew she could move faster without the weight of the sword in her hand, and if she were meant to evade those she confronted, she felt her dagger would lend enough defense until another soldier arrived.

She never imagined that she would feel so at home on a battlefield, that these drills would become almost therapeutic. She moved forward, deftly knocking her first opponent off their center of gravity and causing them to stumble. She didn’t hesitate to move forward as instructed, daring to glance back quickly to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She was pleased to see her comrade engage the soldier, halting any plans they may have had to pursue Nesta.

She slipped into an eerie sort of calm, evading soldier after solder in her pursuit of Cassian. She could see him where he stood, waiting. She’d yet to best him in combat, and honestly didn’t hold that expectation in the absence of using magic, but she knew she was being assessed purely on her ability to get to where he was. She continued to move, only glancing back when absolutely necessary, and she was filled with a sense of honor that her back was covered every time.

She continued to feel a certain serenity surround her as she moved from one opponent to the next. She glided through them with grace and precision; as if she had learned this battle as choreography. After successfully blocking the blows targeted at her, she was already extending her dagger to the next, carrying herself through the field. There was a certain rhythm thrumming through her; her heartbeat akin to the cadence of a battle drum. She let it guide her and propel her forward, tugging her closer and closer to her target. She let it pace her, her footfalls coordinating in time with the fall of her daggers and her transitions between soldiers. Her movements came together in perfect harmony, an art form all their own.

She moved so briskly through her opponent's forces that her last obstacle to Cassian seemed to be caught off-guard by her arrival. She had him disarmed in less than a minute, promptly turning to lock eyes with the Illyrian warrior that awaited her.

He met her gaze with sheer focus, finally raising a scarred brow to her in challenge. She felt it like a blow straight to her chest; felt compelled to make her way to him. The steady beat of that battle drum pulled her once again, urging her feet forward toward the General Commander. She meant to break into a full run, but she felt a sharp tug on her long braid, snapping her head backward.

She risked a small glance at who held her. She didn't rotate her body being that she was unsure of how much that would compromise her ability to evade the attacker, but she turned her head to the side and dared a peripheral look their way.

The very last solider she'd disarmed had managed to grab hold of her braid, almost all the way at the bottom, near her lower back. She cursed herself for opting to wear it this way rather than her usual crown braid, but it seemed like an incredible amount of work for an activity that provided minimal appreciation for intricate braiding.

She saw her ally engaging with the enemy who was gripping her hair, so she knew it was not their failure to cover her that got her in this position. She had likely stopped too soon, not allowing enough distance to be created between them before pausing to assess Cassian. In those seconds, the soldier had regained access to his weapon and reached for her. It didn't surprise her, considering who had trained him. Even small opportunities could change the direction of a war, and he capitalized on her misstep in a way she had to respect, if she were honest.

All of these things burst through her brain within a couple of seconds before she started to scan it for a possible solution. Had she ever learned how to get someone to release her without getting hurt or killed in the process? The thought was pointless, because even if she had, it wasn't serving her at the moment.

And so, she moved.

— — —

From the second Cassian had lowered his red shield, his eyes were glued to the female meant to engage him at the end of her pursuit. She had arrived in Illyria with almost no skills and even fewer battle instincts, but when he had introduced her to training, she came alive. The idea that wars were ever fought without women like her was almost comical to him as he watch her graceful figure glide straight through enemy lines.

He couldn't, nor would be, discount her improvement or her skills in general. She had worked tirelessly for months, never wanting to find herself in a position similar to the day she was Made. She was strong, beautiful, and lethal with the blade in her hand. It was almost as if she were always intended for this.

He was relieved to see that she had taken his feedback into consideration rather than engaging every single soldier in hand-to-hand combat to spite him. It wouldn't have surprised him if she had being that she loved nothing more than to irritate him, but he felt touched at how seriously she was taking her training.

He watched her move through the crowd, entranced by her movements. He stood with his arms crossed, shield and Illyrian blade across his back, assessing Nesta and the others. Her team was supporting her beautifully, and he couldn't fight the smallest smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. She was almost to him now, disarming the man in front of her and pausing to look his way. He had just schooled his face into one of neutrality, thank the Cauldron, but his expressive brow quirked up of its own accord as he continued to monitor her.

That is, until the very last opponent she faced resorted to cheap shots, latching onto Nesta's hair. He gripped it as if she were the personification of his pride, floating away from him on the wind. He held a firm grip down at the bottom, yanking her head backward in the process. It took every ounce of his training to fight the vicious snarl that threatened to erupt out of him at seeing someone touch her in such a way. She paused, but she wasn't motionless for long.

Cassian knew his eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape as he watched in disbelief. As fast as lightning, Nesta turned on her heel, blade in hand. The Illyrian steel went through her thick braid like a knife through warm butter, sending the offender stumbling back.

Her golden strands unraveled as she whipped around and broke into a full run toward where Cassian stood. Her hair billowed around her face, framing it in a way that took his breath away. His breath was suddenly ragged, heart pounding through his chest as she ran toward him. When her steel blue eyes raised to meet his hazel ones, he had to take a step back and steady himself from the blow of emotions that roiled through him.

He knew it then, had suspected it for some time. That one word that changed everything, and by the way her eyes widened slightly, he suspected she knew it, too. She was almost to him; had already prepared the daggers in her hands to ensure she was ready whenever he deigned to attack.

Before entertaining a coherent thought about his actions, he raised his right hand in front of him, palm toward her. She slowed to a halt about 6 feet away from him, the look in her eyes a combination of determination, frustration, and something else altogether. He couldn't breathe.

He could see his own chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his blood singing to close the distance between them. He wanted to lie to himself and claim the call of battle as the reason for his compulsion. Battle, however, was the last thing on his mind.

The wind circled the both of them, and Cassian thanked the Mother for the soothing gesture across his wings. His blood was raging, sweat pouring along the inside of his training leathers. His wings twitched with anxious energy as he continued to look at her.

Her hair was blowing around her face, a few strands slanting across it. She was a vision, the strands looking as if they were perfectly placed to frame her delicate features. Her blue eyes bore into him, made even more stunning by the contrast of the brown whipping around them. He was both angry and relieved that he'd never seen her this way before. Had he, he would have never been able to train her properly, her hair and beauty wonderfully distracting. She was the one to break the silence.

"What now, Cassian?" she scowled. "I've made it, haven't I?"

Her voice was much quieter than before the drill, almost breathy. She was looking intensely at him, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He tracked her movements as she ran her hand through her strands, from her forehead to the crown of her head, to attempt smoothing them.

"Nesta." he managed, his voice a whisper.

She continued to look at him, that unidentifiable emotion worn all over her beautiful face.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to say what he needed to through his nerves.

"You're my mate."

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[dragonheart-swtor]

Friends and Fears

Summary: Eris is the Alliance Commander, Cipher Nine; Reykal is the most recent champion of the Great Hunt. Each of them finds someone utterly unintimidated by them in the other - something both of them need, especially when discussing old fears usually best left buried. Or, Just a quick one-shot of a bar chat between friends that should've taken me a week and instead somehow took me the better part of a year because I kept getting stuck. (Title subject to change, I've been sitting here for twenty minutes and can't think of anything better so it's either this or the doc name which is just "Spooky", if anyone comes up with anything better feel free to give me a heads-up)

Tags: Female Bounty Hunter & Female Imperial Agent, alcohol consumption (not excessive)

Find me on AO3 at Dragonheart37!

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The tiny, grimy cantinas that dotted the streets of every space station like this one were always bustling with activity, rowdy with fights and gambling and music, and this one was no different. It wasn't the kind of place where you couldn't take your hand off your credit purse, but it definitely was the kind of place you wanted to keep a vibroknife on you at all times, just in case. Any self-respecting citizen – Imperial, Republic, or Alliance, and probably Zakuulian too – would steer clear of a place like this. Which was, of course, exactly why it was the best kind of place for an Alliance Commander and a Great Hunt champion to disappear; Reykal always fit right in without even trying, and all it took was a change of makeup and a less formal outfit for Eris to go unnoticed in a place where no one was looking for her.

Reykal had promised this particular spot had the best food and drinks this side of the station, and she wasn't wrong – the fare here was greasy, but good, and came in truly enormous proportions. Better yet, it was busy and loud, and after a quick scan and sweep for bugs – purely out of habit, of course – Eris could actually believe that she didn't need to be on high guard for people listening in. It was nice to just settle in and amiably listen to Reykal spin dramatic stories of her most impressive hunts – even if she'd heard one or two of them before – and of her most recent ones as well, side jobs taken while the Alliance didn't have anything of import for her.

She was just wrapping up one such story when Eris spotted the Sith.

Eris, through sheer power of habitual control, did not stiffen at the sight of him – masked and robed in full Sith garb, clearly just passing through the cantina on his way out from a back room somewhere. She tracked him for a moment – but he didn't turn to look at them, just swept past as if the room were empty instead of crowded with people. She carefully didn't turn to watch him go, despite the urge to do so and despite seeing Reykal turn out of the corner of her eye. Instead, as soon as she was satisfied he wasn't approaching them, she locked her eyes on the reflections in her glass to the exclusion of all else, using the visual focus to shutter everything else away. If there's nothing else in your mind, there's nothing they can read. Just glass, light and color reflected over the curved surface, playing shapes over the pale green liquid inside, tiny bubbles floating to the surface – no thought, no emotion, just glass. Nothing they can read.

“Kinda spooky, aren't they?”

She glanced up at Reykal's interruption. The Togruta sipped her brandy. “Sith. Jedi. Force people.” She wiggled her fingers as if that needed further explanation. “The way they move, the way people move for 'em without even realizing. How they answer questions you haven't even asked sometimes.” She snorted into her glass. “Fuckin' spooky.”

Eris chuckled despite herself, tension easing at the sheer casualness of Reykal's blasphemy. The Sith was gone, the door swinging shut behind him as Reykal spoke – out of the usual range of mental contact. Reykal's eyes sparkled with humor too; she stretched her arms out in front of her across the bar like a cat, all relaxed grace despite her bulk. “It's not the way I would have put it,” Eris admitted, “but I can't say you're wrong.”

“They make everybody nervous. It's not just you. Though I'm surprised you haven't gotten more used to 'em, considering.” She smiled when Eris blinked, a little surprised. “You hide it well. But you quit moving for a split second every time one of 'em comes into the room. You spend more time watching them than me, or Dad, or Hylo. Which probably isn't good for your wallet, knowing Dad and Hylo.” She grinned to take the edge off the joke, points of her fangs still hidden.

“Apparently I don't hide it well enough,” Eris remarked, sipping her own drink – some bubbly lime-and-mint mix she'd already forgotten the name of that the bartender promised tasted almost exactly like its alcoholic version – as she scanned the crowd once. “I've had some... bad experiences. Let's just put it that way.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. You worked with 'em back in the Empire, right?” Reykal rested her chin on one hand, fingers tapping her temple absently. “I did a job for some Intelligence guy, back in the day. Forget his name. Seemed pretty skeeved by the whole thing. Ended up having to kill him after he did try to murder me. 'Loose ends,' or whatever.”

Eris blinked. “Oh, that was you? I think I heard about that.”

Reykal raised her eyebrows. “Really? I thought it was supposed to be under the table, nobody was supposed to know about it.”

Eris laughed aloud at that, shaking her head. “Intelligence always knows.” She paused. “Which probably wasn't the most comforting thing to say, was it?”

“Probably not.” Reykal grinned at her again. “I figure if Intelligence was going to come after me, they'd have done it by now.”

“You were a low-priority target,” Eris assured her, smiling back wryly. “We had bigger fish to fry, at the time. That would have been right before the Dominator blew up and everything went to hell.”

“Bigger fish to fry, eh?” Reykal chuckled. “I'm insulted.”

“Intelligence deals with pretty big fish. Be glad you weren't one of them.”

“Speaking from experience?” Reykal asked, arching an eyebrow.

Eris shrugged, sipping her drink again to hide her smile. “That's classified.”

Reykal scoffed, mocking exasperation at the old half-joke. “'That's classified.' Someday I'm going to have to get some actual drinks in you to get all those classified stories out of you.” She winked. “Personally, I think you just can't hold your alcohol and that's why you're never caught dead with it.”

“That's also classified.” She didn't bother to hide the grin this time.

��Kriff's sake,” Reykal exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “You're impossible. I don't know why I bother.”

Eris laughed. “I'm sure you're very put-upon to deal with me.”

Reykal downed the rest of her glass and turned to flag down the bar droid; Eris took the opportunity to sip her drink and sift through her thoughts again, deliberating. “You're right,” she murmured after a moment of quiet. Reykal turned back to her, raising an eyebrow, and she clarified, “The Sith do... make me nervous. They all do, but... Sith especially.” She huffed a half-hearted laugh. “It's not exactly a secret, at least not to them. They can feel fear a mile away.”

Reykal took her refilled drink absently, attention focused on Eris much more seriously than she had been before. “Working with 'em doesn't help?” she asked. “You and Beniko seem... close.”

Eris tapped the rim of her drink, staring down into it as she thought through her next words. “Minister Beniko and I have worked together closely for long enough that I'm no longer concerned about her...” She trailed off.

“Acting like a murder-hobo Sith?” Reykal filled in. Eris gave her a look that made her snort and raise an appeasing hand. “Sorry. But you were thinking it too.”

“I would have phrased it more tactfully,” Eris sighed, “but... yes. Sith... they tend to use their power to its utmost to control those around them. It's just how things are in the Empire. And they have a great deal of power.” She pursed her lips. “Do you know some cultures worship Force-users as demigods?” Reykal shook her head. “It's true. And who can really blame them?”

Reykal nodded. “A lot of people are scared of them. Not just in the Empire, either. Anyone in their right mind would be wary.”

“It's... bizarre, to be equal to a Force-user,” Eris admitted. “In the Empire, even the lowest Sith acolyte ranks above the Force-blind. To have Minister Beniko and Darth Nox at my war table – my war table – and not be answering to them as superiors... I'm still not used to it, even after all this time. And Master Garen'ishta, and the Barsen'thor – even Senya. I'm used to having to be afraid of them. At this point, I'm not sure I'm capable of not being nervous around them. Not...” Not after Jadus. And Zhorrid. But that she couldn't say out loud, not here, not even to Reykal. “Not after working directly under them for so long.”

Reykal hummed sympathetically, running a finger around the rim of her glass. “I don't blame you. I talk a big game, but really, Force-users have been some of my most dangerous targets. There's a reason most hunters don't take contracts on them at all.” She took a sip of brandy, jaw working as she thought. Quietly, barely audible over the noise of the bar, she added, “D'you actually think any of 'em might turn on you?”

Eris pursed her lips, but shook her head. “Not at this point. The Jedi will fight alongside us for as long as they're convinced our cause serves the greater good – no matter how much the Barsen'thor pretends to be aloof. If Nox were going to turn on us, she would've done it by now; she's had ample opportunity, and in any case, she hates Zakuul and Arcann for stealing her place in the Empire from her too much to ally with them. Senya... Senya will stay loyal for now, at least. And Minister Beniko has long since proved her loyalty, as I said.”

“Well, that's good, at least.” Reykal cracked a grin. “Better'n if you were actually logically worried about 'em.”

Eris smiled. “Are you insinuating that I'm being illogical?”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

“You are insufferable,” she said mildly, taking another sip of her drink.

Reykal laughed aloud, fangs flashing in the light. “Eh, that's why you like me. None of that faffin' about trying to be dainty and diplomatic about it.”

Eris shook her head, still smiling, but didn't deny it. It was true, really – Reykal was perhaps the only person she talked to on a regular basis who wasn't constantly embroiled in politics and diplomacy, who was brashly open about her thoughts and feelings. It was refreshing, if she was honest – a chance to relax for once, to not constantly have to be watching her every word and gesture. To pretend they were just two friends at a bar and nothing more, for a little while.

Reykal spun around on her stool and leaned back against the bar, flipping her back lek over the edge so it wouldn't get crushed. “We should go shooting after this,” she offered, grinning lazily at Eris. “See if your pistol aim's gotten any better.”

Eris arched an eyebrow, eyeing her skeptically. It was hard to tell in the cantina's soft mood lighting, but she was fairly sure Reykal's lekku were flushed a deeper red than usual. She half-smiled. “I think you've had one too many drinks for that, Master Candessan.”

“Pah, too many drinks. I've shot in worse situations'n this, more drunk'n this.” She grinned again to take the edge off the comment. “Suit yourself, though. What do you do for fun, anyway, when you're not gettin' swamped by hell-knows-what kinda work from the Alliance?”

“You might have heard of this thing called 'reading,'” Eris said, allowing herself an impish grin.

Reykal scoffed playfully through her teeth. “Oh, sure, now the high-and-mighty Imperial act  comes out.”

“Don't tell me you're a literary connoisseur.”

“Doesn't mean I don't read.” She stuck out her tongue at Eris in a gesture so childish it startled a genuine laugh out of her. “Miss Hoity-Toity Imperial-Logo-Boxers over here, makin' fun of us peasant folk. What's the Alliance come to?”

Eris swatted her shoulder, trying and failing to stifle her laughter. “Why do I tell you anything?”

“'Cause you like me,” Reykal reminded her cheerfully. She slid off the stool to stand next to the bar. “C'mon, finish your drink already and let's get outta here. We can go window-shopping on the boardwalk and see if there's anything to spend the night on.”

“I do have work to do tomorrow,” Eris told her, but she swallowed the last of her drink and stood as well, sliding a credit chit across the counter to the bar droid as it clanked over.

Reykal wagged a scolding finger at her. “Ay, none of that. You said we'd get a night on the town, you're getting a night on the town. You work yourself too hard.”

“Very well,” Eris agreed, shaking her head with a fond smile. “But I draw the line at drunk bounty hunting or robbing anyone in an alley.”

“You're no fun.” Reykal offered her arm with a dramatic flourish and Eris took it with another laugh, letting the bounty hunter lead her out the door.