#why would you impose your dark and twisted mind on the rest of us

[ahappydnp]

i really had a dream they made a children’s book called cat and bear save the world and it was soooo like we were all WEEPING. idk what it was about but we were a wreck.

what the fuck is wrong with you anon :(((

[lying-hyperion-jackass]

the odyssey of recollection

the dark urge x enver gortash

rating: mature | word count: 1701

warnings: durge typical violent thoughts

notes: i am not immune to durgetash. this has been rattling around my brain since my first dark urge run. hope you enjoy <3

You can rarely sleep these days. 

The darkness inside you roils and pulses the moment you lay down, in sweet anticipation of the nightmares that will overtake you.

Despite the assurances of your companions that they would prevent any further tragedy, the terror that you will lose control of yourself again hangs heavy over your head.

But tonight you find something else is keeping you awake. An itch in your mind demanding to be scratched.

So you creep from your bedroll and out into the darkness of Baldur’s Gate. Without much thought, your feet carry you to Wyrm’s Rock. The fort feels even more imposing shrouded in shadow, towering over both Rivington and the lower city beyond. 

The guards allow you to pass without so much as a glance, a fully staffed crew despite the hour. You marvel at the level of trust that has been placed in you. It only makes you more curious. 

You find him seated in his office, behind an almost comically large wooden desk, perhaps meant to make him look more official, more imposing.

He looks small. Weak. 

When he looks up at you, there is no change in his expression. “I must say I am impressed with your speed and efficiency as always.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I told you not to come here until you had dealt with Orin and acquired her Netherstone. And here you stand, mere hours later.” He sits back in his chair, eyes traveling the length of you in a way that makes something inside of you shiver. 

“You know me,” you say simply in response, frozen in place halfway between his desk and the door. You can’t bring yourself to move closer. 

Gortash’s mouth turns up into the barest hint of a smile. “I do. I thought I made that quite clear in our earlier conversation.” His clawed gauntlet clicks on the desktop where his hand rests. “That does not explain why you are here. And without your compatriots this time.”

“I know that I am…” you begin, but the words turn to ash in your mouth. Monster. Murderer. Bhaalspawn. “I know what I am. But I don’t know who I am.”

He nods. “And you would trust me to fill in the gaps for you?”

The black pit inside you twists. Look how sure of himself. How smug. He thinks he has the upper hand. Remind him of who you are.

You swallow it down. “I don’t have a lot of other options.”

There’s a beat as you stare each other down, but eventually, Gortash rises, circling his desk and coming to lean on the other side, just a few feet closer to where you stand. “You are as I said. A companion in this little plot of ours. A reliable teammate, dedicated to the cause.”

Your mind wanders back to the letters you’d found in the Oubliette, letters you now recognized must have been written in your own hand. You had admired this man in front of you. Spoke of him with a strange kind of fondness. 

“Was I like Orin?” You ask instead. Wondering if you were the mindless, chaotic, cruel follower of your Father everyone expected you to be.

Gortash winces. “Gods no. I would never have willingly entered into this with someone like her. You were different. You understood strategy, timing. The importance of control,” he says, the strange fondness you heard in your writing creeping into his voice as well. “I like to think you appreciated those same things in me.”

“How long had we known each other?”

“Ten years.”

“How did we meet?”

“I sought you out. You had quite the reputation.”

You think carefully about what else would be useful to know. “Why does Orin want you dead?”

“I imagine for the same reason I want to be rid of her. Our visions of the future of Baldur’s Gate do not align,” he says, before inclining his head to you. “Not the way that ours once did.” 

You search his features. Just as it was before his coronation, you see no trace of deception. No reason not to believe what he’s telling you. You imagine that future. The Tyrant Lord and his Assassin. 

The urge inside you recoils again. Before you can realize you’ve done it, you’ve crossed the space. He’s taller than you, but that doesn’t stop your hand from gripping his throat and shoving him back against his own gaudy desk. 

“I do not share anything with you. I will be the one whose sword carves bloody the whole of the coast. I will be the one left standing,” you find yourself snarling at him. 

You’re disappointed to see no fear in his eyes. He does not shrink back from you as he should. Instead he takes one clawed finger and touches it to your chin. “There you are,” he says softly.

Your heart is racing and you blink, moving to step away from him, but he catches your wrist and holds you in place. “You seemed so different now. So righteous,” he says. “You and your little band of heroes. All along hiding away the deepest parts of you. How does it feel to be seen?”

Swallowing hard, you yank your hand away and this time he lets you. 

As if he could let you do anything. You could destroy him. His blood would paint the walls so beautifully.

Looking at him, something else turns inside you, pooling low in your belly. The question on the tip of your tongue feels like one that has already been answered but you have to ask. You have to know. “We were…” you trail off.

“Perhaps I know you more intimately than you anticipated,” he says, still relaxed against the edge of his desk. Before you can ask another question he continues. “Neither of us expected it. But it was a boon for our partnership, even if others disagreed.”

“Orin was terribly jealous of you. Of the power you held. The favor with Bhaal.” He looks down, almost contrite. “I fear that our relationship may have been what drove her over the edge.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “If we were so close, why didn’t you come after me?” 

The muscle in his jaw twitches slightly. “She told me you were dead. I had little reason to doubt her abilities.” 

Liar. Weakling. Coward.

You take a tentative step towards him again. “No. You knew.” The knowledge comes to you with absolute clarity. “But coming for me would jeopardize your position.”

The blackness inside of you writhes joyously, calling the violence to the surface again. This time you embrace it, you imagine ripping his throat out with your teeth, finally quieting his constant lies. “So you left me there. To. Rot,” you spit. 

“As if you would not have done the same to me,” he growls back, standing up to his full height. 

Your mouth splits into a wide, feral grin. Your body sings in his presence, free in a way you have not been since you awoke aboard the Nautaloid. Your companions, your lovers, they all hoped for you to be something else. Something new. The leader, the hero, the unflinching ally. 

It was exhausting. Constant rebellion against your nature.

Isn’t it easier to embrace what you really are?

His eyes search your face, frozen in anticipation of what you might do next. 

“Why aren’t you afraid of me,” you ask, staring up at him.

He doesn’t answer you. Instead he leans down and presses his lips to yours. It's a searing, violent kiss. His golden clawed fingers dig into your skin through your thin camp clothes. You’re pressed so tightly together that you can feel his rabbit heart pounding in his chest.

Prey so eager to be devoured by predator. 

You part your lips to bite into his and copper floods your mouth. He groans, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead he leans in, pulling you impossibly closer.

The urge screams at you to force him to his knees, slit his throat and bathe in his ichor. But some other part of you, tangled in memories that were stolen, aches for a different kind of submission from him. 

He reaches beneath you and lifts, turning to set you roughly on his desk, crowding between your thighs and pulling you into another kiss. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging hard, earning you another pitiful moan.

“Gods I missed this,” he says against your lips, hands wandering underneath your tunic. The scent of him surrounds you, some kind of expensive, spiced perfume, and memories flash through your shattered consciousness. 

The two of you, tangled up in every conceivable way. The feeling of him around you, on top of you, inside you, Reverence and malice in equal parts every time he looked at you from his knees. The taste of his sweat, his blood, It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, the most you’ve been able to remember of your life before.

Before. Before Orin cast you aside like a broken toy to be tormented at the hands of Balthazar’s sadistic lackeys. Before this tadpole squirmed into your brain. Before the iron grip of your devotion to your father had slackened enough for you to taste freedom. 

You don’t need freedom. Kill the Lordling. Take his stone. Then claim your throne. 

Your eyes snap open and you shove him back, hard enough to send him stumbling. He looks at you with blood on his mouth. He doesn’t look upset, just curious. Mind working five steps ahead of whatever it is you might do next.

Pushing down the squirming darkness inside you takes considerably more effort than it did a few minutes ago, but you manage. You stand, and move carefully around him towards the door.

“I’ll take care of Orin. But after that we’re done,” you say sharply, turning on your heel and leaving the office before he can say anything else. 

Back in your bedroll you find sleep is no more within reach than it was before you went. Only now instead of your bloody visions, you find yourself plagued by hazy memories of yourself, and a desperate desire you know you cannot sate.

[scuttling]

Sweet Evening Breeze

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,042 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Naïve reader, Innocence kink, Oral sex, Unprotected sex, Previous bad sexual experience Summary: Being Jack Hotchner’s babysitter is a pretty great job. He’s an angel, most of the time, and his dad is so sweet and thoughtful, really takes care of you. Really takes care of you... *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Jack, buddy, time for breakfast,” you call down the hall for the third time. “We’ll play Legos later.” He shouts something nearly incomprehensible back, and you sigh as you stretch up, trying to reach the jam he likes on the top shelf of the cupboard.

Most of the time, the fact that Jack’s dad, Aaron, is very tall gives you butterflies in your stomach, but sometimes it’s just an inconvenience—like when he puts groceries up so high you don’t have a chance of reaching them.

“Dad did not say you could skip breakfast, and it’s not okay to lie. Little monster,” you mutter, and you can feel Aaron’s breath on the back of your neck when he chuckles softly. Whoops. You didn’t even know he was standing there. “I say that with full affection.”

He reaches around you to take down the jam, resting a hand on your lower back, probably for support. The bit of skin exposed by your stretching tingles at the touch.

“Of course, and so do I. Often.” You turn to face him, give him a grateful smile, and take the jar of jam.

“Thank you. Ugh, aren’t you miserable in that?” you ask, gesturing to his usual business suit. As Jack’s babysitter, you see Aaron in a suit almost every day—another thing that gives you butterflies—but you’re in the middle of a heatwave, and it’s 97 degrees in your little suburb of DC, which means it’s probably more like 115 downtown. That’s too hot to do anything, but especially in a suit and tie.

“It’s cool in here, but yes, I’ll probably be miserable the second I step foot outside.” You spread peanut butter on one English muffin and jam on another, laughing softly when a thought comes to you.

“Too bad you don’t have as much flexibility with your dress code as I do.”

At the start of this heatwave last week, you’d asked Aaron—after much nervous deliberation—if you could wear shorts and tank tops around the house instead of your usual jeans and a t-shirt or sweater. Your so-called uniform was self-imposed, because he’d told you from the start you could dress however you were comfortable, but you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. You weren’t trying to show off your body, or tempt or tease, or anything like that; you were just extremely hot, especially playing outside with Jack.

He had agreed, of course, that you should dress for the weather, and that shorts and tank tops were fine. He also reminded you that you could use the pool whenever you wanted, whether he was home or not, and just thinking about taking a dip later is enough to make you sigh in relief.

“I don’t think anyone would be interested in seeing me in an outfit like that,” he jokes—sometimes people can’t tell when he’s joking, because he’s so dry, but you’re familiar with his humor by now—and you laugh again. It earns you a smile.

“I think it’s more important that you’re comfortable than what people think when they see you in something, but it would probably be a little distracting.” You’ve seen him in his swim trunks on more than one occasion, most recently with no shirt to accompany them, and you can attest to being very distracted that day. You were supposed to be keeping an eye on Jack, and you did, would never put him in danger, but your eyes had also been following the drops of water that dripped from Aaron’s hair, down his throat, over his chest…

You had been hot for more than one reason that day, and your butterflies moved a little bit lower.

You shake your head of those thoughts quickly, glance around you to see that Jack is still not in the kitchen. You sigh, and put the peanut butter muffin on a paper napkin, hand it to Aaron.

“I’m going to go get him, but have a good day, okay? Try to stay cool; maybe you can take a swim tonight when it’s not so hot.”

“Good idea. Maybe you can join me if you’re still here.” That was sweet of him to offer. You smile at his kindness, brush a hand over your head. You wish your hair wasn’t all over the place, clinging to the sweat on your neck, your temples, but humidity is not your friend. He doesn't seem to mind.

“Thanks, maybe I will.” He gathers his things to head out, and you steel yourself and head to Jack’s room, scoop him up, giggling, into your arms, and plop him down for breakfast.

The two of you spend the day inside, because even swimming is a nightmare when the sun is beating down the way it is. You play with Legos, watch a movie, do some coloring pages, and play learning games on his iPad.

At around three, Aaron texts you, lets you know he won’t be home tonight because of a case, and you mentally plan out a small, easy dinner for you and Jack, then a little more playtime, then bed for Jack and a swim for you after.

You tuck him in, turn on his nightlight, and close the door behind you, then head to your room to change into your bathing suit.

You usually wear a purple one piece with shorts over it, something you can play with Jack in without worrying about anything falling out, so you’re surprised to find a pale blue, floral print bikini on your bed—a very tiny bikini—with a sticky note on the tag.

Went shopping for Jack and this made me think of you. I hope you like it. - Aaron

The first two things to pop into your head are, it was so sweet of him to think of you while out shopping, and you’re really glad he’s not here to see you in it, because it only half-covers all the things it’s supposed to cover. You double check the tag, but it’s the right size, so it must just be the intended design. Your cheeks flush hot, but it also makes you feel good, to be wearing so little. Kind of wrong, but good in a way you can’t explain.

You grab a couple of beach towels and step out into the slightly cooler night air, sigh at the feel of it on so much of your skin. You lay out your towels on the lounge chair by the edge of the pool—maybe you’ll lay there and read or play on your phone after your swim—and then step into the pool.

The water is still so warm, and the contrast between it and the breeze that blows across the surface has goosebumps breaking out across your skin. You dip your head under the water, let your hair fall loose and luxuriously wet after being twisted up all day long, and when you open your eyes Aaron is standing at the edge of the pool; you gasp, startled by his sudden appearance, and then laugh lightly.

“Oh my god, you scared me. I thought you weren’t going to be home tonight?” You swim closer to the edge so you can see him better, and he crouches down to your level. He’s taken off his jacket and tie, loosened the collar of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves; your heart races a little at his proximity, and all the dark hair you’re presented with.

“Change of plans, we weren’t needed after all. I texted you, but I see your phone is over there; I’m sorry I scared you.” He looks you over, something calculating in his gaze, and then smiles softly. “You’re wearing the swimsuit I bought you. Do you like it?”

You can feel yourself flush, because you hadn’t anticipated him being home to see you in it, but there’s nothing you can do about that now.

“Yes, I like it. It’s pretty. Thank you.” He must be able to sense your apprehension, because he tilts his head curiously.

“If you don’t like it, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings. Don’t be shy.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I love it. That was so sweet of you.” You reach out a hand to rest on his arm, don’t want him to feel like you aren’t grateful. “It’s just a little… revealing.” He makes a soft noise of contemplation, reaches out to brush his fingers over your shoulder, over the strap.

“I was a little worried about that. Why don’t you get out of there and let me see? I can let you know if I think it’s too much.” You appreciate that he’d do that for you, and you respect his opinion, but you feel really exposed in it—and you’re not sure why that makes you feel so uncomfortable and so good at the same time.

Sure, he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, but there’s no way he’d ever look at you as anything other than the sitter. You’re just too… innocent.

All the same, you nod your head and lift yourself up out of the pool; Aaron moves back, helps you up, and guides you over to the lounge chair. He sits, and you stand.

From there, he looks slowly over your body; he lingers over your breasts, your hips, then asks you to turn so he can see the back. You swallow, self-conscious under his gaze.

“Have you ever been this undressed in front of a man?” he asks, his voice low, and your breath hitches. “I can tell you’re nervous, that’s all.”

“Um. Once,” you say, flushing. He hums, brushes a hand down the length of your arm, and you feel a chill. You turn back to face him, and he pats the lounge chair, encouraging you to sit next to him. You sit, cross legged, facing him, nervous, but… also not; it’s hard to explain.

“Were you completely naked?” The way he asks it is so casual, but being naked isn’t casual for you; you can barely bring yourself to think about being naked, let alone talk about it. With your employer.

But something about the way he asks it makes you want to answer, at the same time, and there’s almost no one you trust more than Aaron. He’s always been so good to you.

“No. I left something on.” It had been a bra, gray with a pink bow in the middle. You were more comfortable keeping it on, and your ex-boyfriend hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about much, it turns out.

“Was it during sex?” The way the word sounds coming out of his mouth makes you anxious, and excited; you can’t believe you’re having this conversation, and you also don’t want it to end.

“Yes, during... sex.” He nods, brings a hand to your cheek and brushes your wet hair back, tucks it behind your ear. Your heart is beating so fast you’re surprised the world around you is still so calm, quiet. Intimate.

“How many times have you had sex, sweet girl?” You close your eyes, embarrassed. You don’t want him to know how innocent you really are, not when he’s so much older and more experienced. He’ll laugh.

Then again, this is Aaron, and he’s only ever made you feel cared about and safe before. So maybe he won’t?

“Um. One time.”

“Just one time? That’s surprising to me; you’re so beautiful.” You shiver, maybe from being wet with the breeze on your skin, or maybe because he brushes his fingers over your lips, or maybe because he called you beautiful. No one’s ever called you beautiful. “Did it feel good?”

You’d wanted it to feel good; it did, for maybe a minute, and you think about that minute all the time, especially when you… when you slip your hand into your panties at night in your bed, thinking about Aaron’s broad shoulders, his thick forearms, his hands, his mouth...

“Kind of. And then no.” His hand freezes and he frowns. His voice is abruptly less low, more serious. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows you want to reach out and touch.

“Did he hurt you?” It had hurt, but you know he hadn’t meant for it to hurt. He wasn’t mean. He was just so eager to finish that once he started, he’d stopped caring if you were feeling good, so focused on his own body. You figured that’s just how guys are, and it made you never want to do it again—so you didn’t.

“Not on purpose,” is what you say. He covers your hand with his, big and warm and careful. You’ve always felt so comforted by his touch, and tonight is no exception.

“What happened?”

“It started quickly and ended quickly. I don’t think I was… prepared.” You’re blushing, hoping he understands your indirect statement so you don’t have to say it out loud. He rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand, reaches up with the other to touch your flushed cheek.

“You weren’t wet?” You exhale, a little shaky, tell him no. “Are you wet now, sweetheart?” You’re almost ashamed to say, but he is asking...

“Very.” It’s just a whisper, but it makes him smile a little, touch your mouth again. You could get used to that.

“Good girl. Can I feel?” That gives you pause, for a moment, but thinking of him touching you where you’ve imagined for months—it’s too good of a prospect to pass up, no matter how nervous you are. You nod, and he moves his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, brushes over your core, slips between your lips easily. He never takes his eyes off of yours. “It would feel really good to have sex now. Do you want to try again? You’re always taking such good care of us; I want to take care of you.”

You bite your lip, and he leans in slowly, presses his mouth to yours for a gentle kiss. You make a soft noise of pleasure, tilt your hips so you’re sliding over his hand, and he groans—it’s honestly one of the best sounds you’ve ever heard in your life. It means he wants you… never in a million years would you have guessed that.

“I want to try,” you breathe, and you feel bold, so you kiss him this time. He pulls you close, deepens the kiss, adds tongue, and you moan at the feel, clinging to his shirt. “Aaron.”

“Let’s go to my bedroom,” he says, voice low, and he moves his fingers up to the part of you that makes you shake with desperate need, rubs tight circles so you’re panting, chest heaving; you nod quickly and he picks you up, hand still moving inside your swimsuit, carries you to the sliding glass door and pushes it open with his elbow.

You assume you’ll head straight for the bedroom, but he stops in the kitchen, sets you on the counter and kisses you again, a little harder than you’ve experienced before; you love it, try your best to match the way his mouth moves, and his fingers press hard against your aching bud, making you gasp with pleasure.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?” he asks, a little breathless himself, and you smooth your fingers through his hair.

“Um. I think so. From touching myself like this.” He moves his fingers faster, and you press your palm against the counter for support, move your hips against his hand. It feels so good, so much better than when you do it that you could cry.

“Has someone else ever given you an orgasm?” You use the fingers in his hair to bring him to you for a kiss, something you both moan softly into.

“No. I want-I want you to be the first,” you murmur, and he closes his eyes, exhales through his nose, and lifts you up again, this time carrying you to his bedroom and setting you on your feet by the bed. He looks down at you with eyes so dark and gorgeous, then asks if he can remove what little clothing you have on. You tell him yes, and he pushes down the bottoms, which you step carefully out of.

When his hands move to the top, you hesitate, always self-conscious about this; he leans in and presses delicious kisses to your neck, your shoulders, slides the straps down, and looks up at you with caring, gentle eyes. You nod, and he pulls your top off, too, leaving you completely naked in front of someone for the first time in your life.

It’s such a rush, you wish he hadn’t waited so long to initiate this.

“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he says, and with the way he‘s looking at you, you actually believe it. He takes your face in his hands, kisses your lips, then moves down your throat again, your chest—he pays your nipples a bit of attention, flicking his tongue, scraping his teeth, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “So perfect.”

He puts his hands all over your body, sweeping over your arms, your waist, and he presses kisses to your stomach, your hips, your thighs. You want his mouth where his fingers were, but you don’t ask; it’s almost like he knows anyway, when he looks up at you from his knees.

“Has anyone ever tasted you?” You shake your head, and he puts his hands on your butt, squeezes softly, and guides you to lay back on the bed. “I want you to tell me how it feels, okay?”

Normally, you’re quiet out of necessity, because when you aren’t here you have an apartment you share with a roommate—even though most of the time, you sleep here whether you’re strictly required to or not. You’re quiet here too, because you’ve never wanted Aaron to know how he makes you feel, although now you’re really wishing you’d have found out sooner that he feels the same way. Imagine all the cool, quiet nights you could have spent on this bed, in his arms…

Shaking yourself out of the fantasy—because reality is literally happening, and it’s so much better—you nod, and he carefully spreads your thighs, leans in to tease his tongue along your slit, light and wet.

“Oh. Aaron.” He looks up, reaches a hand forward to twine your fingers together, and you squeeze them, moaning when he dips again, this time pressing his tongue inside you where you’re wettest. “Oh my-oh my god.” He leans in to press damp kisses to your lower belly.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I want you to come on my tongue—come on my tongue, don’t be shy.” Again, he slides it inside, brings his free hand up to rub you, and it’s not long before you do as he asks, shaking and tightening your grip on his hand. You’re almost embarrassed by how loud you are, but he is nothing but sweet when he comes up, whispers in your ear how well you did for him, how pleased he is to be the first to make you moan like that, to taste you.

He kisses your mouth so you can taste yourself, and groans when you reach for his head, hold him closer.

“Thank you,” you murmur, shaky, when the kiss breaks, and he rubs over your lips with his thumb like he did before, smiles softly.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweet girl. I told you I wanted to take care of you; I’m just so glad you let me.” You move your hands to the front of his shirt and rest them there, hoping he’ll take the hint, but he just gets a glimmer in his eye that makes the butterflies flutter low despite your very recent release. “Don’t be shy. Tell me what you want.” You flush, don’t know how to ask a man—especially a man like Aaron—to get naked for you. “Oh, there’s that blush. My sweet, innocent girl. You haven’t even been properly fucked, of course you don’t know how to ask for what you want. But I’ll teach you.”

He sits up, hovering over your body, gets his fingers on the buttons of his shirt and starts to slip them free. He has to unzip his pants to untuck it, and the sight and sound of that makes you whimper—you immediately tense, feel shame at being so vocal, but he just leans in to kiss you, soft and slow.

“You can’t wait for me to be naked too, can you? You want to see what a man looks like, feel what a man feels like. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” It comes out roughly, almost too low for even you to hear; you clear your throat and try again. “Yes, Aaron.” It earns you a slightly harder kiss, and he climbs off the bed to undress the rest of the way; your eyes are drawn to his erection as soon as it’s exposed, and he looks at you with nothing less than lust in his eyes. It makes you shiver and want to open your legs for him again.

“You’re staring. Have you touched a cock before—stroked it with your hand?”

“No. Can I?” you ask, sitting up against the pillows, and he nods, moves next to you, and takes your hand. You’re intimidated by the size of him, all the more so when he wraps your fingers around it, covers them with his, and strokes.

“Feels so good, baby,” he rumbles, slinging his free hand around your hip and holding you close to his body. He is so… just good looking, so different from your ex-boyfriend, from guys your age, and you look up at his face while you touch him, hoping to bring him even half as much pleasure as he brought you. Your eyes flick back down, though, after a short time, transfixed by the wet head disappearing into your fist. “Hmm. Good girl. Do you want to try putting your mouth on it?”

God, do you want to try that. You want to know what it tastes like, feels like on your tongue; you nod, scoot back a little so you can bend over him, and he puts his hands on your head, slowly guides your open mouth to hover over him.

“Careful with your teeth, and keep me nice and wet, okay? We'll go slowly.” He pushes your hair back from your face so he can see you better, which is sweet, and you nod, close your lips around him, let him show you how he wants you to do it.

He feels so big in your mouth, and you remember to be careful, to be wet, like he said. He’s not making you take him deeply, just a couple of inches, and when you’re not so nervous it feels really good, the weight of him against your tongue, his gentle hands teaching you what to do. It makes you feel useful, learning how he likes to be pleasured, and you enjoy finding ways to make yourself useful to Aaron.

“Perfect, perfect. Just like that—you’re doing great, sweetheart.” You hum around him, pleased that it feels good for him, and you’re stricken with the urge to feel him spilling into your mouth, but he groans and offers something even more intriguing. “Would you like to come sit in my lap? I want to press into your warm, tight, sweet pussy; I promise it will feel good, not like last time.” You make another noise, something eager, and he pulls you off and gets his hands on your waist, brings you up to rest against his thighs.

“Will it hurt?” you ask, just in case. You hadn’t thought to ask that last time. “You’re big; what if it doesn’t fit?” You look up at him, and warm, tender eyes peer into yours.

“It won’t hurt, and it will fit, I promise. We’ll make it fit. Lean up.” You stretch up a little, press your hands to his shoulders, and he rubs his hands soothingly over your body, kisses your chest, and then dips a finger inside you; you grip him tightly, moan, hold still while he moves it in and out, then adds another. “How does that feel? Don’t be shy.”

“Feels-feels good,” you breathe, and he pumps them together which feels so incredible, so new. He brings his free hand to your butt and squeezes softly.

“Good girl. I’m adding another. You’re so wet, it shouldn’t be a problem, but tell me if it’s uncomfortable.” The third finger makes you feel like you’re full up, a little snug, but you know you’ll need to get used to it if you want him inside; you breathe, will yourself to only feel the good, remind yourself that this isn’t like last time. Aaron is being so good to you; he won’t stop being good to you.

“Aaron.” It’s a gasp, a plea, a question, and he answers it by pulling his fingers out, putting his hands on your hips, and lining his cock up at your entrance, lowering you slowly onto it. You pant, moan as it slides in; it feels tight to you, and you’re so incredibly full, but his hands feel like safety and you’re not worried. He’s always taken care of you; he wouldn’t hurt you.

“You’re perfect, you’re doing so good. You feel so good.” He squeezes you, stretches up to brush his lips over yours. “We’re going to make you come again; I’ll give you the best night of your life, I promise.”

“Of course you will. This is already the best night of my life,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he kisses you harder; you can feel his hands tighten, and it doesn’t hurt, only makes you want more, rougher. You feel filthy for wanting that, but it’s Aaron, and you want any and everything he wants to give; you also want him to take anything he wants to take.

He moves your body up and down, a show of strength that makes you moan, just a string of desperate sounds you’re a little embarrassed of; he appreciates the noises you make, though, if the way he grips you is any indication, his eyes determined as he makes you bounce on his cock.

“Oh, yes baby, just like that. How does it feel, sweet girl?”

“Mmh, good, so good, so good,” you sigh, your butt making contact with his firm thighs each time he brings you down on him. “Feels so good to be… to have it inside me.”

Aaron hums, frowns just slightly.

“Tell me what it is, baby. Your innocent little mouth can be dirty for me, this once. What feels good? What’s inside you?” His voice is a little tense, like maybe he wants to finish, but he doesn't change a thing, doesn’t hurt you so he can get there faster. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, curl fingers into his hair.

“Your… It’s your cock, Aaron. Your cock feels so good inside me.” You’ve thought the word, never said it aloud, but it makes him groan deeply, so you vow to say it again at some point just to savor that reaction.

“Yes it does, yes it does. Feels so good inside your perfect pussy, my perfect, sweet girl.” His hands move you faster, and you want to help now that you know this is how he likes it; when the two of you work together, it’s quicker thrusts, harder thrusts, your breasts bouncing along with the rest of your body and making you feel filthy, indecent. Amazing.

You lean in for a kiss, and Aaron turns it into something deep and decadent, delicious; you pass moans back and forth, holding tightly to him, the both of you breaking a sweat even in the cool air. You’re so close, so close to the ultimate pleasure you felt with his head between your legs, and you can hear your moans change, eager, needy things.

“Aaron please. Please.” You take his face in your hands, look into his eyes, bounce on him and kiss him and plead for release against his lips, and he holds you so tightly and climaxes, spilling inside you and pumping up into you, breathless.

“Oh, good girl, you did that. You made me come, baby. Not so innocent anymore, are you?” You shake your head—you don’t feel innocent anymore, you feel good, you want more, want to chase the feelings you’ve felt tonight, including the one still building inside you. “Now let’s get you off. I want to feel it.” He digs his fingers into your hips, so hard you think it might bruise, but in your heightened state of arousal it just feels good; you keep moving until your orgasm takes control of you, makes you grip his hair hard in your fingers and slam yourself down on him.

“Yes, yes, mmm.” He brings a hand to your face, softly catches your jaw, and guides you to make eye contact while you ride him through it until you are both spent, sinking against the bed. He sweeps his hands over your body, kisses you softly, and you melt at his touch. “That was so incredible. Thank you.”

“I told you, you don’t have to thank me. I wanted to take care of you; been wanting that for some time,” he admits easily, touching your cheek. “I’m just glad I could give you a good experience after the bad one.”

“Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Your voice is light, low, because saying things like this, talking about sex, is still so new to you. “I love being here for you, helping you with Jack, and anything else you need. Do you think you’ll want or need me like this again?”

“Oh, I don’t see how I could do without, if it’s something you want. Although I may have to return that swimsuit. It is pretty indecent,” he says with a somewhat guilty smile.

You figured as much, and for the first time tonight you feel very confident when you say, “No, I think I’d like to keep it.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

[blossomingimagines]

Salvation

Lady Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,134

Summary:

Notes: I hope you enjoy this. (For @yukinechan021)

The ground beneath your feet was crumbling. Giving way due to your manic pace as you flew through the underbrush. Your hands barely have enough time to raise up to protect yourself. The small twinges of pain that appeared because of the brambles and low-hanging branches barely making an impact on you. You had only one goal in mind. Only one purpose as you took another sharp turn around a bend. 

Run.

You could still hear the screams from your village. Hear the distorted voices in the distance calling out for help. Hear the horrid sound being interjected with the ravenous howls of hungry beasts. 

The smell of blood and decay reaching you before the first animal ever did. Your father taking hold of you and shoving you towards the wood. His gaze desperate as he said his last words to you. “Go, Y/N. Run like you’ve never run before. They’re here now. Mother Miranda isn’t going to protect us any longer.”

You had hesitated. You didn't want to leave your father but he hadn’t let you. His gentle nudges becoming incessant shoves towards the foliage. “You need to run, iepuraș. Don’t look back no matter what you hear. Just keep running.”

With his words, you had done just as he told you. Trying to not let the screaming or the howls stop you. Trying to not let the fear shining in his eyes stop you. You didn’t want to think about what it meant for your father when the beasts finally did reach him. 

Skidding to a stop, your chest heaves as you take in your surroundings. You knew that you had to begin moving soon. It was only a matter of time before the beasts caught your scent. You had only a small window of opportunity before you’d be captured too. 

The sight of rustic stone work causes you to blanche. Fear shooting through your body as the knowledge of where you were came rushing to you. Castle Dimitrescu; the one place you had always been warned to never venture near. The tales of bloodshed and twisted horrors doing little to persuade you to try. Its foreboding presence is always looming over your village for as long as you’ve been alive. You never thought you would ever see it up close.

The intricate stonework winding up towards grand towers in the sky. Its color is a rich black in the setting light of day. You could tell that the castle was old, even barring the tales you had heard about it, from the weathered quality to its structure. Even though it was no doubt still taken care of. Standing the test of time despite everything. 

A chilling feeling works its way up your spine. Causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Your body stiffening as a cold cackle reverberates through the air. A sharp breath catching in your throat at the faint shifting of metal against the ground. 

“Well, well, well.” The gruff voice purrs. “What do we have here? I don’t believe my dear sister let you out of your cage. So you must be a village girl.”

Flinching away from the strong grip suddenly on your face, your head is unceremoniously jerked towards the speaker. To a man with dark glasses and a cruel smirk on his face. Amusement clearly dancing through the expression. A twisted sense of glee lighting up his face even more when he saw your fear. “It’s a pity the doggies didn’t get to you too.” He pauses before a broad smile pulls his lips up. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with you. Oh, Mother Miranda is going to love you.”

Your brow furrows. “Mother Miranda?”

At your words a bark-like laugh falls from his lips. “Yes, child, Mother Miranda. I do hope she’ll let me have you. You’d make the most interesting tool in my games. I’m certain we’d have a blast. Well,” His head tilts to the side. “I know I would.”

Trying to jerk your head away from his hold, you couldn’t stop the pleas from leaving your mouth. “I don’t have anything worth giving you. No money to my name or family that would be willing to pay it. I have nothing of value that you’d want to take.”

“Oh that’s not true child. You shouldn’t sell yourself so short.” His hand loosens ever-so-slightly but it does little to abate your nerves. Especially as his other hand shifts his hammer. 

“I don’t have anything. Please.”

He grins. “While I do love to hear a beautiful maiden such as yourself beg, I must decline. As you do have something very special you can give me.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes. Fear began to run through your body as the man grew closer. “What?”

His face once again twists into a dark sense of amusement. “Your life.”

You didn’t see his other hand move. Didn’t hear or feel anything except for the sharp crack of pain against your skull. Your world is immediately consumed by darkness.

Only the sound of his maniacal laughter following you. 

-----

The rough stone scraping along your back is what roused you next. Your eyes blearily blinking open as you’re unceremoniously left against the hard ground. The basic stone ceiling being all that kept your attention for the moment. You could tell already, without even having to move too much, that you were restrained. The heavy presence of metal feeling like a sentence. 

To what? You weren’t sure. 

“Why did you bring her here, Heisenberg? She’s of no use to me.”

The female voice that spoke was familiar to you. You couldn’t quite grasp from where but you knew that you had heard it before. Lifting your head off the ground, you’re finally met with the sight of your captors. 

A sight that quickly causes a chill to run down your spine. 

Your original captor, Heisenberg, was lounged against a couch. A calm nonchalance surrounding him as a gleeful smile took over his features. His cruel intent still being as palpable even from the distance you were now at. 

A hunched over figure standing just behind him. A crown of bones situated atop its head as heavy breathing reached your ears. The grotesque form causes your stomach to churn at the very sight. You had to turn your head away from it. 

The other was in the form of a doll. Your body flinched away ever-so-slightly as it drew nearer. Its lifeless staring at you with something akin to interest before it scampers away. The clear barking order for it to do so coming from the woman who had spoken. 

A woman that was standing in the middle of them all. Her black dress and veil obscuring the majority of her features from you. Though you could still feel the tangible power that radiated off of her body. The command she clearly held over the people in the room. 

Mother Miranda-- through and through. No one but her held that type of power. The pull that she had on people. 

It was a spell that was only broken by the arrival of the fifth person. 

A heavy, yet graceful, gait announcing their presence before they even appeared. The faint clicking of heels against the stone floor telling you where they were. That they were growing closer and closer towards you by the second. Your body is already tensing at what monstrosity you would be subjected to at their arrival. 

Nothing would have ever prepared you for what you saw. 

A woman stops just within your field of vision. Glowing golden eyes taking in the room with a vague sense of interest. Painted red lips pulled into a small smirk as she finally settled her gaze on you. Raven black locks standing out against her pallid skin. Her clear beauty stands out even through the darkness. But that wasn’t what caused your breath to catch. 

It wasn’t the way an exotic tinge of danger exuded from her.

It wasn’t because of the way she gracefully moved through the room. Her white dress shifted against her form with every minute movement. 

It wasn’t even because of the way the dress looked on her body. 

No. It all had to do with her height. She stood taller than any person you had ever seen; man or woman. Her imposing height did little to detract from natural elegance that seemed to lace itself within her movements. In fact it only seemed to enhance it. 

Mother Miranda’s voice interrupted your thoughts. Your gaze being torn from her form towards Miranda’s. “You’re late, Alcina. I expect better from you.”

The woman, Alicna, offers an almost apologetic smile towards Mother Miranda. Her colossal from resting easily against the backrest of the couch. Her ankles crossing in the manner that only seemed to come from habit. 

“I apologize, Mother Miranda. I got caught up with affairs at the castle.” She dips her head towards the black-cloaked woman. “It won’t happen again.”

Miranda sneers. “Make sure it doesn’t.” Pausing for a brief moment, Mother Miranda seemed to observe the room. Clear contemplation taking up most of her concentration-- until her gaze once again landed on you. “Now it’s time to figure out what we’re going to do with our little friend.”

Almost immediately Alcina and Heisenberg speak up. 

“I found her. It should be I that gets to keep her.” No. Anything but that. 

“I would have the most use of her. She does look quite appetizing.” I don’t think I want to know what that means. 

At Alcina’s words, Heisenberg scoffs. “I’ll have the most use of her, dear sister. You’ll just hide her away in the private rooms of your castle. In the dark. Playing games with her that would end like it started; boringly.” He turns towards Mother Miranda. “Let me have her. I know exactly what I wish to do.”

“And you’ll just toy with her for only a few moments before she’s crushed by one of your contraptions. There’s no finesse to what you do, dear brother.” Her golden gaze flickers towards you for a moment. An almost contemplative look flashing across her beautiful features. “I’ll make sure I have something spectacular planned for her.”

Mother Miranda speaks before they can argue any further. And by the tone of slight agitation in her voice you can tell that this was a common occurrence. Your body shifted away from her ire even as you were restrained, almost painfully, from moving any further. 

“Enough. Alcina you will get the girl.” At Heisenberg’s whine, she snaps at him. “There will not be any more complaints regarding this issue. You’re dismissed.”

The next time you blinked she was gone. 

Your head is already plopping down against the ground. Despite the harsh greeting it got in response. You couldn't believe that this was your life now. You had just been sold to a woman, while undeniably attractive, that would sooner rip out your spine then let you walk free. 

At least it wasn’t Heisenberg. 

The thought only brings you a modicum of comfort. 

The sudden looming shadow around doing quick work to wipe out what was left. Your eyes trailing up well muscled legs, across a white-clad torso, an elegant neck, to finally reach her amused gaze. Even if her amusement was tinged with a darker entity that you truly didn’t want to think about. 

“Well, darling, it looks like you’re all mine,” she purrs as she leans towards you. Her hand coming up to brush against your cheek. Whether it be a way for her to maintain control or for her to know what you felt like; you hadn’t the slightest idea. “Aren’t you going to say anything to me? I did just save you from my brother.”

You still weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

Raising your gaze to meet hers, you clench your jaw. Trying to prepare a biting retort to her clear teasing. Hoping that you’d be able to get even with her in some small way. If you were going to die you were going to die your way. 

However, the moment you opened your mouth, another two words appeared. “You’re beautiful.”

The moment that words slipped from your lips, you could feel your face heat up. Your body automatically tensing at the knowledge of you had just said to her. Fortunately she seemed to be just as floored as you. Shock clearly showing itself across her elegant features before an almost feral smile takes its place. Her arms wrapping around to hoist you in the air. 

But, before she did, she whispered one last thing towards you.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, pet.”

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 36

Sorry about the delay. But now its here and its ready for consumption.

Also, Shout to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as ShamelesslyRomantic,

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

_____________________________________________________________

“Finished,” the artist akuma stated as he addressed his master.

Masquerade got up from her throne to look at the room. The classroom had been transformed into a rather spacious throne room. The artist had erased and redrawn walls to ensure the room was much larger. This new space also had several large windows adorned with elegant black and white curtains hanging from the top. Reflekta servants decked out in masquerade themed armor stood at attention on each step leading to her throne. Beautiful artwork of her decorated the walls, including an imposing portrait of her behind her throne that made it look as if she was looking down at everyone looking up at it. To her that came off as self-interested yet tasteful. The masked akuma even loved the addition of a red carpet that led up to her throne.

“This is quite satisfactory, Evillustrator. Just be sure to reinforce the walls of the room then head to the roof and locate Simularé. I want this place to be a fortress,” Masquerade ordered

“Understood,” the akuma nodded, his expression unreadable from the white face mask. He quickly headed to the door out of the room and Stone heart was guarding the door with his large frame and had to let the artist out.

“Gamer! Robostus! Status report!”

“We have made it so we could hack into every screen in Paris that is connected to the internet, as per your request,” the Gamer responded in monotone.

Masquerade smiled at that.

“Excellent. Do we have the cameras ready?”

The Reflekta copies near the robot akuma were being outfitted with recording gear.

“Affirmative, we will be ready to go live at your request.”

The masked akuma smiled at that news, she turned her attention to Princess Fragrance and the original Reflekta, who had just finished turning the last of the captured individuals into obedient copies of her.

“Has everyone in the school been rounded up and handled?”

“Dark Cupid and Reverser are doing a final sweep of any runaway stragglers. Stormy weather is going around flooding and freezing any empty hallways to flush out any that are hiding. There are Reflekta copies guarding the blocked off exits should anyone try and escape. But over 96% of the student body has been accounted for and 99% of all Faculty.” Princess Fragrance answered.

‘The missing ones are likely Marinette and Adrien. Those two never did make anything easy for me, did they? But it didn’t matter, their luck would run out soon enough. Once Ladybug and Chat noir were handled, then I could focus on making them pay,’ Masquerade grinned to herself.

She could picture how it would be, finding them and seeing their desperate faces as they realized that no hero would be able to save them. The first thing she would do was show them both her little empire. They thought she was bad when she had the school wrapped around her finger, they will be mortified when they see Paris. She would have all their friends and family captured, their best friends leading the cruel treatment of the rest. This would have them in tears and begging for mercy.

She did once consider letting Adrien be her boyfriend, with some perfume to sway him. He would have been a perfect boytoy to taunt Marinette with, but Masquerade realized how far above him she was now. She didn’t need him anymore, and truthfully, he was just as bad as Marinette, if not worse. Marinette had the audacity to dislike her and challenge her, but Adrien, he was so condescending, acting like she should be better than her actions. She could swear she saw pity in his eyes, and that was so much worse.

Though she wasn’t completely heartless, if they begged to be her personal servants and apologized for standing against her, then maybe she would let them have some mercy. Having Marinette clean up after her and make those admittedly delicious baked goods would be nice and having Adrien wait on her hand and foot like a personal butler would be quite fun. Maybe they would think if they did a good enough job their families would suffer less.

She did want to daydream about that idea more but she knew that she needed to focus on the present.

“Alright, Let’s start moving to stage 2. Gamer! I want a comprehensive list of every akuma victim outside of the school. Robostus! Make sure the cameras and broadcast are ready when I tell you. I want everything to go off without a hitch.”

“Affirmative!” Gamer and Robostus responded in equal robotic unison.

“Reflekta! Princess Fragrance! After all of the copies pick up the stragglers, I want you scanning the area for Ladybug and Chat noir. Bubbler and Lady Wifi… wait. I think I remember something.”

She paused to check her charm, she noticed the question mark charm and touched it, allowing her to focus and see what akuma it was.

“Cancel that order, remain on standby unless we get approached.”

“Yes… so this is what that voice meant by merging. How very interesting. I think I will let that new akuma keep its directive. Ladybug and Chat noir will have no chance of beating...”

An akuma merged with Lady Wifi, Bubbler and Oblivio. Combined to make something new. Something that she knew even the heroes would have trouble fighting.

“Deadzone.” Masquerade said with a devilish grin.

______________________________________________________________________________

Ladybug and Chat Noir made their way down the hall. They easily dealt with a few Reflekta clones without much effort and continued moving.

They were expecting to see more akuma lurking about, but strangely, the halls they were walking down were all either empty or only covered by Reflekta duplicates.

“Masquerade likely has her stronger forces consolidating after bringing in as many people to her as they could. Those that didn’t hit the mark likely got turned into the copies we bumped into.” Ladybug answered.

“That does explain why they were singing, like when Princess Fragrance made servants,” the cat hero added.

“This might be our only time to catch a break before confronting her.”

“So, since we have time, do you mind if I ask if you're free to go on Patrol tonight?” the cat hero casually inquired.

Ladybug stopped.

“Tonight? That is quite sudden. Plus, we still don’t know how this will play out.” Ladybug gestured to the school.

“Well I am going to assume we stop the akuma and save the day like always.” Chat noir commented. “Call it a safe bet, but we usually win.”

“Always the positive outlook, Chaton. I’m glad you have so much faith in us despite our numbers disadvantage.”

“You said it yourself, most of the servants are pushovers or just puppets. The only real threat is Lila. And we have faced worse."

“True, but not anything this sinister,” Ladybug tacked on.

“Didn’t we fight Hawkmoth a couple of months back?” Chat noir asked with a twinge of confusion. Was Ladybug implying what he thought she was?

Ladybug held her tongue.

“You’re kidding right? You think Lila is eviler than Hawkmoth!” Chat Noir exclaimed in shock.

“No no no! Not eviler … just a bit cleverer than him,” Ladybug confessed.

Chat noir looked at his partner skeptically, but then considered her words.

“She is manipulative. Considering even without being akumatized she has done some rather twisted stuff. But thinking she is evil is a bit much. Especially when there is someone responsible for forcing emotionally vulnerable people to do his bidding,” Chat noir pointed out.

“Isn’t that what she is doing right now?”

“Yes, but she was akumatized. If we started blaming people for their actions as akuma we would have to throw innocent people in jail.”

“Right… but you read that article on the Ladyblog right? She could be more than just a victim of Hawkmoth, she could be an ally.”

The Cat hero thought about it more but was still not entirely convinced.

“I guess underestimating her would be dumb, but maybe she isn’t completely evil. I mean Chloé ended up showing a bit of humanity and did some good, maybe Lila is capable of it too.”

The crimson clad heroine smiled a bit.

“That’s what I like about you, Chat, you always focus on the good in others.”

The black clad hero gave a Cheshire grin.

“When it comes to the team, you’re the brains, and I’m the sidekick who brings the smiles and the heartfelt speeches.”

“You aren’t my sidekick, Chat Noir, we are partners. And you could be the brains too, if you would use yours outside of pun making.” Ladybug playfully bonked his noggin.

The cat chuckled at the playful teasing.

“Fair enough, but I can’t help it if I FELINE making a quip.”

Ladybug could feel herself groan at the lame joke.

“I take it back… you are the sidekick,” Ladybug deadpanned, her tone of mock annoyance causing the cat to chuckle.

“Alright I’ll…” He stopped speaking as he noticed something was amiss.

Chat Noir’s left ear twitched. He heard approaching footsteps.

“We better get moving, this abandoned hallway isn’t going to be so abandoned in a minute.”

“More Reflekta clones?”

Chat Noir extended the staff to the ground, his face showing a sudden sternness.

“No… Winter is coming.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Viperion peered through the door of the locker room.

“Clear.”

The snake and dragon heroes entered with their akuma prisoner.

“Pick a locker and let’s toss her in,” Ryuuko commented as she held the squirming akuma.

The two paused their movement when they heard a rustling in the lockers.

“Do you hear that?” Viperion questioned.

“How could I not?” Ryuuko replied.

Just as the two stared at the rustling lockers. The two shaking lockers doors flew off their hinges.

And stepped out an akuma that neither hero recognized.

“I don’t remember seeing that akuma before,” Ryuuko stated.

“Neither do I, but it seems vaguely familiar,”  Viperion responded.

As the Akuma was gathering its bearings, the heroes tried to gauge its powers. It had broad shoulders that had spherical, dark purple balls around them, which were connected to tight black sleeves with 3 white circular stripes at the end that ended at his wrists. Its left hand had a fingerless black glove which showed its skin akin to a purple silhouette. The other hand was what appeared to be a black laser canon with a phone attached to it. On its back was a large red, purple and black pipe which seemed to act as a holster to a blue bubble wand.  Its face was obscured by a large white theater mask much like all the other akuma. But there was the impression that it had distinct features. Its chest had a rounded purple bubble on the top half of its body akin to round armor and it had a logo that appeared to be a WiFi signal within an eye in a cage. The lower half appeared more akin to a skintight jumpsuit that was black with white stripes at the feet.

The akuma turned its attention to the two heroes.

“So umm… what are you doing in the locker room?”

“Merge complete, Deadzone is active. Mission objective, Capture Ladybug and Chat Noir,” The akuma answered in a robotic tone less as a response to the question and more as a statement, their voice sounded like the mix of two people.

“Well, Deadzone, we can’t let you do that!”  Ryuuko exclaimed as she glared at the akuma.

The akuma pointed its blaster at her.

“Your opinion on that really doesn’t have an impact on us.”

Deadzone’s left hand touched the phone on their blaster, and a purple bubble with a pause insignia shot out. Ryuuko and Viperion both jumped back as the bubble had direct contact with their akuma prisoner, causing her to be motionless as the bubble turned green and floated to the roof of the room.

“Okay, so don’t touch the bubbles,” Viperion noted.

“Positive side, we don’t need to worry about that one akuma,” Ryuuko commented.

Viperion and Ryuuko knew this akuma would be trouble if it got to Ladybug and Chat noir. They were going to need to find a way to stop it.

______________________________________________________________________

Fu had been observing the spoiled Mayor’s daughter after her confrontation with the Reflekta replicas. Using it as a means to help him find Ladybug and Chat Noir. He was aware that this girl had a knack for getting into trouble and making akuma target her, so it would not be too far off to assume she would be useful in locating his chosen. He would have called her, but communication was down, so he would need to adapt. But now he had a rather interesting quandary.

“Should I lend her the miraculous or not?” Fu spoke quietly as he pondered.

It was a tougher question he had initially thought. If he was asked if she was worthy of being a miraculous user, the answer would undoubtedly be negative. She was clearly a spoiled brat who saw herself above others. But after the events when the bee miraculous temporarily fell into her hands, he had started observing her. He did this with all of the chosen ones that Marinette had picked. Not because he didn’t trust his student, but more out of curiosity of why Marinette picked these individuals.

With the one she picked for the fox miraculous, Fu could see that the girl valued justice, but was cunning and saw the importance of distinguishing truth from illusion, an ideal pick for the fox miraculous. As for the Turtle miraculous wielder, Wayzz spoke highly of Nino, which really made him curious about the young lad. That boy showed a willingness to protect those close to him even if it meant getting hurt, and the calm to be ready to wait and roll with things. The miraculous of protection required someone that can keep a cool head and be ready to defend at the drop of a hat.

The other temporary heroes matched pretty well with the traits of the Kwami and were all good people deep down. Fu had no doubts that Marinette had the instincts of a guardian. The only one that brought doubt was Chloé. After the incident where she found the miraculous and got akumatized, Chloé was trusted with the bee miraculous 3 times. And her record had been mixed but overall she was decent when she fell in line and worked with Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Marinette mentioned that she didn’t want to trust Chloé with the miraculous after the last time. But has admitted to Fu that if needed she was a decent Bee heroine.

But if he was wrong and she decided to use this chance to stay being a miraculous wielder, he would have to deal with her as a rogue. Though, considering the circumstances, that would honestly not be the worst situation, as her identity was public and Ladybug and Chat Noir would deal with her like before.

“Wayzz, what do you think?”

His kwami companion popped out of his shirt pocket.

“This is quite a dilemma, Master. The situation is dire, but putting the miraculous in the wrong hands would also make things worse. Perhaps Pollen would be able to give better insight.”

“Very true, my friend.” Fu patted the kwami.

Fu cautiously went into the cleaning cart and pulled out the Bee Miraculous. The bee kwami popped out.

“Good morning, Master,” Pollen greeted the guardian with respect.

“Good afternoon, Pollen. We have a situation and I would like to know your opinion.”

“Very well, I am happy to serve,” The bee kwami replied.

“What do you think of Chloé Bourgeois? The one that used your miraculous recently.”

The kwami put her little hand to her face as she compiled her thoughts.

“She is complicated, Master. She didn’t talk to me much but I kind of got to feel a lot about who she was as a person. She is brash, she is confident, yet she is insecure. She is blunt, stubborn, and set in her ways. But I can tell that she is at a crossroads in her life. There is some small part of her that wants to be good and do good for others outside of herself, but her upbringing has made such a mindset seem like weakness, and she is scared of letting herself be vulnerable. Ladybug has been a good influence on her, but she is still immature in several aspects. She has the potential to be a good queen. If she could break through that self-imposed selfish mentality, she could be something extraordinary,” Pollen explained, finally.

“I see, well that is quite informative. Thank you,” Fu responded, nodding thoughtfully.

He put the Bee Miraculous back in a tiny box, causing her to go dormant.

“So, she is at a crossroad.”  Fu repeated as he stroked his chin

He turned his attention back to Chloé, who had continued walking towards another dead end. When he caught the eye of approaching Reflekta clones. And with that, Fu figured out a way to know.

“I think I just found a way to know the correct answer.”

______________________________________________________________________

“I swear this place is a maze.” Mayura grumbled to herself as she walked the halls.

She noticed her fan shake, notifying her of someone calling. It was Hawkmoth

“Yes?”

“Mayura what are you doing?! You were supposed to find the target and get out!” Hawkmoth exclaimed angrily. “And why did you transform? You knowutilizing the Peacock Miraculous is dangerous.”

Though she wouldn’t admit it, she was somewhat touched by the concern in his voice. Unfortunately, she did not have time to dwell on that so she was going to ignore it, as she had a task at hand

“Some unforeseen circumstances have caused some rather unfortunate delays. I am going to locate the sentimonster and gather information regarding the target. Afterwards, I will assist in getting Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous.” Mayura responded.

As she was speaking, an akuma with black wings flew into view along with an akuma riding a paper airplane.

“Seems the akuma servants have located me.”

She notices the akuma began preparing to attack her. They were practically mindless puppets that saw anyone who wasn’t their master as an enemy. This was quite an oversight, but it fit with the motif of the akuma villain. She felt the emotions of that girl, she knew exactly the type of insecurities Lila held. Thankfully for her, it meant they could easily be exploited.

“Get out of there this instant it is too dangerous. You are in no shape to…”

The akumas aimed at the unidentified villainess and fired off paper airplanes and arrows.

“We will discuss this later.” Mayura hung up before turning her attention to the two servants of Masquerade.

Mayura dashed through the hall, expertly avoiding projectiles and blocking with her fan those she couldn’t dodge. She jumped onto Reverser’s glider, grabbed the akuma and threw him at the flying Dark Cupid, leaving the two dazed and tangled together.

“I’m weakened, not helpless,” Mayura commented as she dusted herself off and hopped off the floating paper airplane.

She noticed that the two akuma that attacked her were slow in getting up.

‘Seems the akuma created by Masquerade aren’t just mindless, they are also rather slow in reacting. Ladybug and Chat Noir can exploit that. I suppose with the number of servants she made, this was to be expected. I should locate Simularé and get some details on our akuma’s little plan. I should step in and seize control if she gets too distracted like the last one. Gabriel has always been far too cautious when it comes to his plans, it’s time we were more active.’ Mayura mentally concluded.

She closed her eyes and focused on locating the sentimonster.

“She is on the roof. Odd placement for her most powerful ally, but I suppose there must be some sort of logical reason for what she is planning,” Mayura rationalized.

The peacock themed villainess noticed that the akuma that attacked her were starting to move again, and she decided to pick up her pace a bit.

______________________________________________________________________________

“This is super ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” she exclaimed with anger. “Not a single exit in this place! Why is every exit coated in icky slime?”

She checked her phone.

“And still no signal.”

She ended up chucking her phone out of frustration.

“I wish Ladybug would just get here and beat the akuma, or better yet, come here and give me the bee miraculous so I can help kick butt,” she grumbled as she went to go see where she threw her phone. She'd remembered she actually liked the case she just bought for it and losing that would be a waste.

“H-help me please!” The wails of a person in danger caught Chloé’s attention.

“That sounds like a non-me issue,” the blonde told herself. As she continued walking to her phone.

“If only there was someone here to save me!” the voice called out again.

Chloé stopped moving for a moment.

“Well I am not a hero without the Bee, so I guess he better hope Ladybug and Chat Noir are nearby, or maybe those other two costumed nobodies that I saw earlier,” she said, clearly trying to convince herself not to do anything.

“Please! Ladybug! Chat Noir…. “

"The heroes will handle it." Chloé reasoned with herself as she picked up her phone. Now getting ready to go somewhere else and likely away from the screaming.

“ And a…Queen Bee.”

Chloé’s eyes went wide. Did someone call out for… Queen Bee?!

Chloé started dashing down the halls to the sound of the voice.

“Did someone call for a hero!” Chloé called out, looking confident.

She arrived to see an old man in an ugly Hawaiian shirt being cornered by 3 Reflekta copies. The akuma copies turn to Chloé.

“Surrender,” they sing-songed as they began to approach.

Chloé ran right at them, and proceeded to push them into each other, and let the impractical heels make it hard for them to get back up.

She rushed to the old man.

“Don’t worry, old man with good taste in heroes and nothing else. I, Queen Bee, am here to save you,” Chloé blustered.

“Thank you.” Fu said with a forced smile. She clearly only came when he mentioned her name. But she did show up. In hindsight, maybe his test was not as conclusive as he thought. But then again, he actually planned those out more.

Chloé looked around.

“Alright old man, normally I would have just left you to get saved by Ladybug, but you have good taste in heroes, so I am going to help you out. We need to move before those creepy akumas get back up. So follow me, I know a place you can hide out.” Her tone tried to come off as abrasive, but it did show an inkling of care.

Chloé began moving away from the cluster of Reflektas. The old man shrugged and followed behind. He supposed that this would be another good test for her. Maybe he will get a more definitive answer by keeping an eye on her. And if worse comes to worse, he had a feeling she would make a good distraction should he need to escape a band of akuma.

______________________________________________________________________

“Did you just make a...”

Ladybug was able to pick up on the sound of harsh wind heading their way and decided her scolding of lame references could wait for later. She grabbed her partner's arm and pulled him into the nearby science lab.

She quickly closed the door just as a cold front blasted right past them. The window on the door was covered in ice.

“Stormy Weather?”

“Stormy Weather.”

The two both look at each other with a bit of worry. The storm akuma was one of their more powerful foes, and with complete control of the weather in such a tight space, things were going to get tough.

“Any ideas?”

Ladybug weighed her options. Would now be the time to use her lucky charm? or should she save it for when they are in front of Masquerade? It was starting to get harder to make that call.

“We can’t have her roaming the halls, we will need to incapacitate her. So I say have your ice power up ready, and be ready to swap power ups at the drop of a hat. Stormy Weather may be tough, but we still have tricks up our sleeve.”

Chat Noir nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Ladybug and Chat Noir both popped their Ice blue power ups and shift into their Ice forms. The two watched as the other’s suit gained ice skates, ice crystal and snowflake accents, becoming Ladyice and Icecat.

(AN: Yes, according to the Wiki, that’s what they are calling them. Personally, I would have called them Ladyfrost and Cold noir/ Cool Cat but that’s just me. This isn’t relevant to the story, I just wanted you all to know that.)

“You know, Ladybug, you really give off the ice skater vibe. Would you say you have experience ice skating outside of this form?” Chat Noir asked.

Ladybug felt her mind flash to her date with Adrien and her cheeks turned red.

“I- I may have some experience. And how about you, Kitty?” she deflected.

“Well, now that you mention it, I…”

They heard a loud bang on the door, cracking the ice that covered the window to reveal the white theater mask that Stormy Weather had covering her face.

“I’m gonna give it to her, she really knows how to break the Ice,” Chat Noir joked.

“Chaton, cool it with all of the ice puns,” she stated.

“Wait, was that a pun? My Lady I... OH SHI…”

A large ice stalactite burst through the door interrupting their banter and almost skewering them.

Chat Noir was about to say something when Ladybug cut in.

“Chat Noir, you are my partner and I respect you greatly. But so help me, if you say we should put this conversation on ‘Freeze’, I will not save you if you get impaled.” Ladybug stated.

Chat Noir paused.

“You know me so well,” he said with a smile.

The two watched as Stormy Weather entered the room through the stalactite hole.

______________________________________________________________________

“Hey Viperion?”

“Yea Ryuuko?”

“We both agree that we need to stop that crazy akuma right?”

“That is correct.”

“Then why are you carrying me away from it!?” Ryuuko exclaimed.

Viperion had picked up the dragon heroine fireman style in order to pull her away from the pursuing akuma.

“Do you want the reasons in alphabetical order?” the snake hero sassed.

“We can take it,” Ryuuko asserted. “We can’t retreat! There is no honor in it!”

“Well considering neither of our weapons can touch them, the concept of honor has flown out the window. Not to mention, I seriously doubt that we can take them on without a plan, and don’t say ‘try to hit them harder’ is a plan. It isn’t.”

Viperion had a smug look as he noticed Ryuuko look away.

“You’re right, but I'm mad about it,” the dragon heroine huffed.

“I can live with that.”

Viperion took a sharp left and noticed a dozen Reflekta duplicates.

“Juleka?”

“Come with us,” the clones sang.

“I’m going to assume they aren’t her,” Ryuuko said as she got off Viperion’s shoulders.

She punched his arm.

“Ow.”

“Your shoulder was bumpy.”

Ryuuko drew her weapon and dashed past the group of Reflekta clones. After a second, she holstered her weapon and all of the clones dropped to the floor groaning.

“Wow.” Viperion was impressed. He had to admit that it was super cool.

“Don’t worry, I used the flat end of the sword. They will be fine, and hopefully they will slow down the akuma.”

The two continued running, but glanced back as Deadzone arrived. He looked at the clones getting up and blasted each one into a green bubble in which they remained motionless and floated to the ceiling of the hall.

“It can’t distinguish between friend or foe,” Viperion commented.

“What?”

Viperion turned to his comrade.

“I think I just got an idea.”

__________________________________________________________________________

“This way,” the bossy blond teen motioned.

Fu pushed his janitor cart as they moved in the hallway.

“Do you really need to move that hideous thing with us?” Chloé questioned with clear aggravation.

“It's very important,” Fu responded.

“Ugh, whatever. Just move faster, then.”

Fu nodded and picked up the pace.

The mayor’s daughter led them down the hall and they had managed to avoid attracting attention.

“Okay, we are here.”

Fu looked at the door and realized that it was the nurse’s office.

“Hopefully the nurse didn’t get herself captured while I was gone.”

Chloé went to open the door and noticed it was locked.

“What the…”

“Let me try.” Fu interjected.

“Fine, just hurry up.”

He pulls out a jingling set of keys. Chloé shrugged as she turned around to keep watch.

Fu let his kwami companion out to open the door. Wayzz quickly undid the lock and opened the door before sliding back out of view.

“All done,” Fu said.

Chloé turned around as Fu opened the door.

The two quickly ran inside and locked the door behind them.

“Nurse Arugula!” Chloé called out. “I have a guest for you!”

“Arugala?”

“It was something with an A.” Chloé commented.

The two waited a few seconds, but there was no response.

They moved deeper into the office.

“Are you here?” Chloé questioned.

They flicked on the light switch to see the nurse in the cot.

“Oh, that’s great, I leave to go get help and be a hero and she goes off napping!” Chloé fumed.

Fu moved to the nurse and noticed she had a bruise on her neck, indicating that she was clearly forced into this state. He jabbed a pressure point and the nurse jolted awake.

“HUAGH!”

She nearly fell out of the cot.

“Glad you can join us from your nap,” Chloé hissed.

“Chloé? Did you call for help?” The nurse inquired as she gathered her bearings.

“No, the school is a total dead zone, and I couldn’t find a way out because they are all blocked by slime. Side note, I found this old guy.”

The nurse turned to the old man.

“Hello. I’m Angela.” She politely introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you. I am… Fung,” Fu lied. He couldn’t be too careful.

“Nice to meet you Fung, despite the circumstances,” she tried to make light of the situation.

“Every meeting can have a positive circumstance if one is looking for it.”

The calm in the air died when Angela realized that someone was missing.

“Oh no! The women you left in my care! She knocked me out and stormed out of here.” Angela exclaimed.

“Welp, she is probably captured,” Chloé shrugged.

“We have to find her, she has some sort of strange illness. Leaving her out there might be dangerous, akuma or not.”

Angela prepared to move to the door but was stopped by Chloé.

“Oh no you don’t! I brought this old man here for safety. You stay here with him.”

“But my patient!”

The woman was clearly shaking, but she was determined, she wanted to help her patient even if it meant going into danger. But much to Fu’s surprise, Chloé stepped up.

“I will bring your patient back. Mostly because being stuck in here seems much worse than dealing with a bunch of dumb akuma.”

Angela hugged Chloé.

“Thank you.”

Chloé tried to look annoyed, but a ghost of a smile appeared on the mayor’s daughter’s face. She accepted the hug for a moment.

Fu took notice. He had made his decision.

“Alright, enough touching! You deal with sick people all day. I don’t want germs,” Chloé stated as she tried to give off her usual air.

“That is very brave of you, young one.” Fu spoke.

“Pff, this is nothing. It’s what heroes do.”

As Chloé began making her way out of the nurse’s office, Fu quietly slipped the tiny miracle box into her bag.

‘I hope this was worth the risk.’

_____________________________________________________________

(END OF CHAPTER)

Well things are really heating up.

Will Ladyice and Icenoir be able to deal with stormy weather? Will Deadzone be the dead end for Ryuuko and Viperion? What is Masquerade's villainous plan? Will I update faster than every 40 or so days?

Let me know your thoughts and if you did enjoy the story.

REBLOG it and comment. Likes are nice but they don't really help content creators like they should.

[ragingbookdragon]

My Dark Knight

A Bruce Wayne x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language (I think? I don't fuckin' remember.)

Author's Note: The only cringe I got from this story was the title. It's so fucking cheesy bruh. Enjoy! -Thorne

Bruce was a mystery to her. The longer she dated him, the more she realized the image he projected was a cover, hiding the real man underneath. One time they’d gone on a date to the new escape rooms that had been built in Gotham, and the entire time they’d been inside, she could tell the person she’d gone in with, was not the same person locked in with her. His eyes had narrowed as he scanned the room, sometimes lingering on certain items placed around. She watched him for a moment, then his eyes met hers, and he immediately grinned, eyes losing their hardness, taking on a mirthful appearance. “Find anything to start with?” he’d asked her, then followed up with, “I don’t even know where to start.” She might’ve fallen off the back of a wagon, but it sure as hell wasn’t last night.

She handed him a slip of paper, observing how his mood shifted once more, turning solemn as he read it. It baffled her to no end, wondering why someone like him would become so serious and concerned at times. The image he projected to Gotham was the model of billionaire-playboy, something that he played well; other times he acted goofy, giving Gotham the loveable-goober, they exasperatedly appreciated. But what got to her the most, was how solemn he would become. It would happen at random times, and though she would never admit it, it took her a God awful, embarrassingly long amount of time to realize it occurred when police sirens would sound.

***

They lay on her couch, (Y/N)’s back pressed up against his chest as they stretched their legs out in front of them. A good meal and a few glasses of wine had them cuddled up and laughing about the most random things.

She held the magazine up, showing him the cover. “That’s a good picture of you.” He hummed in amusement, listening as she said, “You’ve got that little half-smirk on your lips.” She turned her head, seeing the same smirk looking back at her. “I like it.”

His eyes filled with mirth as he leaned forward, gently pulling the magazine from her hands. He let it flutter to the floor and (Y/N) let out a small laugh as he started pressing kisses to her cheek and neck. “Bruce Wayne, you’re a scoundrel.” The hum he returned was quiet, but it was an answer to her all the same.

A moment later, his lips had stilled against her skin, pulling her from the moment she was in and causing confusion. “Bruce?” She craned her neck, trying to see him. “Is everything alright?” (Y/N) caught his eyes, seeing him staring silently out the window.

Seconds later, a police cruiser passed by, blue lights blazing as her eyes darted to catch it. Something in his eyes worried her and she rested a hand along his jaw, coercing his gaze to hers. “It’s probably nothing…just plain old, Gotham crime.”

When he finally looked at her, his eyes still carried their sharpness, and while it concerned her, it didn’t truly become understandable until a few days later.

***

She hadn’t met the rest of his children, only Tim from the times she’d visited the office; the two seemed to get along well, their backgrounds being similar, and she developed a mothering fondness for the boy; he didn’t seem to mind being doted on by her either.

(Y/N) stepped through the doors to his office, seeing his son sitting at his desk. “Hi Timmy. You look like you’re having a busy day?”

He glanced up from the laptop, giving her a smile. “Hey Miss (Y/N).” He looked back down. “It’s not too bad…meeting days usually aren’t.” He paused, eyes meeting hers once more. “Are you here for Bruce?”

She nodded, stepping closer to his desk. “He texted saying he was in a meeting and that he’d be done around eleven-thirty.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “Mind if I impose for a few minutes?”

Tim returned her smile in kindness, shaking his head. “Not at all. In fact, I could use your help organizing.”

(Y/N) nodded, moving beside his desk. As she gathered his files, a certain ring binder caught her eye, and she tapped it. “This doesn’t look like the usual files you boys have…what it is?”

Tim glanced at it, voice dropping as he admitted, almost bashfully, “Oh that’s…a personal binder…I forgot I’d brought it here.” He reached over, flipping it open, and (Y/N) took in the sight of hundreds of photos of the Dark Knight and his partners.

She took a seat on the arm of his chair, gazing at them; one photo caught her eye, and she pointed it out. “That one.”

Tim stopped trying to flip the page, looking at the photo. “What about it?”

(Y/N) stared at the image of Batman standing on the ledge. The picture wasn’t as clear as she’d like, and it was a bit far, but she could see a familiar smirk on his face.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed and he asked, “(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

She blinked, smile appearing on her face as she nodded. “I’m fine…just in thought for a moment.” She gestured to the picture. “Do you think you could make a copy of that for me?”

He nodded, albeit confused, picking up a few of the pages, murmuring, “I’ve got better photos of him in here. Clearer ones.”

(Y/N) shook her head, pointing at the photo. “I want that one.”

Tim shrugged, pulling the photograph from the plastic slip before moving to the printer. A moment later, he took a copy of the photo from the top, handing to her, watching as she folded it and tucked it away in her purse.

“Any reason why it was that photo?”

As she opened her mouth to respond, the door to the office opened, and Bruce appeared in the entry. He smiled at her. “(Y/N).”

She rose from the chair, putting the purse strap on her arm; she glanced down at Tim and whispered, “I’m a big fan of Batman when he doesn’t look like he’s angry at the world.” Tim snorted, and she moved to Bruce, placing a hand on his arm. “Hi Bruce.” The two waved at the teenager before leaving for lunch.

***

A few hours later, she sat on her couch, staring between the photograph and the magazine. Her eyes rested on the photo, then she slowly drug them to the magazine and she sighed, “There’s no way…I’m just imagining this.” Apprehensively, she picked up the marker, moving it to his face on the magazine. “He’s not Batman…he’s not Batman…”

She colored in the top half of his face, then added two ears and breathed, “Oh holy mother of God…He’s the Batman.” (Y/N) held the magazine and photo side by side, disbelief in her gaze as understanding flooded her thoughts. Before she knew it, she was rising from the couch, making her way to the front door.

***

She pulled up to the manor and climbed the steps, knuckles rapping against the door as she waited. The door opened, revealing the butler; he was surprised to see her but quickly recovered. “Miss (Y/N). We weren’t expecting you tonight.”

(Y/N) flashed a smile and responded, “I know…I’m sorry for showing up at late notice but…I need to speak to Bruce.”

He nodded, letting her inside. “Master Bruce is in his room, but you’re welcome to wait in the living room while I fetch him.”

(Y/N) hummed, following him into the room. He left her standing by the couch, his sons sitting there, eyes wide as they looked at her.

She waved at them. “Hi boys…Hi Tim.”

He waved back at her, then his other sons rose from the couch, extending their hands. “Dick Grayson, I’m the oldest.”

She shook it, smiling, then took the other’s hand. “Jason Todd, I’m second oldest.”

(Y/N) dropped his hand, glancing at the younger boy who was glaring at her. “From what Bruce described, you must be Damian.”

He glared at her. “How much is he paying you to be his escort?”

Jason reacted immediately, turning to the boy. “Oi!”

(Y/N) simply smiled and returned, “Probably about as much as he paid your mom to be his.”

Damian’s eyes widened in shock as his mouth went slack, obviously not expecting such a sharp comeback.

She knelt to his height and gently closed his mouth. “You’ll catch flies, sweetheart.” She stood back up, smiling as Bruce walked into the living room.

“(Y/N)? Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

She turned, looking at him. “Uh…sort of?” She paused, then murmured, “Kinda had a lifechanging revelation at my place about twenty minutes ago.” His eyes filled with confusion, then she revealed, “You’re him…you’re Batman, aren’t you?”

The room went silent as her words hit each of them, and she watched the billionaire persona fall away as The Dark Knight appeared. “…How’d you find out?”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly, the weight of his gaze beginning to make her nervous; she wrung her hands, voice quiet. “I didn’t until tonight…with a little help from a photo and a magazine…” She paused, then said, “You’re really him, aren’t you?” She glanced at the boys. “And they’re…them. Nightwing…Red Hood…Red Robin…Robin.”

Her gaze turned back to him. “You guys are the Batfamily.”

Bruce stared at her a moment, then walked past her murmuring, “Follow me.”

She obeyed, walking behind him into the study. Bruce twisted the hands of the clock, then a doorway appeared; he took her hand, leading her down the darkened stairway. When they got to the bottom, he led her to a wall of suits.

They stood in front of it, and she watched his stare turn almost sad as he looked at them. “…I was going to tell you in time.” He glanced over at her. “It looks like you beat me to it.”

(Y/N) looked away, frown crossing her lips as she apologized, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to take that right from you.”

Bruce’s hand tightened around hers, and she looked back up at him. “You did take that right from me.” He eyed her, that smirk crossing his lips as he quipped, “But I know ways that you can make it up to me.”

(Y/N) huffed in disbelief, letting go of his hand. “You scoundrel.”

His smirk grew as he rounded on her, hands taking hold of her hips. “Oh, I’m not a scoundrel.”

She laughed as he pressed her against the glass suit holder. “You are a scoundrel and if you want me to make it up to you…” (Y/N) pointed to one of the suits. “Let me try that on and I will.”

Bruce chuckled, leaning close, his breath on her lips as he purred, “Where’s the point in that? It’ll just get taken off.”

(Y/N) glanced over at the case, then back to him, and begged, “But I really wanna try the suit on.” She curled her hands in his sweater, pleading with him. “Please Bruce? Just for a couple minutes?”

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you really want to try the suit on?”

(Y/N) nodded fervently, hands patting his chest as she spoke excitedly. “And the belt. I wanna wear the utility belt.”

After watching her for a moment, he relented, and a few minutes later, she stood in the center of the cave, the suit barely fitting on her.

(Y/N) pulled the cowl on, eyes searching the cave until she found him; she grinned, pulling a deep voice as she posed. “I’m Batman.” Bruce let out a deep sigh through his nose and she asked, “How many times have you heard people do that?”

He grunted. “Too many.”

She smiled, walking over to him. “I just want you to know that this is badass, but this thing also weighs a ton.” (Y/N) rested her chin against his chest, staring at him. “You’re very strong, Bruce.”

He stared back at her, countering, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, thumbs sticking under the cowl as she pulled it off; she gently took his hands, caressing the back of them, and murmured, “…I love you.” His eyes widened and she squeezed his hands, reiterating, “I love you, Bruce.”

He seemed to hesitate in his answer, but she didn’t mind, letting go of his hands in favor of wrapping her arms around him. “You don’t have to say it back yet…I know it’s early.” (Y/N) leaned into him, pressing her lips to his cheek. “But I just want you to know that I do…” She pulled away, steel-blue eyes following her as she did.

She waited for him, then he took her hand and muttered, “…I’m not an easy man to understand.”

(Y/N) smiled, gently shaking her head. “I’ve got all the time in the world to understand.”

He swallowed, meeting her eyes. “Most of my time is directed to—” Bruce gestured to the cave. “This…I don’t know if I can offer you what you want.”

(Y/N) brought his hand up to her face, pressing kisses to his palm. “Your love is all I could ever want…my Dark Knight.”

Before he could respond, a scoff sounded by the stairs followed by a voice, griping, “My Dark Knight. How original.”

The two pulled back, and she watched Bruce reach down, plucking something from the utility belt around her waist. He pulled away and chucked it towards the stairs, then a yelp sounded. “That hurt, old man!”

Bruce grinned, wrapping his arms around (Y/N). “Good. I meant for it to.”

Laughter followed, then his sons came into view, and Tim quipped, “So, we’re not lobotomizing her for figuring out our secret?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, but Bruce’s arms tightened around her waist as he denounced, “Not the best joke, Tim.

He pointed finger guns at her. “Sorry (Y/N)…just kidding.”

She let out a laugh that seemed more forced than not. “I would hope so.” (Y/N) cleared her throat, pulling away from Bruce’s arms. “I should probably change out of this now.”

As she took a step, a siren sounded from the Batcomputer, making them look towards it; Bruce looked back at the boys and nodded. “Go.”

Each of them moved, and she waited for them to come back. When they did, the boys passed by, giving waves and smiles (even Damian), until all that remained was her and Bruce. She stared at him, seeing him in his suit up close for the first time.

(Y/N) inhaled deeply, tracing the symbol on his chest. “Well…go save Gotham, Batman.”

A small smile crossed his lips, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. As he pulled away, Bruce murmured, “I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded. “Be careful…you and the boys…please.”

Bruce gave a quick nod, then walked off. He got a few feet away, then turned around, gazing at her. “(Y/N)?” She glanced at him and he confessed, “I love you too.”

[djarinsbeskar]

PREQUEL ARC: PART 1 - THE DAGGER

A/N: I come bearing a brainchild. One I love deeply but am unsure of how it will be received! Straight off the bat I had planned for this to be something that satisfied those Din cravings we’ve all been having through a healthy dose of smut on the regular. BUT I wanted some background? Some context?? In my head we’ll have a few interactions i.e. chapters before the events of The Mandalorian and then kick off all guns blazing. Therefore, this pilot chapter is short, slow, and not a lot happens. (I should be in sales obv) but let’s get the ball rolling and see where it takes us!

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Language, slight detail on wounds and their treatment.

Summary:  You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

6ABY, Derelkann, Klatooine.

The first time you met him, he’d been caught with a dagger laced with raquor’daan venom.

You had been locking up the side entrance to the voluntary medical center you spent your time at while on Klatooine when there was a resounding clatter. One of the many piles of discarded junk was toppled by an armored leg; equally armored arms braced by the side of the center while the imposing cut of the figure steadied himself. You could just about hear the labored pants, distorted by the modulator of his helmet; a sound familiar enough to you to know it wasn’t from exertion, but pain. Once you’d determined he wasn’t an immediate threat, weighing the possibilities as quickly as you could, you walked deeper down the alley towards the male. It was dark, the only light coming from the streetlight at the front of the clinic and that which was reflected from the man’s helmet but still you went. 

“Are you hurt?” The helmet snapped around to stare at you and you immediately held up your hands, instinct screaming at you that to startle this man would be like cornering a cantankerous reek during mating season: a bad idea. 

An even worse idea when you realized that your cornered reek was Mandalorian.

Even though you couldn’t see his eyes through the tinted t-visor, you could feel them on you; watching, calculating, assessing what danger you might pose all in a split second before he pushed himself from the wall with a grunt.

“This is a clinic?” He rasped, your eyes instantly following his left hand as it moved to grip above the dull grey tasset that protected his right hip. Trying to smother the pain with pressure, or stem blood loss. You couldn’t tell with his glove and the dark duraweave in the way.

“Well?” He bit out impatiently, jarring you back from trying to assess him from a safe distance.

“Oh, oh yes, yes this is one of the New Republic’s medical outreach centers in the Outer Rim. Please,” you indicated to the door for him to follow you but instead his visor tipped to the left and right marginally. You frowned; he was trying to avoid being seen. Was he wanted? After six months on Klatooine, you had learned to stop asking questions of your patients, so you said nothing. Neither did he as he walked towards the door you had been in the process of locking.

You kicked back into gear. Even though you had mentally unwound for the evening after a twelve-hour shift, you were quickly able to refocus your mind and sped up to keep pace with the Mandalorian. A task, he would probably hate to know, that wasn’t as difficult as it might have been if he was unharmed. His movements were stiff, and it was obvious that he was trying to force his body to walk fluidly despite the obvious pain it was putting him in.

The side door opened onto the main corridor that encircled a number of examination rooms, operating theatres and wards, all pointing inward so that the same power generator could be used for the entire clinic from where it sat in the center. A common feature of New Republic operations; efficient and cost effective if not always the best option. It explained why it was so dim, despite being an all-hours clinic. If they put the majority of the technological functions of the center to rest at night when it wasn’t busy, there were less fear of it being temperamental during the day. Or Maker forbid, a full power outage.

Opening the door to the closest examination room, you quickly pulled off your jacket and tossed it onto the nearest unused flat surface, pointing to the exam table in the corner, “Sit down before you fall down. A diagnostics droid will be here in---”

“No droids.” He hissed; his helmet once more twisting to glare at you even as he lowered himself heavily to sit on the table.

“No droids? Look, the quickest way---”

“You do it. I don’t want any of those things near me, got it?” His words were slurring slightly, and any argument died on your tongue when you realized trying to argue your case was just going to waste time. He was losing consciousness.

You knew you could treat him without the assistance of droids, it was more for convenience and time. But even still, you had spent four years as a combat medic for the Rebel Alliance on the frontline, you knew a thing or two about getting things done quickly.

“Belt. Tasset. Off. Now.” Was all you said as you got down to business and pulled one of the drawers to the side open. You pulled a pair of gloves on before you flicked the examination light on, the sudden glare hurting your eyes momentarily as you approached the large warrior on your table.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” You warned as you adjusted the settings on the light to focus itself to the optimum location for you to get a better look. The duraweave above his armor was dark, blood no doubt but it looked dry. You could feel your skin humming with the anxiety of not knowing what sort of injury was waiting for you underneath that gloved hand but knew better than to try to remove the armor yourself. You might not be a Siniteen, but you weren’t stupid either, to try remove a Mandalorian’s armor without permission.

You could hear the heavy exhales from him through his nose as he pointedly stared away from you, as if his sheer willpower alone would be enough to deter you from your demands.

“Fine.” You bit out and immediately slapped the hand covering his side, the added pressure making the man grunt and his hand instantly retract from the contact on instinct before growling at you in an unknown tongue.

You tuned him out as you lifted a side of the single tear in the duraweave to reveal an angry and inflamed cauterized laceration, the swelling alone telling you how botched the job was. But it was the faint black veins that were slowly growing from the point of contact that worried you. You’d seen this kind of wound before, on Sriluur. It was commonly used in gang warfare that had engulfed the planet since the fall of the Empire.

“Fucking hell, what idiot cauterizes a poisoned wound?” You muttered to yourself, feeling around the edges of the gash lightly and earning a shaky exhale from your patient.

“Are you calling me an idiot?” The Mandalorian bit out as he turned his helmet to look down at you again, his hands fisted at the side of the table. The jolt of pain had revived him slightly.

“If you’re the one who cauterized it, then yeah. I’m surprised you haven’t already killed yourself accidentally with this level of carelessness.”

You stood before the warrior could respond but you heard his snarl through the modulator as you quickly began grabbing the supplies you’d need.

“I’m not going to tell you this won’t hurt because honestly, it’s going to massively suck. It would have been bad enough if you’d shown up with an open wound infected with raquor’daan poison, but we’re going to have to reopen yours if we want to be able to extract the poison.” You threw a sterilized scalpel into the metal pan that hovered beside you, along with gauze, several saline syringes and bactaspray before you walked back over to him.

The armored warrior said nothing and stared at you, a flash of awareness running through you suddenly; that he could so easily kill you, wounded or not.

The silence stretched for several long seconds before the Mandalorian reached down to unbuckle the utility belt around his waist unhurriedly and dropped it beside him so that it wasn’t in either of your way. It was a blatant challenge when he leaned back on his hands, his visor staying trained on you as you narrowed your gaze; the belt could come off, but the tasset stayed on.

In another situation, the act might have been almost erotic, with his fingers unbuckling the belt deliberately slow as if daring you to speak to the contrary. Silent, yet commanding your undivided attention as he made himself comfortable on the table. But alas, the man in front of you was poisoned and that tended to skew the situation away from sexy.

You arched a single brow, picking up the scalpel as you accepted the proverbial gauntlet thrown to you.

“Buckle up, pal.”

***

You were a demon. Hell spawn sent to torment him in his dying moments, doomed to have no peace before the end.

At least, that’s what Din told himself as you set the wicked sharp blade of the scalpel against his skin. The skill with which you sliced open the recently closed wound before he could even blink was both inspiring and chilling. He didn’t know what he expected a medic on Klatooine to look like, but it certainly wasn’t you. You looked much too soft, too young but the unwavering focus in your gaze as you gently pulled the seams of the wound apart told him of an inner steel.

His inner lamentations over demonic medics and soft eyes distracted him fabulously from the pain of the wound he’d received on Sriluur while picking up a quarry up until the hellion squeezed one side of the wound, making him shout at the blend of white hot agony and surprise at which the pain came.

“Fucking hell!” he growled, shifting under your ruthless touch.

“Stop moving, Mando. The poison needs to be pulled out and since you don’t want droids we’re doing it the old fashioned way.” You didn’t raise your eyes to him, even as he glared daggers at the top of your head, a hiss of pain leaving him again as you pressed along the exposed flesh towards the edge of the wound again, his head spinning at the expelled blood, the crimson laced with inky black.

A moment of relief followed as the medic cleaned the wound with the saline solution before she wiped it down and repeated the process of squeezing the poison out followed by a clean.

“Almost there… hang in there. You’re doing great.” Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; the generic medical praise made his stomach churn. It was obvious you had slipped into autopilot, rehashing the same comments that made most patients relax while you shifted to try get the opposite edge. This one being significantly more difficult to clean as the piece of armour that he had flatly refused to take off, was making it awkward to move around.

“Son of a druk throwing skrog!” If he wasn’t in pain, he’d have chuckled at the absolute filth coming from your mouth, putting a pirate to shame while you blew a few stray hairs that had fallen from your tie and into your face during your attempts to shift yourself to better clean the wound. As it was, he just leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, reciting the Creed in his head to distract himself.

He couldn’t decide if you belonged fighting in a shady cantina or leading a triage camp on a battlefield. All he could determine, was that you had a mind that didn’t falter at the lack of technology or use of droids (a rarity these days), you had a mouth that’d make even Paz Vizsla blush and the spine to tell a Mandalorian to remove his armor without the least bit of hesitation. In a word; you were dangerous, and Din never saw the need to experience more danger than he already did, thank you very much.

He tilted his head when he heard you release a breath and sit back on your haunches, running the back of your hand across your forehead, eyes bright as they looked at your work. In what Din could only explain as being delusions brought on by overexposure to raquor’daan venom, a moment of attraction flashed in his mind, kindled when you looked back up at him before he wrangled the feeling away.

Dangerous. Definitely dangerous, he warned himself heatedly.

***

You let out a sigh of relief when the blood from the Mandalorians wound ran clean. It wasn’t a definitive answer to whether you had gotten all the raquor’daan venom out, but it was the majority. At least now you could sleep easy knowing some bactaspray would be able to handle the rest.

You rinsed the wound once more with saline and dried it gently with a clean pad before spraying it generously with the bacta.

“Now then, at least I can say a Mandalorian didn’t die on my watch.” You commented cheerfully, your more easy-going side surfacing now that the immediate danger had been dealt with.

The warrior was silent above you as he watched you peel open a bactapad to cover the wound for extra protection.

“Don’t cauterize it again until you’ve given the bacta at least eight hours with direct contact. That should kill off any of the poison I may have missed and will keep it sterile.” Pushed yourself to your feet, pulling off the stained gloves and throwing them into the pan to be disposed along with all the soiled gauze and pads you had used.

“You’re looking for light pink at the edges.” You told him as you continued to clear up your supplies, “If it’s still angry and swollen at the edges after twenty-four hours you’ll need to return to a medical facility. But I’ll throw in some antibiotics, so you hopefully don’t have to, raquor’daan venom is potent after all. I wouldn’t take any chances if you’re going to say you think it’s overkill.”

You smiled as he lowered his hand, having lifted it to interrupt you, no doubt. You could hear him grumble a bit while he pulled his belt back around his waist, grunting softly as the weight settled on his hip.

“How does it feel?” You probed from the sink, turning your head to look at him as you washed your hands.

“Better.” Was all you got from him but from what you could tell, he was a man of few words anyway.

You nodded and turned back to turn off the tap and started measuring out three days of antibiotics, keeping him in your peripheral as you saw him get to his feet, rolling his shoulders back and turning to look at you.

“Thank you. I appreciate the help.” He rasped awkwardly, obviously not accustomed to actually being helped in these kinds of situations. He fished out a pouch of credits when you approached him to hand him the antibiotics, causing you to frown.

“These medical centers were set up to offer free medical care to those that need it.” You mentioned as you moved out of his way to lean against the table he had been sitting on not five minutes prior.

“I… can only offer you my gratitude then.” He said, nodding to you once more before heading towards the door.

“One more thing Mando.” You called as he opened the door, the beskar helmet turning slightly to indicate he was listening,

“Try not to get yourself killed by accidentally sealing venom into your body again, yeah?”

You laughed at the indignant snort that left the man as he left without a word, his voice trailing back as he walked away,

“If I do, I know where to go.”

And with that, he disappeared back the way he came, no indication that one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy had even been in your examination room.

He was like a tornado, arriving and disappearing in a flash, the wreckage left behind not immediately obvious but when you would look back in the years to come, you’d laugh at how naïve you had been to think you could assist a Mandalorian and still remain an insignificant player on the grand stage of the galaxy.

[tennessoui]

You kind of already did 31 but pleaseeeeeeee

these ficlets keep getting longer ffs this is 2k

31. One is a sex worker, the other is a client AU

anakin's had his turn as a sex worker in my writing so it's Obi-Wan this time, paired with Vaderkin and i made it more dark than I thought would happen whoops but. warnings are: probably bordering extremely dubious consent even though no sex happens and this is just the lead up. a brief reference to underage sex work, though absolutely nothing comes of it. and vaderkin being a bit creepy.

There is a saying among the workers at the Establishment: if the imperial palace calls for you, you should hope the person that is displayed next to you is prettier.

Obi-Wan has never bought into prayers of any kind and this saying is only ever said with something akin to a worshipful dread. Still, when Ahsoka drapes a cloak of red around his shoulders and whispers those words to him—“May the others be your betters”—he thinks for a second about the nature of prayer and of hope and the futility of both in this galaxy.

“Don’t worry, little ‘Soka,” he smiles from under the cloak’s hood. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He is, after all, one of the oldest workers here, makes most of his money these days tending bar and running the front desk, called in to serve mostly for virgin customers who want a gentler and more experienced hand to guide them in the art of pleasure. He doesn’t think any of the words could be used to describe the Emperor Vader, can’t see the imposing black-suited man interested in the art of pleasure.

Ahsoka can’t look him in the eye, but she hugs him tightly as he boards the shuttle that will take him to the Palace.

The ride there is quiet. Obi-Wan tries to avoid as many glances from the other people as he gives to them. Most of them are young, human. He seems to be the only male above 40. His chances are good.

Maybe he hadn’t been lying to Ahsoka. Maybe, truly, his name being included on the list had been a mistake

Something inside him hesitates though. He’d been out in the Upper levels a week ago, making his way home after one of his rare appointments with an old client turned friend. A child had fallen into the path of a small parade of speeders. A correctional officer had raised a whip. Obi-Wan had reacted on instinct, catching its lash with his forearm. The child had run off. Obi-Wan had stayed. He’d raised his head just enough, eons later, to see the durasteel outside of the largest speeder pass by his prone form, just enough to see the Imperial crest on its hull. Just for long enough to see a glint of a yellow eye from the window.

Bacta had treated his wounds, but his mind had not allowed him to rest easily, caught up in the memory of that eye--had he imagined the interest? Had he imagined it all?

And so to hear his name called tonight--the first calling since The Incident--had felt like the confirmation of all of his most unfounded fears.

Would tonight be the night he died? He had lived a long life. A rough one. Perhaps it is time.

Still, in the back of his head, a selfish, utterly human part of him whispered, may the others be your betters.

---

Those chosen do, often, come back. Sometimes they do not. Mostly they do. Obi-Wan has never truly decided which of these fates is the worse one. Those who survive don’t say anything for days on end, their eyes blank as they stare forward. Their bruises, if they are there, are easy to heal. But something is always wrong with their minds afterwards. And those who don’t come back...well. It’s hard to say what happens to them, where they go. Far away or down below.

Obi-Wan is forced to his knees in between a moderately aged female Togruta and a fairly young teenager. The boy is shaking. He can’t be more than sixteen.

They’re in the Entrance Hall. Obi-Wan has never been here before, but he supposes it makes sense. There will be one person who ventures further into the Palace. The rest will be dismissed out the doors that just shut. No need to bring the scum further in than they have to.

Distantly, like a funeral drum, Obi-Wan can hear the sound of feet falling, making their way closer. Just a single pair. He wants to look up, to watch the Emperor--because it has to be the Emperor--approach, but there’s a Guard behind him, holding his head down.

The footsteps are close now. There’s only ten of them--sometimes, Obi-Wan has heard that there can be as many as twenty or thirty--so the line is short. Vader paces quietly from the first to the last person, before stopping in the middle. Obi-Wan can just see the black of his boots if he flicks his eyes as far as they can go to the left. The boy next to him lets out a muffled sob. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer the kid some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance that the Emperor will choose one of the other workers, a body more desirable than either of theirs, but there are no words to describe the guilty relief of a suffering passed onto someone else.

On some sort of invisible signal, the Guard behind Obi-Wan wrenches his head back by the hold he has on both the silken hood and his own hair. It’s far from comfortable, tilted so far back. The message is obvious. Submission is not optional. Respect will be shown through any means necessary.

Obi-Wan tries to keep the hulking form of Vader in his eyesight, even though to see ahead of him he has to close his eyes almost completely because of the angle. It’s impossible to see anything from the chest up, but he can still hear. Loud, mechanical breathing fills the halls. Vader stops at each person for no longer than five seconds before he continues down the line. Obi-Wan holds his breath, waiting for his turn. Does he turn his head as much as he can, to try and accentuate the gray at his temples? Does he lower his eyes?

He doesn’t, in the end, do either. Vader is wearing a mask, completely covering his face. He doesn’t even look human, except for the way he cocks his head slightly as he stares down at Obi-Wan. He feels flayed, just under the single look, but he can’t turn away either. He glowers up at him. Five seconds pass. Vader should be moving on by now. The fact that he hasn’t fills Obi-Wan with the sort of fear he’s only felt a handful of times in his life.

“This one,” Vader says through a voice modulator. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in defeat, thinks of Little Ahsoka back at the Establishment, thinks of what she’ll think if he doesn’t make it home.

But the boy next to him bursts into sobs and Obi-Wan opens his eyes to see that Vader’s hand isn’t pointing to him at all, but instead just to his right.

But Vader’s face is still pointed directly at Obi-Wan though, head still cocked. The question is as clear as if he actually spoke the words aloud. What will you do about this?

What will he do? What can he do? It’s the street from a week ago all over. A child is in danger. How can Obi-Wan ever live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to throw himself on the blade?

“No!” he says before he can think it through. The Guard behind him jerks his hair back roughly in punishment, but the monster in front of him runs two gloved fingers down his cheek, the pantomime of a lover’s caress. “Me instead. Choose me.”

“Quiet,” the Guard hisses to him, making him wince with the ferocity of the yank he gives his hair. Obi-Wan pants open-mouthed as he tries to think of an argument, of a single reason why the Emperor should not get what he wants, should settle for a washed up whore instead of a younger model. All he can think of is the moral justifications of it, and he’s not sure Vader would care for that line of reasoning.

“I’m asking,” he blurts out. The fingers pause from where they’ve been absent-mindedly touching his beard. “When has anyone ever asked?”

The Emperor takes a step back and seems to consider Obi-Wan, what he has to offer. He tries to preen, to throw his shoulders back and sit back on his heels to show off his body, but it’s hard when the Guard hasn’t let up on his hair. In fact the grip gets even tighter as the man behind him snorts a common insult.

A second later, the hand and the pressure disappear. Obi-Wan falls forward automatically at his sudden release. He scrambles away instinctively, even if that means closer to Vader. Vader who has his hand raised out in front of him clenching his gloved fist tight. Obi-Wan looks behind him at the guard who had held him. The man is scrabbling at his throat. Obi-Wan knows already it will be a futile effort. With Vader distracted by his execution, he turns to check on the boy. He’s looking down, refusing to make eye contact.

Probably for the better.

The Guard falls to the floor. The other nine Guards don’t move at all. Obi-Wan supposes there’s no room for loyalty in a galaxy like this.

“Come,” Vader says, running a hand through his hair. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch, seeing as that hand just took someone else’s life.

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet and follows behind him, through the twisting halls of the Imperial Palace. He thinks anyone could get lonely here if they have no one to keep them company. It’s so big. Obi-Wan shares his room with three other people, and he frets if one of them is still gone by the time he falls asleep.

This much space would drive anyone mad for another’s touch.

He blinks at himself, incredulous. Is he actually trying to feel compassion for the Emperor? Is it actually working?

The Emperor flings open a pair of elaborate doors without touching them, and suddenly Obi-Wan’s in the bedchambers of the most powerful man on the planet. And to think, he’s wearing mismatched and terribly darned socks.

He resolves to not ask Vader for permission to do anything with his own body for the entire night. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Vader takes off his cape and his gloves.

“Would you like to know my prices before or after?” He asks as cooly as possible.

“Your price is that it’s you here and not the boy.”

“Would you have wanted the boy?” Obi-Wan can’t hide the disgust in his tone.

“No,” the Emperor says succinctly. “But I did want to know what you would do. If you really were the same man as the one in the street.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. “Why would you want to know that?”

“There’s so little good left in the galaxy. It’s fascinating that so much is concentrated in you.” Vader reaches up to unlatch his mask. A cascade of golden curls falls out.

He huffs. The Emperor of the Galactic Empire thinks there’s not enough good in the galaxy. It’s at the very least ironic. “It’s a greedy galaxy, your Imperial Majesty--”

The Emperor turns around to face him, helmet still held in his hands. Obi-Wan is surprised to learn he’s just a man. An attractive man, certainly, young and almost pretty with a perfect arch to his lips and a roguish scar cutting through a thick eyebrow. If he had been one of Obi-Wan’s workers, he’d have taken him under his wing, tried to protect him from the clients who would have paid extra to rough up that face.

He was saying something. Obi-Wan had meant to say something else. Oh. Right. “Good cannot be bought.”

The man in front of him--was it really Vader?--smiles, but it doesn’t reach his yellow eyes. “No,” he purrs, discarding his helmet and stalking forward. “But you can.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slender Brothers x Reader || Imagine

One day the Slender Brothers each turn to stone (In separate places- separate countries even) and not even Zalgo can figure out why or how to unfreeze them.

Slender's in the forest, moss and different vines growing over his shoulders and twisting around the seamless, smooth (Too seamless, and too smooth, to be man made) stone of his tentacles. His Proxies are still there, protecting the place, but they cant get everyone- pictures have been taken of the mysterious forest statue and posted online, and he's become an urban legend (in a world where he wasn't already obviously). He makes a beautiful statue... but eerie as hell. He has been graffitied a couple times over the years but those who dared to do such a thing quickly got viciously but down by the formerly mentioned Proxies, who then spend hours and hours cleaning him up again. They don't know what else to do. What can they do?

Splender is sitting wait at Offender's place (A townhouse in New York), having been there to talk to him about something important but got frozen before his brother could even get home- he now gathers dust, one leg stuck draped gracefully over the other and his long thin fingers previously edging towards a (now room temperature, ruined) cup of tea. At times, he's heated up by strips of sunlight coming from the window blinds (which remain closed all these years- Splender didn't want to give Offender any heads up that he was there lest the fucker skip town immediately like he did sometimes when he just wasn't in the mood for lectures, or 'chats'), and others he's blanketed in the cold, grey darkness of a home that was never really 'home', to anyone.

Off in a not-often visited glade somewhere in Scotland's highlands is Trender, curled up in the grass and the dirt and the daisies, facing a beautiful, imposing mountain- sketchbook still rested against his legs and pencil between his fingers. The pages have been weathered and now curl inwards but if you ever found him, which is unlikely, you could still see some faint pencil lines on the first page. Rain, lightning, snow, hail, sweltering heat, wind and a number of other natural beatings have hit him but he continues to sit there, peaceful and relaxed looking and utterly unchanged.

Offender now lives in the back of some alleyway in Melbourne. He looks like a gargoyle, all shoulders and sharp teeth. People have tried to break him, and have covered him in years and years of multicoloured spray paint that now just looks brown but he does not break. He does not shift. He stays, leaning against the wall by a couple of bins, the menacing, perfect, sharp lines of his coat and his teeth still clear as the day he was frozen. His smirk is still a warning despite his helpless state; Women who see him assume that he's a sign without a label, a bit of street art telling them to get outta the fucking alley if you want to live. You get a cold, tight feeling in your chest just looking at him.

Then, decades later, one by one... they wake up. First Trender, then Slender a month later, Offender 2 years after that and finally Splender, a good half a decade after Offender. No rhyme or reason to it, seemingly. No one had found them at that particular moment, Zalgo had given up trying to figure this out years ago, Slender's Proxies had died...

They wake up, but they wake up... different. Parts of them are still stone. Both Slender and Splender have a hand that's still totally made of stone, stuck in the position it was last in, Offenders legs is stuck entirely too straight (So he walks like a pirate), and Trender's chest is still and makes it hard for him to bend or twist.

Still, they go on with their lives. Mystified entirely as to why they lost decades of their lives and now they still weren't allowed to completely recover, but still- eager to move on with their lives.

18 years after he woke up, Trender meets someone called Y/N Who could not be older then 18 years old themselves. Not that Trender considers that at all at first and his chest suddenly... softens, again, finally. The stone cracks and crumbles away, turning to nothing but warm air before it can even slip off him. His skin and muscle is sitting right behind, like it was always there. He takes some deep breathes and clutches his chest, experiencing the long forgotten feel of it, hidden behind the sweater he's wearing (which it had been for years and years, since turning to stone), rising and falling once again...

It wasn't until weeks later that he thought to link some things... and asked Y/N when their birthday is.

Casually, they recite the date that Trender was brought back to life.

The same thing happens of course to the other three. They meet their Y/N 18 years after coming back to life and fond out that they were born that very day. Like someone, or something, some inexplicable force stopped their ageing until the person they were supposed to be with came into existance.

Basically, Soulmate AU with room for Brother angst (and fluff) in between.

Its a work in progress.

Some dot points to add:

Having Trender be the first to wake up was a a very conscious choice XD- Allows him to be the main brother for a while. I cant skip out on giving him some prime time.

And having Splender be the last is important too, as it means a n g s t. His three brothers are awake and they're wondering where the fuck their brother is (Splender would have found us if he was awake. Where is he), until Offender finally wakes up and goes home... and him. And he, (Offender), the least loving and most disgusting of them gets to find his brother (one of the only things he gives even the most miniscule damn about) sitting grey and made of stone, alone at his breakfast table. Waiting for him. But even now that he's finally home, his brother cant wake up and and greet him. Cant be happy his wait is over. No. Offender gets to sit there at the table with him instead, in his own house, and wonder what the hell Splender wanted to talk to him about. And how long it'll be before Splender wakes up again.

Obviously, Slender doesn't come to the 'soulmate' conclusion without some help. He's very uncomfortable and suspicious about, first the person Trender found, and then his own. So you're telling me, this person was born on the same day we were brought back to life? And just meeting them made your stone cracks away finally? And you don't think this is truly coincidental, and actually quite suspicious at all???

I really like that Offenders gonna walk around like a pirate for 18 years. Don't mind me XD

Yes, they all get shat on by many animals. Except Splender.

[crisis34]

So I’ve had this irondad idea that I would KILL for someone to write. I’ve wanted to write it too but I don’t think I’ll get to it.

I started kinda sorta actually writing this in a few scenes 😂 don’t mind my weird idea writing style. Feel free to change what you want or add your own twist on things!! And please tell me if you do write this idea. I’ve had it stuck in my mind and I wanted to make it at least 10k-30k words.

I sadly, don’t have time for that though haha! Soooo hopefully someone wants to write this so I can read it lol

———

The idea is that after Tony passes away the rest of the Avengers talk to Peter for about two years, since Peter spends time at the compound and all that.

But at a random point Peter notices he’s getting ignored by the Avengers for months, they won’t say anything on why they’re all stressed and won’t talk to Peter AT ALL.

One day one of them (most likely Sam/Rhodey) let’s it slip that they have an imposing threat on earth they’re trying to find and it’s so classified that Peter can’t get his hands on the information.

So Peters bummed they don’t trust him, probably gets a line said to him like “Look kid, we really don’t need your help on this. Trust me.” And it destroys Peters self esteem because he’s already 18 and they still see him as the kid.

He goes home one day after school/compound/work or something and when he walks in his spidey senses act up.

Looking into his apartment (moved away from aunt May assumingly) he sees nothing at first so he’s suspicious but not taking any drastic measures.

And then he walks into the living room, where he has a view of the kitchen. And who happens to be standing there eating the fucking blueberries?

Tony motherfucking Stark.

Peter flips out, because he saw Tony die. He’s rambling about how he thought he was dead and all that but then he sees something that tells him -it’s not his Tony-.

The Tony Stark eyes he always remembered were whiskey brown. This guy had glowing blue eyes.

And now Peter’s heart drops. He’s trying to get information out of the imposter and that’s when the guy finally speaks.

He tells Peter about how he’s been on this earth for a few months, the Avengers spotted him through satellite, and how he’s from an alternate reality.

Peter refers to the guy as Anthony since he isn’t his Tony Stark. But he also realizes this is what the Avengers were keeping from him.

Anthony explains how he was drawn here as first (which we later get a point of view from Anthony when he first got on this earth and he wasn’t drawn there, he was told to go there. By Tony Stark whispering in his head).

Anthony also tells Peter that there’s a bigger threat than him on their way, and the Avengers are so caught up looking for him they’re ignoring the other threat.

Peters skeptical, he really is. (If you do end up writing this please don’t make this another Quentin Beck. I don’t want Peter being too gullible or getting used by Anthony because that kinda ruins the plot/already been done in far from home)

Peter has close to no trust for Anthony, especially since he has no information at all from the Avengers. But he still partially believes the guy that there’s another threat.

And he knows he’d have a lot of guilt if he turned him in and there was a threat he could’ve stopped.

So him and Anthony team up.

They look for the bad guy, maybe go through goons/hydra agents for information. But now Peters stumped.

Because Anthony isn’t afraid to use a gun or kill. Anthony’s moral meter isn’t like Tony’s was, especially in front of the kid.

Peter scolds him, tells him that he won’t be killing around him or else he’s shutting the whole operation down.

After that Anthony only kills a few more times, and Peter tries to yell at him for those but he sees rage behind Anthony’s eyes.

Especially since the guys Anthony had killed almost hurt/killed Peter. Peter kept quiet for those deaths and they end up back at his apartment to sleep maybe.

Peters silent after he realizes that it seems Anthony cares about him. This is the night before they confront the big bad guy.

For reference they’ve been together looking for information for weeks!! Keep that in mind cause then you can add your own cute scenes in those weeks of maybe Anthony being protective or helping Peter with homework.

In the middle of the night Peters spidey senses go off, he wakes up and immediately looks for Anthony. He walks into the living area to see the guy peacefully sleeping on the couch.

His eyebrows scrunch together and he decides to go back to bed but can’t fall back asleep.

And then the Avengers break down the door of Peters apartment.

Peter freaks out l, hearing it and Sams familiar footsteps along with whoever else you want to be there. Rhodey would make the most sense with the rest of the Avengers waiting at the compound.

Peter runs back to the living room to where they’re already handcuffing Anthony and Anthony isn’t saying a word, but Peter is trying to convince them to stop and there’s a bigger threat out there they need to be after.

Rhodey or Sam would tell him sternly to get to the compound.

Apparently they had found out the two of them were working together while trying to find out where Anthony was after figuring out he was on this earth.

When he’s at the compound he finds out Anthony has been out in an interrogating place at the compound and each of the Avengers try to crack him but he won’t say a word.

Now(preferably Sam but you can have Peters main Friendship be with someone else, lol but this part of the friendship will be a bit rocky) Sam confronts Peter.

Goes something like this:

“Peter you knew better, why didn’t you contact an Avenger? Huh?”

“Because I knew you guys would do this shit Sam!! There’s a threat! I’ve seen it, we need to stop the threat.”

“Peter, there have been no signs of a threat against earth. At least nothing like he seems to be telling you. Because he won’t tell us anything. I need information on him! Because that damn well isn’t Tony Stark.”

“I know that, of course I fucking know that. You just.. you don’t know him Sam. I swear he’s a decent guy. Anthony is telling the truth.”

“No. He’s manipulating you, he knew you were an easy target and that’s why he went to you!”

Peter pauses for a second, tears catching up with his emotions as he begins to cry. “That’s what you think? That’s what you all think.. of course.”

Sam seems to realize he messed up, but he keeps his mouth shut and let’s Peter talk.

“You guys don’t trust me. I don’t even know why I hang around here, I’m obviously not welcome.” Peter laughs, pained.

“What? Of course we trust you.”

“That’s a god damn lie!! Because if you did this wouldn’t have happened.” Peter yelled.

Sam stays quiet again, remembering how he told Peter that he couldn’t tell him about the threat they were all worried about. Each of them didn’t trust that Peters reaction wouldn’t cause a hurricane of events, it seems it did anyway.

“Do you know.. how scared I was?” Peter whispered this time, wiping his tears away.

“What?”

“Do you know how fucking scared I was when Tony Stark ended up in my apartment! He died two years ago right in front of me and then there he was!! Eating blueberries in my kitchen with glowing blue eyes as if it never happened.” Peter said, watching as Sams face dropped.

Peter shakes his head and continues. “I’m going home, maybe think before you decide I’m to be untrusted next time.”

Sam doesn’t stop Peter because he’s already pissed the kid off.

Either way it was 2am and he assumed Peter wanted some sleep. The whole night Anthony doesn’t say a word.

The next morning the Avengers decide they need Peter to clarify what happened.

When one of them goes to Peter’s apartment, they can’t find him. At first they assumed he went somewhere but the tracker on his suit the compound has access to has been clipped. (If you can figure out a better way that they figure out Peter went after the threat on his own go for it).

After Sam figures out Peters gone he hurries into the cell that Anthony is in, guilt putting in his stomach because what if Peter was right and he was against a threat much larger than himself.

“Where is he?” Sam immediately asks after slamming the door shut behind himself.

Anthony stares at him, obviously planning on not saying anything.

“Where the fuck is Peter? C’mon asshole, you told him there was a threat and now I can’t fucking find him. Where is he?”

Sam watches as Anthony’s face pales and he looks down at the ground with his eyes wide.

Sams stomach churns. “Please? Come on, I don’t know your intentions but please tell me. He’s only 18, I-“

Anthony gets the watch as Sam regrets every word he ever said to Peter and holds back tears because there was a chance they wouldn’t find Peter and it would be Sams fault.

“Get me out of here.” Anthony tells Sam.

Sam stares at him, there’s a darkness behind Anthony’s eyes at that moment he’s only seen on Bucky when he had to act like the winter soldier with Zemo.

Sam thinks back to Peter voguing for Anthony and makes a decision. This time, he would trust Peter.

“Alright.”

None of the other Avengers had been consulted during this decision, but Sam leaves the tracking of his wings on just in case.

He and Anthony would go together to help Peter.

“What are we doing?” Anthony asked while Sam walked into his room at the compound.

“I don’t know what we’re up against, I gotta suit up.” Sam said.

Anthony hummed and nodded, leaning against the doorway while Sam picked up something familiar.

“Is that Captain America’s shield?” Anthony asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah, Steve gave it to me before he retired.” Sam nodded, picking up a duffel bag.

“Which makes you Captain America.” Anthony smiled.

“Yup.” Sam chuckled.

“Alright, grab your suit. You can change on the plane.” Anthony decided, already walking off.

“What?” Sam quickly slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, carrying the shield and jogging to catch up with Anthony.

“What do you mean, plane?” Sam asked.

Anthony lifted his hand, holding a pair of keys in it. “Snatched it before you guys locked me up. You should really have an AI looking over this place to tell you things.” He suggested.

Sam felt some deja vu, remembering when Tony was alive and the voice of Friday could be heard everywhere. Rhodey shut her down, unable to listen to her voice and be reminded of his friend.

—

Anthony takes them to where Peter is currently trying to get a good vantage point on the threat, he’s only getting minor goons outside the building(maybe? The antagonist is up to you).

Sam stays back for a bit, getting a call on his phone from Rhodey who he knows is pissed.

He hesitantly answers and listens to the scolding but gives them their location anyway, having more Avengers on their way.

Anthony and Peter are talking and planning as well as joking. Peter seems pleased that Sam decided to trust him.

The three of them start to infiltrate the threat, Anthony has a wrist gauntlet that’s ice blue and silver he uses as well as a gun.

The Avengers arrive rather quickly to help the fight, all very wary about Anthony.

Here’s the thing, they all know Anthony’s moral is messed up and he isn’t afraid of killing or anything like that. They know he isn’t Tony.

So when Peter gets injured/almost dies they are all very surprised to see Anthony freeze as Sam tries to help the wound on his body.

The threat is gone at this point and the Avengers are trying to help Peter while he’s screaming out in pain, and Anthony is unfamiliar with the liquid rolling down his face.

(You can also make it where everyone thinks Peters dead and he kinda wakes up in the middle of their mourning lol)

And then Anthony snaps back into it, rushing forward and sliding through The small crowd and leaning down next to Peter with Sam on the other side.

“Hey hey hey, you’re alright kid. You’re alright.” Anthony said, forcing and smile and putting his hand on the side of Peter face.

Peters crying while Sams trying to get the bullet/clean the wound.

Anthony grabs onto Peters hand and squeezes it, Peter squeezes back.

“You’re gonna be okay Peter, I know it hurts, Underoos.” Anthony whispered in Peters ear.

Peter looked like he was gonna say something but then looked up and locked eyes with Anthony.

“What?” Peter whispered.

For Anthony, that moment too felt unreal. Memories began to blend with his own.

~~

‘There’s this crazy car parked outside!’

‘Mr. Parker.’

‘Umm. What, what are you doing? Hey.. I- I- I’m Peter.’

‘Tony.’

~

‘If you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it!’

~

‘I don’t want to go, please, I don’t want to go Mr. Stark.’

‘I’m sorry.’

~

‘Hey! Holy cow! You will not believe what's been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? And I must've passed out because I woke up and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there right. And he said 'It's been five years. Come on, they need us.' And he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does. Anyway...’

Tony hugged Peter, feeling as the teens excitement wore down.

‘This is nice.’

~

‘Mr. Stark, hey, Mr. Stark?’

‘Can you hear me? it’s Peter. Hey..we won. Mr.Stark. We won, Mr.Stark. We won, You did it sir, you did it.’

~~

“Anthony? What did- what did you just call me?” Peter asked, sliding up against the wall nearby after Sam finished making sure his wound was okay.

The Avengers looked confused, Rhodey glancing at the Tony lookalike uneasily.

Anthony and Peter looked at each other, both pale and scared.

“I- I don’t understand.” Anthony muttered.

Peter seemed to be staring at Anthony’s eyes the whole time, tears going down his face.

“Your eyes, Mr. Stark.” Peter held his hand to his mouth, staring in disbelief.

“What?” Anthony asked, new found emotion for the kid and everyone around him.

“Your eyes, Tony. They’re brown.”

[laughingphoenixleader]

Here’s another full-fledged fic, friends!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Rating: G

A/N: This one’s set the night of Season 3, Episode 3: The Holocrons of Fate. This is my vision of how Kanera dealt with the whole K-disappearing-for-six-kriffing-months thing. Enjoy and feel free to leave feedback if the Force calls you to!

@kanerallels <3

Hera Syndulla can’t wield the Force.

Not even a little bit.

But even so, she’s been told that she has a real talent for sensing other people’s emotions.

It started when she was a little girl—a knot in her stomach or some tension in her lekku would appear out of nowhere. She’d suddenly feel frustrated, sad, or afraid without understanding why. Except for times during puberty and her time of month—unfortunately, Hera wasn’t exempt from actual mood swings—those feelings that came out of the blue were never hers at all. When these unexplained emotions appeared within her, Hera would come to find out that someone close to her was struggling with something that had induced the exact feeling that Hera had experienced. So, she was often able to figure out what the people around her were feeling before they understood it themselves. It even, on occasion, happened with complete strangers.

Over time, she even became capable of knowing whose wave of emotions she was being hit by. Everyone’s felt slightly different. Emotional intensity varied from person to person, as did how they felt their emotions. Some beings felt their emotions pounding in their temples, others carried their stress in their shoulders, while others’ feelings made knots in their stomachs materialize. Hera became such an expert on discovering how each person was feeling that she’d often greet a friend or family member by asking why they were feeling so angry, sad, or afraid. The closer she was to a person, the more sensitive she was to their emotions, and the stronger they felt to her.

Hera has never been as in touch with anyone’s emotions as she is with those of Kanan Jarrus.

During the six months when he distanced himself from Hera and the rest of his family, she had always known when the nightmares had come. But he had never come to find her like he used to when the terrors struck. Hera could feel the pull to him—it was always present, no matter how she denied it—growing inside of her until it was almost unbearable, but she had steeled herself and remained where she was (usually the pilot’s seat). She spent plenty of nights staring off into the stars like she and Kanan used to do together, feeling the pain of doing nothing gnawing at her soul. But her respect for Kanan’s desires and needs outweighed it all. She knew him better than anyone else, so she could tell that he didn’t want her help right then. If he had, he would have come and found her. He had to come to her on his own time.

For six months, Kanan hadn’t wanted her help. He hadn’t wanted her.

Hera had to keep telling herself that this hadn’t broken her heart.

When she feels the sickening wrench of panic in her chest while sitting in the pilot’s chair on Atollon, though, she knows in her core that this time is different. This time, he needs her.

In an instant, she’s jumped to her feet, placed her datapad on the floor of the cockpit, and is slamming the button on the Ghost’s controls that opens the door to Kanan’s cabin. No one but her knows that any of the cabin door locks can be overridden from the cockpit, and she plans on keeping it that way.

She’s in his cabin in a flash, heart racing and Kanan’s fear coursing through her veins. She can hear him tossing and turning in the dark as she presses the button to turn on the lights. The dark-haired Jedi in the bottom bunk is drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around his thrashing form. His scarred eyes are shut tightly. Hera realizes that, though he returned from his self-imposed exile several days ago and lost his sight six months ago, she hasn’t seen him without some sort of blindfold or mask covering his eyes since the incident. His face is twisted into an agonized expression.

Hera runs to his side. “Kanan,” she tries to call him from whatever world of horrors he’s trapped in. “Kanan, wake up!”

The Jedi’s whole body immediately responds to her voice, turning towards her and stilling slightly. Kanan’s always told her that he loves the sound of her voice. So she keeps talking.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

Kanan’s face twists again, and he seems to look around searchingly, though his eyes are still closed. His body is shaking, his fear palpable.

“It’s me, Kanan, I’m right beside you; you’re safe.”

His eyes fly open.

Kanan’s eyes, eyes that Hera could have stared into forever (though she had usually done her best not to think about that), eyes full of beautiful, vibrant aquamarine, are now pale and colorless.

Hera scolds herself for the lump in her throat that forms. It doesn’t matter. This shouldn’t upset me. Am I really that shallow?

She shakes off the sudden wave of sorrow and focuses on Kanan.

“Hera?” he calls for her, still searching. His face fills with panic again. “Where are you?”

“Look at me—“

Hera stops short.

That was how she had always drawn him from his nightmares before. Look at me, she’d tell him. I’m here. She’d turned the light on for this exact purpose when she’d entered, forgetting for a moment that everything had changed.

She’ll have to get creative this time.

“I can’t!” Kanan cried. “I can’t anymore, Hera, it’s gone—“

“I know, I know—“

“You’re so far away,” his voice breaks as he speaks.

Hera moves closer. “No. I’m right here, Kanan.”

“No,” he says miserably. “You’re gone—you left me—everyone left me—I’m useless, I’m broken, no one needs me anymore—it’s too late—“

His voice, full of anguish, breaks again and his body shakes with tears that he is no longer able to shed. Hera forgets that he broke her heart, that he left them all, that the deepening relationship between them had suddenly become nonexistent. The man she loves is hurting, and she’s going to fix that. Or, at least, help him through it.

She goes back to the door, turning off the lights so she’s forced to see how he sees. Then she climbs into the bunk beside him.

His body is racked with sobs as she places a hand on his cheek. He gasps at her touch.

“Kanan,” she says in her most soothing, reassuring tone—the one that has never failed to calm him before—“do you feel me?”

“Hera,” he whispers, filled with relief, and sounding…awestruck, for some reason.

“It’s me,” she tells him comfortingly, emphasizing her next words. “I never left you, and I never will.”

Kanan begins to mumble her name, one of his hands finding its way on top of hers, the other holding onto her forearm for dear life. The way he says her name always makes her heart race, though she’s never really understood why. No one else pronounces it like that…the way he speaks out the two syllables somehow sounds and feels like a caress. He begins to speak hastily; desperately.

“I can still fight for the Rebellion—I have the Force, it’ll help me see—I’m not truly blind because I can see myself.”

“I believe you, Kanan,” Hera presses her forehead against his. “You’re not useless. We’re never giving up on you.”

Kanan feels her arm, touches her shoulders, his hands seeming to be on a mission to make sure she’s really there. When they near her lekku, Hera moves them away. He’s touched them before, with her permission. That first time he did was the best nights she’d ever had…and so was every other night he’d done it again. Now that he’s been gone for so long, and he clearly doesn’t want her…

Focus on your mission. He needs you—right here; right now.

Hera slips out of her thoughts and feels Kanan place his hand on the side of her face for a moment, then take her in his arms and hold her close. He presses his forehead to hers. Their closeness makes Hera’s heart attempt to catch up to Kanan’s pounding one.

Slowly, his body relaxes. His heavy breathing evens.

Hera relaxes, too. More than she has in six months.

She hasn’t let herself realize how much she’s missed the complete safety she always feels in his arms. She lets him hold her, tucking her head underneath his. Kanan makes a noise of discomfort, and she smiles softly, placing her forehead against his again. This has always been the position they’ve used when comforting each other. Kanan sighs contentedly.

Eventually, he stirs, and she knows he’s emerged from the nightmare.

“Hey,” Kanan greets her, the panic gone from his voice, gentleness and awkwardness taking its place.

There has never been awkwardness between them. Not like this.

Hera lifts her head from his. “Better now?” she asks him.

He shudders. “That’s an understatement.”

Hera strokes his cheek in reply. The last six months had seemed to fade into oblivion during the last few minutes, but now she feels the shards of pain return.

Will he ask me to leave?

“Hera…” he says her name for the thousandth time that night. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she responds quietly.

They don’t move from their positions.

After a moment, he continues tentatively. “You don’t have to stay.”

Hera can still feel the remains of her anger towards him from several days before cutting into her, but the image of his tortured face and voice from earlier are seared into her mind.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently.

His arms involuntarily tighten around her.

She laughs softly in spite of it all. Though her hurt and anger is returning, she’s delighted that he wants her beside him.

“I’m staying.”

Hera realizes that he’s been holding his breath when he resumes breathing again. His pulse speeds up, though it isn’t pounding frantically like it was earlier.

The night he’d come back, they’d had their worst fight to date. Once they were alone in his room, she’d tried—Kanan would chastise her for using that word—to hold her emotions back, to be understanding, but her hurt had led to anger, and it had burst out of her, as it often did. Words had spilled out of her, words she’d bottled up inside her for the last six months. She’d said things she knew she’d regret, things that she could see cutting through him. But her own pain had blinded her in that moment. She’d kept going for those six months, never stopping long enough to deal with her hurt, so it had only festered. Kanan had been defensive, stony-faced, his arms crossed, and that had only enraged her further.

Then, today, after several days of avoiding each other, Maul had attacked the Ghost. Throughout the experience, Hera’s lekku had burned with the knowledge that her last interaction with Kanan, besides a short phrase here and there, had been full of biting words and simmering hurt.

She’d spent the hours after Kanan had rescued her and the others contemplating out what to say and how to apologize. She’d been in the middle of doing so when the wrench of terror sent her straight to his room.

The fight had ended with her snapping, “Don’t pretend you still want me. You proved that that wasn’t true when you abandoned me—abandoned us for half a year.” Her voice had broken against her will. “You didn’t even say you were leaving. Or when you’d be back.” Then she’d slammed on the button to close her door in his face, blinking furiously to hide the scorching tears in her eyes. Hera had slid down the wall, then spent the rest of that night finally letting the tears she’d held back spill out of her.

“You…you want to stay?” Kanan now asks her uncertainly. “Everything you said several nights ago—it all makes sense, and I’m so sorry.” His earnestness and guilt rolls off of him as he continues. “I understand if you don’t forgive me; I know I hurt you—I was gone for so long—“

Hera interrupts softly. “I forgive you.”

He stops his uncomfortable, awkward squirming.

“You do?”

His tone is so full of uncertainty and hope that Hera’s heart melts.

“I do,” she tells him gently. “For everything.”

Kanan begins to protest, torture and regret emanating from his voice, even as Hera can feel some of the tension begin to drain out of him. “No, Hera, you shouldn’t forgive me so easily. I don’t deserve that. After all these years, I just left. The way I made you feel…” Kanan’s voice wavers before he continues. “I thought that the Force was telling me to spend time alone—that was my excuse. But I distanced myself from the Force, from you, from everyone—and I don’t even know why.” He shakes his head, incredulous at himself, then desperately starts to explain. “I couldn’t handle any responsibilities or obligations. My feelings took over—I thought I was useless, that I was a failure because of my blindness—my depression overwhelmed me. I was lost—lost again, like I was when you found me on Gorse.” Kanan’s still holding her, but his embrace feels almost fragile, like he’s afraid that she’ll rip herself away from him at any second. “I thought I had grown since then, that it would never happen again. It wasn’t just that I lost my vision—it was that Ahsoka is gone, that we lost against that Sith Lord—” Kanan heaves a sigh, one heavy with self-hatred. “And now I’m making it about me again.”

Hera listens intently. He’s clearly been carrying this within him for too long. “It’s all right,” she reassures him quietly. “Talk to me.”

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says in a rough voice, one filled with sincerity and raw emotion, and Hera’s broken heart skips a beat. “And I know that that doesn’t seem true, because I still stayed away.” He’s quiet for a moment. Hera can practically hear the gears in his mind turning as he works to verbalize and explain. “I couldn’t face you. Not when I felt so lacking, and you’re so…so capable, so impactful, so successful.“

Hera nearly protests at this, but she stays silent for his sake, knowing that her interruption won’t be helpful to him right now.

“I was ashamed. Ashamed of my weakness. Ashamed that I didn’t sense Maul coming, that I didn’t stop him somehow. And…I couldn’t face the pain of not being able to see you. I didn’t want to hold you back or burden you, or make you feel like you had to let me tag along on missions. I thought that you were better off without me in your way.”

Hera’s heart is reeling and rejoicing at the fact that she is still wanted, that he never really rejected her, but she also knows that he’ll only keep spiraling downward if she doesn’t interject at the right time—which is now.

“You don’t have to explain it all to me,” she tells him sincerely, though the still-angry side of her screams that that isn’t true.

“I’m just trying—I just want you to know that…that I still love you, Hera.”

The earnestness in his voice and the admission of “I love you” does it. Hera can feel her shattered, rejected heart begin to heal. What he says next only soothes it further.

“The depression drowned everything out—but sometimes I would hear your voice, or see your face in my mind, and that kept me from losing all hope. From giving up on everything.”

Hera’s heart swells, and tears spring up in her own fully whole eyes. She places her forehead against his again. His breath catches, but he finishes speaking. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t know why you would, after how much I hurt you. I…I can tell you’re heartbroken, Hera.” His body starts shaking again, as if he’s living inside of another nightmare. “And knowing I did that to you—just because all I could think about was myself and what I needed, rather than what you and the rest of the crew needed—“ Hera can feel the unshed tears again as he begins to apologize, again and again, until he loses the ability to speak. She gently cradles his head, stroking his disheveled hair, her own healing heart throbbing at his anguish. She brushes her thumbs over where the tears would be, if everything were different.

“I’m too full of mistakes,” he sobs. “You deserve much better than someone like me.”

Hera decides that now she’s on a mission—a mission to stop her Jedi’s spiral of self-hatred.

“Listen to me, Kanan Jarrus,” she tells him in a firm but kind tone, as she continues to stroke his hair. “You’re no worse than anyone else. We all make mistakes. We’re all selfish at times. Even those of us who devote our lives to helping others sometimes hurt them instead. Caring about someone means helping them move on from their mistakes and make it right. What kind of people would we be if we never gave others a second chance?”

His dry shaking begins to stop, and Hera can feel him listening in rapt attention.

“You know I don’t give up—and I never gave up on you. I never will. Yes, you’ve hurt me, but I care enough about you to forgive you. Who you are right now is worth forgiving. You’re worthy of forgiveness, of my choosing you, even though you aren’t perfect.” Hera’s words seem to hit hard, since Kanan’s breath catches again. She continues genuinely and tenderly, “Even if I met the most perfect person in the galaxy, I’d still choose you instead. You’re truly good, Kanan.”

After a moment of silence, Kanan whispers, “You really mean that?”

Hera lifts his face and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course I do. And I really do forgive you. If you’ll forgive me for hurting you instead of listening to you over the last few days.” Now her own voice is colored with remorse. “I should have been there for you, helping you readjust.”

“But, Hera, I understand why you were angry. I deserved it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Hera points out. “Will you forgive me?”

Immediately, he replies, “Yeah. I forgive you.”

Then his hands move for the first time since his nightmare. He places one on her cheek, while the other moves to the small of her back. Hera’s heart begins to pick up speed as his face nears hers. “Is it all right if I…?” he asks in a whisper, ever respectful of her boundaries. In answer, Hera moves her own face closer to his, and their lips meet.

Six months is a long time.

But the longer you’re deprived of something, the sweeter it is when you finally get to experience it again.

The first thing Hera feels is the warmth. It spreads throughout her whole body, especially her lekku, chasing away the emptiness and loneliness that became the new normal in Kanan’s absence. One of his hands caresses her cheek, while the other pulls her close, resting on the small of her back. She pulls the band from his now-destroyed ponytail, slipping it expertly onto her wrist (she’s had plenty of practice) and threading her fingers into his hair. She can feel him smile into her lips when she does so, which makes her smile in return. Kanan seems to get a burst of excitement, a delighted gasp escaping him. Hera pulls away just enough to ask, “what is it?”

He responds, his voice charged with enthusiasm and love,

“I got to feel you smile again.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over Hera, her heart squeezing at the overwhelming amount of sweetness infused into that small sentence. She presses her lips to his again, beaming just for him. Kanan laughs giddily, a sound of pure joy.

Hera hasn’t heard him laugh in so long.

So she can’t help but laugh with him. A moment later, his thumb begins stroking her cheek more urgently. She gently breaks the kiss to ask, “What is it, love?”She can feel his giddiness rise at the term of endearment, which makes her beam again. He murmurs in a voice filled to the brim with gratitude, “Thank you, Hera. For forgiving me. I thought that I’d lost this. I thought that I’d messed up too badly to ever earn your affection again.” Misery seems to overwhelm him at the thought.

“There’s no need to earn it,” she assures him, placing her other hand, the one not entwined in his hair, on his chest. “Honestly, I couldn’t take it from you if I tried,” she confesses.

“Are you saying that you’re hopeless, Hera Syndulla?” The cocky slyness, which had made up the Kanan Jarrus that she first met all those years ago on Gorse, fills his voice.

She rolls her eyes, then remembers that the lights are out, and that he can’t see her anyway. And yet—

“You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?”

“You earned it,” she deadpans.

He laughs again and somehow pulls her closer, so that their foreheads are touching again.

“There’s the Hera I remember,” he declares, tenderness and the classic mischievousness returning.

She showcases her own mischievous streak in her reply. “Missed me, love?”

“Every second,” he answers tenderly.

“I missed you, too,” she tells him, warmth filling her tone and her soul.

That sly mischievousness again. “Especially my sense of humor, right?”

“Actually, that’s what I missed the least,” she switches back into deadpanning.

“Hey!” he protests, his tone a convincing one of feigned offense, but then it makes way for the trademark slyness. “But you did miss it.”

Hera groans. “That is not what I said.”

“You’re not denying it,” Kanan teases.

After a moment, he declares, “I’ve finally found the one benefit that comes with being blind.”

“What’s that?” she asks, resigning herself to whatever nonsense he’s about to spill.

She can hear the grin in his voice. “Now I can’t see it when you glare at me.”

Hera rolls her eyes, then says in a playful tone, “But you can feel my anger in the Force, right?”

Kanan’s silent for a moment. “It’s impossible not to.” He shudders, mortified at the thought of it.

“Kanan Jarrus, you’re a Jedi Knight and a veteran of the Clone Wars, and you’re afraid of me?”

He lets out a huff of laughter, like the answer is obvious. “You bet.”

Hera’s voice is devious. “You should be.”

“Everybody should be. You’re terrifying, Hera.”

She chuckles, shaking her head slightly, her forehead still pressed to his. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Come on, I never exaggerate.”

After a moment of silence on Hera’s part, he amends reluctantly, “okay, I usually don’t exaggerate. You’ve seen how the kids and I look at you when you’re furious with us.”

Hera considers this. She always knows that when she gives members of her crew that glare, they’ll do whatever she says. Usually. “Maybe I should use it on whoever’s trying to attack us sometime.”

“You should. Just to see what would happen.”

She laughs. “I don’t even need a blaster. No armor can protect those stormtroopers from my death glare.”

“You better believe it,” Kanan murmurs, stroking the small of her back.

“I sure am glad you’re not angry with me anymore,” he adds after a bit of comfortable silence.

“Me too, love.”

Chills ripple over him at the term of endearment, and she chuckles lightly, a bubble of joy rising inside of her at how much he treasures her little ways of showing him how much she loves him.

Hera has no clue how long they stay like this, stealing kisses, sharing little touches, slipping in and out of conversation (complete with plenty of smiles and eyerolls). What she does know is that the distance between her and Kanan has disappeared. The emptiness and feelings of being incomplete have been replaced by fullness and completeness. No, they aren’t as close as they were before Malachor, but Hera has faith that that will change over time. What matters most is that she knows that Kanan is happier than he’s been in a long time. Eventually, they drift off into sleep, still holding each other close. Their dreams are peaceful, for there’s no room for nightmares when nothing but long-awaited contentment fills them both to overflowing.

When morning comes, the members of the Ghost Crew don’t need to be able to sense each others’ emotions to know that things have finally changed for the better.

The family is whole again.

[tomhiddelstonandzaynmalik]

Love at first sight?

Chapter 7

prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 Chapter 6

Warren Worthington III x reader

Word count: 1259 words.

Warnings: language

"Once upon a time, there was a lonely creature

Mind always shrouded in darkness

Hopeless was he, without a prayer for salvation

Dwelling forever in the abyss [...]".

-The Demon Loved an Angel by Xan Abyss

"fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck!". "Had I been too forward?". "What if she thought I was a perv?". "You twat, you can't do anything right, can you?".

Warren's inner voice was screaming at him. The tender kiss and quick wink had seemed appropriate at the time for some unknown reason. You see, it wasn't Warren's style to show his affection to others, even more so with people he knew recently.

"Darling, how many times must I tell you: One shall never do any public display of affection, for it must be reserved only for those you are close to in the confinements of one's home." Warren's mom said, kneeling in front of him after his seven-year-old son had rushed to squeeze in a hug a kind waiter who'd managed to sneak one of the leftover chocolate treats before the little kid left the exclusive Gala he'd attended to with his parents. "Even when they give me chocolate truffles?" The little boy said. "Even when they give you chocolate truffles. It is not proper etiquette, Warren". The kid couldn't help the weepy look on his face. He was still too young to understand it. Why couldn't he show his love for the people he liked? Nor the silver lining from his mother's words. "People like us cannot mix with people like them". After all, the Worthingtons were one of the wealthiest families in Europe. They belonged to the elite. For them interacting with the working class was a capital sin.

Even when Warren had left his former life behind years ago, old habits die hard. Like it or not, his family's beliefs had been engraved into his mind, resulting in Warren rejecting any affection altogether that turned him into the most touch-starved man on earth. Whereas it was coming from an older man like Hank, caressing his shoulder in a comforting manner after one of his usual nightmares. Or from his only friend patting his back after he splurged out the sassiest come-back ever. Even when the physical contact had come from an almost stranger like Peter, they were quite an emotional shock, making Warren's mind rewind those interactions on an endless loop.

"[...] But then one glorious afternoon

An angel's light broke through the gloom

They were both far from home

In a land they didn't know

She held out her hand

And asked him to follow [...]".

Perhaps it was the fact you forgave him without a second thought for having almost killed you. It could have also been how you never seemed to disapprove of anything he let out about his past. Maybe it was how your beautiful Y/E/C eyes would sparkle slightly whenever your gazes crossed paths. Another possibility was how talking with you was comfortable it was light and free of judgement, allowing him to open up unconsciously. Or the way you would tilt your head to the side in curiosity when he told you about a particularly delicate subject.

"... And that's how I got stuck with this fucking monstruosities". "What the hell? They're fucking awesome, Angel!". You said, taken aback. "Well, if you say I'm an angel now, you would've lost your shit if you had seen me with my former ones". Yes, his Horseman wings were sleek and imposing but, they were nowhere near that majestic white-feathery pair of wings he used to have. "Angels were supposed to be God's soldiers, you know? I don't know about you, Angel, but these beauties do fit with the description!".

And for the first time, Warren hated them a little less. After all, you had seen beauty into the grimmest-looking part in his body.

Or most definitely, it was all of the above which had made Warren's instinct act on its own, allowing them to come out for you to see them.

"HURRY UP, YOUNG MAN!". Just like before, a shrilling sound followed by Charles's voice inside Warren's head made him twist in pain. He got so lost in himself he couldn't notice he'd been standing in the foyer all along.

It was 11:25 when he entered the professor's office, it hadn't been so late, but for someone like Charles, even 5 minutes past the agreed time was an atrocity. "Don't worry sitting down since you're this late, we only have five minutes before my next appointment". Charles wasn't pleased with Warren's tardiness but tried to remain with the same calmness so distinctive of him. "I'm sorry, I got-". "I know, I know, you got entertained with our new arrival". Charles had cut him off mid-sentence, and after mentioning you, he couldn't help the knowing smile to come up, causing Warren to feel embarrassed.

"I'll go straight to the point. Do you have any plans for yourself, warren?". the question had surprised him. Living on the streets makes you focus your energy on making it through the day. there is no time to think about the future when you don't even know if you'll make it to next week. "Not really". Warren let out. "What would you say about staying here?". "I would say, I was never a fan of homework".

The concept of living at Xavier's was weird. Wasn't it a school? The last time he set foot in a classroom, Warren had been 14. Yes, by then, he was fluent in 7 languages, played multiple instruments to perfection and could recite Shakespeare by memory. But that had been eight years ago. Who knows just how far behind the rest he would be if he started school again. "Don't worry about that, Warren. You do not necessarily need to be a student to live here. There are plenty of other options". He clarified after reading the young man's mind. "Oh yeah? like what?". He asked with an untrusting look. "You can teach music or any of the many languages you know, or train the older students... or perhaps you would like to join our "little club" ". The man was talking about the X-MEN which caused Warren's demons to show up once more. "You are not a hero you dumb bitch! You never were and you will never be".

Charles took notice of Warren's overwhelmed face and said something before it was too late. "Those were only the first things that came up to me. What I'm trying to say is, you have to start to think ahead. You survived the crash for a reason, Warren. Maybe this is life's way of telling you what happened in the past is now gone, that you need to start moving on. We all want you to stay, Warren. Not just to be a passer-by." The Professor was wheeling towards the door where Warren stood doubtful. "Just think about what I said, please." "Now, if you will excuse me. I'm about to ask a young lady the very same thing". With that, The Professor wheeled out headed to the infirmary room.

"That cleaver old man". Warren mutter to himself, amazed by Charles' intellect. He knew if he pulled the right strings, like implying the possibility of you staying at Xavier's, Charles would honestly make him consider the idea of settling down here too.

"[...] They knew they had to return home

But he could not say goodbye

The thought of losing her forever

Ripped through him inside[...]".

And maybe, he wasn't so wrong after all.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Common Thieves

Short WIP of rewritten scenes from a certain Disney movie and adding Zelda because I’m an adult so, no, you can’t stop me. 

I sat on this one for too long... time to let it out into the pasture.

Common Thieves

A trio of carriages rolled passed a sign reading: “East Necluda”. Underneath the letters were etched markings that indicated three miles before the region border.  The entourage of soldiers accompanying them lit up the night around them.

The trail hadn’t been maintained in several years, a testament to the rural inhabitants and the reputation the road had built in the recent months. Still, the party pushed onward steadily – even as the sun slowly abandoned them. Lines of guards walked along with the first carriage with a several mules hauling oversized trunks.

Days of traveling brought a silence over the men and ripped any urge to paint their boredom with banter. Other the occasional curt direction to the work animals, the only noises either came from their marching or the muffled conversation in the vehicles they surrounded.

“Does it look like I am a mere peasant?” a vibrant hiss came through the first caravan – it was decorated with Gerudo drapes of rich color, shimmering even in the darkness.

Inside, the weary looking fellow with his helmet resting on his hip flinched as the hisser sneered.

“Of course not, Your Highness,” he spoke fast, “I only mean to inform His Highness that we passed the last town two hours ago and in order for His Highness to rest it would entail putting up camp.”

“Putting up camp?!” the larger of the men reared back. His gold-laced fingers gripped the chair. “Absolutely not. I will not be treated like some poor panhandler on the side of the road. We will ride through the night.”

The guard paused for a short moment, shrinking at the gaze he received before bowing his head. “At your word, My Lord.”

Another man, skinnier than the lot, appeared beside the superior and stared with the wide eyes of admonishment. His words were spoken quick and high-pitched, “Do you have any idea who you are addressing?”

“I-” the guard looked between the two with uncertainty.

“Why, the Royal Advisor Ganondorf Dragmire. ‘Lordship’ doesn’t shine a match to the nature of his reputation!” he gasped and held his book of notes closely while making grandiose gestures. Loose papers fluttered to the caravan floor. “He has proved himself to be above such title! Illustrious is he, respectable is he, most honorable – absolutely, and not to forget how handsome is he--”

The royal advisor patted his acquaintance on the shoulder with more force than necessary and smiled chivalrously. “Never mind that, sergeant. We will ride through the night.”

The sergeant cleared his throat, “Yes, Your… Highness.”

As he exited the moving carriage, the flaps closed behind him and through them had commenced a series of muffled arguments that had become the norm during marches.

Another armor-clad man reared his horse beside the sergeant with another horse in tow.

“Well? What does he want to do?”

The sergeant scratched his red beard and let out the sigh that was building in his chest, then took his horse’s reigns with short words of thanks. 

His partner raised his brow, “That bad, huh?”

“Gods, I don’t want to hear it Kriss. Inform the lads that we we’re riding straight to Hateno.”

When he spoke, he tried to copy the intimidating scowl of the royal advisor but his compatriot still grumbled with annoyance as he twisted his horse in the opposite direction.

Their travels matched the demeanor of wartimes, and though they technically were, this party wasn’t avoiding frequent rests for the sake of catching the enemy and nor was their pacing any faster with the amount of luggage they hauled. It was well known through the garrison that this was the equivalence to a royal tour and it should be treated as such – yet no one spoke it above a whisper.

“Sir!”

It was a younger man, barely out of boyhood. He was scraggly, even his stance was uneven when he drew his heels together for a salute. The boy faltered in the process as his ill-fitting armor rattled from the movements. The sergeant withheld an eye-roll, lazing over his saddle to give the kid a forlorn look.

“What is it, Short-Stack?”

“There’s a traveler coming towards us,” he swallowed nervously, gesturing vaguely ahead. “What should we do?”

Momentarily, he looked up at the partially starry sky and sighed once more. “Well, does he look like he’s armed? Dangerous at any degree? Use common sense, son. The last time it was another fur trader.”

Short-Stack fiddled with his gloves and spoke with varying degrees of confidence. “Um, no sir. Sir, it appears to be a woman and-and we haven’t encountered one and I was wondering what the procedures were and--”

“A woman?” the sergeant blinked, promptly ignoring anything more the boy had to say.

His eyes flickered to the dulling sky and motioned his horse to approach the head of the party. As he did, the snickering of those walking ahead abruptly ended. About one-hundred yards away was a cloaked woman, so unmistakably feminine that the sergeant had to do a double take.

Her approach only emphasized what they say from far away. Though she was dressed modestly, it was obvious to any man that she was well-endowed. In her hands was a glowing, recently lit lantern that swayed playfully with her hips.

“Hello, boys!” she called out, giggling afterward and pulled her cloak closer to herself.

The men around the sergeant whispered excitedly and he gave a hard stare to them before straightening in his saddle and trotting in front of the group because, after all, he was the sergeant. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this woman-traveler couldn’t be in some state of concern.

She paused as he approached and blinked owlishly up at him.

“Madam,” he said, dipping his head slightly, “It’s getting rather late, can I ask what you’re doing out at such a time?”

The woman made a noise of surprise and looked over her shoulder as if the sun had snuck passed her. “Oh dear…” she pouted, “I knew I should have left earlier. Why, I was hoping to reach the next inn by sundown!”

“The next inn is two hours minimum on foot,” he recounted with astonishment. Then, pretended to think. “It just happens, my lady, that I am the leader of this particular garrison.”

She gaped, “Is that so? That’s most impressive, sir! Whose company are you escorting this fine evening?”

A smile crept up his face and he nodded smugly. “The Royal Advisor and a few members of His Majesty’s court.”

“Is that right?” she nodded, coming to terms with his words. “I suppose I must be on my way, then. I wouldn’t dare impose on His Lordship.”

A shout of outrage sounded behind the sergeant and he stiffened at the realization of his mistake.

The royal advisor had a distinct voice that shouted without needing to raise his voice. His assistant clambering out of the stopped carriage with much difficulty. Before the opening closed, Dragmire voiced his complaints without abandon.

“Sergeant! Ghirahim, I want his head or it will be yours, by the gods--” The rest of his sentence was muffled as the thin man left him.

The one named Ghirahim hurried to slick back his white hair and scrambled to the front of the carriage. He first gave the horses a wary look before turning his attention to what was impeding them. With a fit of outrage bubbling, he stopped himself mid-word to address the woman.

“And just who are you?” Ghirahim seethed. She went to explain only to be interrupted by his flailing hands. “Actually, you are irrelevant. No matter of concern to the given issue at foot. Sergeant-!”

Then, the woman gasped.

“Is that not the royal advisor to His Majesty?” she covered her mouth daintily, looking past Ghirahim.

The sergeant nearly jumped out of his saddle at the sudden presence of the man, who seemed set on a fit of rage and decidedly settling to a curious indifference at his impediment. The woman pushed by Ghirahim and gave a small curtsy.

The royal advisor didn’t look at the sergeant when he addressed him. “Who is this?”

“A woman, Your Highness.”

He scowled heavily in his direction, “I know that. I meant who she is!”

“Franny, My Lord!” she spoke with excitement, ignoring the assistant’s gawking expression. Franny dipped into a curtsy. “It is quite the honor to be in your esteemed presence Lord Ganondorf. You’re held in such high favor around these parts, as I’m sure you know.”

Ghirahim attempted to cut through while maintaining a concentrated glare. “How dare you grace His Highness with your impertinence!”

The advisor smiled, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Am I now? It is unsurprising, however I do enjoy hearing it from your lips.”

“Sir,” Franny giggled, “If I’m not being too impertinent. Between you and I, I am in the business of telling one’s future. You see, I know now that this must be of the goddess’s divine will to have us meet!”

The assistant blanched. “Absolutely not! Your Highness, I beseech you to ignore this wickedness.”

“You will beseech me to do none of the sort,” Ganondorf dropped his grin momentarily to wave away the smaller man. “Do forgive this man’s ignorance. I must admit, you have me captivated.”

Again, she laughed and took his awaiting arm. Before the advisor led her away, she pushed her lantern into the assistance chest without another thought of his boiling anger. Ghirahim huffed and moved to follow them with his tail between his legs.

“Sergeant,” he bidded coldly.

The trio disappeared into the caravan and immediately the officer frowned.

Something was off, surely.

“Sergeant?” a dainty voice called out. His attention was immediate. An unmistakable face stared back at him with a quizzical brow. “Why have we stopped?”

“A short reprieve, Lady Zelda,” he smiled, nodding her way. The lady was halfway down her caravan’s steps when she called to him. Her kindness was appreciated and the sergeant wasn’t about to anger her by blubbering that they were held up because of His Lordship.

She hesitated outside her caravan, opting to watch the stars instead of retiring once more. The sergeant took a moment to watch her idle; she was a beautiful, youthful, and owning every bit of the curiosity that came with those traits. Her father was right to keep an eye on her, he thought to himself.

Some minutes went by and the men began snickering when noises began coming from the royal advisor’s carriage. Disgusted, the sergeant ordered them away while suddenly realizing the promiscuity that may have been outlining that woman’s proposition.

But the noises grew louder that even he couldn’t keep his eyes off the vehicle’s abhorrent jostling and reprimanded the few that stayed behind it. After all, he wasn’t entirely foolish – who knows what the advisor would do if rumors were milled around.

A few more minutes and – wait wasn’t the assistant in there as well?

“Guards!” a shrill voice screamed.

From behind the caravan ran a rather large form. It spooked the sergeant’s horse and from there all hell broke loose. The officer could hardly gather his bearings. The men around him stared with wide eyes at the carriages and then back to the sergeant with dumb idle.

“Gods, damn it all – GUARDS!”

Blearily, the officer began shouting orders and like ants the men were clambering into the wagon. The driver hurried to calm the horses amongst the scurry, especially when several men in armor ran into the forest. The sergeant dismounted quickly to find the royal advisor and his assistant bound by their feet and hands, left only in their underclothes.

“Don’t look!” Ganondorf screamed as Ghirahim blubbered incoherently on his side. “Do not look at me!”

The sergeant stood aghast. The cabin was scraped clean – from the gold trim of the windows to the velvet pillows – all had been taken. Most egregiously, the trunks of Akkala long coats had been taken as well and were being mourned over in low sniffling.

“We’ve been,” Ghirahim sobbed through short breathes before continuing, “We’ve been robbed! Robbed! Your Highness!”

“Shut up and stop crying, you imbecile!”

The rest of the evening hours were the longest the sergeant had ever lived through. The woman, who had evidently turned out to be a man, was far gone by the time patrols began. It was also said he was accompanied by a Goron with the strength of eight men, but he hadn’t believed it until the wanted posters were found when they arrived in Hateno.

The illustrations were pinned throughout town on every surface the royal guard could find at the insistence of the royal advisor. Those blue eyes were unmistakable from that night, though the green cap had been absent, and the scowling Goron bandit beside him matched up with his men’s description perfectly.

That had been the royal advisor’s first encounter with the renowned outlaw Link Woods.

[jostepherjoestar]

👑Hewwu Queen 👑 is it alright if I request DIO in part 3 meeting his descendant?. Like he basically had a kid accidentally in part 1 and now he’s meeting their great grandkid who looks allot like him and seems to not be fully human. Maybe he meets them at night since their family was traveling around the world and stopped off in Egypt where he found them maybe listening to music?

Since you write for DIO, is it alright if I request that he somehow meets one of his kid after they get into some time travel shenanigans. Maybe his kid has a stand that is kinda similar to his but they aren’t confident in using it

DIO aiding his helpless descendant 

sfw / gn reader 

notes/warnings: implied assault (on your great-great grandmother)

Another case of two anons thinking alike!! It was really fun to think about this and sorry for taking so much time to get to it :o I hope you’ll still enjoy 💖✨also the pacing is strange/fast (to me), but i felt it fit with how frantic i imagine meeting Dio is

Somewhere between irking Jonathan and wishing to destroy any respectful sliver of the Joestar bloodline, Dio had his own way of indulging and spending his time. Men, women; any creature he could manipulate to his will and suck the life out of to join his dark army was welcome in his dimly lit hideout to meet their fate. The self proclaimed god that had surmounted humanity took pleasure in playing with his food; leaving them in complete darkness, literally. He’d let them suffer in silence, hearing them whimper and regret their choice to ever step foot inside the wicked monster’s palace. But it was always too late.

Except for the very night Jonathan had decided to come spoil the fun and ruin Dio’s playtime. The woman hadn’t meant anything to him, just a toy to play with and to later discard on the pile of other bodies strewn about. Was she glad to have been saved by the burly Joestar? At first yes; brought back to her senses, out of that monster’s grasp but left terribly violated. Left to carry and care for the offspring Dio would never know or care about, too busy being left to slumber in the ocean and gaining a new form from his hated ‘brother’.

Dio rose again, skulking in the shadows of dimly lit cities, looking for any and all petty humans and stand users to claim for his side. It took time and patience he didn’t know he possessed to get fully comfortable in his new body. There was always this inkling, a nagging sonar that kept getting louder and louder, not much unlike his connection to the new generation of Joestars. It grasped at his thoughts, kept him from any semblance of peace of mind -as much as he could acquire it- and there seemed to be no way of silencing it. He couldn’t see a clear picture; it was just nothing but an annoying sense of something being near.

He had searched for weeks like a bloodhound hot on a trail, irritated that he of all people, nay creations, was being made to follow and be obedient to the terrible nagging. It angered him greatly and only when he found a mere youngster sitting on a bench, you, a simple looking human, did it boil over. Sat with your walkman resting next to you on the wooden seating, head bopping along to your newest cassette in the middle of the night. Completely lost in the song you’d been drumming along to with your fingers. Dio was furious but knew better than to strike before investigating, he needed answers and he needed them now.

As he got closer to you, sneaking from behind, he noticed an immediate shift. You were no longer alone. An image, a blur that became clearer and steadier and more live-like as each second passed; posing defensively, staring down Dio with a fire in your eyes not much unlike the tall blonde’s. Not for a moment does he fear for his safety. Even though The World is a newly acquired power it could easily wipe out a scrawny kid without even hitching a breath. He smirks, eyes cast over in shadow by the dim street light as he hears you pause your cassette player.

“Oh? Was I disturbing you?’ he mocks in a smirk, catching the way your eyes glint and the vaguely familiar image you awaken in him. Just like before he’s left to figure out who this annoying hazy memory is. His voice shivers down your very being, goosebumps taking over your skin; not sure if you had already missed your chance to run. It was like his glare fixated you in place, finger still resting on the pause button of your player while the other reached up to remove the flimsy headphones.

“You…” you barely get out the word. The accusatory tone you had tried to convey had watered down to a whimper. You had felt the connection too, something nagging at your soul and stringing you along until you’d finally found the source. “Me? Hah! No, you.” Dio slid closer, his steps so quiet and calculated that even though you couldn’t take your eyes off of him you swore it seemed like he floated. You swallowed thickly, the huge figure that excluded an aura so menacing only a meter away from you.

“So. Who are you and why was it so disgustingly annoying to find you?” he joked impertinently, amused by the way you clenched your jaw at his remark. “I could ask you the same.” a brave little spark still smouldering inside. “DIO. Now don’t make me ask again, you’re making me dreadfully inpatient.” He hadn’t felt the need to kill you, at least not yet. Dio was truly curious about your answer but by the looks of it you really didn’t seem to know all that much.

You begrudgingly gave him your name, in need of some answers yourself. The sound of your name didn’t ring a single bell, not a tick, not a clank. Nothing. Not a single step further to knowing anything. “Well it seems like you do have a stand. Maybe you possess a great power that might be useful to me.” that wicked grin on his face told you a little too much of his motivations. He reminded you of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. But still you felt compelled to listen, ignoring every single red flag.  

Deciding to humour him you give out your stand’s name. “Trust me, we can’t really do much.” you huffed. You’ve only obtained your stand recently and honestly, it has been pretty shitty so far. You didn’t know exactly what it could do, it was just there. Any time you felt stressed or in danger it did come to your aid but it remained awfully docile. Their presence comforted you but you just knew it was capable of so much more.

“Are you a vampire?” The sudden question came out more surprised than Dio had hoped to let on. He regained his posture, opting to slide next to you on the bench with a swift move. There was something… off about the way you carried yourself that reminded him of himself and the other vampires he’d created. The question stunned you, your eyes that had already been widened in shock only growing more so. The way he had changed the entire conversation that had barely earned its start urged you to think quickly. “I don’t know.” you mumbled demurely. You really didn’t know. So many weird things had been happening to you lately that you being a vampire would explain a lot.

Your answer seemed to change the imposing man’s gaze and expression. It hardened a bit, his grin now slowly diminishing into a straighter line and his pointed brows resting down at a more natural angle. Even in this low light his image felt so familiar, like you were already supposed to know who he was but the memory remained hidden. Locked away for your safety. “You should feed. And don’t go out in daylight anymore.” Dio paused for a second. “Strange...” He pondered to himself out loud. He’s only seen a few cases like this, vampiric genes passed down through generations. For some reason he pitied you, as much as he could muster it. The unknown bond you shared felt too unusual to write off.

“What am I supposed to do?” you felt tears prick your eyes, trying your best to remain strong but you’ve been so tired. You couldn't confide in anyone, not about this. Tears started rolling, falling in thick streams down your cheeks and dropping onto your lap. Here you were, crying to a stranger named Dio about being a vampire and having weird powers. A bizarre twist of fate.

“First of all, stop crying. Then, widen your stance when you’re about to fight someone. I could have easily knocked you down with that flimsy imitation. Fix your posture while you’re at it. Call out your stand again.” He rattled off his demands quickly and flatly. Was he helping you? They were barbed complaints but it seemed like he actually wanted to aid you in whatever it was you were going through. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks. You felt like a kid again; asking your parent for any reassurance when life knocked you down.

Dio actually offered a lot of viable advice, telling you about techniques to silence your steps, how to take someone down easily, to feed on humans within an inch of their life. You had asked him, just in case. You weren’t planning on killing anyone; a comment which made him scoff. That intimidating impression and overall feeling of having to bend to his will had lessened the more you talked to the blonde. He casually sat with you for what felt like hours. He hadn’t divulged into his own history, instead asking you about yours. He was still trying to figure out what this weird pull was.

“No one in your family has experienced anything like this before? Hmph. It seems to have skipped multiple generations then.” he was asking about your great grandmother and all the others that came before you. It could have occurred to them but you would have never known. “My family did come from England, though. My great-great grandmother fled in a hurry. We don’t really know why, Windknight’s Lot seems like an unusual place to frantically run from.” As soon as the small town’s name left your lips everything fell into place for Dio. His grin grew again, satisfied to finally know your connection to him.

Family.

One he made for himself, by accident, by a relation created on his own devious whim. Not that horrible Joestar bunch that kept ruining his fun or his horrible father that was but a faint minuscule memory. Something he did. It brought him even more satisfaction to know how perfectly in place it felt for you to be the one to develop these powers at the perfect time. His mind could have exploded with possibilities; a thousand ways to make you join his side. But it didn’t, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted yet. And he surely wasn’t going to tell you of your bond either, lest you get attached too quickly.

As you finished up and the early signs of a rising sun were starting to make itself known on the horizon, you were saying your goodbye’s. “Thank you for helping me. Truly, I- I don’t know how I-” you weren’t allowed to finish your earnest thanks. Dio knew you meant it, one of the only few truly grateful acknowledgements he’s ever received. “I’ll be taking over the world in a few months. If you feel so inclined to join, you know where to find me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he was making his move to leave you behind, alone on the bench again. Left to scramble for your stuff to try and stop him but he was already out of sight. “WAIT! I don’t know where to find you! You never told me!” you yelled into the empty streets, heart thumping out of your chest, hoping this wasn’t just a very elaborate dream you were caught in.

“Trust your instincts.” The voice felt incredibly close but so far away, like catching a falling snowflake; as soon as you grasped it, it just melted away.

[fanartfunart]

More Time & Time Again/ OoT Timeloop. (I think this is just a multichapter fic now) Link is helping his younger self out when the boy asks about his own adventure. Link recalls how he failed to change the future. (Tw for death mentions/implied death, fire/destruction, injury and angst.)

Time & Time Again & Part 2

Ao3

-

"How do you know all this?" The Kid asked, holding the Megaton Hammer uncertainly.

Link just smiled, "I went on a journey like yours a while ago....In retrospect, the hammer wasn't too hard to use compared to this one sword that was like, twice my height at the time."

The Kid glanced at Navi with wide, excited eyes. She frowned, "No."

"If I found a sword that big though-"

"Stick to the hammer right now," Navi sighed, giving Link a side eye.

He restrained a chuckle and leaned over to his younger self. In a low whisper he said "I'll give you a tip to getting a sword from Biggeron when she isn't watching."

The Kid pumped a fist and Navi zipped over to gently bop Link's head. "Don't give him ideas."

Link laughed, "I'm not! The idea is all his!"

Navi glared. Probably internally cursing the technicalities of them being the same person.

"Actually though, can you tell me about your adventure?" The Kid asked, tilting his head.

Link frowned. (He was small again, placing the Master Sword back in it’s pedestal. His legs still felt shaky from finally, finally having defeated Ganon.) "Maybe later. ...Besides, you still need to practice with that hammer. You do not want to pull a muscle using that thing... Trust me."

The Kid hummed, and shifted back into a readied stance with the hammer. He grinned "If I win will you tell me?"

"Who said anything about winning? It's practice, not a game."

"Sounds like you're scared you'll loseee, Grasshopper."

Link's eyes narrowed and he grinned, "Oh its on Shrimp."

"Wha- We're the same height!"

-

Link could’ve sworn he’d rigged this game so he wouldn’t lose. Link guesses he’s always had a habit of succeeding despite all logical odds out of sheer determination. He also blames the fact that Navi was helping Little Link and that was just unfair. He sighed as he stared up at his younger self’s near manic grin, laying on the ground.

“Story time!” the Kid said, putting the hammer down and holding out a hand to help him up.

Link accepted the boy-teen’s hand, defeated. He walked over to a nearby crate and hopped up to sit on the edge. The Kid followed and plopped himself in the grass, watching attentively.

He couldn’t tell the Kid his actual story, so he’d have to make up something. He hummed, “...Where should I start?”

“The beginning?” The Kid offered, laughing.

The beginning of his real story was complicated. Was it when the Great Deku Tree sent Navi to him? Or, with that adventure a closed book, was it when he returned to his time, to grow up as he was supposed to?

“Right... Well, when I was younger, I knew a princess in Termina... She saw that an evil man... uh, her uncle, would be king soon and no one believed her... She had asked me to help her.”

-

He skidded to a halt as he spotted the King and...Ganondorf. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the Greudo King. Images of his beastly transformation overlapped with the man currently in front of him.

Link dashed forward, past the guards and into the castle itself. He heaved his breaths as he took the most obvious path to the main hall. He didn't even stop to admire the original architecture of the building that would be transformed into Ganon's Castle.

"Who let this boy in?" The King asked, gesturing at him. "This is a private meeting."

Link swallowed, "Where’s Zelda?"

"Are you one of her playmates? Are you lost?"

He shook his head. He stared at the man, balling his hands into the skirt of his tunic.

"He appears overwhelmed," Ganondorf said, oddly soft, "Let him gather his thoughts."

-

Link shrunk away from Ganondorf’s full attention. He partly expected Navi to start speaking for him... The silence of her absence echoed like the quiet before Ganon burst from the rubble of the castle. His heart began a drum beat of “Danger, danger, danger,” in his ears.

He ran. Link ran past the crackle of fire echoing in his mind and behind his eyelids. The distressed shrieks from Zelda, unable to help, ringing in his ears.

“I stood in front of the current King, with evidence of the man’s plans in hand, and explained what I knew...” Link said, wishing that had been true.

“What? Already? You didn’t even get the big sword yet!”

“Oh, but you see...The King didn’t believe me. Put under a curse by the evil man. He was merely a puppet... But the evil man wanted more than the throne.”

-

He took in panting breaths as he stood in front of Zelda. The royal garden a soft earthy type of quiet. The twitter of birds promising calm. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Link? You're back already?"

He nodded and gasped for breath, "Ganondorf... is going to... get into the Sacred Realm."

Zelda's eyes widened, "Are you sure.... Oh... The Ocarina?"

With a nod, he let gravity take him and he plopped onto the ground.

"We must stop him then!" Zelda announced with determination.

Link smiled warily.

They had sat for hours. Zelda planned out how to deal with Ganondorf with the little information Link had been able to provide the words to explain. Exhaustion catching up with him, Link eventually fell asleep. His head on her shoulder. Her voice guiding him to kinder dreams than he'd had in a while. Even before starting his quest.

-

“The princess allowed me to sleep in one of the rooms in the castle. Although she probably didn’t need to since I usually ended up sleeping outside anyway... Got used to it. Sleeping in the big bed just felt too strange.”

“The princess seems really nice.”

Link nodded, “She is....” he sighed, “But, before we could implement our plan-”

-

He woke up to a muffled thunk. Link sat up and groggily wandered to the noise. He hadn’t thought about picking up his sword. He faltered as he noticed Ganondorf and a Gerudo woman bringing in a set of barrels.

Ganondorf turned to look at him and raised a brow. "Child. What are you doing up?"

He pointed to the barrels, brows furrowed.

"Ah, they are a gift to your King."

"It's night," Link forced out. Voice raspy. His glare strengthening.

The Gerudo King walked over to him, dramatic strides intimidating and imposing. Link scrambled to stay out of arms reach of the man. Ganondorf halted. "I get the sense you and the Princess don't like me too much."

Link distinctly regretted not grabbing his sword. His hand itched for something to hold, to protect him. "You're going to hurt people." He said in a harsh whisper, curling his fist.

"You sound so sure.... Why?"

Link looked away and took a step back.

"I don't intend to harm you, child."

"You killed the Great Deku Tree." Link hissed, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

"Ah. I didn't expect one of you to come out of that forest. Do you plan on speaking to the king? Tell him I killed a tree? I don't think he'll quite believe that... And if he did, it was one tree, do you think he'll care?"

"I'm not going to let you get into the Sacred Realm! You won't get Zelda or I to open the doors for you-"

"The Princess can open the doors?" Ganondorf grinned, "Thank you, young one, for that insight. I would have thought that particular goal lost without the Kokiri Emerald.... Now I can simply move on."

Link's eyes widened, he turned to run to Zelda. To get his sword. To do something. Ganondorf was fast. Especially so now that Link was small again. He never hated being small before this moment. He writhed against Ganondorf's grasp on his arm. He yelled and twisted and kicked.

"Stop it. You'll wake everyone up." Ganondorf snarled. He huffed, "I do hate doing this to a child but you give me no choice." He spoke in a language Link didn't understand. With a sharp jolt in the back of his head, he felt the energy sapped from him. He dropped to the ground. He felt wooden. Like a doll.

Ganondorf picked him up with ease. Dropping him over his shoulder. "It shouldn't kill you. Don't be alarmed. It took significantly more work to kill the Great Deku Tree."

Link's eyes widened. He hit Ganondorf weakly, struggling with the rest of his might. Ganondorf gave him a curious look, seemingly surprised he had even this much fight in him.

He was deposited in the bedroom the princess had given him. "Do try to get some rest, boy.... You'll need it." The door shut and locked.

Slowly, everything went dark.

-

"He cursed you?!"

Link nodded, "I later would realize that the reason I managed to stay awake as long as I did was because I had my own magic.... I had learned some spells before, but found out I could no longer do them."

The Kid frowned, "That's terrible!"

"I learned more later, it didn't entirely sap my aptitude for magic." Link glanced at his own hands. "I don't know... I don't need them as much anymore."

-

Zelda shook him awake. She shoved him to the floor in her urgency.

She pulled him up and before he was truly aware of his surroundings, he was being lifted by hands much stronger than Zelda. Link squirmed, the sleepiness draining from him quickly.

"Link wake up! Please!"

He groggily reached out to her. She gasped "Oh thank the Goddesses."

"Impa!" Zelda cried out. "My father! Where is he?"

"We don't have any more time to spare. I'm sorry Princess. We must leave. Now."

Link gasped. No no, this shouldn't be happening. It shouldn't be happening at all.

Impa ran. She remained surprisingly dexterous and agile despite carrying both children.

Link watched over Impa's shoulder as Ganondorf appeared from the door. His sword was stained red. He grinned and took large, striding steps after them. Impa threw Zelda up onto a horse. Link squirmed out of her grasp before she could toss him up with her.

"Link!" Zelda shrieked, "What are you doing?"

He took out his sword and gestured towards the gates.

"You can't!" She cried, reaching towards him. "You... you could-"

Impa spurred the horse on before she could finish. Link closed his eyes to dash out the image of Zelda's panicked face.

-

"I... never saw the Princess again for a long time after that."

Link nodded, "Eventually."

The Kid stared at him with a deep sadness. He knew he probably resonated too deeply into truth. He would have to change more in his story.

"But you did see her again. Right?"

-

Link tumbled to the ground, ignored. Ganondorf grabbed his own horse. Link roared in fury and made a leaping strike.

Zelda's scream echoed in the distance as Ganondorf clashed against his sword, creating a slash across Link's arm.

Ganondorf pushed him back before he could complete his attack. Knocking him several feet back. He scoffed, "I don't have time for you, child."

Link winced as he scrambled to a stand, listening to the clop clop of hooves. Legs shaking, he raced to the Temple of Time. He knew Ganondorf would be back. He hid behind a pillar, and waited. He could still stop it. He would just have to stop his past self from opening the doors! That could work.

-

"I ran to get the King's Mask before the evil man could. With that, he could rule the kingdom as he saw fit. Masks have great power in Termina, as symbols and sometimes magical items." He explained.

"Oh cool." The Kid leaned forward, "I wonder if any of the masks I had as a kid would be important to people in Termina..."

-

Link looked down with a soft smile, "Some of them, maybe. But anyway.... the mask was... gone, by the time I got there."

The boy ran in just as he expected, the Ocarina of Time still gripped in one hand. Link attempted to dash after him, only to he grabbed from behind. A large hand muffled him. He kicked and squirmed and bit. All it got him was a tighter hold.

“I should’ve known the royal family would send someone through time to stop me.” Ganondorf whispered to him, “I didn’t expect a child. Although, perhaps that’s all they have left.”

Link growled and knocked his head back, hitting Ganondorf’s chin. He was dropped unceremoniously. Scrambling to a stand, Link readied his sword, glancing at the spiritual stones in their places.

“Really?” Ganondorf huffed, “You think that little tumbtack will stop me?”

Link glared.

-

Ganondorf summoned his magic and Link dodged out of the way. “Hm, you learned. Good to know.” Ganondorf walked past him, and Link ran forward to attack, but was yet again thrown back by a dismissive smack. Everything after that was a hazy blur.

Link woke up to the crackle of fire and a burning sensation on his left hand.

Link was quiet for a moment, feeling the oppressive smoke and heat suffocating him. Imagery of Castle Town on fire flickering behind every blink.

The Kid frowned at him, "Are you okay?" He whispered.

Link nodded, tracing the shape of the triforce of courage on his hand. He didn't quite know how the time travel worked with the sacred relic. He glanced at his younger self. He had it too, didn't he?

"Grasshopper?"

Link took in a breath and straightened his posture, "Right. Right. I'm fine. But um. Can we finish this another time?"

The Kid nodded. He stood and stretched. "...Um, quick question... If you don't mind... Why did you leave Termina? You grew up there. And you said it's doing fine now-"

"I was looking for an old friend... Now I just want to help people here."

"Oh. You're a nice person." The Kid concluded.

"...I've been told that." Link said softly. He ruffled the Kid's hair because he knew it would annoy him. "But! It's getting dark and if you don't go back home and rest, I'm gonna go find Sheik and he'll make you sleep."

The Kid gasped in indignation. Then blinked. "Wait you can find Sheik? Really? How!?"

"Oh my Goddesses, go sleep!"

"Is he here!? Is he following me or is he just going to places I need to be before me?"

"Forget Sheik, I will drag you to the forest."

The Kid laughed, "Okay, okay."

[seijorhi]

Lev pretending to be innocent in front of the reader but is actually her stalker with those cat eyes. He asks help from her and they gradually get closer until he gets her all alone in her apartment under his care

Absolutely! Lev is prime stalker material 👀 poor reader

Lev Haiba x Reader

TW stalking, manipulation

Harmless

“Don’t you think he’s just a little… I don’t know, creepy?” your best friend murmurs in a pointed tone, stirring the sugar into her coffee. 

You bite back a sigh - it’s a conversation you’ve had countless times before and it always ends the same way. You defend Lev, chastise your friend for her paranoia and distrustful nature and eventually she relents with an unconvincing ‘if you say so’. 

“He’s harmless, honestly - Lev wouldn’t hurt a fly and he’s actually very sweet once you get to know him. I don’t know why you’re so against him. He’s a good friend.”

She huffs, taking a slow sip of her drink before she replies. “Well for one, he’s like an overgrown shadow. I swear, every time we’re out together we always seem to just magically run into him, all big and looming, and he’s always staring at you like he wants to gobble you up - just you by the way, he outright ignores the rest of us peasants - it’s like he’s obsessed with you or something, and-”

She keeps talking, but honestly you kind of zone out a little bit. You can’t judge her too harshly. She’s always been protective of you, ever since you guys were kids, you suppose it’s only natural for her to be wary of Lev.

And she’s not wrong per se. You do have the strangest habit of running into Lev around town, but it’s how you met, after all - quite literally running into the 6’5” giant as you were exiting the exact same coffee shop you were currently sitting in.

Spilling your piping hot coffee all over somebody else’s sweater doesn’t usually have the makings of a burgeoning friendship but Lev had been so sweet about the whole thing, blushing and bowing, shooting apology after apology (despite the fact that it was mostly your fault) that you couldn’t help but offer to buy his drink in compensation for ruining his morning - and more importantly his clothes.

Lev, grinning brightly, had agreed with a single condition - that you joined him. And really, after pouring hot coffee all over him, it was the least you could do.

“Hey, are you even paying attention to me?!”

You jerk a little, shaking yourself out of your reverie to find your friend glaring at you. It lacks any real heat though, and she just rolls her eyes and gives a long suffering sigh. “I’m worried about you, Y/N. Didn’t you say that some of your stuff has been going missing lately?”

An old picture of you and some friends on vacation, a necklace you used to wear religiously and you could swear that you’re missing one of your favourite bras and some panties, but… sometimes stuff like that just gets misplaced - it’s not like you’re exactly the tidiest person around. 

Still, you can’t help the way that your brows furrow at her implication, “I said I misplaced some things. Are you honestly suggesting that Lev broke into my apartment to steal that stuff?” you ask with a snicker. The very idea of the silver haired giant sneaking around your tiny apartment is ridiculous!

Your friend’s pointed silence speaks volumes. 

“Oh, come on! He’s just a friend - a little excitable maybe,” and very affectionate, always swallowing you up in tight hugs, fingers constantly seeking out yours - but somehow you don’t think that part will help your case, “but he’s just a big softie.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, but when she does, she reaches across the table to grab your hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m being a jealous, judgemental bitch because I don’t like the idea of anyone else coming to steal you away from me,” she smiles self deprecatingly, but there’s an real edge of worry in her eyes that makes your stomach twist, “but you’re the most important thing to me. I don’t want you getting hurt, and I get bad vibes from that guy.” 

You open your mouth to retort, but she just shakes her head, “Just… just promise me you’ll be careful around him, alright?”

Wordlessly, you nod.

As much as you try and dismiss her concerns, as days pass you begin to wonder if maybe she isn’t wrong.

Not about Lev of course - he might be a little over exuberant but you know he doesn’t mean any harm by it - but you think, well… you’re starting to think that maybe somebody’s following you.

At first it’s just the tickling sensation on the back of your neck. When you run to the corner store on your lunch break to pick up a snack for the afternoon a shiver runs down your spine as you get the strangest feeling that somebody’s staring at you - you can feel the weight of their gaze burning into your back, but whenever you turn there’s nobody there.

There’s never anybody there.

But… didn’t you shut the door to your closet before you left for work that morning? You could have sworn that the window to your second storey bedroom was locked.

It comes to a head one night after work. You leave later than you normally would, having lost track of time trying to get some last minute emails off and by the time you actually get out the door it’s already dark outside and it’s pouring down with rain.

You’re halfway home when you get that prickling feeling on your skin, and your gut tightens uncomfortably. Tentatively you slow, shooting a furtive glance over your shoulder. The streets of the city are normally busy at this time of the night, but the rain’s driven people away - there’s not a soul in sight, including any wannabe stalkers.

The tight grip on your heart eases and you force yourself to relax. You’re imagining things now, you think with a shake of your head and a breathless laugh. 

Nobody’s out to get you, you’re fine.

Except the prickling sensation on the back of your neck doesn’t go away, and with every step you take the discomfort in your gut becomes harder and harder to ignore. Fingers flit anxiously at your side, your grip tightening on the handle of your umbrella. The rain’s loud as it crashes around you, but as you turn down the music coming from your headphones you swear that you can hear heavy footfalls behind you.

All it would take is another quick glance to confirm your suspicions. It could just be another person out in the rain trying to make their way home, same as you. It could be all your head, paranoia brought about by your friend’s worries. But fear has clawed its way up your spine - it’s late and you’re tired and scared, rational thought has left the building and you don’t think about any of that before dropping your umbrella and taking off into a sprint.

You don’t look back.

You don’t stop until you're back in the safety of your apartment with the door locked, blinds shut and the deadbolt in place.

You’re still trembling twenty minutes later when there’s a knock at your front door.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound, your entire body tensing, and for a single moment you debate not answering the door, but… you let out a sigh, shaking your head. You’re being ridiculous.

A quick glance through the peephole sets your heart at ease. Standing in the hallway dressed in a slightly damp black overcoat, his silvery-grey hair dusted with rain, is Lev. 

Relief floods through you as you quickly work at the locks, flicking open the deadbolt.

“Hey, Lev,” you murmur somewhat sheepishly, stepping back to let him come inside.

His green, catlike eyes light up at the sight of you, and he doesn’t waste a moment before leaning down and enveloping you in a tight hug - never mind his wet coat. You let yourself relax into the embrace - the comforting warmth as he wraps himself around you and strokes your back. “Y/N! I’m so glad you’re home! I know I’m kinda stopping by unannounced and all, but I was just on my way…” he trails off as he pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing as they flicker across your face.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmurs, his hands still entwined around your waist.

You smile tightly, biting down on your bottom lip. Should you tell him? There’s still some part of you that thinks maybe it’s all in your head, that you’re working yourself up for no good reason, but what if you’re not? What if there is somebody who’s-

There’s an insistent tug at your waist and your eyes dart back up to find Lev’s frown deepening. “Something’s wrong, tell me.”

A blush finds its way to your cheeks as you carefully unwind yourself from his hold and make your way back further into your living room, “I- you’ll think I’m being stupid I guess, or paranoid, but…”

“But?” he prompts.

You take a deep breath, fingers twisting in front of you, “I think that somebody might be… following me?” you phrase it almost as a question, carefully watching his face for any sign that he might start laughing at you. But he doesn’t - Lev’s features are perfectly blank as he stares back at you, and you rush to fill the sudden heavy silence that falls between the two of you. “I know it sounds insane, but my friend got me worried the other day, and things have been going missing from my place and I’m almost positive that somebody followed me home tonight and-”

“Hey,” he says, quickly stepping forward to close the distance between you. He reaches for your hand with a soft smile and you let him take it, offering a shaking smile back when his thumb smooths over the back of your palm. “I believe you. You don’t need to be scared, I’m here for you.”

You nod, swallowing down your nerves once more. 

“Do you… do you want me to stay tonight? Or at least for a few hours, you just look so fragile and frightened, I hate the thought of leaving you like this.”

Lev’s eyes show nothing but earnest concern as he studies you with a pout, and this time when your lips curl into a smile it's with genuine gratitude for your friend.

You should say no - it’s hardly fair for you to impose on him over something you’re not even sure is real, but… “Actually, that sounds good, if you don’t have plans of course - I don’t want to spoil your night or anything,” you mutter with a blush.

Lev just shakes his head with a soft laugh, “Of course not. You’re my only concern tonight, angel.”

You try not to let the relief show on your face too much. You’ll feel better knowing he’s there with you, and if nothing else you know he’ll take your mind off of things. It’s just what you need tonight - a friend. “Thank you,” you say warmly, dropping his hand so you can make your way back into the kitchen. “I was actually just about to start dinner, have you eaten yet? I was thinking pasta, but let me know if you feel like something else.”

He watches you for a moment as you open the fridge and bend over to rummage inside. “Pasta sounds great,” he calls back, shedding his damp jacket and making his way over to hang it off the coat rack by the front door.

Busy in the kitchen, you’re none the wiser to the soft click of locks turning, the deadbolt sliding back into place.