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kittenintheden · 3 months

Text

Ethics Review

Dave Matthews voice: I DID IT

Tav (reader) and Astarion pay his old office at the Courts a visit in the middle of the night for funsies and things get spicy.

aka it's the switchy bitchy magistrate roleplay fic

Rating: E Word Count: 5.2k Pairing: Astarion/reader (Tav) Content: 18+, light BDSM elements, sexual roleplay, bitches be switches, dirty talk, spanking, orgasm denial, light edgeplay, oral sex, PIV sex (AFAB reader, not gendered)

AO3 Link

It’s late, but then, it’s always late when you’re out with Astarion these days. By necessity, mostly, but also because it’s the best time for the pair of you to get up to your more unsavory plans without catching the watchful eye of the newly-reformed Fist.

“Where are you taking me?” you laugh as you follow him through a series of dark alleys. “This better not end with me having to send for Gale to get your hand out of another magicked jar.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are you?” He looks over his shoulder and gives you an affectionate smirk.

“Not ever.”

Astarion peers around the corner of a brown brick building, checking that the coast is clear. To you, he says, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving soul.”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, wrapping your arms around him from behind and nuzzling his neck. “Two of your most obvious and accurate qualities.”

He chuckles. “We’re almost there. Come on.”

A labyrinthine dozen alleyways later, you’re deposited in an open square, quiet and still. The cobblestones are dark with recent rain, sending their petrichor scent into the air. As you follow Astarion out into the space, you realize where you are. It’s the Courthouse District of the Lower City, where people are tried and held for petty crimes that aren’t suitable for Wyrm’s Rock.

You huff a laugh through your nose and look over at your partner with a raised eyebrow. “Did you need to tell me something? Have a court date you forgot to mention?”

“Hush,” he playfully scolds you, holding a finger up to his lips. “Let me think a moment.”

He peers up at a particular building on the square and furrows his brow, closing his eyes and moving his hands through the air. You fold your arms and watch as he moves his fingers like he’s following a path only he can see, turning corners and raising level by level. At last, he opens his eyes, and points at window on the third floor, two in from the corner.

“That one,” he says.

“That one what?” you prompt.

He grins devilishly. “That…” he points again. “... is my old office. I thought we might pay it a visit.”

“To what end?” you laugh.

“What can I say, I’m feeling a touch nostalgic these days.” He keeps his eye on the window and beckons you to follow closer to the building. “Something about my old haunts is calling to me.”

Behind where he can’t see, you pay him an affectionate smile. In the last year or so since the fall of the Nether Brain, you’ve seen the city rebuilt and gone on your fair share of adventures and quests, always searching for some way to give Astarion back the sunlight you promised him. No luck yet, but there have been promising leads here and there. It’s not a lost cause. Not yet.

The last few months in particular have seen certain changes in your lover. The terror and fear he carried for so long clung to him like a shadow, and ever so slowly it’s beginning to lift. His laugh is more present than before, more real. The intimate moments you share are filled with trust and care, even as you get more comfortable pushing a few boundaries here and there.

Most of all, he’s been remembering. Not everything. There are parts of his past forever lost to him, written over by more years of torment than he ever had of life. But there’ve been flashes every now and again of who he used to be. Some of them he likes, some he loathes. He doesn’t always talk about it, but you know being able to pick up a piece once in a while has meant a great deal to him.

So you follow along with whatever little game he has planned.

He walks along the building, scanning the brick for footholds. Just as he puts his hand on a storm drain and tenses to leap, you halt him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looks back at you, you flick your eyes up toward the window.

“Three up, two in from then end?” you ask.

He nods.

“Allow me, love.”

You hold up your hand and cobalt magic pools in your palm, forming into a sphere. You send it up above you, the arcane eye floating until it finds the correct window before it slips inside. You blink, your own eyes glowing blue as you use your magic to scan the room. It’s certainly an office of some sort.

Astarion takes your hand when you hold it out for him and instantly you’re transported inside the office thanks to a handy little dimensional door spell you picked up on one of your many adventures. You wave away the arcane eye and give Astarion a wink.

He smirks and shakes his head at you. “Take all of the fun out of the thing, why don’t you,” he says through his smile. “Suppose I’ll have to make do with checking that the place isn’t alarmed. Alas.”

The place is, indeed, alarmed. Astarion manages to disarm two common magic wires and one trickier sending stone scattered throughout the room. You reach out through the Weave for any other whispers of magic. Some artifacts and lightly magical office supplies. Nothing worrisome.

Once you’re both satisfied that you won’t end up immediately arrested, Astarion moves to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. You’re quiet as he scans the walls, turning in a slow circle as he takes everything in. His fangs flash as he gives a quiet laugh.

“The layout is different, and the color,” he says. “But yes, this is the place.” He furrows his brow slightly and holds out his hands, eyes on the floor. “I… worked here. Me. A magistrate.” His eyes find you and his smile widens. “It was a lie for so much longer than it was a reality. But it was a reality, once upon a time.”

“I’m surprised,” you say, folding your arms and nonchalantly stepping closer. “The way you spoke and dressed when we first met, I thought you must’ve been an Upper City fancy defending-the-powerful type.”

Astarion clicks his tongue at you. “Now, don’t be judgmental. That’s my job.” He waves a hand through the air. “I was quite young in my career, but I was working my way up. All the way to the third floor, thank you.”

You come in to wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Genuinely.”

He spreads his fingers over your forearm, pressing his lips to your hair. “Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” He clears his throat and removes your arms, backing away from you with a toss of his head. “But don’t be too proud. I wasn’t exactly a… what’s the term? Model citizen.”

Astarion begins to walk around the small table with four chairs set in the center of the room.

“Oh?” you say, walking around the other side to mirror him. “Were you terribly corrupt?”

He pauses and tilts his head, shrugging. “‘Terribly’ is such a strong word, isn’t it? Lets just say I may have been known to, ah… sway the odds in my favor.”

You stop and look across the table at him. “What do magistrates even do, exactly? What did you do, specifically?”

“An absolutely stupid amount of paperwork, as I recall,” he says. “At least, I certainly remember hating every scrap that came across the desk. Meting out appropriate punishment for any minor and petty crime you can think of, most of them horrifically boring. But…” He leans over the table and holds up a finger. “... sometimes I got to conduct interviews to determine if crime was worthy of Wyrm’s Rock, and I was very good at getting the verdict I wanted.”

You rather like seeing this side of Astarion. Honest pride, confidence, and authority. The tip of your tongue runs along your bottom lip as you take in your love leaning over that table, dappled in moonlight. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“And how did you do that?” You pop your hip and raise your thumb to your mouth, teasing your lip as you peer up at him through your eyelashes. “Exactly?”

Astarion notices the shift in your demeanor immediately, his own eyes going half-lidded as they track the path of your hand to your mouth. His grin goes predatory and he leans back so he can come around the table to you and pull out the chair.

“Please, darling,” he says, nodding for you to sit. “Let’s talk, you and I.”

You pay him a sultry smile and sink into the chair, which he pushes in under you. Then he walks back around to the other side with his spine straight, hands folded behind his back.

A new game begins.

Astarion rolls out his shoulders as if he’s shedding a coat. When he turns to look at you, he does so down the length of his nose, his hard gaze making it clear that he thinks you beneath him.

You shiver as a thrill runs down your back and attempt to hide it.

He shakes his head above you, tutting. You’ve disappointed him.

Instinctively, you shrink into your chair slightly as he leans forward and places the tips of his fingers against the table in front of him, continuing to lower his face until it’s a mere foot from yours.

“A pathetic display back there,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “Your associates have hung you out to dry. You do know that…” He tilts his head. “... don’t you?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and drop your eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Silly little patsy,” he chides as he straightens to glare down at you again. “Such stars in your eyes for friends who would sooner see you burn than stick their necks out for you.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” you say, raising your eyes to him in defiance even as you let a waver of nerves shake your voice.

“What must it be like to be so tragically misguided?” he sneers. It’s like an echo of a man you once knew. One you met on a sunny beach amid burning wreckage.

You blink up at him, eyes going soft. “I can’t betray them.”

“Betray them,” he breathes, huffing a mirthless laugh as he leans one hand onto a nearby chair. “My dear, they are in the next room, and the room after that, giving you up as we speak. No loyalty among thieves, I fear.”

“No,” you gasp. “They wouldn’t.”

Astarion holds a finger up to his lips, shushing you. “I think you know better than that. But fine, have it your way. Don’t give them up to save your own hide. Let me sweeten the pot.”

He turns his body so he can side-sit on the table and put his first knuckle under your chin, lifting it so he can inspect you. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Gold to line your pockets, perhaps?”

Though you try to stop it, your body betrays you as a bright blush blooms across your nose and cheeks. Astarion’s pupils dilate above you.

“Or something else entirely?” he whispers, tilting his mouth closer to yours. “I’d much sooner send those two cads to Wyrm’s Rock in your place. Help me, and maybe you and I could have a bit of…” His eyes trail down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and beyond before he looks back into your eyes. “... fun in celebration.”

“Why would you do that for me?” you whisper back.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I rather like you. Plus, I might get a little kickback in the form of a promotion for bringing in two thorns in the Fist’s side, but that’s neither here nor there.” He rolls his eyes and pays you a flirtatious smile on the last bit.

And that… is your opening.

Your expression grows serious and you note the moment that Astarion’s eyebrows give the briefest twitch of concern.

"You've overplayed your hand, Magistrate Ancunín," you say.

Astarion draws his hand back and gives you a perplexed look. “Have I?”

You smile, then. Calm and dangerous. "I've been sent by the Board of Ethics, you see."

Astarion is thrown by this turn, but he recovers quickly, offering a simpering smile. "Oh? Oh, dear. Seems I've been caught with my pants down."

You stand, holding his eye. "Indeed. Best go place your hands on the desk where I can see them."

With a flourish, he holds his hands up for you to see. No funny business, none at all. He goes to the desk and spreads his palms flat against the polished wood. He must feel the heat of your skin as you come close, only inches away. Inspecting. Considering.

You lean in close to his ear. "Say our word if you'd like me to stop, Ancunín," you whisper.

"Stop what?" he asks.

In answer, you grab his hips and pull them flush against your own with enough force that he gasps from it, genuinely surprised. In his ear again, you whisper, "Teaching you a lesson."

You release him and move to his side. He turns his head to look at you and you can see the openmouthed surprise in his face, but it’s more than that. Surprised, yes, but also open. Interested. Very turned on. You know this look.

This is Astarion’s “oh, we’re doing that thing I like?” look. It’s a good look on him.

You tap a finger on his nearest hand. “Keep these exactly where they are. I must warn you that you face serious repercussions for witness tampering. I have some questions. Answer them to my satisfaction, and I may consider…” Your gaze trails down to the front of his trousers, which are straining. When you meet his eye again, you add, “... reinstatement.”

Astarion tilts his chin down so he can give you a heated look. “Then by all means,” he says, lips parted. “Ask.”

“Hm,” you hum as you trail your fingers over the desk as you walk around to the other side. You mimic his stance with your hands on the table, though yours is one of authority while his is one of awaiting judgment. He tilts his head at you in question, gaze hot. You match it.

“Let’s start with an easy one.” You tilt your head toward the wall without breaking eye contact. “That placard hanging there. What is it?”

He looks and then huffs through his nose. “It’s an oath.”

You tilt your head the other way. “And what does it say?”

Astarion smirks. “‘As an officer of the Court, I will strive to conduct myself at all times with integrity, dignity, and honor.’”

“That’s right,” you say, nodding. “Now tell me, Ancunín… do you feel you’ve conducted yourself in accordance with that oath?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation, flashing you a winning smile. “I offered you the utmost dignity and honor, did I not?”

An idea occurs to you and you imagine he catches the twinkle in your eye as you raise one of your hands to click your fingers, a glowing web of pale blue stretching to cage you both inside. Astarion frowns up at it. The moment he realizes what you’ve done, he gives you a look that’s half-exasperated and half-devious.

“What’s this?” he says, playing along.

“A little insurance policy. To ensure your adherence to honesty.” You reach to the collar of your shirt and undo one button. Then another.

Then another.

Astarion struggles to keep his eyes on your face, but when you lean back down onto the table, he can’t help but sneak a peek.

You toy with another button. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about dignity now?”

Astarion bites the corner of his lip to keep his expression serious. He keeps his eyes trained on your chest and seems to carefully consider his words before he says, “I maintain that I respect the dignity of your tits.”

That’s not what he meant to say. He blinks. His eyes flick up to yours. “Your position,” he amends.

His eyes flick back down. “Your position and your tits.”

“Ah,” you say. “Yes, I thought that might be the case. That you might be… what do they say? Dipping your wick in the law office wax.”

You stand and come back around to his side, maintaining your spell as you do. Astarion tracks you all the way back around.

“I’d like you to be as honest with me as you can be,” you say softly. “Not that you’ve much choice. So, in that case, here’s some extra… motivation.”

You’re behind him now and you hear his sharp intake of breath when he feels your palms spread over either side of his hips before moving around to the ties at the front of his trousers. You loosen them just enough to give you space.

Astarion’s knuckles are going white where he presses his fingers against the desk.

Your fingers are soft and warm against his lower abdomen as they dip below his waistband, then inside his underthings. You find what you seek and grip it firmly, fisting the length of him. He bites back a groan and flexes his hands against the wood as you draw him out into the open air.

“You do keep it cool in here,” you whisper into his ear. You keep your touch light as you tease his cock, just enough to make him want but not nearly enough to satiate the need. “Why is that?”

Astarion swallows and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “A little discomfort loosens the tongue, I find.” He struggles to keep the breathiness out of his voice and very nearly succeeds.

Nearly.

Your smile is wicked. “I see. Well.”

You rest his hardened length against the varnished wood of the desk. It’s cool on his touch-warmed skin and he whines lightly as you leave him there to walk around to his other side, fingertips drawing a trail across his broad back and shoulders.

“In that case, we’ll be leaving that…” You glance down at his cock, then back at his face. “… out in the cold until you’ve answered my questions to my satisfaction. Understood?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and meets your eye. “Completely.”

“Good.” You move one of his misplaced curls back into place. “If I’m satisfied, I just might let you warm it up again. We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall,” he says, voice dropping deeper, and you can sense the challenge there. You smile as you turn away from him.

“Let’s try again,” you say. “Do you make a habit of lying to your interviewees in hopes of manipulating a confession?”

“Is ‘lying’ the word we want to use?” he says with a lilt.

“Yes.” You turn back to look at him.

He clears his throat, chewing his tongue to hide another smile before he looks away. He thinks a moment, then says, “I occasionally massage my message to pave the way for a more fruitful discussion in my favor, yes. Only in the interest of this office and my personal satisfaction.” He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You shake your head. “My, my. And just when I thought we were getting somewhere. Perhaps you need a reminder that I hold your immediate future in my hands?”

When you move back in and loosen his trousers still further to shove down his hips and below his arse, he wriggles to help. He seems to think he’s won this phase of the game. Adorable.

Rather than give him any relief, you reach out to the desk and pick up a wooden ruler, thin and flexible. Astarion opens his mouth, presumably to ask what you’re doing, but doesn’t get the chance as you use the flat of the ruler to give him a quick smack on his bare arse.

He cries out in surprise and looks around at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and give him the opportunity to call his out. Instead, you watch his eyes darken. He’s still in. Which is good, because gods above if you aren’t beginning to make a mess of your underwear already.

“Do you understand your situation?” you ask.

“Maybe you ought to remind me again,” he rumbles.

You do, leaving another slap on his pale skin. A shiver travels up his back from the base of his spine all the way up.

“I understand,” he says.

“Very good,” you say. “Do you manipulate the outcomes of your interviews?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he says quietly, peering up at you from under his brows.

“Thank you for your honesty. With bribery?”

He nods.

You bend forward so you’re eye-to-eye. “And do you frequently offer favors of a sexual nature?”

Astarion’s gaze drops to your mouth and he blinks heavily. “That’s only for when I see someone I like,” he says.

There’s another slap to his arse, quick as reflex, and he gives a small, broken “a-ah” as he drops his head. He spoke the truth, your spell ensures that, but you want him to be more specific. You look down to see he’s subtly grinding himself against the desk, his cock beginning to weep pre-fluid as you watch.

You place the ruler against his back to hold him in place. “None of that,” you say. “Not until you clarify. Why me?”

He groans in frustration. “Because I like you. Because I’m attracted to you. Because I want to be inside you and fuck and fuck and fuck until we’re both hoarse from crying our ecstasy.”

Well. The pair of underwear you’re wearing are officially done for, you fear.

“What a wicked tongue you have,” you breathe, not quite able to keep up your aura of authority. You swallow and add, “Perhaps I’ll consider letting you off with a warning if we can figure out a better use for it.”

Astarion goes to his knees so quickly it makes your head spin. You don’t hesitate to take care of the bindings on your own trousers and he’s eager to help, shoving your clothing to the floor. You’re trying to remove a boot when he presses his face into the crux of your legs and runs his tongue along the seam of you so hotly that you nearly fall over. You lean down and give him another half-hearted smack. All it does is elicit a groan against your most sensitive of places.

With some struggle, you manage to remove the boot, kick your trousers and underthings off of one leg, and hop up to sit on the desk, Astarion follows you along, refusing to let you leave him now that he’s on you. His mouth works against you on its own, tongue lapping firmly at the edges of your cunt, flushing you and making you swell. He hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you know you’re already slick with desire.

You’re so momentarily distracted that you almost miss where his hands have gone.

Chest heaving, you weakly wave to dismiss your Zone of Truth and call up your mage hand, sending it down where you can’t reach to grab the wrist of the hand Astarion’s using to pump his cock while he licks at you.

“I don’t think so,” you gasp. “Still on… probation.”

You’re losing the thread and you’re perfectly okay with it.

Astarion growls in response and comes up higher on his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you tight against his face. His tongue finally finds your center and he rolls it against your entrance, plying the place just inside that makes you go flush with arousal, your clit swelling further. Then he finally pays it attention with a light draw followed by firm circles, teasing until you feel sparkles of arcane energy tingling at your fingertips and zaps of pleasure shoot through your core.

He holds you so tight to him that there’s no escape from the assault of pleasure he’s waging on your body. All too soon, you’re whimpering as you approach your peak.

And Astarion simply stops. He leaves you there, right before the edge, and you cry out in dismay and frustration. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s on his feet and pulling you onto yours, spinning you around until your hips are pressed to the edge of the dark wood. You can feel his rock hard length against the cleft of your arse, feel the wetness at the tip of him against your lower back.

“You’ve overplayed your hand this time, I think,” he pants into your ear. “Let your guard down. What member of the Board of Ethics accepts bribes?”

When you try to wriggle free, you feel his fingers at your wrists. He takes your hands and spreads them on the desk as you’d done to him, bending you over. His hips draw back and then return and you feel his hardness drag over your folds from behind, teasing but not quite putting pressure on your clit.

His breathing is heavy, but through it, he manages, “This time, you tell me the truth. Why did you meet with me?”

“To catch you out,” you gasp. “Your behavior has been… unethical.”

“Is it unethical to recognize when someone wants your cock?” he whispers, sending a tingle over your shoulders. “Is it against my oath to offer?”

“That’s not… I didn’t…”

The head of his cock nudges your clit and you both hiss through your teeth. He pulls back until he catches at your entrance, pushing in just barely. Just enough to begin to feel him, but nowhere near enough of him. Instinctively you arch your back harder, trying to take more, but he won’t let you.

“Beg me,” he growls in your ear. “Beg me for my cock. Tell me it’s why you came here.”

Your very last thread of remaining restraint is pulled to its absolute limit, but it doesn’t break quite yet. “I came here on orders to uncover a magistrate with loose morals,” you manage.

Astarion reaches a hand up to the hair at the back of your head, grabs a handful, and gently pulls to bend your head back. Directly into your ear, he whispers, “You’ve found him. Now beg for it.”

In the quiver of his voice, you can hear that he’s the one begging you.

So you give in.

“I came here for you,” you whisper back. “Please, let me. Let me take your cock.”

His breath shudders out of him. “Take it you shall.”

Astarion thrusts his hips forward, burying himself in you, and you hardly have time to so much as gasp before he sets a punishing rhythm, one arm around your waist to hold you in place and the other one still tangled up in your hair. You arch deeply, giving him as much access as you can, and he pounds into you relentlessly. On the outskirts of your awareness, you feel bruises beginning to form on your hipbones from where they repeatedly hit the desk.

You don’t care one whit.

He keeps you bent over the desk, your palms spread to keep you both upright as he fucks you hard, his moans trapped behind his clenched teeth. As you fly full speed back to your edge, he removes the hand from your head and absently places it over your mouth to muffle your own escalating cries.

The coil of your climax tightens and Astarion begins to mutter a steady mantra of “yes, yes, yes, gods, yes” beside your ear. He presses himself all the way to the hilt and rocks, the base of him stretching you just right and his balls pressed firm to your clit and there, oh there, it’s right-

You scream behind Astarion’s palm as you come, the delicious tension boiling and spilling over as contractions roll through you, pleasure washing over your body with every heartbeat. You nearly blank out for a second and when you blink back down, your lover continues to pump into you as he chases his own end.

With a shaking hand, you call up your mage hand from where it shimmers nearby and press it to his chest, pushing back with soft pressure.

“No,” Astarion whines, attempting one or two more thrusts before you back him up. “No, please, please, I didn’t finish, I-”

You turn, bottomless and eyes full of fuck and revenge, and add your own hands to the mix, all three pushing him back until he hits the deposition table, going flat on his back. You crawl up over him and straddle him, up on your knees just out of reach.

You look down upon him, beautiful and fucked out in the moonlight. “Do you regret any of it?” you say.

“I’m regretting a lot of my decisions at the moment,” he snarks. His lips part as he breathes.

With a smile, you roll your hips just enough to catch the head of his cock back at your opening. “Do you regret any of it?” you repeat.

He pants, looking up at you. Then he reaches up to grip the front of your shirt and pull you down over him in a searing kiss. When you break, he whispers, “No. Not a moment. It brought me to you.”

You roll back, sinking down onto him. He gasps and throws his arms around you, helping you get back into rhythm, and he’s so close that it’s barely any time at all before he arches his back clear up off the table and groans as he spills inside of you, the relief painted across every inch of his face. He comes for nearly a minute, twitching and humming beneath you until he finally relaxes into a boneless heap.

When he next opens his eyes, you lean down and catch him in another kiss.

The pair of you have barely redressed and cast a few prestidigitation cantrips as a courtesy before there’s a sound somewhere down the hall. Footsteps. Coming closer.

“Shit,” Astarion whispers, startled. He grabs your hand and spins you both into a dim corner of the room before you both cast Invisibility. Just in the nick of time, it appears, because there’s a jangle of keys and then a harried-looking halfling comes bustling into the room, dark bags under their eyes.

They grumble to themselves for a moment, going to a box to sort through files. They don’t find what they’re looking for and move on to the desk. Once there, they open a drawer, then wrinkle their nose.

“Bleeding hells, it smells like sex in here,” they grumble. “Gonna tell Jackobson that Cole has been using his office again. Teach that arsehole for making me come fetch the file he forgot.”

The halfling pulls a file from the drawer, slams it, and exits the room.

Neither of you move for the rest of the minute your invisibility lasts. As soon as the cloaking spell fades, you both collapse to the floor in quiet giggles. You kiss Astarion through your laughter, again and again.

It’s nice to see this side of him.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #tavstarion #kitten writes

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book-of-baba-fett · 3 months

Text

Illicit Affairs - Chapter 22

Captain Rex x OC

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: In the final chapter, Talia reflects on how she's grown once receiving positive news from the war front that gives hope to the future.

Chapter Rating: M

Warnings: MAJOR angst, death, grief, alcohol,

A/N: Y'all it's finally here. More notes to come at the end, but thank you for your support in this wild ride. Firs though, a shoutout to @cyarbika for letting me use Kork in this fic, tbh defining how I view 79s, and for holding this plot in for what, a year now lol?? and the biggest love to @galacticgraffiti - you have been my guide for this entire fic, I wouldn't have made it here without your beta reads. ilysm 💜. also thanks for letting me borrow your OC, Eya!

Ao3 Link

Series Masterlist

21 BBY – Coruscant

Talia had been in bars probably from too young an age; her early missions with her Master often brought them to the seedy corners of the galaxy in search of information. What she lacked was the experience of going out and enjoying a bar, and 79’s was a much different atmosphere than the bars she had been in before. When the doors opened, she was slammed by the bright lights, the loud music, and the thrum of relief and energetic comradery bouncing off every surface.

There were holoscreens illuminating half the walls, clones engaging in drinking games or other friendly bets, beautiful men and women dressed in revealing outfits in the hopes of finding a partner for a night. It was a lot for Talia to take in: the lights, the noise, the energy a near concussive assault on her senses. But once she settled in the booth with the men she had only known a short amount of time yet had already grown to care for so much, it all calmed down somewhat.

Talia was surprised by how easily they welcomed her, but then again it had beenChurch’s insistence that had brought her out in the first place and Storm’s assurance that had swayed her. She didn’t want to be in the way, thinking that going out with the men she commanded would just burden their night off. But as she sat with them, and they tossed around jokes from the recent campaign, she saw it for what it was: a need to debrief and decompress after the stress. She felt honored that they included her, and even realized how much she needed something like this instead of going to the Temple or even hanging out with her civilian friends who just wouldn’t get it. Talia was still getting used to the title of General, still felt weirdly empty when her hands ran through her hair and she no longer felt her Padawan braid. So, it was nice to have a night where she didn’t have to think about any of it.

The downside to her inexperience in bars was she had no idea what to drink. She followed the boys lead and drank the awful free beer they were served, but decided she couldn’t stomach the stuff. When Storm noticed her displeasure he did her the favor of ordering her a gin and tonic, which he informed her was his usual drink. After she downed it and was already sporting a light buzz, she decided to treat her men to something a bit better than the standard beer, and ordered a round for all of them. She excused herself to a round of cheers, her cheeks warming in a flush from the alcohol. The bartender was more than happy to give her a recommendation for a better ale and recommended a cocktail for Talia to try.

The feeling of being out of place inched back in as she patiently waited for her round of drinks, tapping her fingers on the counter and trying to blend into the crowd when she was bumped from the side.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry ma’am, the crowd pushed a lot more than-“ a clone’s voice sincerely apologized, only to cut off as Talia turned to see Captain Rex’s face darkening from a flush as he recognized the Jedi next to him. “Oh, General Riva! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there. And I’m sorry again for knocking into you-“

Talia chuckled at his flustered words, but shook her head, “It’s ok, Captain. It’s crowded in here; I had to fight my way to the bar.”

Rex’s face relaxed at that, a small grin even toying at his lips, “Well, you could just use the Force to part the crowd, be more efficient.”

Talia snorted, then blushed from the embarrassing noise that had escaped her, but Rex didn’t seem to notice. “The men already seem intimidated by a Jedi being here, I don’t need to draw more attention to it.”

“That reminds me, I should probably make sure my boys are on best behavior tonight then,” Rex grumbled, tossing a look over his shoulder at a booth filled with clones in the 501st blue armor. Talia hadn’t worked with them enough to know all their names yet, but she recognized a few from a recent mission. They seemed to be having fun, or maybe having an argument by the way some of them were pointing and shouting at each other. Maybe a bit of both, Talia supposed.

“Don’t dampen their fun on my account,” Talia said, “We all need a break.”

Rex huffed out a laugh and nodded at that, “You can say that again. And you wouldn’t dampen their fun at all; in fact, I’m worried it would be the other way around.”

“What do you mean?” Talia asked confusedly.

“Oh, nothing,” Rex answered quickly, as if he had gotten too close to admitting something he didn’t want to say. “Just that...I think my men wouldn’t leave you alone, that you wouldn’t be able to enjoy your night without them bothering you.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t bother me!” Talia insisted. “I liked working with you all on Taanab; Fives and Echo had me cracking up.”

Rex shrugged. “Echo can control himself, Fives on the other hand…”

“Oh yeah, he’s a flirt,” Talia cut in. Rex looked at her wide eyed then laughed. “You think I didn’t catch any of that? I can’t imagine what he’d be like with the influence of alcohol.”

“Again, why I hope they don’t bother you.” Rex muttered, once again casting a glance back at the booth, only to see some of the brothers, including the one in question, watching them at the bar.

Rex sighed and murmured something under his breath then glanced back at Talia. He straightened himself up, facing the bar again, “What are you drinking? Can I get you a round?”

“I already ordered,” Talia explained, nodding her head in the direction of the bartender, “and I wouldn’t let you get me a drink anyway. In fact, I’m getting you one.”

Rex shook his head, “I can’t let you do that.”

“I insist. You serve under Anakin; I know you must be in dire need of alcohol,” Talia said.

Rex laughed again, still shaking his head, “I’m fine with just the Kork.”

“Wow, you are a horrible liar,” Talia observed, smirking as the Captain attempted to deny it. She wasn’t even using the Force, but after experiencing the stuff herself she assumed you had to lack taste buds to enjoy it. “I don’t see how you guys can swallow the stuff.”

“The fact that it’s free helps,” Rex admitted, “But really General; I’m fine.”

“Nonsense,” Talia waved off as the bartender came back around with Talia’s drinks. She glanced at Rex, ready to take his order when Talia cut in, “Could you get another one of these ales for the Captain? And put it on my tab?”

The bartender was off before Rex could argue, “Thank you, but you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to,” Talia insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, usually it’s the clone buying the girl a drink in here,” Rex offered, a slight smirk on his face. Talia’s face felt warm – a weird reaction, she thought.

“Guess you’ll just owe me a round the next time, Captain,” Talia replied. “I have to say it’s nice to see you on a night out, you seem a lot less... stressed.”

“In truth, this isn’t my usual thing. I was convinced to join,” Rex explained.

“Same here,” Talia added, “Sometimes, our men know what we need more than we ourselves do, I guess.”

“But we can’t admit that to them.” There was that smirk again. Talia tried to ignore the way it lit up his face, how it enhanced how handsome he was. It had to be the alcohol in her, making her warm and encouraging her eyes to linger on his face.

“And for what it’s worth, it’s “You kind of have,” Talia said, earning a confused look from Rex. “Naboo? The Gala?”

“Oh well… I don’t think that’s fair to count because I didn’t know you were a Jedi.” Rex offered, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “And you weren’t exactly off duty.”

“Fair, fair,” Talia shrugged. “But then I was much better dressed for a night out.”

“You look perfect,” Rex said it so simply but stopped himself suddenly, the skin on his neck and cheeks darkening slightly. Talia’s own cheeks burned once more, but she didn’t know what to say in return. Rex also seemed speechless at his own admission, and for a moment they lingered on it, silent but surrounded by the loud music and conversations echoing around them. Talia searched for a witty response, or even hoped some words of thanks would leave her tongue, but instead found herself horrendously lacking any reply. Not from embarrassment or discomfort, but almost because Rex’s words had caught her off guard. Talia felt she should say something to ease the blush creeping in on the Captain as he obviously seemed as surprised by the compliment he had paid her. She supposed she could offer the same reply back, but felt lame and she didn’t even know why she was at a rare loss for words, but she didn’t get a chance to salvage her own lapse.

“Captain!” They were interrupted as Fives pushed his way in beside Rex, wrapping his arm over Rex’s shoulder and admonishing his brother teasingly, “Stop flirting with Talia so we can get on with the game!”

Talia didn’t think it was possible, but Rex’s face darkened further as his jaw dropped. His eyes darted back to Talia as he sputtered out “I wasn’t-“

“Sure sure,” Fives waved off, his voice slurring a bit, “you’ll just deny it again. General, looking great as always, but I’m going to steal our captain for a bit.”

“Sorry for holding him up for so long,” Talia answered, her cheeks still aflame. She directed a small smile back at Rex, who looked torn between dying of embarrassment and like he had the temptation to kill his brother. “Have a fun night, hope to see more of you soon.”

“Thanks, you too, Talia,” Rex said as Fives dragged him off. Talia watched them go, her cheeks aching from the smile stuck on her face. It was weird, he had only ever referred to her as General. She liked the way her name sounded coming off his lips.

19 BBY – Coruscant

79’s hadn’t visibly changed much in the time since Talia had first walked through its doors, yet the way she knew it had evolved entirely. It wasn’t an unknown space; it was filled with memories. Its walls echoed with the joy of time spent away from war with friends who she would never forget, some who had grown to be like family… and Rex, who was so much more. Talia knew the workers, had collected bits and pieces of their lives through conversation and they felt as ingrained to the place as the clones who it was built for. As she walked in, Talia smiled in greeting at the large Nautolan bouncer, Eya. Those who didn’t know them would see them as imposing from their size, the tattoos decorating their violet skin, the spikes protruding from their knuckles and the cybernetic eye that contrasted to the deep black of their organic one, but Talia recognized there was a strange, comforting softness underneath the façade. They were also friends with Storm, who Talia had come to 79’s with that night, and he stayed back to chat with Eya while Talia grabbed a booth, seeking a private space for the conversation she wanted to have.

The 412th’s last campaign had been relatively easy work, but they had missed the battle on Coruscant, something that seemed to bother the men as they wanted the chance to defend the center of the Republic themselves, but sometimes other duties called first. They were granted leave as soon as the campaign had ended, and Talia felt relief when they approached the planet and she didn’t see much damage on the surface. Coruscant had been her home for as long as she could remember, the whole planet and the temple especially had always seemed so untouchable before the war. The bombing of the temple was a stark reminder of how war could always hit unexpectedly, and she was grateful the siege of the planet hadn’t lasted long.

As the Venator approached Coruscant, they received the news that was the cause for her and Storm’s meeting tonight. Master Kenobi had engaged Grievous in battle on the Utapau system. With Count Dooku dead, the Separatist leadership was fractured, and if Obi-Wan could defeat Grievous, they would crumble and the war would be over. It was strange to hope, considering how many times the General had evaded defeat before, but something felt different this time. He didn’t have Dooku to crawl back to for support, and Grievous didn’t garner the same level of following that the charismatic Sith had. Without Grievous and Dooku, there was no one to step in, no way the Separatists could still fight.

In other news from the war front, Talia had received word from Rex. Ahsoka’s mission on Mandalore had been a success, and they had captured Maul. Talia had never been more afraid for Rex than she was when she heard what his mission was; Maul had haunted her dreams for too long. She had taken that as a warning that something would happen to Rex on Mandalore, fighting against the former Sith. It would have been too cruel for Talia to lose Rex to Maul, to someone who had caused so much pain and suffering for her already. Especially when they were finally at the cusp of victory, on the brink of what they were fighting for.

Things with Rex weren’t fully back to what they had been, but that was what they had agreed upon. They needed to focus, be on their best without the distraction that they brought to each other. But it was better than the weeks they had spent apart, trying to act as if the other didn’t exist. They still sent each other messages, updating with what was going on in their respective corners of the galaxy, chatting if they had a free moment but truth be told, those were rare to come by. It wasn’t much, and it left a craving for more, but it also gave a promise for what they could have when this was all over. Somehow, Talia knew they would come out of this stronger than they had been before, that Rex and she could build something new off the foundation they had. And it felt like the will of the Force was suddenly on their side, like something would finally move to end this war, to end all the pain that had been inflicted on the galaxy. But to Talia, it would be a new beginning.

Storm joined her, with two gin and tonics in hand, and slowly slid into the booth. They had come here together a few times one on one. Sometimes they said a lot, like in the early days of the war when they took time to learn more about each other in ways they couldn’t just by being in proximity commanding together. Other times, they sat in silence, too weighed down by exhaustion or grief to thread words together. Storm had even confided some of his personal life to Talia, some nice stories about a handsome Pantoran man he would see sometimes on shore leave. Talia had never been able to divulge the same level of information – until today.

“Everything alright, General?” Storm asked as he watched Talia staring thoughtfully across the table, her mind distracted as she tried to ignore the apprehensive twist of her gut.

“Everything’s fine,” Talia said in a half truth. “And how many times do I have to tell you, when I’m here you can call me Talia.”

“Just as many times as I’ll have to remind you: as long as you’re my general, that’s what I’ll call you,” he said as simply as always.

Talia’s gut twisted further, “That’s actually why I wanted to come here today.”

Storm nodded but didn’t probe. Storm wasn’t the type to pry or push people beyond what they were ready to talk about. But he could always tell when someone needed to talk or would be there if they asked. Talia took a sip of her drink and took a deep breath before addressing what she invited him here to say.

“I’m going to be leaving the Jedi Order,” Talia blurted out, a bit more bluntly than she would have liked, but it felt easier to expel the news rather than to linger on it. “This campaign was my last with the 412th, unless something goes wrong with Grievous on Utapau and we still have a war to fight, but I don’t see that happening; all the signs are saying this is about to end.”

Storm’s face was unreadable, but he nodded. “Does the Council know? Does Master Plo know?”

Talia’s gut twisted again at the mention of Plo’s name, in all her thoughts of how this would go, she still had a hard time picturing how her master’s master would react to her defecting from The Order. “I wanted you to know first, I felt like I owed you that after all we’ve been through together.”

Storm nodded once again, but this time, his demeanor shifted. He seemed less tense, like the meaning behind Talia’s words struck a chord with him in a sentimental way. There was also a flicker of mourning in him, or maybe it was just the echoes of Talia’s own feelings for him – how she would miss working with him. Storm settled back in the booth, his eyes meeting Talia’s again as the curve of a rare, teasing smile toyed on his lips.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain blond captain of the 501st?”

Talia’s jaw dropped as her cheeks burned – there was no way… ”How long have you known?”

“Had my suspicions for a while; I knew you had a crush on him,” Storm teased as Talia sat mortified. “And it was obvious he had a soft spot for you. Then I saw him sneak into your tent on Turia, and that confirmed it.”

Talia shook her head in disbelief, “But you never said anything-“

“What would I say? It’s not my business what you do in your personal life,” Storm said simply. “I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. Which is what you’re doing now. So I assume I’m right then, you’re leaving the Order for him?”

“Yes, well, partially,” Talia admitted. “The truth is, the path of the Jedi isn’t one I see myself walking anymore. At least, not in the confines of the Order. I want more, I need more from my life. And Rex gives me that.”

“What will you do? Without the Order?” Storm asked.

“I don’t know,” Talia answered, and for once those three words weren’t laced with fear or anxiety. They felt oddly freeing. “There’s so much out there. I could go to school, I could volunteer with shelters like the one we found on Turia. I could visit planets without having to fight a war on them. Hells, I could get a job here at 79’s if I felt like it. I could also just do nothing for a while. I’m not sure what I’ll wind up doing, but I feel like that’s a good thing.”

That seemed to be all Storm needed to hear, because he softly smiled at her in that reassuring way. “Then I’m happy for you, even if I’ll miss working with you, General.”

“I just said I’m leaving – you can say my name!” Talia laughed. Storm only shook his head.

“Technically you haven’t told the Council, so you haven’t relieved yourself of duty. Therefore, you’re still my General.” Storm took a sip of his drink, his eyes flashing as he teased.

“You have to be so literal?” Talia rolled her eyes but still giggled.

“Rex knows if he ever hurts you, he’s a dead man, right?” Storm said seriously, though a crack of a smirk lingered on his lips as he continued, “Though I guess I should give you a similar threat since he is my brother.”

“I can bet a few members of the 501st will beat you to it, maybe even Commander Cody,” Talia shrugged, earning a chuckle from Storm.

The doors to 79’s slid open, and a group of shock troopers marched in, heavily armed. Talia frowned; she didn’t recognize the patterns on their armor as being any of the Corrie Guard members she knew. She glanced a curious glance at Storm, and saw her look of inquisitiveness mirrored in his face.

She began to ask him what he thought was going on, when a sharp pain pierced her head.

It was an ache that seemed to shake her entire body, drenching her in a cold sweat. Images flashed in her mind of barrages of blaster fire, flashes of clone armor, piercing blue lightning, a Jedi fighter falling from the sky, and a menacing laughter mixed with cries of pain. She couldn’t focus on any of it, feeling too much and nothing all at once. She was vaguely aware of Storm attempting to check on her, his voice muffled by the others that echoed in her head crying out. A comm was going off, its shrill beep adding to the pain in her head. Every hair on her body stood on end, she was overwhelmed by the cold that had seeped into her, chilling her straight to the bone. She couldn’t make out anything, her visions were too blurred, but through all the chaos she could tell something was horribly wrong.She had to push through it, numb the visions and try and warn Storm that something had happened, even though she couldn’t make sense of it. Catching her breath, she looked up to Storm to explain what she had felt.

All she saw was his blaster pointed at her.

It was a beautiful night on Naboo, with the stars shining brightly over the navy sky. The full moon cast a glow over the gorge their spaceship was hidden in, its light reflecting over the river as it flowed through. Rex could see the outline of the palace in the distance, illuminated by lights in its windows and balconies, a symbol of the culture and beauty of the planet. It didn’t seem right that a place of such beauty was the setting for such mourning.

Everything seemed to be in a haze still. Rex couldn’t easily place how much time had passed in Galactic Standard time since the Order. Nothing felt real as he tried to process all that had happened, all that had changed. He never would have thought it possible that the Republic would fall, yet it happened in a matter of minutes with work completed by his own men. He still had blood and dirt caked on his armor from burying his brothers on the moon. He still winced when he moved from the shots that had hit him in his escape, his head still ached in the spot his chip had been removed. The chip that had been a part of him since he was created, the one Fives had discovered, exposed and tried to warn them about but instead was shot over. He had tried to look into it more after Fives died, but he could accomplish little without arousing suspicion. He knew Kix had his own questions too, then Kix disappeared. Rex should have questioned that more too, but he was too numb, too in denial over losing another brother. The idea of it all being connected was too much. Now he cursed himself for his own idiocy, seeing what should have been obvious. If Rex had pushed harder, if he had fought alongside Fives or continued the search after his death, would that have been enough to prevent this madness?

After their escape, finding out news while evading any attention had proved difficult. They knew the fighter they had would be flagged at any Imperial controlled port, but they needed fuel and to confirm how widespread the Order was. Ahsoka had held on to some small semblance of hope that it wasn’t as bad as she feared, but Rex knew better than to hope. He knew what it was like, to lose control of his mind and identity at a simple phrase. He saw how it instantly changed the brothers he was with and he knew there was no chance any clone could fight it. Once they had finally landed on some asteroid fueling station, the news was so much worse than they had feared.

Rex had never seen Ahsoka so broken as she was when they saw the news about Senator Amidala’s death. Ahsoka had been muted when they were burying the dead from the Venator, devoid of emotion in a stoicness that fit what Rex knew of the Jedi and how they dealt with grief. But when the report about Padmé played, it seemed to break the thread that had been holding Ahsoka together. She burst into tears, a wracking sob shaking her entire body, and Rex knew it was more than just from her closeness with the Senator, for he knew that if Padmé didn’t survive, that meant Anakin was gone too.

The final blow was the news broadcast they caught of the Jedi Temple, with smoke billowing from its great towers as the reports broke about the Jedi’s treason. Ahsoka had to watch her old home burn, and Rex watched in muted terror, keeping himself together so it wouldn’t be worse for the kid, but the only thing on his mind was Talia and praying to things he didn’t believe in that she had somehow made it out.

When Ahsoka asked if they could go to Naboo so she could see Padme’s funeral procession, he couldn’t find it in his heart to tell her no, even if every bit of reason in him was screaming that it could only be a bad choice. He cursed himself even more for letting her go alone, but as a clone he couldn’t blend in. So instead, he kept watch, left alone with his own thoughts as he tried to avoid glancing back up at the palace too often, because it reminded him of a night a lifetime ago, and the woman he met there.

Half the reason Rex was in such a haze was because his thoughts were filled with Talia. When he had been under control of the chip, he had not been Rex anymore - he was CT-7567. But there had been a small portion of his sense that tried to force its way through, a dull nagging in his head. He couldn’t make it out, it was like a rustle in the wind on the back of his mind. Through the haze of trying to accomplish his mission, to follow the order to execute the Jedi, images of Talia kept entering his mind. The second he woke up after Ahsoka had removed his chip, and he realized the implications of what had happened, those images were brought to the forefront as he feared for Talia. But he couldn’t dwell on it then, he had to focus on surviving. But she was in the back of his mind the whole time, that fear plaguing him whether she was fighting in the same way he was that very moment. Or had it been quick, had she not even noticed before anything happened?

No, he couldn’t think like that. Rex shoved those thoughts deep inside him, because if he dwelt on them too long then the air was too thick and he wouldn’t think of anything else. He would think of the images of the Temple burning, of the Emperor’s speech about how all Jedi would be hunted down, and he would think about how all the messages Rex had tried to send her had gone unanswered.

Ahsoka’s figure appeared out of the darkness, slowly walking back towards Rex and the ship. She didn’t say anything, and he wouldn’t probe her and ask about it. They had agreed it would be safer for the both of them if they separated soon, rather than risk attention by traveling together. Rex didn’t like thinking about the kid on her own in the Galaxy, but he already had plans in the works that he knew she didn’t want to be a part of and he didn’t blame her. She had fought enough. He had agreed to take her to Naboo, just to make sure she was OK on an Imperial controlled planet. He would drop her off after, but before he did, they had one more stop.

Waves crashing filled Rex’s ears, the thick smell of salt water lingering in his nose. It was hotter, more humid than when they had been here, something that would have been unbearable when they were stranded. In all honesty, at first it was hard to tell if this was the same island; Rex had charted the planet after they had been rescued, but its surface was littered with many similar atolls and sandbars that disappeared as they were covered by the tide. But as the fighter approached, Rex could see the shuttle still crashed on the shore, only in a further state of disrepair than what they had left.

Its durasteel floor creaked under Rex’s footsteps, the hull was weakened by rust and damaged from their original crash, plus the repeated bashing of waves. Barnacles and other traces of ocean life had left their mark in the shuttle, with a coat of sand and grime lingering over what was once a well-engineered shuttle in the Separatist army. Rex approached the cockpit, stopping as he examined the scorch marks still visible from when he had to cut the door open. The cockpit was in equal ruin to the rest of the shuttle, its controls long lifeless and stripped for the communicator they had made to call for help. He glanced at the wall where he and Talia had first kissed, where he had first lost control and plummeted headfirst into their reckless, beautiful, tragic love affair.

Rex exited the shuttle, trudging through the ankle-deep water back to shore. Ahsoka stood in the distance, giving Rex his moment. For what, he didn’t even know. He had avoided her gaze when they first arrived, and just like he didn’t probe her after the funeral, she asked no questions now. Rex supposed she had a feeling there was more to this visit than pure sentimentality, and he guessed a part of her had always known that his and Talia’s relationship went beyond a soldier and a general.

The beach held no signs of the camp they had set up, it had been washed away by weather and the sea, no memory of what had been. As Rex stood alone, he wondered if he was the only person left in the galaxy who this insignificant spot held any memory for.

As his vision fogged, he wondered why he had bothered to come here, as if he was expecting Talia to be waiting along the shoreline, ready to meet him like they had promised the last time they were together. But that was a promise for a different outcome, a different galaxy. He had hoped being here he could somehow feel her presence, and know she was out there, but he felt more blind than he ever had in his life. And the words ran through his thoughts, words he didn’t want to think but were becoming more and more real by the minute.

Was she gone? Was Talia dead?

He didn’t know whether to scream or cry. He kicked the sand at his feet, a fruitless attempt to get out the rage and frustration festering in him. He fell to his knees, eyes locked on the horizon as he watched the sea, swallowing thickly as he failed to hold in the tears that cascaded down his cheeks. He had done well, holding it all in through everything, but coming to the one place he associated so heavily with Talia, where the memory of her took over his mind, broke him. Half of him wanted to take on Palpatine himself, to seek revenge for Talia, his brothers and all the Jedi. But then another part of him wanted it all to be over, for his fighting to be done. He had done enough of it, and what good had come of it?

Rex wiped his face, and breathed in and out, placing his palm on the ground and clenching his fist around the sand. He had come all this way, for what? To be with the ghosts of his past, of Fives, Jesse and Talia, all whose deaths could have been prevented had he been a stronger man?

He reached into his belt, dug in the pocket of his pouch and pulled out the thin silver chain with the coin-like pendant, his thumb gliding over the raised bumps and lines etched into it. In his hand was the last thing left of her, the only tangible proof that she had been real. Rex considered burying it in the sand, the only memorial that she would get. But he couldn’t find the strength to let it go.

Should he wait? Spend the rest of his days on this beach, motionless as the galaxy spun on, just for the chance that she might arrive one day? Rex almost chuckled as he imagined how frustrated Talia would be at him if he did that, that she would roll her eyes and make a comment about his stubbornness. Then she would flash him that teasing smile, with that steely glint in her eye and say, “You can’t give up on me that easily, can you?”

The sound of the waves was rushing over him, a faint line of pink tinting the sky as the sun began to set. They had been so close to having it all, so close to finally starting a new life without the war and a hope for what they could really be without all the obstacles around them. Instead it was the end of everything. But as much as his muscles ached and urged him to rest and to grieve, that wasn’t in his nature. As Talia always liked to remind him, he was too stubborn for that.

Rex collected himself and pushed up from the ground, clasping the chain around his neck; now it wouldn’t matter if anyone saw him wearing it. Sitting in his grief wouldn’t bring back the brothers he had lost, but he could do something for those still out there. And Talia…the harshness of reality had already settled in his mind, but he had to still fight for her, had to believe she was out there. She had survived more hells than anyone should, but he knew she had more fight in her. If anyone could have made it out, it was her. That’s what Rex told himself as he approached the fighter. Rex still had some fight in him, and he would fight till the last breath to take back what the Empire had stolen from him.

Author's note - so how much do you hate me lol.

I know what you're probably thinking - 'wtf iris where's the rest of it' 'how dare you'' 'WHAT ABOUT THE MAUL SUBPLOT??" and to which I say - all will be answered in time. But I really wanted to thank you - because anyone reading this note is someone I basically owe my life to. When I was a kid, I used to write little flipbook pages and had a mini dream of being an author one day. That dream got kicked out of me quickly just through my own insecurities because I would try and write in middle school and hated every word. Then during covid, I was binge watching the clone wars and rebels and reading fic and thought "hey, what the hell why don't I give this a shot" and the ideas of Talia and Rex were the first I had, even before I was publishing any other fics. I posted other ones as a test, just to see if anyone would even bother to read and I was always so lucky from the beginning to have such fantastic support. Some of you have been here from the beginning, some have joined along the way, and you've all been so patient and understanding as I've dealt with blocks. It's cliche but I could not have finished it without having y'all around. I've cried reading some of your comments, and have been so touched when some of you have messaged talking about how much you've connected with Talia. She's so personal to me, I really have a part of my soul in her and I was terrfiied that people would hate her but the responses to her have been so positive and I can't express how much that means to me. I also got so much more love for Storm than I was expecting (but I guess I shouldn't be surprised because who doesn't love a good clone captain) but I also am so sorry to y'all. I won't leave y'all hanging long, in fact things have been in the works for awhile (in fact I was more hyperfixated on those things and that's why finishing this felt so long).

Taglist: @djarrex @justanothersadperson93 @paige6768 @saltywintersoldat @clonecyare @dinner-djarin @whore4rex @swlover2187 @collectoroffics @pinkiemme @twistedstitcher27 @frietiemeloen @a-c-lee @ashotofspotchka @galacticgraffiti @itsagrimm @rexandechosandwich @immortalhdx @queen--kenobi @stankferrik @aquaamethyst96 @mavendeb @alwayssnivellus @rain-on-kamino @staryskyforever @amyroswell @lucyysthings @manqoz @ilikemymendarkandfictional @punkpirate82 @paperplanes221 @saturnsokas @starstofillmydream @wild-karrde @purgetrooperfox @sleepingsun501 @burningfieldof-clover @seriowan @samspenandsword @sunshinesdaydream @ariadnes-red-thread @babygirlrex0504 @arctrooper69 @cw80831 @dhawerdaverd

#captain rex #captain rex x oc #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #Captain rex x reader #star wars #captain rex fanfiction #illicit affairs fanfic #ia fanfic #oc fanfiction #original female character #star wars oc #talia riva #tcw fanfiction

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kay-elle-cee · 7 months

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@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 28 || 649 Words || Read on Ao3 —

Under the bright, cold lights of the office, Lily shifts uncomfortably on the examination table, the paper under her crinkling as she pulls the hospital gown a little tighter around herself. She winces as she does this, the pain in her chest pulling a whine from between clamped lips.

It’s been nearly twenty minutes since she’d been guided to this room after her X-rays, each breath a reminder of the nasty fall she had taken down the stairs this morning. The doctor had to show up soon. Had to, or she’d go mad from the pain.

Then: a gentle knock on the door and a deep voice that did not belong to the physician who had attended her earlier. “Miss Evans?”

“Yes, come in.”

Her eyes drop to her lap as she smoothes out the hospital gown, the sound of the hallway growing louder for the quickest moment before the door closes once again. When she looks up, she realizes for the first time how the sharp pain in her chest really inhibits her breathing, because standing before her is a man in a white coat with short, messy black hair and the strongest goddamn jaw she’s ever seen in her life. Luckily, his eyes seem to be staring at the clipboard in his hands because she thinks briefly that one look from him would cause a heart attack.

At least she’s at A&E already.

“My name is James Potter,” the doctor supplies as his eyes trail from the clipboard to her face, and he smiles kindly. “I’ll be taking over from Doctor McKinnon, as fractures really are my forte.”

Lily—only seconds ago so focused on her own pain—now has to force herself to register the content of his actual words. “Fractures?”

“Yes,” he answers, typing quickly on the little keyboard in the corner of the room and swiveling the monitor around to face her. Lit up on the screen are the X-rays of her chest, she squints to try and find the offending fracture. The doctor aids her search by pointing to it—two ribs on her left side. “That must’ve been some fall you took, Miss Evans. You managed to fracture not one, but two ribs.”

“Wonderful,” she breathes, irritated with herself.

“But, I think the important thing to note here,” Doctor Potter smiles again, “is that that’s the extent of it. I saw in your chart you were worried about a punctured lung or something with your heart, and I’m happy to report that’s not the case. Just the two fractures.”

Lily shifts in her seat uncertainly. It was good to hear—a fracture had been her first thought, but with her mother’s heart attack the previous year, panic had nestled its way into her doubtful mind. The doctor is still watching her carefully, and takes a few steps across the room.

“I’m sure it’s been a long day, Miss Evans, but I’m happy to say you’ll be fine in about six weeks.” He grimaces. “Unfortunately, the ribs have to heal on their own—there’s nothing we can really do to speed up the process. We can prescribe some pain medicine, but you’ll need to take it easy.”

“How good is the pain medicine? Will I feel like this the whole time? If so, please just put me out of my misery, this is awful. Every time I breathe I feel like I’m dying.”

Laughing softly, he pulls a prescription pad out of one of the cabinet drawers. He uncaps a pen and before he begins writing, smiles at her. She feels a warmth—more than that, a calmness—emanating from her broken chest and flowing through her veins as he gives a small shake of his head, his hazel eyes sparkling with more unshed laughter. “You’re not dying, I promise.”

“Just feels like it, then,” she states with a quirked brow, heart pounding painfully against those broken ribs.

“Unfortunately.”

#it's (always) you #jilytober2023 #jily #jple #james potter #lily evans #31 prompts

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chickenfics · 2 years

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Scars

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader - Western AU

Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive...

Word Count: 8.3k

Content warning: past trauma, phantom pain, depictions of healed wounds

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!

Also on Ao3

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Chapter 5

The door creaked lowly, swinging inward to let a few strands of sunlight slide past it and settle onto the floor. Dust swirled in its wake but was soon disrupted by the movement of a presence across the dry, weathered floorboards. They creaked beneath the weight of boots, thumping softly with every step. There was a moment of stillness and silence, and the house almost returned to what it had been like before the door had been opened and sunlight had been allowed through. And then a gun was holstered with a metallic click.

“Search the place,” a deep voice said into the silence, and suddenly boots were moving across the floor in a way that was hardly silent or careful. They were greedy.

Red shouldered his way around Mickey and began shoving the few bits of furniture around, looking under the small table in the corner and amongst the sparse cookware in the kitchen, tossing things aside carelessly. Bernie, her shoulder still bandaged and still sore, took the other side of the room and knelt down next to the fireplace. She ran a finger through the ash.

“Well, someone’s been here,” she muttered, holding up her black-stained finger before brushing it off on her trousers. “I’d say no more than a few days ago.

Mickey only grunted, knocking the heel of one boot against the toe of the other before heading down the hallway at a casual, seemingly disinterested pace. When he made it to the two doorways, he stopped and glanced inside. The smaller room was empty. There wasn’t a place to hide, anyway, only a crib and a cot and cobwebbed corners. And a teddy bear, Mickey noticed with a scoff, smirking disdainfully as he toed it aside with his boot.

He didn’t bat an eye at the blood in the crib.

The next room over was a bit more interesting. There was a dresser, and Mickey felt a smile starting in his chest. It worked its way onto his lips when he saw what was inside.

“Well well well,” he sang, slowly meandering back into the main room of the house, a pair of old, worn boots dangling from his fingertips. “Looks like we caught ourselves a pussy cat.”

Red’s face broke with a splitting grin, an eager glint filling his eyes.

“I told you we hadn’t lost ‘em, didn’t I? I knew we was still headed in the right direction.”

“You did say that, didn’t you,” Micky offered. Then in a single, swift motion, he dropped the boots and grabbed Red’s face, fingers digging into his skin. “This time we’d better not fucking lose them.”

Red gulped, nodding enthusiastically.

“Good,” Mickey muttered, releasing him with a shove. “Now let’s move. I’m losing my patience.”

He said it as if he’d had any patience at all.

________________________________________________________________

“I need to make a stop,” Bucky broke the silence. It had been almost three days since you’d left the house. Things had been quiet, and the weather had gone back to normal: hot and dry. You were looking forward to the river that, you hoped, was only a few more days away.

Perhaps longer, though, you realized as Bucky’s words registered.

“If that’s okay with you,” he clarified, and you realized that he hadn’t been telling you, but asking you.

“‘Course,” you nodded -- and nodded again when he tilted his head.

You trusted him; a realization that you continued to discover over and over again, and one that was equally as unfamiliar to you every time. But you did trust him, and so you were willing to follow him almost anywhere. Even if he didn’t give you the specifics of what the “stop” was -- as in this case.

He’d been the one holding the map, keeping track of your course to ensure you were pointed in the right direction, so you hardly noticed when he veered off to the East; not until the terrain changed, growing into a sparse, damp forest with large trees and a spacious, clear floor beneath the otherwise thick canopy.

It was only when the building -- a small log cabin -- came into view that Bucky spoke again.

“An old friend lives here, runs a pharmaceutical shop for folks passing through. He, uh… makes something for me. For my… arm.”

You raised your eyebrows, more at all the information he’d just provided instead of telling you to “wait here” and disappearing mysteriously -- which he would have had every right to do.

“Is this the old friend you had a falling out with?” you asked.

“No,” Bucky quickly said. “But he’s a friend of that friend.”

“You have a lot of friends,” you admitted, and Bucky laughed weakly.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Then he turned to look at you.

“You can come in if you’d like, he’s one of the good ones. But you can also stay out here. I’m sure the horses would enjoy your company. Alpine likes all the treats you give her.”

You looked away, having not realized that he’d noticed you doing that. The mare had really grown on you, and whenever you ate your small meals, you always shared a little with both her and Horse. You had just started to apologize when Bucky gave you such a genuine smile that the words died on your lips. Instead you considered what he’d said.

“I… think I’ll come with you.”

You weren’t so sure about meeting new people, but if Bucky trusted them, you were willing to take his word for it. Besides, even if you were in the middle of nowhere and it was only for a few minutes, you didn’t like the idea of being separated. You didn’t want to give them the chance -- any chance at all -- to catch you alone.

“Alright,” Bucky nodded, dismounting Alpine as the two of you reached the porch. Looking up at you, he seemed to grow a little shy. “I, uh, think you’re gonna like him, but if you don’t, you can always come back out here.”

You smiled faintly at the extra care he was taking, thanking your lucky stars that Bucky was such a strange man in the very best way.

“Okay,” you confirmed and slid off of Horse, tying him on the porch’s post next to Alpine.

“Great,” Bucky came to stand next to you, smiling in that way that made his eyes go soft and kind, and then climbed the stairs to the porch. You followed, staying behind him as he opened the door and giving one last scan of the forest behind you as the two of you stepped inside.

The cabin was dimly lit, the sparse light from the forest filtering in through two windows at the front. The only other light came from a lamp sitting on a counter, which took up the entirety of the far wall. In front of it lay rows of wooden shelves, various jars and bags filling them. You looked around, trying to blink the sunlight out of your eyes as you adjusted to the dark room.

Then you heard sudden movement off to your left, the sound of glasses clinking together as they were placed onto a shelf, and you jumped. In a single motion, you stepped behind Bucky and he stepped in front of you.

“Well,” a strange voice said, low and gravelly, but soft. “Wasn’t expecting to see you anytime soon.

“Hello, Bruce,” Bucky replied, tipping his hat at the man in front of him. You leaned around his shoulder and found rich brown eyes staring back at you. Bruce passed a quizzical look in your direction before turning back to Bucky.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Just passing through. I was wondering if you had any more of that stuff…”

You watched Bruce straighten up, his soft eyes scrutinizing Bucky for a moment before nodding and looking away.

“I don’t, but I can make some if you can spare a few minutes.”

“Thank you. Really,” Bucky murmured, seeming almost guilty. The other man only waved a hand, finally offering him a small smile before glancing back at you.

“Who’s, uh…” he gestured.

“A friend,” Bucky quickly supplied. “We’re, uh, headed in the same direction…”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and nodded disinterestedly, then began scouring the shelves. He picked a few jars, a glass bottle, and a small canvass sack before heading for the counter at the back of the cabin. When Bucky spoke again, there was a new hitch to his voice.

“Have you… seen anybody else, since…”

“No, Barnes, I haven’t,” Bruce tersely replied, looking up at him knowingly for a moment before returning to his work. Bucky nodded and began to scan the room like he was searching for something. Probably a distraction.

“I take it Stark is still looking for me,” it wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement he was seeking confirmation on.

Bruce stilled, nodded, and then dumped some loose dried leaves into a small jar.

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that. I would tell you to just talk to him, but I think we’re way past that.”

“Yeah, well… he was never one for listening much anyway. Talking, sure, but putting a clamp on it long enough to let anyone else get a word in… mmn,” Bucky shook his head.

“Can you blame him?” Bruce replied, a stern defensiveness to his voice.

You felt Bucky tense from where your hand had instinctively fallen onto the small of his back. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it until that moment, but something about the way Bucky hadn’t stepped out of your reach made it impossible for you to let go.

“No,” he dryly replied. “Suppose I can’t.”

Bruce finished pouring some ingredients into a bowl, mixing them into an almost clear paste before scraping that into the small jar with the leaves. Giving the glass a little tap with his tool, he screwed the lid on and slid it across the counter to Bucky.

“That should last you awhile, if you can ration it.”

“Thank you… I appreciate it, Bruce,” Bucky softly replied, sounding like he was trying to convince the man it was true.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Bruce waved his hand before wiping it on his apron. “Uh… you haven’t,” he cleared his throat. “You haven’t heard from Nat, have you?”

Bucky shifted his weight.

“No. No, sorry, I haven’t.”

Bruce only nodded like he’d been expecting as much.

“If you see her,” he said, voice raising slightly. “Will you give her my regards?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, lips forming what was supposed to be a smile but was more a grimace. “Of course.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, smiling genuinely for the first time since you’d entered the cabin.

Bucky nodded, tipping his hat once more before turning away. But before he could leave, Bruce called after him.

“I hope you find them, Bucky. Despite everything, I really do.”

You glanced between the two men, only barely catching Bucky’s short nod before he was heading for the door. Turning around to say your farewell, you found Bruce watching you.

“Hey,” he gestured with his chin. “You alright?”

Your eyebrows twitched upward in surprise at his interest in your wellbeing. But then, if he was someone that Bucky trusted, perhaps it shouldn’t have seemed that odd.

“I’m alright. Thank you, sir,” you softly replied, tipping your hat at his barely-there smile.

Out on the porch, Bucky was waiting for you. The door had just swung shut behind him before you were making your way through, but in that short amount of time his brow had narrowed in concern.

“Y’okay?” he checked, and you smiled softly. That was twice in the matter of a few seconds that you’d been asked if you were okay. The irony that no one had ever cared to ask you that in the past was not lost to you.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassured him.

“Good,” he smiled in return.

________________________________________________________________

A day later, you came upon the river. It was smaller than the last, but it cut through the harsh, dry landscape like a ribbon of hope. You and Bucky dismounted, letting the horses drink their fill -- and laughing when Alpine began to paw at the water, nearly drenching both of you. She would have if Bucky hadn’t tugged you out of the way, chuckling at your amused expression.

Soon Horse started joining in on the mischief and you had to pull them both back so you could mount again and cross the river. The other side was cut off by a steep slope -- the gully Bucky had pointed out on the map -- and it took you a little while to find a place for the horses to safely climb it. When you did, thankfully with no accidents despite the uneven ground, you were met with a forest of half-dead trees.

You and Bucky tethered the horses to one of the more stable-looking branches and then began setting up camp far enough away from the gulley that it didn’t pose any risk. The sun was just beginning to lower itself into the horizon when you finally worked up the courage to speak what had been on your mind since you’d made it to the river.

“Bucky?” your soft voice broke the silence the two of you had gotten so good at working in, and the man looked up at you attentively. “I think I’d like to go back down to the water and wash off a bit…” you wanted to ask him if he thought it was safe enough to do such a thing, but you already knew the answer; it never truly was.

“Okay,” he hesitantly started, straightening up and rubbing his back. “You gonna be okay by yourself down there?”

“I think so,” you shrugged. The idea of being naked alone wasn’t ideal -- but the idea of being naked with Bucky was out of the question, and you really wanted to feel clean for once, so there really wasn’t much of a choice.

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, looking about just as thrilled at the idea as you, minus the personal benefit of being clean. “Just… please be careful.”

There was earnestness in his voice and the way his hand reached out for you before pulling abruptly back to his side.

“Always am,” you replied, gathering up some of your things and checking to make sure you had your revolver before turning away and making for the gully.

The stream was calm; quiet, with soft flowing water that cooled your skin and swept all the dust away. You had a small bar of soap saved for occasions such as these, and you scrubbed it between your hands before venturing further into the water. Letting it wash over your head was enough to make you feel more alive than you had in a long while. It was a wonder what a nice bath could do.

You scrubbed layers of dirt off of your skin, working the soap under your nails and along your chest and neck -- careful of the healing wound on your collarbone -- trying to remove every bit of the last few months from your body. However, some things soap would never be able to wash away. You lifted your hand, fingers itching to rub at your neck, but you just couldn’t. You couldn’t touch it without that layer of fabric preventing you from really feeling it.

You dipped yourself back under the cold water, holding your breath as you prayed for the river to wash the memories out of your head. You’d give them all up if it meant you could forget what they’d done to you. But when you broke the surface, your head was still just as much your own; memories, nightmares, and all. So you focused on the dirt. You washed it away until your skin was clean and you felt refreshed.

Then you heard a branch crack somewhere off in the forest and you remembered where you were. You tensed, eyes immediately finding your revolver, which you’d left next to your pile of clothes along the riverbank. Barely breathing, you scanned your surroundings for a moment before lunging towards the shore.

It had probably just been a bird, or maybe a groundhog. It wasn’t Bucky because you knew he would have announced his presence long before you’d ever get the chance to hear him approach. Still, you’d wasted enough time, and you didn’t want to spend a moment longer away from camp.

Wading out of the river, you used an old blanket to dry yourself off before jerking your clothes over damp skin. It would have to do. You hastily buttoned up your shirt and stuffed your feet into your boots before slinging your holster across your back and heading for the slope, keeping a tense eye out for anything that might be a threat. Despite your momentary panic, you made it back to camp without any conflict. Bucky had already started a fire, and he looked up briefly at your approach.

“Oh good. I was starting to worry you’d gotten swept away.”

“Not this time,” you replied with a smile as you sat your holster onto your rolled-out cot, no longer finding it concerning how it became such a relief whenever you returned to the man’s presence.

“Well, like I said--" Bucky had stood up to face you when he froze, eyebrows knitting slightly, and that was when you realized:

You’d forgotten to put your bandana back on. You’d been in such a hurry to get back to camp that you’d barely buttoned up your shirt, and now he could see--

“Y/N,” he whispered, brow lowering as he stepped forward.

It was an impressive scar; big, with gnarled, raised skin that stretched from the hollow of your neck to a few inches below your ear. It had taken a long time to heal, and sometimes you still felt like you were carrying around an open wound. Sometimes it still hurt like hell, though you imagined it always would. The memories hurt worse, but the scar tissue itself provided its fair share of pain. The skin that had healed over the wound was tight and sore, and you still hadn’t regained full mobility in your neck. At least, not without discomfort.

Your old life had left its mark on you in more ways than one, but the scar on your neck was the biggest physical indicator; and now Bucky was looking down at it with so much worry, so much pain in his eyes that you couldn’t breathe. You felt tears push their way into the backs of your eyelids and you tried to swallow them down. No one had seen your scar before. No one but the people who had put it there, and they hadn’t looked at you with even an ounce of the kindness that Bucky was. It was making you panic.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you could manage was a small inward breath. You didn’t even know what you could say, didn’t know what you could tell him.

Bucky’s brow twisted and he quickly turned away -- an action which sent a stab of shame through your chest a moment before he turned back to you with a strip of brown cloth in his hand. His eyes easily found yours, but you couldn’t read the expression in them, so instead, you reached forward and took the cloth. This time you were the one to turn away, but just like the last, you felt the pierce of shame return.

When you turned back around, Bucky’s eyes snapped up from where he’d no doubt been studying the back of your neck, trying to find answers that he wasn’t sure you’d be willing to offer. Even so, he still asked.

“What... Jesus, what happened?”

“I,” your unreliable voice broke harshly, and you felt the tears welling stronger, pressing harder against your skull. You grit your teeth and took a breath, which turned into a weak, bitter laugh.

“I never wanted you to f-find out,” you said, the words sounding so familiar. “Wanted to av-avoid that look…”

Bucky nodded, glancing down and wrangling his face into something kindly impassive before looking back to you.

“Right,” he nodded again. “Right, of course.”

Your eyes sought over him, over the curves and lines of his face, trying to tell what he was feeling. Trying to see if he was angry with you. Bucky had always been fairly straightforward, but the dam in your head had broken and past memories were flooding in so quickly that you couldn’t see him anymore. All logic was gone, and the surety that Bucky was a gentle man -- at least with you -- was overshadowed by your fear of anger. It was a fear that had stuck with you for so long, and though it had gone away for a time, you’d always been sure that it would come back. You’d been waiting for the illusion to crack and for the pain to seep back in through re-opened wounds.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” you wrang your shaking hands together. “I’m sorry. I--”

“Woah, woah,” Bucky gently interrupted, taking a step towards you -- and not saying anything when you instinctively stepped back. “Don’t ever apologize for what they did to you. Ever. If you do that, they keep on winning -- even when they’re not here…”

It was knowing, the way he said it. And it was then you realized that of course he knew. His scars were just like yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said it again, only this time you weren’t sorry for yourself. You were sorry that he knew exactly what it was like to feel so helpless. To be so broken…

“It’s okay, doll,” he softly replied. “As crazy as it sounds, it really is. Took me a long time to figure that out. Takes even longer to believe it.”

You registered the wetness on your face far too late to stop the tears from coming. Without bothering to turn away, to try and hide them, you reached up and wiped a sleeve across your cheek.

“How’d you do it?” you asked, voice small with desperation.

“I have no idea,” Bucky replied with a sad grimace -- a smile, you realized. Or, what was left after shattered pieces had been put back together; it would never be the same, but it was something. “If I ever figure it out, you’ll be the first person I tell,” he added, and you laughed.

It felt good.

________________________________________________________________

If you’d expected anything to change in the way Bucky was around you, you’d have been wrong. In all honesty, you hadn’t expected him to ever find out about your scar; it was always something you’d held so close, with tightly grasped hands and white-knuckled fingers. You’d held onto it like your lifeline -- like if anyone found out about it the world would come to an end and you’d cease to exist. But now Bucky knew, and you were still here, and he still met your eye when he spoke to you, and there was no hesitation when he handed you your portion of the food he’d cooked over the fire.

And you supposed that it made sense, considering Bucky’s arm. Surely it was something that he’d tried to hide, something that he’d kept just as close to him as you had kept your own scars, and yet you’d seen it and you didn’t feel any differently about him. You had many questions, and even more that you were unwilling to ask for fear of the answers, but he was still Bucky. You’d never truly known him, anyway, so discovering his arm hadn’t changed what you knew you felt when you were near him.

It was easy to see how Bucky’s scars didn’t make him any less human. It was much more difficult to feel that way about yourself.

You couldn’t leave your neck alone. After supper and even throughout the meal, your fingers found the cloth that now replaced your handkerchief. You could feel the bump of the scar through the fabric. It ached. It always ached more when you thought about it, the memories bringing back a phantom burn that made you feel cold and sweaty -- that made you wonder if anywhere was safe when the danger was just as real in your mind as it was in reality.

You didn’t notice, but sometime during the evening the sun must have set, and Bucky must have cleaned up from dinner. Blinking rapidly, you tried to shove down the panic at having suddenly lost time, at not being able to recall what had happened. All you could see was that dark room and the roar of the fire and Mickey with--

“Can I show you something?” Bucky’s voice broke the silence and cut through your thoughts. And then you were seeing him again, the fire glowing softly in the indigo light of the late evening. You swallowed.

“Yes.” Barely a whisper, hardly a reply, but there.

He nodded, mouth set into a firm line, almost a grimace. Then, with a little jerk of his head, he began to undo the buttons of his shirt. You watched him silently, trying not to stare at the glinting metal as he pulled the fabric off and tossed it aside before reaching over to his saddlebag. His hand reappeared with the jar. You opened your mouth, unsaid questions on your tongue, but all you could do was watch as he rolled the jar from one hand to the other before reluctantly looking at you.

“This, uh… is supposed to help. With,” he gestured to his arm. “With the scars. I don’t really know what’s in it. Bruce is the science man, I just do what he tells me.”

“H-Help?” you replied, your voice still struggling. “How?”

“Not sure,” Bucky shrugged -- then seemed to remember he was shirtless and hunched his shoulders. “Uh, I think it helps the scar tissues. Stops it from hurting as much. I… I put it on every few days, or… when it’s bothering me more than usual.”

“Oh,” you managed, a single breath, and Bucky’s eyes met yours for the first time.

“You’re welcome to try some, is what I’m gettin’ at.”

You sat up straighter, face stilling over a blank expression.

“Oh,” you said it again. It felt unreal, to be talking so openly about something that kept you up at night. About something so awful. Every moment you did, all you could think about was what had happened. You could smell the burning deep in the back of your throat.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, taking effort to swallow. “Okay.”

Bucky watched you for a moment, then stood slowly. In the moment that he approached, he towered over you -- and suddenly you remembered that there had been a time when you were afraid of him -- when anyone standing above you would have had your heart racing and your eyes searching for the fastest way out. But now… now you felt nothing, even when he stood barely two feet away from your seated form, you felt nothing. You’d never known the place that held your fear could ever be so empty.

Bucky sat down next to you, crossing one leg beneath him and leaving the other propped up, bent at the knee.

“You just… take a little and put it over the area that hurts the most. Jus’ like a lotion.”

You smiled at that, unable to imagine Bucky ever indulging in something like lotion. But then your smile fell, eyebrows twisting together because for some reason you hadn’t realized that you’d have to touch it. You weren’t sure you could. Generally, you tried not to. Phantom pains always arose beneath your fingertip no matter how gentle you were, and even on those rare days that they didn’t, the memories were enough to make you feel like your chest was going to split clean in two and the gore would spill out until your life eventually drained away.

“Bucky, I--” you wrung your hands together. He watched you intently, a wrinkle between his brows. “I haven’t,” you waved a hand at your neck. “I-I can’t…”

“Okay. That’s okay,” he offered, sounding sure -- sure enough for the both of you while your brain was too filled with the fear of memories and of the softness that had somehow managed to trail behind them.

“You don’t have to do it. Just an idea,” he said, his voice a clear tell that he had something else he wanted to say. You waited, eyes wandering up to meet his for a brief moment before the blues were too piercing, too kind. You felt like you would be picked away to nothingness under that gaze. So you stared at your feet and watched your hands wring together between your knees to give the vain illusion that they weren’t shaking.

It was always illusions -- everything you’d ever tried to do for yourself. You’d never tried to grasp onto something that was real, only ever skipped from one dream, one nightmare, to another. Now it felt like it was all going up in smoke; all you had left was yourself, bare-boned and waiting for the next direction. And Bucky -- perhaps he was there too, off to the side, giving you room, waiting to see what you’d do next. You wanted to believe him, that it got better. You wanted to believe him about a lot of things, and that struck you as odd because your issue had never been believing, but trusting. In a world where you’d always, without doubt, believed Mickey, you’d never trusted him. You’d wanted to, at first -- who doesn’t want to trust their brother? Their family? -- but eventually you’d stopped trying. And eventually, you’d stopped believing him.

Now, though, you found yourself staring down the barrel of the exact opposite problem; you trusted Bucky, more than you probably should have, though he’d given you no reason to doubt that judgment, but you didn’t believe him. As much as you wanted to, the notion that you’d ever be okay, that you’d ever be anything more than a scatter of broken pieces, seemed impossible.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice, gentle, soft, easily lost beneath the hushed mumbles of the trees. “Don’t go too far, now. Not where I can’t follow you…”

You took a breath.

“I want to believe this will work. It’s silly because I know it’s not some cure, but…it’s something, and that’s more than what I’ve got.” Your eyelids felt heavy, too sluggish to bother with blinking. It was like someone had attached an iron to your head and was sinking it to the bottom of a lake. Drown out anything that breathes, you thought. That’s what it felt like. Drown anything that moves.

“You’re not gonna know until you try,” Bucky replied. His voice was steady, filled with the logic you were currently lacking. You couldn’t find it, through all your thoughts, though you knew it would come back just in time for you to be embarrassed. Now, however, you couldn’t find much within yourself to care.

“I’m…” Scared, you’d been about to say. It was the truth. You wondered, though, if it was plain on your face; if you even needed to say it, or if Bucky could already tell.

It’s okay,” he murmured, so patiently that despite all of it you really did believe him this time. You let out a heavy breath, nearly choked on it, and felt it pull your chest down towards your knees. You leaned heavily on your arms and tried not to shake.

“It’s just an idea,” he started, suddenly sounding nervous -- unsure. “Just an idea, but… maybe we could help each other out.”

His eyes slid down your face, over the curve of your jaw, and landed disarmingly on the scarf around your neck. It hit you suddenly, what he was getting at, but against all odds, it hit you softly, too. In a way, it made perfect sense for Bucky to offer something like that. In a way, he was the only person who could.

“I’ve never…” you shifted, then set your jaw. “No one’s ever touched it, since…”

He nodded like he understood.

“Like I said, just an idea.”

You thought about it, about that idea, about what it might mean; a gentle touch in a place that had learned to only ever know pain, that had learned to mistrust. But he was right: you weren’t going to know until you tried.

“Okay,” your voice barely managed a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you replied, and you surprised yourself with the truth of that statement and how little you were now struggling to accept it. You took that as a good sign.

“You want me to stop, I stop,” Bucky said, and something in his voice had changed -- a firmness that would have sounded threatening if it weren't for the circumstances.

You nodded, and then you did one of the hardest things you’d done in a long time. You reached up and untied the strip of fabric around your neck. Carefully, meticulously, you draped it over your thigh and smoothed out its wrinkles so you didn’t have to think about Bucky’s eyes wandering over the scar, taking in the darkest secret that your life had borne.

“Y/N,” he gently whispered. You knew what he was asking. You dragged your eyes away from your lap and looked up at him, those startling blues, hidden behind a shade of gentleness. You’d seen them when they were angry, when they were scared or disbelieving or cold -- but to you, they were always gentle. No matter what you’d done, that fact had never changed.

And even now, when he was seeing what felt like all of you, not a single blue changed its shade.

You nodded, the final permission he was looking for. You nodded even though you were scared -- maybe just as scared as you’d been that night the scar had been put there; your fear of pain turning instead into a fear of pleasure. But still, somewhere deep in the back of your mind you found yourself hoping desperately that it didn’t hurt, like a child going to visit a doctor. You just didn’t want it to hurt.

It was all you could think, watching Bucky unscrew the lid of the container. Even as you looked away, it was the only thing in your mind’s eye -- the overwhelming need that, for once, something would feel alright. When Bucky reached out, shifting closer so he could better reach you, an unmistakable rigidness spread through your body. When his fingers brushed your skin for the very first time, you flinched. You’d tried not to, tried to repress it because you didn’t want him to think you were afraid even though you were. You didn’t want him to feel like he was doing something to hurt you even though, despite all his kindness, he was.

But as much as you’d tried, there were some things your body would never unlearn.

Bucky made a noise, soft and low in his throat. His thumb traced a light path up towards your jaw, sliding along the skin behind your ear. He hadn’t even touched your scar yet, you realized. You sighed, heavily, and Bucky’s thumb ran another line across your skin. He did it countless times, over and over and over again. His fingers moved slowly, tracing invisible paths along your skin, down to the collar of your shirt, across to your sternum and then back up your neck. Never once did he touch the raised skin of your scar. He drew close to it, inch by inch, until you no longer stiffened at the proximity; until he could trace an outline a mere inch away without you losing your breath.

You knew you were shaking, you could feel it, but you couldn’t pull away from him. No matter how scared you got, you just couldn’t; it would feel too much like a betrayal, even if it was the one thing your mind was telling you to do. But, after a little while, that instinct screaming in the back of your head fell to more of a drone, and then eventually nothing but a disquieting buzz.

It felt… good. Your throat was closing up and your body still seemed to insist that you should be afraid, but the touch was good. You hadn’t realized how much you’d longed for it, and now that it was there, you found it hard to breathe. Bucky’s fingers were rough, calloused from years of hard work and an even harder life, but his touch was softer than anything you’d ever known. His skin felt warm.

It was a warmness that, to your surprise, you instantly missed when he drew his hand away. Your eyelids had fallen shut and, somehow knowing exactly what was coming next, you kept them closed thinking maybe it would be easier. It wasn’t. When Bucky’s hand, now cold from the ointment, touched your scar, you tensed, sucking in a barely stifled whimper and forcing it into a gasp. You’d never hated yourself more, but no one had ever touched you there with anything more than malice; your body didn’t know what to do with anything but pain.

Your eyes flew open in enough time to watch Bucky’s jaw tighten. This time, he closed his eyes, just for a moment before glancing away and out into the darkening forest. His hand hadn’t moved, still hovering close enough to your neck that you swore you could feel the warmth of it, and in that moment you knew that he hadn’t pulled away yet only because he was worried the sudden movement would make you flinch again.

You weren’t scared of him -- you swore you weren’t. For a second you considered telling him this, pleading with him to believe you because you didn’t want him to think that you were. But you didn’t because there was a part of you that knew it wasn’t necessary, and there was a part of him that already knew all the words you could have said to convince him. Fear was such a learned reaction, and Bucky knew this. It was why he’d practically begged you not to touch his shoulder even though he could have done so much more than plead.

Fear was a learned reaction; easy to acquire, hard to forget. Your heart raced, fueled by the power of old things that were too integrated to be pulled apart.

Bucky’s thumb dragged softly down the side of your neck, a silent act of reassurance. You took a breath. Bucky watched you, and then he repeated the same gentle touch, only this time a few inches to the right. The muscles in your neck tensed, hollowing out, and you squeezed your knee so hard you were certain to leave a bruise. Bucky did it again, slowly -- carefully. You could feel your skin absorbing the coolness of the ointment. It felt tingly, for a moment, and then you felt nothing.

With the ointment gone, he traced a finger over the scar, following it from below your jaw down the curve of your neck -- following it to the very end.

“He…” Bucky’s eyes finally found yours, searing you in a way that made you feel picked clean and bare. “He did this to you?”

For some reason, the question came as a surprise. Maybe because, for you, there’d never been anyone else that could have ever done something like that. For you, it had always been Mickey. Sure, others had hurt you, but the things that kept you up at night had always come from him.

The question came as a surprise, but even if it hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to answer. Your throat had closed up and you couldn’t trust your voice. So instead, you turned your eyes to Bucky, and in them, he found the answer; you knew because you watched as he tried not to let his anger flash across his face. He failed, but he quickly looked away, and, by the time he turned back to you, it had been replaced.

Now he looked sad. His big blue eyes were glassy and everything about his expression was heavy. No one had ever seen your pain and looked on it with so much compassion as right now, and you felt your own face twist as your vision swam. You screwed your eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the tears. You’d wanted it to, but it didn’t. It was never that easy.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathed, and his touch left your neck quick enough that you winced, but then his calloused hand was cupping your cheek, fingers curling just behind your ear.

His thumb brushed a stray tear from your cheek in the same way that it had traced over your skin only a few moments earlier. You raised your hand and weakly gripped his wrist. Your eyes were closed again, and you felt his thumb rub tiny circles into the skin below your eye. When you opened them, he was looking at you with kindness and searching and an upset brow.

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, then, but you laughed. Bright and somewhat frantic you laughed, and then you had to sniff; your head was fuzzy and your airway felt clogged, but you’d done it -- you were still alive and breathing. Bucky smiled sadly and then, with a final moment to press closer, he removed his hand from your cheek. Just like his fingers at your neck, you were surprised by how quickly you missed the way it felt.

“Talk to me, doll,” he said, a hitch of concern to his voice.

You weren’t sure you could. You sighed -- heavily -- and then tried. You couldn’t get the words out, they were like cotton in the back of your throat; so instead, you reached out and grabbed his hand, giving in a brief squeeze before letting go. You had to let go because you were afraid of what you’d do if you held on longer. It was all so unfamiliar to you, touch like this. You’d crossed into a territory that was completely uncharted. In a way, though, you’d done the same thing when you’d agreed to go with Bucky.

If any of the decisions you’d made in your life were the right ones, it would be those.

“Alright,” Bucky nodded, still sounding unsure. He glanced down at the jar in his lap. You watched his left arm flex beneath his shirt, and for the first time you noticed that it made a sound, when the material that had replaced muscle contracted; a soft, airy whirring.

“You showed me yours,” he said, suddenly reaching up to unbutton his shirt. “I suppose it’s only fair that I show you mine.”

“Bucky, no” you finally found your voice. “You don’t have to--”

He shook his head, taking a moment to stare at you.

“I want to,” he said.

You looked at him and then you nodded. While you tied the cloth back around your neck, Bucky shrugged off his shirt, letting it gather at his waist. Wordlessly, he passed you the jar. There was something solemn between you, like the feeling in a church after disaster -- something quiet and reverent and perfectly understood for what it was. There was also something that felt like a vow; an exchange of touches that brought the promise of mutual protection.

Bucky’s scars were worse than yours. It was a simple fact, nothing more. The skin on his shoulder was gnarled, raised lines curving along the muscle in a crisscross of strips and chunks. You’d once met a man who’d been attacked by a grizzly when he was a boy. The bear had taken his right arm and left a patchwork of scars behind, spreading down along his collarbone and up his neck all the way to his temple. He hadn’t been able to grow hair on his right side, and he couldn’t hear out of that ear. His jaw had creaked when he’d talked to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d survived.

With Bucky, it was both the same and different. You knew that no bear had caused his scars; it would have been easier that way, but it wasn’t true. The truth, you knew, was more complicated -- more heartbreaking than the physical remnants. Maybe it was for that reason that, in the same way you’d wondered how that man had survived, you also wondered how Bucky had made it through whatever had done this to him.

"Bucky--"

"S'alright," he replied, smiling despite the fact that he'd gone a little pale. All you could do was shake your head.

Bucky tilted his chin like he wanted to say something else, to argue his claim that it really was alright, but he remained silent. Even as you moved closer, your elbow coming to rest on his thigh, he didn’t make a sound, just took a shallow breath. You reached out slowly and your fingertips fell onto the scars that stretched along his collarbone. Bucky tensed, his right hand snapping up to grab your wrist. His grip was firm but not nearly enough to hurt you, and you got the overwhelming sense that he was holding back.

Your eyes widened a fraction, questioning.

“I just need to…” he shifted his hand around your wrist, getting a better grip on it while somehow growing gentler than before.

“That’s okay,” you said, and you understood that right now he needed to feel in control.

So you did the thing he’d been kind enough to do to you. You lifted your hand to just behind his ear, brushing some strands of hair out of the way. That was where you started, but you steadily made your way across his jaw, down his neck. Maybe you didn’t have as much confidence as he had, but it was the only thing you knew to do. And maybe it didn’t relax Bucky in the way his very same actions had relaxed you, but even though his muscles remained tensed and his breathing shallow, he let his eyes fall shut.

When you reached the scar tissue on his shoulder, he sucked a breath through his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Did I hurt you?”

Bucky shook his head. You brushed your thumb over one of his scars, then Bucky’s hand was sliding up yours. Carefully, almost experimentally, he splayed your fingers out, pressing his palm flat against the back of your hand until it was laying against his shoulder. Your pinky brushed the cool material of his arm where it connected to his skin. He shivered, head ducking low so his hair fell in a curtain around his face. You turned your hand around so your palms were facing each other. After a moment, Bucky gave you a squeeze and you took that as the okay to keep going.

You applied the ointment like you were painting a canvas; detailed and without daring to rush. You traced the many lines across his shoulder until Bucky wasn’t struggling to breathe anymore, and then, when you were done, you took a chance at letting your hand slide onto the material of his shoulder. There was a red star on his bicep that you hadn’t noticed before. You reached down to touch it, but Bucky jerked away, and suddenly his eyes were open and staring into yours; you felt your breath catch.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he said. You stared down at your lap.

“Can you feel? When I…” you laid your hand back onto his shoulder. He let you, this time.

“I know you’re there, but… it’s not the same.”

You hummed thoughtfully as you slowly slid your hand down his bicep, brushing past the red star. Bucky craned his head so he could watch as you maneuvered his arm palm up. When you reached his wrist, you hesitated only a moment before continuing down to explore his hand.

“What does it feel like?” you asked. Your thumb brushed the center of his metal palm.

“Like… something warm.”

You placed your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. Bucky watched as you lifted your joined hands, propping your elbows onto his thigh. He looked at the way your skin settled against his metal like he’d never seen something like it before in his life. Then, with twin releases of breath, you both pulled away, suddenly aware that the rest of the world around you had kept on spinning while you’d been so lost in each other. Your fingers instinctively found your neck, feeling at the scar through the fabric of the cloth Bucky had given you, and Bucky pulled his shirt back on. The atmosphere around you felt like it had been recently stirred but was now calm; quiet. Almost peaceful, if you didn’t think too hard.

“We should head out bright and early tomorrow. Keep moving.”

You nodded, wrapping yourself up in a coarse blanket. Now that you and Bucky had moved away from each other, you felt colder than before.

“How long do you think until we reach your friends?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, standing up to stoke the fire before settling down on his bedroll. “I know there’s an old mill probably a couple days ride from here -- that’s our halfway point. Little over halfway, maybe, if nothing holds us up.”

“Let’s hope nothing does,” you murmured, setting your hat aside.

“Amen to that,” Bucky dryly replied.

The fire was dying -- crackling quietly into cold soot.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you.” The words weren’t enough, but they were all you had.

“Funny,” he whispered above the sounds of the fire and the night. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @desert-fern

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes western au #western au #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link

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dreaminonao3 · 7 months

Note

I want more French!Steve at some point in a knight Halloween costume. ::nods:: Gimmie gimmie please?

The Good Knight and the Evil Fairy (AO3)

Steven stared at himself in the full-length mirror one more time. It was All Hallows Eve and Antoine was throwing a costume party in the Avengers Tower penthouse. After a great deal of internal debate, Steven decided to go as a Templar Knight. To that end, Pepper, Antoine’s assistant-turned-girlfriend, introduced him to a friend who was a talented seamstress and “cosplayer.”

Said friend was able to make a costume with a high degree of authenticity, thanks to his input. Fully garbed, Steven looked much like he had in the 14th Century and he was unsure how that made him feel. Nostalgic and missing those he had lost, certainly, but as much as the code of the Knights Templar was stamped on his soul, he wasn’t the same man he had been back then. The 21st Century had changed him and especially one particular woman of this time.

Antoine spotted him as soon as he walked into the penthouse. Dressed as the devil himself, he grinned as he approached Steven. “It’s about time, Lancelot. I was about to send out a search party.”

Steven rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “It has only been fifteen minutes since the announced starting time, Antoine. Is this not referred to as ‘fashionably late?’”

“Yeah, but since when have you been concerned with being fashionable?” He looked Steven over. “It’s a ‘come as you aren’t’ party, not a ‘come as you used to be.’”

“Et toi?” Steven asked, one eyebrow raised. “Were you not a devil until you saw the light in the desert?”

Antoine chuckled. “You got me there. So, you’re probably wondering where your ladylove is.”

Steven was already looking around at all of their costumed teammates and friends, looking for Darcy. He finally spotted her talking to Jane. It took him a moment to place the black horns on her head then he realized she was dressed as Maleficent from Disney’s take on La Belle au bois dormant.

Antoine chuckled. “I see you’ve found her. Let’s hope you won’t have to stab this Maleficent with your sword.”

Steven rolled his eyes again. “She’s not a dragon and I’m not Phillip. Besides, I will be too occupied with asking for her hand.”

“It’s about damn time,” Antoine muttered then gave Steven a push in her direction.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to Darcy’s side. She beamed at him when she saw what he was wearing.

“So, my knight in shining armor decided to make it official once more. I love it!”

He couldn’t help grinning back. “Merci, mon amour. You, on the other hand, make for a formidable Evil Fairy.”

“Thanks! I know I’m too short for Maleficent-”

“Hush, you’re perfect.”

She smirked. “You’re hardly an unbiased judge, Big Guy.” She took his arm, mindful of the sword sheathed at his side, then pulled him into a secluded corner before pulling his head down for a kiss, which he was happy to give.

When Darcy needed to breathe, he pulled back and found himself rather breathless as well, despite his enhanced stamina. She noticed but before she had a chance to question it, he got down on one knee before her. Every conversation in the room stopped but he was focused only on Darcy’s surprised face.

“Darcy, mon amour, mon desir, mon vie, I would be lost without you. I offer you my hand, my life, my unending service, anything you could ever want, and in return, I only ask for the honor to call myself your husband. Will you marry me?”

Her eyes welling with what he hoped were happy tears, all Darcy could do was nod but that and her smile were more than enough. Grinning from ear to ear, he pulled the ring from the small pouch on his belt. “I wanted to give you a ring from my time but all surviving examples are in museums now. Still, I hope this replica will do.” He slipped the gold ring on her left ring finger, the oval pearl luminous in its ornate gold setting.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, awed, before everyone broke into cheers and applause.

Steven chuckled as he got to his feet. “I would have preferred to do this without an audience.”

Darcy smirked. “Then you shouldn’t have done it in the middle of a party. Let’s let them congratulate us then we can go back to our place for the real celebration.”

“An excellent idea, mon coeur.”

#shieldshock #knights templar au #steve rogers #darcy lewis

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courtofwingsandruin · 2 years

Text

Set Up

Elriel. 2k words. Modern AU. One-shot.

Read on AO3

Summary: Cassian and Nesta are assholes who just want to see two of the most (stupid) important people in their lives happy.

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Azriel had never thought of himself to be a stupid man. No, he was rather intelligent, actually—be it street or book smarts, he excelled at most and was alright at worst. He couldn't think of a single time anyone had called him dumb or stupid or an idiot, outside of his brothers, but that's just how brothers are.

Tonight, he was stupid. He was the biggest, dumbest idiot in the entire world.

He knocked back another shot as the girl next to him chuckled, before pressing a kiss to his best friends’ lips. Another. Another. He averted his eyes, but that only led him to look to the girl on his other side, her long neck on full display as she took a long pull from her glass. How many times had he thought about kissing her the same way Cassian now kissed her sister? Longer, harder, even. Letting his lips trail down that lovely neck.

He was an idiot for thinking he could do this. He was an idiot for not having asked beforehand who all would be here.

But could one blame him for this? After all, Cassian had been cryptic. Likely for this reason.

The day before, his friend had looked at him and said, "Me and Nesta are going out for drinks, maybe a bit of dancing with some friends. Wanna join?"

Cassian had not bothered to specify that Elain would be here. He had not bothered to specify that "some friends" only consisted of Elain and Azriel himself.

The third to their trio, their other friend Rhysand, was not here—nor his wife Feyre, the third Archeron sister. Neither their close friend Morrigan, nor her girlfriend. None of Nesta’s other friends. Hell, Azriel would have taken Amren being here, who was more Rhys' friend than any of theirs, who scared him half to death even if he would never admit it, if only it meant he was not left to watch this amorous couple make out while the girl of his dreams sat close enough to touch. To taste.

So swept up in his thoughts, with the music of the club beating too loud to hear anything, he had not realized Elain was trying to speak to him until she tugged at his sleeve. He turned, trying to keep his eyes on hers, not break this distance between them, but the music was too loud. Her words were washed out by the sound. And upon seeing he still couldn't hear her, she leaned towards him.

His eyes slammed shut, breath stalling as her lips brushed his ear. "Can we go outside? I can't even hear my own thoughts in here!"

A grin tugged at his lips, and he pulled back to nod at her. He turned to grab Cassian's attention, but found his brother already watching him. Though he pretended to have only been looking around the room. Azriel nodded his head toward the exit, and Cassian gave him a thumbs up, so the two departed, leaving a staring Cassian and Nesta in their wake.

Azriel truly stopped breathing when Elain's hand snaked out behind her, searching for his as they made their way towards the exit. He took it, aware of where every twisted scar met her unmarred skin, but as man after man tried to push themselves against her as she passed, looking for any opening to get between the two of them, he was more than happy to let her feel those scars for the moment.

It got instantly quieter once out on the sidewalk, the cold night air biting into his skin. He had left his jacket inside, and now he regretted it, watching Elain shiver as the short dress she wore did nothing to keep her warm.

She didn't let go of his hand, nor did she stop walking. She led him around the corner of the building, into the nearest alleyway, the breeze not hitting them there. She leaned back against the wall, only letting his hand go to run through her beautiful brown hair instead. It looked fine to him, but she ran her fingers through it like a comb. He wanted to fist that hair—right at the base of her neck. He wondered if she would moan if he gave it a tug.

"I don't like clubs like that. Too loud and too crowded," she admitted, giving him half a smile. "Don't know why Nesta thought it'd be good for a double date."

Azriel's mind went empty. She couldn't possibly mean that. "This isn't a double date," he said, almost in disbelief.

Elain's brows raised. "Oh. What is this, then?"

"We're-" he hated how he tripped over his words around her, but that was the kind of effect she had on him- "We're just third and fourth wheeling."

Her gaze was piercing. Damning, actually. Was that... disappointment in her eyes? Sadness? Impossible. No girl had ever looked at him like that—not over this. There was no way Elain had actually wanted this to be a date with him.

"That's- yeah, okay. That kinda explains things," she laughed, suddenly and bitterly. Something in him broke at the sound, the scorn in it. The scorn for him.

"What things?" He had to ask. Had to know—had to be certain of her feelings on all of this. He sure as hell wasn't now.

She rolled her eyes, looking away from him. She watched cars pass for a moment before mumbling, so low he almost didn't hear her, wasn't even sure she was trying to address him, "Everything. You not talking to me, like, at all. Not asking me to dance, or trying to buy me drinks or anything."

Azriel steeled himself for rejection, even if her words had given him some kind of hope—"Had you wanted tonight to be a date?"

That same bitter laugh, now louder, a little more viscious. "Yes, Azriel. I wanted tonight to be a date. I've wanted to go on a date with you since Nesta introduced us last year. But you had never shown any signs of wanting me back, so I left you alone." She looked at him then, and those usually shiny brown eyes were now dull, the only thing lighting them being the tears that threatened to spill. It took everything in him to keep his feet rooted to the ground, to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and soothe those tears away. "So when Nesta had come to me, telling me you guys were going out tonight and you had been asking about me—”

"What?" He couldn't help but cut in. Nesta had lied to her. He hadn't asked—he had been made out to think there were going to be many others with them, and he didn't have the guts to ask about Elain specifically.

She began explaining her conversation with Nesta, clearly annoyed, and the longer she went, the more everything began falling into place—suddenly making sense.

"They set us up," Azriel said, finally. Elain dabbed at her eyes, looking at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was, just a little. "Cassian and Nesta set us up. Cassian knew I'd never agree to a double date, because I wouldn't ever believe you were there willingly. So he made it sound like we were going out with multiple friends, instead of just the four of us, and I didn't ask any questions at all. But Nesta told you it was the three of us, but I had been hinting at wanting you there, and got you expecting the double date. Not that—" He cleared his throat, standing up a bit straighter. He cracked his knuckles, needing to do something with his hands while he said this. "Not that I don't want to go on a double date with you. Or any date at all. I, uh, I've been interested in you since we first met, too. But somebody like you has no business being with someone like me, so... I ignored those feelings."

Most of the time. He only entertained them in the dead of night, alone in his room, when he touched himself to the thought of her. But he certainly was not about to admit that. Especially not in the alleyway next to a club, to the girl he had the thoughts about.

Elain blinked at him for a long moment. "I'm going to kill them," she grumbled, and then her face split into that large, dazzling smile of hers that always lit up the shadows in his heart. "Though, if one of us just had the guts to ask the other out a long time ago, they wouldn't have had to resort to this."

"Let's just blame them, anyways," he shrugged. She chuckled in response, and the sound must have broken whatever barrier they still had between them, because they were suddenly crossing the distance, closing the gap between their bodies. Her arms went around his neck, and his around her waist, the embrace tight, almost suffocating on both sides as they rested their foreheads together and breathed each other in.

Despite where they were at, despite the thumping music that still played inside and the sound of laughing and cursing from around the corner, Azriel felt completely at peace. Completely still, and quiet, and happy.

He could not remember a time where he could say that. But here, in her arms, he knew it was the truth.

When they finally parted—hands sliding down arms to instead entwine their fingers, bodies still close but no longer pressed together—Azriel allowed himself, for the first time that night, to let his gaze sweep her, to take in every glorious inch of her.

From her form-fitting blue dress and long legs, to her gentle hands in his scarred ones. From her slender neck, to her long, wavy hair, falling down her shoulders in a perfect, framing mess. From those eyes that had become bright once more, not with tears, but rather an inner light that he—him, Azriel—had managed to restore... And finally, to her lips. The one thing he never allowed himself to look at, because their soft fullness always threatened to have him begging for her. Begging for a kiss, a taste, just once.

Now, with a smile pulling at those lips, he knew he had nothing to worry about. So he asked quietly, "May I?"

She didn't answer, just leaned in, slowly, tentatively. He slid his fingers up, up, tangling into her hair, right where he'd always imagined he would, tipping her head back a little farther as he bent—

Just before their lips touched, he felt a finger press against his lips. He looked down at her, at that disarming grin, at the hand she now held to his mouth. "Maybe once you take me on a real date, I'll let you kiss me."

A grin overtook his lips, and he let her go, turning to walk out of the alley. The clicking of her heels followed him. Before she could ask what he was doing, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, "We should get on that, then, shouldn't we? I'll go get my jacket, let Cass and Nesta know we're leaving. And then maybe we can hit... Denny's?"

Elain laughed, before shaking her head. "I'd rather go home and stuff my face with chips and watch cheesy rom-coms."

"Well, that can be a date, too," he suggested, and she raised a perfect brow. It took him a minute before realizing--"Oh, that's what you were implying."

"I thought you were supposed to be smart, Azriel," she nudged him lightly, soft smile on her face. He waved his hand at her in dismissal of the comment, heading back into the club, not staying any longer than necessary.

He supposed he really wasn't as smart as he thought. At least when it came to girls—specifically this one, this lovely, perfect woman, who he had somehow whooed without even realizing it.

But he wouldn't question it. Instead, he'd take her home and curl up on her couch, eating Doritos and watching 10 Things I Hate About You. Becoming too busy kissing her to finish watching the last half of the movie.

And he would feel like the luckiest man in the world, to have ended up here with her. To have the girl of his dreams in his arms, despite his own idiocy.

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Ahhhhhh I have nothing to say other than I hope you guys enjoyed and I miss all of my lovely mutuals (maybe now that I’m writing again I’ll be more active? We’ll see!). Love you guys!

Also this happened to come on @azrielshadowsingerweek (a happy little coincidence) so here’s this! Day 7: Free Day but it really falls more under the Romance day 😬 It’s been a good week!

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tealenko · 5 months

Text

The Three Letters (Chapter 9)

Chapter 9: Close Enough to Touch

Holy shit, I've made it. yayyyyy~~~ You're gonna love this one (I do, at least XD) next chapter won't be so long, so it will take less than usual (sorry... I know, I been writing this for 2 years and I'm only halfway there... You can blame my job XDDD) Go to AO3 for more footnotes, I'll tell you more there! ~tea

Summary: Lara and Jacob spend some time alone while everyone else is asleep, having to navigate their own expectations after being apart for almost 4 years.

Words: 6226 Rating: Teens and Up (Mature~ish) Warnings: smooches and lots of tension (we're here for the slow burn)

All Chapters -> [link] Read in AO3 -> [link]

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The orange-lit valley of Lara’s memories fades little by little to become the present, thanks in part to the crackling sound of the bonfires as their lives come to an end, finding in them a similar tone of color to the sky she was remembering so vividly only a few seconds ago.

Once her journey is done, she realizes that most of the people have disappeared, already back to their cabins to get some sleep before the sun is up again, and the few left, are way too busy to pay attention to the fact that she’s been frozen in the same spot for a while now.

Her mind had also been too occupied, filling every little fragment of Jacob’s story with the unspoken details only known by the two of them, to realize that he was no longer there either.

Lara’s eyes search for him for a few more seconds but, instead, they find Sofia, who has already finished redistributing tasks and is eager to go rest a little.

“Here everything is taken care of, Lara, stop looking for things to do or people to help.”

“What…?” She’s confused for a moment until she understands what she’s implaying. “Ah, yeah… You know me.” She replies, hiding her true motives to be scouring the area. “I cannot stay still and do nothing.”

“Well, I think you should really go and rest… But something tells me you won’t take my advice.”

“Is that so?” She asks, not really paying much attention to her, still trying to see if she’s able to find Jacob among the people that are cleaning and rearranging the whole place back to normal.

“Yes, I’m an expert in the matter. I grew up with my father, afterall.” Sofia laughs a little at her own thoughts. “You two are too much alike when it comes to things like this.”

Lara’s head turns quickly to look back at her, instantly regaining all her interest in record time.

“Perhaps… I don’t see him helping now, though.” She tries her best to hide the true meaning of her words, hoping that Sofia will answer her question without having to ask directly.

And so she does.

“Ah yeah, he offered, of course, but Levi insisted on taking care of everything and extinguishing the bonfires in his place.” She replies, unaware she’s about to tell Lara what she was too afraid to ask. “After some hesitation he agreed. Told us he was going to take a walk, that he needed to reflect on today’s events or something of sorts.”

“I see…” Lara smiles softly at her, with her mind working as fast as usual, as she tries her best to come up with an excuse that helps her to go see Jacob without having to explain it to anyone, especially to Sofia.

For once, despite what she thinks at the beginning, the universe seems to agree with her wishes and, before she’s able to come up with something on her own, grants her the perfect opportunity she was looking for.

“Lara…” Levi yells from afar, cutting her line of thoughts with the sudden interruption. “Need some help here, mind to lend a hand?”

She curses her luck for a second, knowing it’s more important to aid the village than to go look for Jacob but, just as she’s about to comply with his request, she sees Sofia’s expression out of the corner of her eye.

Interesting. Lara thinks, surprised at her own perception abilities, which usually don’t help her too much when it comes to processing other people's feelings.

“One sec!” She decides to yell at Levi, raising her index finger in the air to accompany her answer.

She then spends the next three looking for a way to approach the situation as gently as possible but, to her surprise, Sofia decides to take the first step.

“Erm… Lara…” There’s hesitation on her voice and, for the first time ever, Lara seems to notice her friend’s cheeks blushing a little. “Would you mind if I… I…”

She doesn’t need more than that to be sure of what she's trying to do and, seeing that both of their goals can be achieved at the same time, she decides to spare her friend’s agony and give her exactly what she wants while pretending she is unaware of her feelings.

“Sorry, Sofia.” Lara cuts her mid sentence. “It’s been a long day… And I know it’s too much to ask…” She takes a small pause, giving her the opportunity to understand what she’s trying to do. “But, would you mind taking my place to help Levi? I… I really need to put my thoughts into order.”

Sofia smiles from ear to ear and nods, giving a hug to her friend while mumbling something about her last statement and how it confirms yet again how similar Lara and her father truly are.

She is gone before Lara can add anything else, so she takes a deep breath and starts walking without a set course.

Her original plan to search for Jacob dilutes with the first few steps, knowing it will be close to impossible to find him in the valley without having any hint of his whereabouts.

So, instead, she engages in what, at the beginning, was only an excuse and starts to reflect on everything that’s happened to her in just one day, letting her feet guide her without a fixed route.

And there goes another thing that she shares with Jacob.

Completely unaware, her body follows the same path he did, finding herself near the peak of the mountain in record time.

She takes the right trail once the observatory is on sight, not even remembering it’s the one that ends at the top of the waterfall, the one that he took only a few minutes ago, the one he takes almost every night.

“...”

Lara is a bit surprised, at first, to find him there.

With the darkness of the night enveloping them, the stars and the moon are the only sources of light illuminating the enchanted scenery. However, the sound of water flowing to crash in the distance, quickly lets her know where both Jacob’s and her own feet had decided to lead them, and suddenly, she understands.

I think it may be my favorite place in the entire world.

His words echo in her mind as she gazes at him, tracing his features as the light of the moon unveils every single detail on his face.

“Should’ve known you’d be here…” She smiles a little when she observes him getting startled, snappin back from his inner thoughts in record time before standing up to face her.

“Lara…” Jacob blinks a couple of times, almost as if he’s making sure that her presence there isn’t just a figment of his own imagination.

“Sorry,” she’s still smiling as she says this, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it.” He’s the one smiling now, pleased to see her now that he’s sure she’s real. “Come, sit with me.”

Jacob offers her a hand and Lara takes it without hesitation, walking next to him for a few steps before they sit right where he was a few seconds ago, letting their legs hang on the cliff as they face the dark view of the waterfall.

They shouldn’t be able to see it, with the sun gone for many hours now, but the water cascades so swiftly and tumultuously that it’s able to trap the subtle glow of the night sky and create a light of its own.

“Long day?”

The subtle roar of the water fills the background of their conversation, creating a soothing melody to accompany their words.

“Yeah…” She laughs a little. “In a good way… But yes.”

She lowers her head a little, moving her upper body forward just an inch, to have a better view of how the water splashes against the river so many feet below them.

“Almost seems like this morning started a couple years ago…” Lara stares at the distant riverscape, starting to understand the love that Jacob holds in his heart for this place. “But, somehow, it also feels like the day has gone by in just a second.”

Her head moves slowly before she shrugs her shoulders.

“I’m not making any sense, right?”

Lara chuckles, and he follows her right away, letting their eyes meet each other in the process.

“More than you can imagine, believe me.”

The gentle light of the crescent moon may not be strong enough to illuminate the whole valley, nor even the small section they find themselves sitting at, but it lets them see each other and, whatever is left, is rebuild in their minds using both their hearing and memory to fill whatever their eyes cannot picture on their own.

Jacob scoots closer to her and points at something, she doesn’t recall what, too busy taming her heart, which seems to want to exit her chest, completely overwhelmed by the sudden proximity between them.

Thankfully, there’s no need to hear him for, what she assumes must be the depiction of something that cannot be witnessed in the dark of the night, turns out to be a mere excuse his mind has found to get closer to her.

Their arms are now glued, one next to the other and, with a cold air flow coming from her left, Lara shivers and, despite not knowing if the cause of it it’s the temperature or having Jacob right next to her, this one doesn’t let the opportunity pass, quickly grabbing her hand to shelter it in between his own.

The clear difference in their temperature alarms him for a moment and, what usually would’ve cost him a lot of fortitude and hesitation, suddenly comes out as a gesture of endearment, quickly moving even closer to grab her left hand to keep it right next to the other.

“You’re freezing, Lara.”

“Just a bit…” She glances at what she's wearing for a second. “This type of clothing worked just fine last time I was here. Then again, I guess I never stopped and sat down… Kinda spent most of my time here running, which would explain a lot, actually.”

Jacob looks at her clothes too, shaking his head a couple of times.

“It also doesn’t help that your coat it’s worn-out to the point where every inch of it is either paper thin and about to be torn into pieces or already stitched back together.”

Lara blushes a little, regaining the control of her hands before hugging herself and the jacket in question, almost as if she's trying to protect it both from the air and from his comments.

“Well, I happen to like it.” She tells him using a tone of voice that’s very close to defensive.

“I can tell.” He adds in between giggles, finding her reaction very endearing, teasing her about the whole topic.

She frowns but is unable to hold her smile and, with her right arm, she nudges him with her elbow, punching him a little to the side.

“Shut up.”

Jacob breaks instantly into laughter, scooting back a little after recovering his initial posture, and bringing her back to sit on top of him, using his arms to embrace her whole body before covering her hands once again.

His initial movement is born from a place of concern, wanting to shelter her from the cold air as much as possible but, no matter what his motives were at the beginning, once his pose is locked in, his mind starts to travel to other places, almost forgetting the chivalry that brought him to that posture on the first place.

Lara starts talking, but he’s unable to hear her.

Despite trying his best, his whole body is way too focused on his own selfish reasons to hear what she says, for almost a minute.

“... and it has kept me warm in countless situations.” That’s the only piece of her sentence that manages to win back his attention, regaining his focus on what she’s telling him. “And… And…”

Jacob laughs and relaxes a little, letting a deep breath out before resting his head on top of her shoulder.

“And…?”

“Well…” She looks up for a few seconds before setting her eyes back again on the dark valley, letting a big breath out in the process. “And I guess… I like it too much to get rid of it.”

Lara lets her weight rest onto him even more, getting comfortable in his arms.

“There, I said it.” She adds, a bit amused by her own shyness. “Happy now?”

He smiles, indeed happy, not only about her comment, but also because of their current situation and her overall presence back in his life.

“Quite a lot…”

His arms strengthen their hold around her even more and he plants a soft kiss on the top of her head, lowering his head right after to whisper next to her ear.

“You have no idea… How happy I am right now.”

Jacob’s voice hits her neck in a way that it almost seems like a caress, a shiver slithering through her entire body all the way down to her feet.

His right hand betrays his will and, before he’s even aware that it's moving, quickly wraps around her waist, holding her close to him.

By the time he realizes where his hand it’s placed, Lara has already taken the movement as an invitation, turning around, still on top of him, while moving her hands to the back of his neck, staring at his eyes while her fingers entertaining themselves with his hair.

“I…” He doesn’t even know what he wants to say when he starts talking, but it doesn’t really matter, for “I” is the only word he’s able to portray before his lips are quickly sealed by hers.

There’s a second of hesitation on his part, followed by another one of inner fight. But, after the third, he knows he’s completely lost to her.

The night is at its darkest now, letting the stars glow brighter than ever, becoming the sole witness to the scenery displayed below them, as the only two people that remain awake are way too busy to focus on anything other than each other.

Despite the darkness, and having his eyes closed, he can feel her smiling as she kisses him, way too happy to control the corner of her lips as she lets all her weight rest against him.

Jacob mimics her expression as he allows gravity to do its job little by little, until his back is in full contact with the ground, tangling his arms around Lara to keep her glued to him.

There’s a giggle or two before the kisses resume again.

Nothing desperate or out of control. There aren’t rushed hands, scratches nor sultry words.

Neither of them knew what would really happen the first time they were alone like this but, what they had pictured in their heads over the years, looked way too different from the unfolding reality of their current situation.

Or at least it is for Lara.

She always thought there would be an element of desperation, after being apart for so long before they even had the chance to formalize their feelings, but instead, everything seems quite the opposite of what she pictured.

Kind kisses and soft smiles, tender and unhurried, interrupted now and then by deep breaths, not the ones where you come back to the surface for some air, but the ones where you have to stop so your whole being can process everything it’s feeling.

There are light touches here and there, but they aren’t rushed either, a nice walk to warm up to their relationship instead of a full-on sprint and, being completely alone for the first time ever, except for said the shimmering stars above, they continue traveling through that path for longer than any of them can really recall, taking their time to taste the waters with the distant waterfall splashes as their main background music.

The rhythm of their exchange seems to stay the same for a long time but, little by little, the pace accelerates to something closer to the level of intimacy that she had imagined for the many years they spent apart.

Lara’s hands, feeling a sense of security after the extended warm up, start to travel under his coat, looking for a way to get in contact with his skin.

They seem to be welcomed at first, sending a shiver through Jacob’s body before he lets out a subtle giggle. Nevertheless, the moment she starts to move them, aiming to trace little by little his upper body, the cheerful expression disappears right away.

“Lara…”

She freezes and, after looking at his face for a second, retreats to a safe position, with her heart twisting inside of her for letting the whole situation reach a point where she did something she shouldn't have.

“Sorry.” She states, trying her best to get out a smile before planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

Lara turns to her left and lays next to him, thanking the night for being able to conceal all the blush of her face with its darkness.

Jacob, on the other side, remains silent for a few seconds, with his eyes glued to the glowing stars as his breathing comes back to normal.

The silence doesn’t last for long but for Lara seems closer to an eternity, waiting patiently as she traces his features in search for a clue that tells her what she should say next.

Said clue is not needed.

Before her mind can overanalyze everything that’s happened, he rises right arm and points upwards, quickly gaining all her attention as he rescues her from her internal downward spiral.

“See that group of stars there?” Jacob moves his hands, indicating the area of the sky he’s talking about. “Three whites in a triangle form, next to one that glows somewhat bluer…”

Lara does her best to locate the stars he’s talking about.

“Errmm… ” She frowns for a second until she finally sees them. “Oh, I think I got it. In between Orion and Hydra?”

His mouth opens a little but words don’t come up. Instead, he just turns his head and stares at her, half fascinated, half enchanted, and gives her the most discernible sound he’s able to produce to confirm her statement.

“Hum…”

For a moment she forgets about everything, happy to have found the set of stars and proud of her memory for remembering something she wasn’t sure was still stored in her mind.

“So you know astronomy too.” Jacob can’t avoid laughing a little as he says this, wondering how it’s possible for someone like Lara to exist.

“Roth insisted, so I could guide myself at night if something ever happened… And I came to like it.” She replies, with a warm smile on her face. “Never used it for that purpose, but I must admit that it came in handy last time I was here though.”

She makes a spinning motion with her hand.

“Ah, yeah… The orrery.” He completes the thought for her, letting out a sight.

“Seems you like astronomy too.”

“Yeah.”

Jacob is now feeling a bit embarrassed, picturing what she must really think of everything she discovered about him years ago in the buried lost city, but his line of thoughts is quickly cut by her next comment.

“What about them?” He is confused for a second until she specifies her question. “The stars you pointed at.”

“Ah.” Jacob replies with a tired tone of voice. “Nothing important. Some elaborated comment meant to ease your mind while you were preoccupied about the way our, erm, exchange, ended, I guess.”

Lara turns on her side to look at him, sensing, only after an instant, that he may be now the one in need of saving.

“I should’ve said it directly…” He sighs, with his eyes still lost in the sky. “But I tend to overcomplicate everything: my actions, my words… Even my past is way too tangled and surreal to be remotely believable.”

“Neither is mine.” She replies right away, winning his attention back from the heavens. “And sure, I’m not gonna say that having someone build you a gigantic orrery is something normal people do every tuesday...”

Lara laughs at her own comment, taking the opportunity to scoot a little closer to him in the meantime.

“But…” She puts emphasis on the word, letting him know her previous comment was just there to ease the tension and that she’s about to talk about what really matters to her. “You see… I happen to love the way you, how did you say it?” Lara makes a humming noise as she thinks. “Ah, yeah, the way you overcomplicate your words.”

Her words strike against his heart with accuracy. The little hesitation left, is quickly vanished as she quickly proves her point.

“Your smile, your mind, your soul… Every single part of your being seems to be designed to allure me, to control me. To leave me out of breath. Every little part of you enchants me out of reason, making the silence my only partner when, in reality, all of my heart squeals whenever you are near me and weeps upon the idea of you going away.”

Jacob listens with care to his own words from the past as she recites them, feeling his soul twisting inside his body with every metaphor that comes out of her mouth.

Once she finishes, she gets even closer to him, leaving no room left in between them.

“Cannot believe you know that from memory…”

She clears her throat to interrupt him, not needing to put into words the correction of his comment.

“I see.” He’s now the one smiling a little. “You really do know the entire thing, right?”

She nods, seeing his smile and deeping hers even more.

“So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear what you were going to say.” She turns to lie on her back, fixing her eyes back to the group of stars he pinpointed before, not giving him the chance to refuse her petition. “Go ahead.”

He laughs a little before giving up, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before mirroring her position to have a clear sight of the sky.

“You win…”

His right hand rises once again, to aid him with the explanation, while the left one moves with great care to grab hers as he begins to talk.

“You can tell, just by their colors, that those nine stars, in between the two constellations you mentioned before, have always been there.” His right arm moves a little, as he points at one of them. “Nevertheless, that one, more blue than white, right in the middle, has not been visible for most of my existence.”

Lara waits patiently, as she lets the information sink, looking for a deeper meaning to his facts until it suddenly hits her.

“Wait… Without the middle one, you would not group that as a constellation, right?”

“Right.” He laughs a little at the thought of it. “Imagine it. Spent hundreds of years learning about the webbed starry sky and one day, or better said night, I looked up and a never seen before figure was there. As if that had always been its place, for it really was… I just couldn’t see it until then.”

He readjusts his hand to let his fingers tangle in between hers.

“I see.” Lara’s eyes are now glued to the star in question, imagining what it was like for him to discover its presence. “Made you wait a long time…”

“Best things in life… Are the ones you have to wait for.”

Her eyes travel slowly away from the topic of their conversation in search of his own, allowing his last sentence to melt into the air as she processes the true meaning behind it.

Lara smiles a little at him, comprehending now why he wanted to tell her that story in the first place.

“I loved studying the stars.” He starts saying to her, using the same tone of voice she pictured for years to reread his letter. “Knew every single constellation as if the night sky were a burned map inside my memory.”

Jacob makes a pause there, analyzing his own past before exposing the obvious conclusion.

“Without that knowledge, well… Who would’ve noticed a new light amidst the sea of glowing creatures that inhabit our darkest hours?”

He smiles a little, still surprised with the hundreds of things that had to happen to reach this point in his life.

“But it took its time. It waited until my passion and knowledge were at their highest and, after more than seven hundred years of life, when there wasn’t anything else to learn, there it was, finally visible to my eyes, challenging everything that I considered true throughout my existence.”

The grip on her hand tightens even more, fingers pressing firmly around hers.

“Just as today, the night needed to be at its darkest, and the sky had to be completely clear for the entire system to be visible. It’s almost as if, for the first time in many centuries, everything in existence had decided to work in perfect harmony just to bewitch me with a new marvel.”

Jacob takes a moment to breathe but, instead of continuing to talk, he decides to turn to his side, facing her, waiting patiently for a few seconds until she follows his movement and mirrors it.

“You can imagine my glee, witnessing what felt so close to a miracle, after so many years of thinking that I already knew everything there is to see about the universe.”

Lara tries to pretend that she doesn’t understand the hidden meaning behind his words, but her blood doesn’t waste time to betray her, rushing in record time to conquer her face, painting her cheeks with so much blush that, this time around, the darkness of the night is not enough to be able to conceal it.

She hides her face in his chest for a few seconds, depleted of any strength to meet his eyes, and he isn’t surprised when it takes her way longer than usual to muster the courage to resurface.

When she eventually raises her head, in a very slow and controlled motion, her sight is quickly welcomed with a deep and radiant smile, powerful enough to dispel most of her shyness away.

Jacob’s mind scours a few new topics of conversation in an attempt to find something to ease her way back into their almost whispered dialogue but, to his surprise, she’s the one to break the silence first, making a triumphant recovery in no time.

“And you wanted to keep all that to yourself…” Lara half-mumbles as she levels the playing field a bit, making Jacob blush a little too. “Shameful.”

He laughs at her comment, nodding his head a couple of times as he surrenders to her argument.

“Thanks…” He adds, almost a murmur, seeing right through her joke to treasure the true meaning of the words inside his heart. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay.” She adds, laying on her back once again to have another look at the constellation. “More than okay…”

Jacob sits up a bit, propping himself up on his elbows and looking up too to gaze at the sky.

“Mesmerizing, if you ask me.” He starts saying, eyes still glued to the stars, oblivious to anything else as she turns her head a little to look at him. “They don’t glow as much as many of their companions in this starry night, but I find them way more magical than any of them.”

“Oh, of course.” She lets out a couple of giggles, anticipating the effect of her next words on her target. “But I was actually talking about the analogy, not the constellation in question.”

Jacob’s smile freezes momentarily.

He does his best to control his expectations, desperately trying to avoid disappointment, wondering if he hasn’t fully grasped the true meaning of her words.

Nevertheless, he has, and far from being disappointing, they’re the exact ones he wanted to hear all this time.

He wasn’t even aware and he didn’t know how much he needed to hear them, but the moment those few words leave her mouth, he finds himself mesmerized by the effect they cast upon him.

“I meant about waiting.” Lara confirms, letting her hand travel a little and interlocking her pinky finger with his. “I’m more than okay with it.”

“Are you sure…?”

If there was any fear in his voice, it vanishes right away, for her reply is fast and decisive, and with no hint of hesitation on sight.

“Of course.”

Jacob finds himself lost for words, as he has many times before, but somehow manages to mouth a thank you before looking away for a moment, attempting to compose himself as he’s still not used to experiencing these levels of happiness.

“Also, it makes sense…” Lara sits up, waiting until his eyes are back on her, concluding her argument by echoing his initial metaphor. “One should learn everything there is to know about the exposed sky before venturing into exploring the unseen.”

His silence lingers, but she doesn’t need to hear it out loud to understand how he feels.

“Besides, there’s plenty of time and…. The stars aren’t going anywhere”

It takes him a couple more seconds but, after processing everything, he’s finally able to, at least, come up with something to say.

“Right… Right.” He’s so overwhelmed with feelings that his mind acts on its own, deciding to steer the conversation away from emotions for the time being. “Wish I knew the name of those ones, though.”

“Name?”

“Yeah, your scholars have surely come up with a name for the constellation.” He fully sits, legs crossed, spending a couple seconds thanking her, in silence, for allowing him to steer their conversation to a more comfortable topic. “They’re often based on mythical creatures, animals… I’ve been wondering what it must be for many years now.”

Lara makes an effort, scouring her memory as she tries to picture her old astronomy book, knowing perfectly which chapter contains the information she needs, but unable to recollect much of the content.

“I’m sorry…” She huffs, a bit mad at herself. “Can’t seem to recall the scientific name of that constellation, wish I did.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I was mostly thinking out l…”

“But I do know it is a unicorn.”

Jacob's eyes open wide, all hesitation and emotions put on hold with this new information, needing to hear her say that last sentence one more time before he fully assimilates it.

“What?”

“The figure it creates.” She confirms, looking up for a second. “It’s supposed to be a unicorn.”

“I… See…” A smile forms little by little on his face, extremely subtle at the beginning, taking its time to eventually develop into a full grin as he stares into the sky. “A unicorn.”

She looks at him for a few seconds, treasuring his happiness deep inside her heart, before starting to sense the weight of her eyelids, realizing how tired she really is now that their conversation has reached an enjoyable conclusion.

“Glad I could help.” Lara stands up, stretching a little before turning to look at Jacob, offering him a hand to follow her. “But I’m afraid It’s getting late…”

“Or better said, it’s getting too soon, if you think about it... But yeah.” He agrees with the overall meaning, accepting the offer and standing next to her. “Depends on the point of view, I suppose.”

She laughs while shaking her head a couple times and, still smiling at his comment, Lara locks her arm around Jacob’s and they start walking towards the village.

With the sun about to rise, there’s now light enough to see the path, but they still take their time to get there, walking way slower than usual, none of them really wanting this day to be over.

She almost complains when he insists on walking her to her cabin, but that gives them an extra minute together and that’s more than enough to shift her initial response.

They arrive in no time, his hand holding hers as they get ready to part their ways.

They’ve talked so much through the night that there seem to be no words left. Instead, Jacob just leans forwards, cupping her face with his free hand, and plants a soft kiss on her lips, spending a few seconds there before returning to his initial posture.

“Good night…” She whispers as a goodbye, smiling from ear to ear.

He returns the smile, vowing a bit to say farewell.

“Good morning.”

His last comment gets a tiny laugh out of her, but Lara manages to suppress it fast enough to avoid waking anyone, and heads decisively through the door before she has the chance to change her mind about it.

She enters her cabin with an unseen stealth, which is saying a lot given her background, recalling everything to perfection despite the lack of light and finding her cot in record time, but unfortunately, all her efforts fall in bane, for Sofia it’s not sleeping.

Lara has changed her clothes and is already in bed when her friend decides to speak up.

“Everything okay?” Sofia half whispers from her bed. “Seems quite late.”

Her comment makes her sigh, turning a little in her bed to face the other side of the room, almost as an instinct, despite not being able to see anything in the full darkness of the cabin.

“Yeah…” She replies, choosing her words with care, not ready to share everything yet, but not wanting to lie to her either. “The walk took longer than expected. Got distracted by the views.”

“Views?”

Lara smiles, grateful once again for the lack of light as this one conceals her true feelings.

“Got lost into the stars…” She admits, letting her back rest now against the bed as she stares at the ceiling, painting lights onto it with her imagination for a few seconds. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

She hears a subtle laugh from the other side of the room, almost a sound of resignation.

“Oh, don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault… I’ve been awake for a while.” Sofia sighs, moving a little as she tries to find a better posture. “Perhaps I should’ve taken a walk too…”

“Too many things in your mind?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, but after a while, her voice finally forms an answer to Lara’s question.

“Yeah… For too long.” Sofia admits, taking a moment to give another thought to that statement. “Though I think some things will get better now that you’re here.”

“Anything in particular you want to talk about?” Sensing her hesitation Lara decides to step forward. “I can act surprised when you tell me about Levi, if you want to.”

Sofia manages to limit her chuckles to a subtle laughter, a bit surprised that her friend realized her feelings so quickly, needing only one day to understand her situation.

“Aren’t you quick witted.”

“Perks of solving so many puzzles, I guess.” Lara laughs a bit too, happy to see her friends' reactions but understanding way too well why she doesn’t want to talk about it yet. “If you ever need to…”

“I will, don’t worry”. She replies right away, moved by the offering. “And thank you, not only for this, but everything.”

“I thought we agreed four years ago that you’d stop thanking me about what happened…”

“I meant about my father…”

Before the panic takes over Lara’s body, her friend finishes her sentence, quickly sending a sense of relief though all her body.

“He hasn’t been the same for way too long and… Well…”

Sofia takes a second, recalling images of Jacob throughout the entire day, almost unrecognizable to the men he’s been since the Divine Source was destroyed.

“For a while now, he almost felt like broken, lost...” Lara’s eyes water a bit, but she is able to control most of her emotions, remaining silent as Sofia finishes her sentence. “But I think your presence does him good.”

“Really?” She manages to ask with a thin voice.

“Yeah…”

“Then I’m glad I’m back.” Her words choke a little on her throat but the emotions are filtered by the whispers and, what would be noticeable in any other contest, is rendered imperceptible.

“Still don’t know for how long?”

“No, there’s no plans…” She smiles, moving her hand slowly to clean a silent tear as it starts streaming down her face. “Just many things to figure out.”

“Well, you can do that here, and stay as much as you like, take your time.”

“I like that.”

Her mind gets flooded by Jacob’s words as she smiles, picturing their constellation on the ceiling one last time before her eyes succumb to the tiredness.

“Yes… Yes.” Lara smiles one last time before the darkness surrounds her to guide her into her dreams.“I'm… I’m…”

She starts to sink into the deep, only one more sentence is said, escaping her mouth almost as a murmur.

“I’m just gonna take my time.”

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So... Here we are!!! Let me apollogize one more time, I should've written this one a month ago, but thanks to Tumblr I discovered Game Changer and, in a day, I had already developed a quite healthy obsession with Brennan Lee Mulligan (That still lasts to this day lol, just finished watching MaM), so yeah... Spent most of my free time watching dropout shows (upssss~~) Anyways, glad to be back, and... Idk, let me know if you're liking the fic, i guess XDDDDD

#tomb raider #fanfic #jacob lara croft #lara croft #jalara #lara x jacob #lara croft x jacob #jacob x lara #jacob x lara croft #rise of the tomb raider #RotTR

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darcyfangirlsfrequently · 1 year

Text

A Kiss with a Fist (is Better than None)

Summary: “Why do you keep doing that?” / or / In an alternate universe where Luke was injured by the bomb in 16.5, he and Penelope have to work together, and he develops a habit that threatens to expose his feelings.

Word count: 942

Can also be read here on Ao3

Luke's ribs had been cracked and bruised as a result of the bomb blast, so once he was discharged from the hospital he was on desk duty until he was cleared for the field by a doctor. He had begged Tara to sign his release since she was technically a doctor–they had done something similar when Reid was in prison after all–but she refused. Not only was that breaking the rules, but she'd be damned if she let her best friend–who had just been involved in a bomb incident, mind you–back into the field before he was ready.

"Besides," she'd said. "Staying here will give you more time with you-know-who."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Nothing is going to happen between me and Penelope, you and I both know that."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do."

"No, we don't."

"If you two are done bickering like children," Rossi said, turning a corner to where they were talking. "Tara, wheels up." As Tara left, Rossi patted Luke on the shoulder and whispered, "Have fun with Penelope."

Luke groaned. No one got it. Yes, he wanted something to happen between them, he always had. But she didn't. Couldn't. Not after all this time.

***

Despite his protests to Tara and Rossi, Luke did have a good time with Penelope. They worked together seamlessly, him flitting between his desk, the round table room, and her office, and her often having searches running before he could even ask for them. They could practically read each other’s minds, bouncing ideas off each other and finishing the others’ sentences. It had been a while since the two of them had had the opportunity to work together like that, and neither would outwardly admit just how much they had missed it.

One thing, however, had changed about their original dynamic. Whenever she gave him a helpful tidbit of information, or was one step ahead of him, he would say, “You’re the best, thank you,” and then kiss her on the cheek or head.

It wasn’t that she minded, no no, that wasn’t the case at all. Penelope enjoyed it whenever Luke gave her a peck of gratitude. She enjoyed it more than she thought she should. Morgan used to do this kind of thing all the time, and while that would always give her butterflies, it never felt like this. Whenever she felt the soft brush of Luke’s lips against her cheek or the top of her head, it felt like her blood was on fire. She knew this wasn’t a reaction people had when their friends kissed them on the cheek. It was how she realized that her feelings were nowhere near as platonic as she’d been trying to convince herself they were.

They went on like this for three cases before Penelope eventually snapped. “Why do you keep doing that?” Luke had just affectionately squeezed her shoulder and given her a lingering kiss to her cheek.

Luke hesitated. “Why do I keep doing what?” He was sure he knew, but playing dumb might get him out of this conversation he desperately didn’t want to have. He knew she didn’t feel the same way he did, and he wasn’t ready to face that rejection. He should have just kept to himself and not kissed her on the cheek or head whenever he could.

“You know what,” Penelope replied. “Every single time you leave my office, you kiss me somehow, and I want to know why.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’m sorry.”

Luke racked his brain for a way he could spin this. “I don’t know, it’s just something that… comes to me, I guess.”

“How does something like that just come to you?”

There really was no way out of this, it seemed. “I just… wanted to. So I do.”

“Well, are you ever going to ‘want’ to kiss me for real, or is this as far as you’re willing to go?”

Luke’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Do… do you want me to kiss you for real?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t, Newbie.”

Luke threw his head back and groaned. “Jesus Christ, are we seriously back to that?”

“We will be unless you kiss me, Luke.”

In a few quick steps, he was back across the floor of her office and standing right in front of her. He cupped her face in one of his hands, bringing the other to rest on her waist. “Penelope,” he said, voice coming out in a whisper. “I do want to kiss you, I have for a while, but I don’t want to do this if you’re not sure. I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” she whispered back. “I want this. I want you.”

Those words were all it took for him to lean down and press his lips to hers. He knew right then that it had been worth the years and years of wait for this moment.

“I love you,” he whispered as he finally pulled back.

“I love you too,” she murmured against his lips as she leaned forward to kiss him again. Then she pushed him away and said at a normal volume, “All right, now get back to work.”

Luke chuckled as he turned away, and nearly fist-pumped the air in victory, but, as much as he loved her, didn’t want to give Penelope another thing to tease him for. Instead, he made a small fist pump pulled close to his chest, a large smile on his face.

He would get blown up a thousand times over to get to be with her.

#Garvez #garvez fanfiction #luke alvez #penelope garcia #criminal minds #criminal minds reboot #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds fanfiction

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shigarakis-cumdump · 3 years

Text

An Unhealthy Obsession- Shigaraki x reader

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shigarakiscumdump/works

(If you like what you read, consider supporting me on Ao3!)

Summary: Short yandere fic based off the song “An Unhealthy Obsession,” by The Blake Robinson Synth. Orchestra.

Cw: yandere and stalker tendencies

Word count: 1.9k

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Many people would call Shigarki the creepy type if they saw him on the street. Slouched over, face always buried in his phone with his hoodie covering the rest. He looked like your local creep who hung around popular stores and malls by himself. He would go to one mall in particular, even more so after he realized they had a Game Stop there. He would frequently go in to browse, and while he was checking out one day, he met you behind the counter.

“Will this be all?” you ask in your sweet customer service voice, with your head slightly tilted. Shigaraki froze in place. No one this pretty has ever talked to him before.

“Um, yeah, that’s all.” he says quickly, looking down to the ground while you're bagging his games.

“This one’s my favorite; I’ve been playing non-stop since it came out, have fun with it!” you say as you hand the bag back. And you play games? Could it get any more perfect?!

“Thanks,” he managed before walking out of the store and finding the closest bathroom. He locked the stall door and sat down. With his heartbeat in his cock, he couldn’t stop thinking of how innocent your voice sounded, and how pretty you looked. He decided from then on you were his next obsession.

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Shigaraki visited the store so often he learned your schedule. He would watch others make small talk with you, and it made him want to steal you for himself. His blood boiled when someone else would make you laugh. Soon enough, seeing you at your work wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more about you. So he followed you home one day. He kept his distance, being too scared of appearing creepy to people around him. You lived a few blocks away from him, who knew!This made it very easy for Shigaraki to stake out across the street and just watch you for hours. You always kept your windows open, maybe for the natural light? He appreciated it though; in his eyes, you left your blinds open for him. So he could watch as you dance around your room with your dog, and then relax and watch tv, hugging a pillow as you accidentally fall asleep. You were precious, and he realized all you wanted, all you needed, was someone like him to cuddle up into, to make sure you were safe. After all, there were too many creeps who could hurt you- he was just making sure they didn't get to you.

Shigaraki made it back to his place, but you never left his head. He went from sitting in the bushes, to sitting hunched over his desk, looking up your name on every search engine imaginable. “Bingo!” he says once he finds your socials. He scrolls down your page, seeing your stories about going to conventions earlier in the summer, spending time with your friends and- oh? What’s this? You were hugging a boy in this picture. Shigaraki zoomed in to get a good look at his face. “Why would you want a bastard like him?” he grunted angrily. He clicked on his profile and saw a post of you two eating at “your favorite restaurant” together for his birthday. The post was from the beginning of this year, so maybe you weren’t still with the guy. I mean Shigaraki didn’t see anyone while he was stalking you, which was a good sign.

Over time, his camera roll would fill up with screenshots of you off of your profile, shaky pictures he snapped of you while you were working, etc. He was in the store just when you worked now, because any other time he was following paces behind you to wherever your pretty feet were taking you. Stepping up to the counter with a few games, you began checking him out. His voice low and quiet as he asked, “Do you play games often?”

“Oh sure! Whenever I have free time, really. But lately I’ve been too busy. We should totally play together sometime!” you beam. Play together? He wanted to do a lot more than that .

“C-Cool, then I’ll see you through a screen next time,” Shigaraki scratches his neck awkwardly. You give him that practiced smile you show to all the customers. “Oh, what time do you get out?” he asks, and you give him a confused look. “S-so I know when to hop on! Just in case..” he drifts off, trying to keep cool. You tell him around 8, and he leaves. That’s perfect. Gives him just enough time to run some errands.

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Shigaraki went to the hardware store and got the smallest cameras he would find. He hurried over to your place, and prayed the key was still under the rug where you left it. And it was! He unlocked your door, and your small dog ran up to him, jumping on his leg. “You’re a friendly little guy, aren’t you?” he says, leaning down to pet the dog. Don’t get distracted ! He reminded himself. He began by setting a few cameras up in your room, one facing each corner. This gave him a perfect view of your bed, desk, and closet. While he was in there, he picked up a piece of thin red fabric off the ground. He inhaled deeply, to smell a sweet and salty scent. He shoved them into his pockets for later, and finished placing the cameras.

Back out in the living room, your dog was following him around. Shigaraki knelt down and gave him a pat. He read the dog's collar; apparently his name was Shiro. Cute. “You want something, Shiro? You need some food?” he asked, looking around for his dog dish. He found it and filled it up and then sat on the couch. He took your panties out of his pocket, giving them another whiff. The smell shot straight down to his groin, heating him up. He pulled his phone out and went to his album just for you and scrolled through the pictures. He loved you so dearly, and one day you would know just how much he cherished you. He played back the small interactions the two of you had, and all the memories you’d have together in the future. He palmed his hardening cock, head leaning back on the couch.

It was 6:30, he still had a few more hours before you were back. He revealed his dick from his sweatpants, his tip leaking pre. He put your red panties in his hand, and started to jerk himself off- the soft lace brushing against the underside of his dick. His breathing became hitched and sporadic at the thought of you underneath him making the same noises. No, he wasn’t experienced, but you would teach him everything he needed to know!

“Y/N… god you’re so tight..” he groaned. His hips thrusting up into you as you let out lewd noises for him. He grabbed your face and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“God please- fuck, I’m close, Shiggy!” you whined under him, twitching with your back arched and a tit in his mouth. The thoughts that filled his mind went directly to his cock. Shigaraki humped his hand, wishing it could be you, waiting for when it was you. Maybe you’d even fuck on this couch, who knows. He quickly finished and made sure to leave nothing behind before heading out and staking out behind the bushes again.

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You throw yourself on the couch as always, sitting where he sat just an hour ago. You made yourself some tea as you turned the tv on. It wasn’t too late, meaning Shigaraki could watch you for a bit.

A little later, you make yourself dinner. You take the trash out and leave it by the road. Shigaraki, being the weirdo he is, makes his way across the street, dangerously close to your front window, to snoop through your trash. There had to be something good in there. . He rummaged through your trash to find empty take out containers, some paper, and- chapstick? He wasn’t big on using it himself, but if it was yours, it was automatically going on his lips. He thought of it like an indirect kiss from his one and only. It had a taste of sweet strawberries, probably what you would taste like if he ever had the chance to kiss you. One day, he keeps telling himself. He pulls out his phone to check your room cameras and he sees you starting up your pc. Right! You asked to game with him earlier! Shigaraki raced back home to load his game, praying he would find you in one of the local servers. There was FlameThrower2050 , TheRadicalDude , SuckItRight , and Shiro’sCloud online. You had to be the last one. He shot you a direct message, asking if you were up for a game, and you said yes. You actually said yes! Of course, you didn’t know it was him. You went into a private lobby and you turned on your headset. “Hey, can you hear me?” you asked innocently. Your pure voice went right through his heart. “Uh yeah, you sound great,” he blurts out. “Oh, Shigaraki?” you remembered his name?! This left him ecstatic. The game starts and you play a few rounds, Shigaraki being in heaven. You ended up beating him. In every. Single. Round. A bit embarrassing for him, but you laughed it off and didn’t make fun of him for it. Oddly, that stuck with him. You were so nice the whole time- he couldn’t wait to talk to you at work tomorrow!

It was getting late, which is why you had to go, which also meant Shigaraki got to watch you on the cameras. He pulled out his phone, switching to the view of your bed. You crawled in with just panties and an oversized shirt on, how cute. You scrolled on your phone for a little, until it dropped on your chest and you fell asleep. Your phone battery is gunna die, silly… Shigaraki thinks to himself. He could always go over and plug it in for you. No! That was too dangerous!! What if you wake up when he’s standing over you? Certainly that’s not a good impression to leave. He argues with himself for a bit before he’s out of the house, running down the street. His feet carry him all the way back to your place. He grabs the key and goes for the door. It was unlocked. You left it unlocked for him? How nice of you! He sneaks in and Shiro is quick to jump on him. Shiro took quite a liking to him. He tiptoed over to your room, looking at your sleeping body through the door crack. He opened the door slightly, going in and looming over you. He pried the phone from out of your hands and plugged it in for you. You would thank him later; tomorrow! When you’d see him next. Shigaraki zoned out, watching you sleep soundly for a good hour, stealing pictures of you while you were snoring, and getting a quick sniff of your hair. He had stayed there a lot longer than intended, the sun starting to rise. He snuck out of your room and locked the door on his way out.

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“Oh, hey!” Shigaraki hears your pleasant voice call out to him from the counter. “Last night was a lot of fun; how about we play again tonight?” you ask him. He immediately says yes, his heart doing flips in his chest. This was the start of something good.

#shigaraki #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #yandere shigaraki #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere #stalker shigaraki #an unhealthy obsession #no smut #drabble #shigarakithirst

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Prompt: Fic snippet proposed by @myakkoh (tumblr) or BlueSapphire718 (ao3):

“I’m what?” Lan Qiren squawks, since this is the first time he’s heard anything about this. “Sworn brothers with me,” Wen Ruohan drawls. “A memorable night, really.” Lan Qiren stares. “What.” “What’s wrong?” Wen Ruohan sneers. “Can’t speak properly to Da-ge?” “You,” Lan Qiren says, “cannot be Da-ge. It sounds wrong.” “Oh?” “You, are two generations older than me. I am only sixteen.” “All the better,” Wen Ruohan says smoothly.

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

Spilled Pearls

A/N: If Tedious Joys is the story of LQR's relationship with Sect Leader Nie and how WRH impacts that, then this is the story of LQR's relationship with WRH and how Sect Leader Nie impacts that.

Please note the tagging on Ao3 for all warnings, including as to tone

- Chapter 1 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren was running to catch up, because he was always running to catch up.

He’d only been allowed to join this particular night-hunt because of Lao Nie’s interference – his brother hadn’t wanted him there, specifically because Lan Qiren was slow and overly fixated on details and not all that handy with a sword – and he was determined not to fall behind. But he was slow, as always, and tired more easily than the others, and then he got distracted and realized a considerable distance had opened up between him and the rest of the group.

He ran to catch up –

He tripped.

He was going to fall flat on his face, he realized as he pitched forward, throwing his hands up in front of his face to try to blunt the pain since humiliation was already a given. He probably wasn’t far enough behind for them not to see this, and then his brother would turn his face away and sigh, aggravated, his shoulders slumping in disappointment at how Lan Qiren had lost him and their sect face all over again.

Lan Qiren was so bound up in his gloomy thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that he had not, in fact, hit the ground.

Someone had caught him.

Even now, they were holding him by the shoulder, keeping him from falling the rest of the way down with a single hand; the posture was awkward, and must be uncomfortable for them.

Lan Qiren straightened himself up immediately and dropped into a deep salute. “Thank you for your help –”

He looked up.

“…Sect Leader Wen,” he finished weakly.

He stared briefly up into red eyes before averting his gaze. He’d thought it was Lao Nie who’d come back to help him, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw the familiar Nie colors turning back to the group – perhaps he had come, and was now leaving, since help wasn’t necessary any longer.

He hadn’t expected it to be Wen Ruohan, an ancient monster two generations his elder despite his deceptively youthful face – he hadn’t even realized that Wen Ruohan had decided to tag along on this night-hunt, though of course once he thought about it, it seemed perfectly reasonable. He, like all the other sect leaders, was here for the discussion conference, and a small forest town in the vicinity of the Cloud Recesses did not offer much in the way of other entertainment for outsiders. Why shouldn’t he come along on the night-hunt?

“It’s no matter,” Wen Ruohan said, and it probably wasn’t, for him. Someone with his level of cultivation could hold a kid like Lan Qiren up for a week without noticing the strain. “Did you get distracted by something back there?”

“Small blue flowers,” Lan Qiren said. “Typically associated with certain healing herbs, none of which are native to this area, and growing under an oak of all things; I was wondering if the placement had been deliberate and, if so, by whom and for what purpose. Not to mention when, since those aren’t perennial herbs; they have a longer growing cycle that requires certain meteorological conditions –”

“Aren’t we hunting serpent demons today?” Wen Ruohan asked, and Lan Qiren flinched.

They were, of course. And serpent demons wouldn’t exactly take the time to go plant healing herbs in a wild patch, so it had been a totally pointless diversion.

As usual.

“I got distracted,” Lan Qiren mumbled, his earlier enthusiasm squashed. “I’d say it won’t happen again, but it probably will, and do not lie is a rule.”

Wen Ruohan gave an amused huff. “Ah yes, the famous Lan sect rules. Do you often follow them?”

“Always!”

A hum. “I see. Well, the others have gotten rather far ahead, and I hear the sound of fighting – they must have already found the serpent demons, and will no doubt finish them off by the time we catch up.”

So he’d missed it. Lan Qiren’s shoulders drooped in disappointment.

“Why don’t you show me your flowers, instead?”

Lan Qiren looked up. Wen Ruohan was smiling.

“If you’re sure,” he said cautiously, but Wen Ruohan shrugged and nodded, and, well, Lan Qiren was supposed to be making friends with the members of the other sects, wasn’t he? Maybe no one had been thinking about the Wen sect, especially since Wen Ruohan’s last set of children had all died – someone had broken the prohibition on gossip in Lan Qiren’s presence and suggested that Wen Ruohan had something to do with that, rather than it being just bad luck, and that he’d done it because he thought he was a real immortal and therefore could always start anew, but the idea was so appalling that it surely couldn’t be true – but there wasn’t any real reason to exempt his sect or even him, either. Friends were friends, weren’t they? “It’s this way. Follow me.”

Wen Ruohan put his hands behind his back and followed Lan Qiren back towards the tree he’d found, his every motion slow and stately as if he were walking in a garden rather than the forest. Lan Qiren found himself mildly jealous.

To distract himself – envying others was against the rules! – he started explaining about the flowers he’d recognized and the types of herbs he thought the plant might be, citing the treatises he’d read about their usual spread and growing patterns and the uses for each one. Somewhere along the line he got distracted, though, because Wen Ruohan mentioned something about the Lan sect rules again, except he got it wrong; there was no rule against excessive verbosity, only against frivolous speech, and while there was a positive rule that counseled speaking meagerly, that was explicitly meant to avoid words that could bring harm and therefore did not apply to intellectual discussions.

Delighted as always to talk about his favorite subject, Lan Qiren promptly launched into an explanation as to the history of the debate as to whether there should be an affirmative prohibition against excessive speech, the various points on either side, the historical texts on the subject, the storied history of the rules regarding the need for an exchange of ideas in furthering education balanced against the exhortation not to take words lightly…

“Look at me,” Wen Ruohan said, and Lan Qiren obeyed at once. Wen Ruohan was his elder, although not of his sect, and by this point Lan Qiren was used to elders disapproving of how his flickering gaze tended not to settle on people and his preference to look at things through his peripheral vision, and of being ordered to meet their gaze.

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were red, as he’d noticed before, and his gaze was heavy and thoughtful, somehow ponderous. It felt almost like pressure against his skin or maybe his mind.

Maybe I should change subjects or be quiet, Lan Qiren thought to himself, the thought coming to him almost involuntarily, but then he realized that if he did, Wen Ruohan wouldn’t hear about the three-day conference that had been held in his great-grandparents’ generation that specifically focused on the rules that related to speech. And that would be an awful shame, wouldn’t it?

So he kept going.

He kept up the eye contact, though. The elders didn’t always like that, either – when he did hold someone’s gaze, he would stare too directly and too long, not knowing when it was appropriate to turn away, but he figured Wen Ruohan would simply tell him. He’d reminded him about the eye contact earlier, hadn’t he?

“How old are you?” Wen Ruohan suddenly asked, just as Lan Qiren was taking a deep breath, having finished explaining the conference and about to launch into a discourse on the follow-up texts that had been written in the immediate aftermath.

Lan Qiren blinked, distracted by the apparent non sequitur. “Thirteen,” he said.

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully. “Thirteen. Interesting.”

“Is it?” Lan Qiren asked, bemused. “I think it’s a rather boring age. I’m old enough for more chores, but not old enough to have free access to the library or go on night-hunts on my own.”

Wen Ruohan chuckled. His voice was very deep. “I was more commenting on your strength of mind, which is remarkable for your age. I do not recall the age itself,” he said, his tone a little dry. He was ancient, so it was reasonable for him to forget having been thirteen. “Has anyone ever told you about the ways in which cultivation can be used to influence the thoughts and will of others?”

Lan Qiren thought about it. “I think so? There’s a text that says that weak-willed cultivators can be swayed through external pressure wielded by a stronger person’s cultivation, and the larger the power gap between the cultivators, the more effective the influence can be…I don’t remember which text it was, though. I could look up the citation for you when we return –”

“No need. I am not in search of sources.”

Wen Ruohan probably had his own library full of sources, Lan Qiren reflected, and nodded.

“Oh, we’re here,” he said, noticing, and pointed to the flowers. “See, like I told you earlier, it has the characteristic qualities of –”

“Qiren!”

Lan Qiren flinched.

That was his brother’s voice, and he didn’t sound happy.

“Sect Leader Wen,” his brother said, striding into the clearing where they were standing and saluting in a somewhat perfunctory fashion. “I appreciate you taking the time to watch over my younger brother – please forgive him for any impertinence or insult –”

Lan Qiren’s shoulders were up by his ears and his whole face was red with shame. He hated how his brother apologized for him before he even checked whether Lan Qiren had even done anything; it was embarrassing that his brother always thought so little of him.

Maybe he wasn’t talented the way his brother was, but he wasn’t that bad, he didn’t think.

“Think nothing of it, Qingheng-jun,” Wen Ruohan was saying in return. “We were merely spending some time together. I assume the serpent demons have been taken care of?”

“Yes, they have,” Lan Qiren’s brother said. “There’s some debate regarding the disposition of the corpses, if you’d like to join in – forgive us both, but I have to take my brother back to make sure he doesn’t miss curfew.”

Curfew wasn’t for another two shichen, so Lan Qiren had no idea what his brother was talking about, but he obediently saluted Wen Ruohan and followed his brother away.

The moment they were out of view, his brother reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing far too tightly, and tugged meaningfully, glaring when Lan Qiren opened his mouth to protest.

Lan Qiren didn’t understand what his brother was trying to convey.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Qiren started to say, and felt his lips abruptly seal together – it was the muting spell. He could break it, of course, being a member of the Lan sect as well, but his brother was his elder; he should wait patiently until he removed it. Still, he was a little indignant that his brother felt the need to use it on him. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong!

(The glare, he thought. The glare must have been a secret message to not speak, and he’d missed it.)

His brother didn’t say anything as they got on their swords, and he didn’t let go of Lan Qiren’s wrist, either, tugging him along as if he thought Lan Qiren was stupid enough to get lost on the way home. A feeling of shame, the sensation of having made some terrible error and not having realized it again, settled in Lan Qiren’s belly and steadily got worse and worse as they traveled.

It wasn’t until they were back at the inn that was housing everyone during the night-hunt that his brother released his hand.

“You shouldn’t let yourself be alone with Sect Leader Wen,” he said, which surprised Lan Qiren – he’d expected his brother to jump straight into listing out all the ways Lan Qiren had embarrassed him at the night-hunt. He hadn’t been expecting his brother to say something like that at all.

“Why not?” he asked, and his brother glared at him. “You didn’t want to babysit me, and I was falling behind. He wanted to see the flowers –”

“He was humoring you,” his brother interrupted. “Everyone always humors you, but no one actually ever cares about whatever nonsense you’re rambling on about this week. Don’t you know that especially powerful cultivators can affect the mind of the weak-willed?”

Lan Qiren blinked. What a strange coincidence, both his brother and Sect Leader Wen mentioning the exact same thing. “Yes,” he said. “I know. In fact –”

“I don’t want to hear another one of your stupid citations,” his brother said, cutting him off, and making Lan Qiren feel stupid and resentful again – he hadn’t even been about to cite anything! “Anyone who’s ever met you can figure out that you’re little better than a half-wit, all right? Wen Ruohan is a petty person, capable of anything, even only on a whim. Don’t spend time alone with him. Consider it another rule.”

“You don’t have the authority to make rules!”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” his brother snapped, and Lan Qiren bowed his head, acknowledging the point. “Now do me a favor and stay here until the conference is over – I should be back with the rest of them, acting in Father’s place as the sects divide up the spoils. I can’t believe I’m here taking care of you again instead.”

Lan Qiren wrung his hands together. He hadn’t intended anything like that. “Xiongzhang –”

“Have I made myself clear?”

“…yes, xiongzhang.”

“Good.” His brother was on his sword and flying back towards the forest before Lan Qiren could even blink. He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.

Lan Qiren supposed he didn’t have to. It wasn’t like Lan Qiren was going anywhere.

At least, not yet. He was already thirteen – less than ten years and he’d be advanced enough to go anywhere he liked, to be a traveling musician and cultivator the way he’d always planned. He’d be able to help people and spend time with anyone he liked, or not spend time with anyone at all if he didn’t feel like it, and there would be nothing his brother could do to stop him.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #qingheng-jun #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls #as many of you guessed this is the long one #WRH is not evil #or that evil anyway #very slow burn #LQR's no good very sad backstory #going to post this M W F and other fics in between

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

Whumptober Day 1: Bound

It's October so of course I'm writing again! We'll see how far I get through Whumptober this year lol.

Day 1: “You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Characters: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne

Summary: When Damian becomes the latest victim in a string of kidnappings across Gotham, it's down to Dick to save him and the rest of the missing kids. He just has to get there in time.

AO3 Link

The sound of Dick’s boots echoed in the empty hall even as his heart pounded in his chest and his comm buzzed white noise into his ear. Dim lights flickered around him, only just illuminating his path through the old abandoned hotel. But he had to keep moving, had to find the missing kids. Had to find Damian .

He pushed himself a little faster through the hall, pausing only whenever he came to a door to throw it open, then on finding it empty, start his mad dash again. They had to be here, everything pointed to this location.

Batman and Robin had been investigating a series of kidnappings over the past month. Dick had done his best to keep Damian away from the information but the kid was about as stubborn as Bruce had been when he decided on something, so Dick had let him in with the promise they did everything together.

And he’d kept that promise. He’d done so well, and then it had been Dick who’d lost him.

“Stupid.” Dick grumbled, peering into yet another empty room. Every room was empty on this floor, but there were still the ballrooms at the top to check.

He’d been so stupid, taking Damian out to do some shopping then turning away for a moment. A second had been all the kidnapper needed to grab another kid. Another victim. And it was Dick’s fault. For looking away when there was a person out there grabbing kids Damian’s age.

Alfred’s consoling voice from earlier flooded through his thoughts as he took the stairs down two at a time, ‘It is not your fault, you were simply trying to have a good day amidst all this terribleness.’ And what good had it done either of them? Panic in Dick’s chest, and a missing brother.

The only thing that kept him moving was that none of the kids had been found yet. No ransoms had been sent out either, but no bodies meant they had to be somewhere. And Dick was going to find them.

He’d tracked the kidnapper here via an unusual series of shipments of food and chemicals sent to a Dr. Keith Raimy. An ex-professor from Gotham U who’d been kicked out for multiple breaches of student privacy and theft of university property. He'd recently had a paper rejected. It's title? Fear and Trauma: Can We Make Our Kids Strong Enough for the Future, Through Fear Today? Dick had skimmed the paper, and what had been proposed inside had made him sick to his stomach.

The door to the first ball room he tried on the top floor was locked. Muffled, and just through the door, Dick could hear screams. In a fit of rage, and fueled by the panic Dick was only just keeping in check, he kicked it down. The old rotting hinges gave way and the thing toppled backward with a heavy thump.

Silence filled the room for a moment, giving Dick a breath to take it in. Mostly empty, it had rotting carpet and peeling wallpaper. A tattered chandelier hung from the ceiling, pieces held on by a few dangling wires, but mostly disassembled either from time or theft.

Huddled in a group in one corner of an old ballroom, were children. The children Dick had been searching for. From what he could see, they were bound with some sort of rope, and looked rough, but alive and breathing.

At the far back of the room there was a stage, or what had once been used as a stage. Now it was mostly just a raised platform with tall floodlights dragged up to it, a rumbling generator the source of their power. It was cluttered with other equipment too, tables filled with jars and beakers, boxes opened with bits poking out of the top, and a laptop hooked up to a microscope. Standing among the clutter was Dr. Raimy in a stained lab coat just blocking a table.

He had turned to stare at Dick when the door came crashing down. Now, he moved to raise his arm, mouth opening, and in the next breath the moment of silence was broken as the screaming started again. The doctor tensed, shifting a bit to cover the table, but it wouldn’t help.

Clear now, the voice was unmistakably Damian’s, high and terrified in a way Dick had never heard it before and it was coming from behind the doctor.

Dick bolted forward, slipping batagrangs out of his belt. Damian was his only thought. His boy was up there, terrified and suffering all because of the man in front of him.

Dr. Raimy jumped to the side, attempting to make a run for it, and stumbled into another table. It gave Dick long enough to cover most of the distance between them and fling a few batarangs in the man’s direction. One caught his jacket, and the other stabbed into junk on the table making him yelp. He jerked back, and then turned towards the table he’d been guarding, making a second dart for it, and the figure writhing atop it. Red clouded Dick’s vision as he got his first clear view of his little brother, strapped down to the table with a long strand of barbed wire, and straining against it as he yelled.

Dick roared, and leapt up to the platform, grabbing the doctor as he did so. The man released an aborted shout as Dick flung him back and away from the table into a pile of boxes. He turned for a moment to Damian, catching sight of his brother’s pupils blown wide. He hadn’t even registered the action beside him, trapped in whatever horrorscape he’d been dropped into.

The sound of rustling indicated that Raimy was already pushing himself up, babbling something about science and progress and Batman not understanding.

He stalked forward, raising himself up to as imposing a height as possible and kicked at the doctor, knocking him back into the boxes to stun him. Then, he reached down and dragged the man upwards.

“What did you give him?” he demanded.

“It was--a mixture of my own making.”

Dick shook him so hard that he heard something pop, “Did you make an antidote?”

Behind him, Damian’s screaming changed pitch to something even more desperate.

“ Tell me .” he growled.

“T-there, it’s--it’s in the line of blue vials. Please don’t kill me, I was only trying-”

Dick didn’t give the man the time to finish his sentence, he punched him square in the face, and dropped him unconscious back into the boxes. Then he was over at the vials, thankfully a syringe had already been filled or he’d have to waste time figuring out how much to give Damian. He pocketed it, swapping it out in his hand for a pair of wire clippers and rushed back to the table.

“Damian, I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s alright.” Dick said, voice gentle, “I’m getting you out of here.”

Something must have gotten through to him, because Damian stilled at his words, staring with wide, terrified eyes up at Dick. Dick tried not to look at the red lines of blood on Damian’s arms and chest he worked on clipping the barbed wire, instead murmuring quietly to Damian to keep him calm.

Thankfully, the man hadn’t totally wrapped Damian in the stuff. The single band was thick and strong enough to keep a drugged kid down, but hopefully hadn’t done too much damage. Still, it made Dick’s stomach churn as he lifted it as gently as he could off his brother, Damian making only the tiniest of sobs as each barb still embedded in his skin pulled out.

“Just one more second, sweetheart.” Dick whispered, hoping his voice wasn’t carrying over to the other kids. There was murmuring coming from them by now, as they realized rescue was at hand, but Dick’s focus was on the kid currently in need of the most help. At last, Dick dropped the discarded wire onto the table and leaned back to find the vial of the antidote.

Something about the sound of the wire, or a movement Dick made, or just whatever concoction the doctor had given him triggered something in Damian the moment Dick leaned away. He shot up from where he’d been lying, and grabbed the wire with both hands, heedless of any damage it was causing.

Dick reached for him, ready to pull the barbed wire away from him but Damian scooted back, precariously close to the edge of the table and yelled, “No! Don’t!”

“Hey, it’s alright, why don’t you give me that?” Dick asked, trying to calm him back down.

“Stop!” Damian yelled again, gripping the wire tighter and pressing it to his chest, “Don’t take him!”

“Damian please, you have to let go. It’s hurting you.” Dick tried again, wincing as red started to drip down the wire.

“No! I won’t let you!”

“Okay, okay.” Dick held up both hands, whatever Damian was seeing must have been convincing and he didn’t want to hurt the kid by forcing the barbed wire out of his hands, he’d only tear them up more that way.

“Would you let me give you something?” Dick asked, gently lowering his arms to retrieve the syringe, “It’ll make you feel better.”

Damian eyed him, the look almost like what he’d normally make when suspicious, but just off enough from the drugs, “Yes?” he said.

“Great. I just need your arm, you don’t have to let go of anything or anyone okay?” Dick said, slowly reaching for Damian’s arm with his free hand. When the boy let him place his hands by his elbow, Dick angled it up, then after a moment, praying he hadn’t been lied to, injected his brother with the liquid in one motion.

Damian jerked back, squeezing the wire closer to him and went tumbling from the table. Dick lunged over it, and just managed to hook an arm around the kid, tugging him up. He heard the clatter of glass falling and hitting the ground as the syringe that had still been stuck in Damian’s arm slipped out and shattered.

“No! No! Stop!” Damian wailed, kicking and jerking in Dick’s hold.

Mindful that if he tugged Damian into his chest the barbed wire would do more harm, Dick decided he'd restrain him by pulling his back towards him. That was easier said than done with a flailing kid. At last, Dick had an arm hooked under Damian’s arms and had him held tight against him, seated again on the table. His brother continued to scream and kick and tug at him for another minute, then two, until gradually Damian’s own chest slowed it’s rapid rise and fall and his cries quieted down to nothing.

“Batman?” His voice was tiny, shattered from screaming, but almost lucid.

Dick dropped his face into Damian’s hair and sighed, “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

He let go of Damian and stepped around to face his front. There, he pointed at the tangled barbed wire still in Damian’s hands, “Will you hand me that?”

Damian looked down surprised to see it, “Oh.”

Wincing he released it, and before anything else could happen, Dick balled it up and tossed it away from them. When he turned back to Damian, the kid was staring down at his palms that were red and torn. He hadn’t said anything else, but Dick could hear the tight way he was breathing, the sound almost like whistles, like he was holding back the pain.

He dug out some gauze, wraps, and something to numb the pain, “Here, let me.”

With gentle motions Dick bandaged Damian’s hands. When he was done, he dropped a kiss onto the knuckles of each one, “Wait for me right here? I have to help the others.”

Damian’s eyes went wide, “The kids--”

“Are mostly fine.” Dick said, sparing them another glance, they’d been remarkably patient, but their chatter had gone up from quiet murmurs to full conversations, “But eager to be untied I’m sure.”

His brother nodded. Even though it tore at Dick’s heart to step away, he did. And he took as much time with each of them as they needed. Batman couldn’t focus only on one child after all, especially when others showed signs of having gone through something similar to Damian. Gradually though, Dick got them all settled down, untied, and called Oracle to let her know to send police and paramedics. Then he swung by Damian to scoop him up into his arms --the kid for once not arguing being carried-- and corralled everyone downstairs.

Dick could see the lights of the emergency vehicles through the windows, and sent the children out before him, lingering back in the building with Damian. The last thing he wanted to do was let go of his brother, even if it was to hand him off to medical professionals. He’d just gotten him back, and the mere thought of having him out of his sight for a second felt impossible to manage. All he could think of were the number of --mostly implausible-- ways Damian could end up hurt or in danger again.

He was starting to see why Bruce had been so protective of his Robins.

"Batman?" Damian's voice was very quiet in the dim lighting.

"Yes?"

Damian shifted so his face was pressed a little closer to Dick's neck, "I'm sorry. I got caught."

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry I let you get taken."

"I-" Damian sighed, "Thank you for coming."

Dick tugged him a little closer, mindful that he still had injuries that needed to be cared for, "Always. Now, what do you say we sneak out and let Alfred finish patching you up? The police are used to Batman disappearing, and I found you before I ever reported you missing."

Damian, hummed, “I would like that, I want to go home.”

Dick pressed a kiss into Damian’s hair, “Then straight home we go.”

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #whumptober2021 #day 1 #bound #barbed wire #you have to let go #injury #blood #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #happy ending #precious posts #no editing we die like robins

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

For the birthday prompt: [Winteriron or Stuckony] Omega Tony soothing Alpha Bucky after a panic attack/nightmare shortly after they get him back to the Tower/Compound. Maybe a little bit of the team being overprotective on the omega genius and had been keeping him away from the "dangerous" and traumatized alpha assassin. But in the end, Tony just struts in like it's nothing and Bucky just f'ing melts to do whatever Tony says (in a sweet way, not a creepy one). Please?

Tumblr is doing weird things with the asks so if this doesn’t work, bear with me and I’ll post the story in the notes.

This story got a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit) away from me so I hope this is still what you were hoping for! I went the Stuckony route here and I’m also headcanoning that after a few years of dating Steve, Tony has mostly gotten over his emotional constipation.

As always, everything I write is on ao3 but tumblr doesn’t like links so I’m not including that

The first time Tony sees Bucky Barnes, it’s through a screen.

It’s the first real lead they’ve had in months, since the flurry of sightings immediately following SHIELD’s collapse. The team had sent Natasha and Clint to check it out. They’re both betas, and Nat’s ability to control the calming pheromones all betas let off gives them an edge over an alpha they suspect is on the verge of going feral.

He’s not on the verge, Tony realizes when he sees Barnes on the screen for the first time. He is feral.

Eyes clearly gone red, clear even through the low saturation of the screen, baring his fangs at Natasha and Clint as they cautiously approach, growling so fiercely that the other people in the market are giving him a wide berth as they peer at him fearfully from under their lashes—Bucky has been pushed past the point of breaking into ferality. It’s not surprising. Their entire world crashing down—literally, in this instance—would be a lot for any alpha to handle, but for one trying to deal with seventy years of brainwashing and amnesia? Yeah, Tony’s not surprised.

There’s something slightly terrifying about it. Alphas going feral is supposed to be a nightmare story, something you tell children about at night to scare them into being good. It’s not supposed to be something you see in a crowded marketplace. And when Tony thinks about how easy it would be for something to go wrong, if they’d sent someone other than Nat or Clint—like Steve who had wanted so badly to be the one to bring his friend in or even Tony with his omega pheromones evolved to tempt alphas into paying attention to him and only him—he shudders.

But—there’s something almost piteous about it too. It’s clear that Bucky is terrified beneath his snarling veneer, clear that he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and something in Tony’s heart shifts the same as it had the first time he saw Steve.

Something thrums deep inside him to the tune of mine.

“I can help,” he says.

Beneath him, Steve shifts uneasily, saying, “Tony—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. He turns, Steve’s arm sliding from his stomach to his hip, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching Nat raise her hands placatingly out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve had six months to get used to—everything. It wasn’t his fault, I know that, and—and you still love him, Steve, I know you do.”

“I love you,” Steve says, which isn’t really much of an argument.

“I know.” He smiles when Steve rolls his eyes at the well-worn response. “But you love him too. And… he feels like you did when we first met.”

He can feel Steve tense, and he tucks his head deeper into the crook of Steve’s neck, purring quietly to force him to calm. He knows his alpha is only worried about his safety. Bucky isn’t the same person he once was and even if Steve still has feelings for him, it’s only instinct to be worried about the omega he’s also in love with. But he doesn’t need to be worried. Tony is more than capable of taking care of himself and his own instincts are screaming that Bucky won’t hurt him, that Bucky is his. Only once Steve is fully relaxed again does he continue, “Please, Steve. I want to help. I want to know him better and I want to know if what I’m feeling about him is real. Let me?”

Steve sighs but Tony feels his lips curve upwards where they’re pressed against his hair. “I don’t let you do anything.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Bucky is still feral by the time he, Nat, and Clint return to the tower, but it’s tinged now with panic. Tony can smell the sour scent it all the way from where he and the rest of the team are waiting in the kitchen and Bucky’s still outside. He’s not sure if that says something about his strength as an alpha or the depths of his panic, but either way, it’s not good. He glances again at the screen where he can see Natasha trying to calm Bucky down enough to get him to enter the building—the windows blacked out so that Bucky doesn’t panic further at the sight of the team just inside the landing pad—but it’s no dice.

“I’m going out there,” he announces.

It’s meant to just let everyone know that he’s going, but everyone else seems to take it as an invitation to stop him. The noise in the kitchen swings up into an uproar. Even Steve, who knows that he has every intention of helping, has tucked him up against his side, keeping him from taking a single step out of the kitchen.

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce argues once the initial noise has died down a little. It’s telling that Steve doesn’t immediately argue with him the way he normally does when someone says something bad about Bucky.

“We’re all dangerous,” Tony shoots back, ineffectually trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s arms. “I’m dangerous and biology practically dictates that my orientation is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit.”

Steve, who has been on the receiving end of Tony’s intense heats, snorts.

“Look,” he continues, “Nat’s not having any luck getting him to calm down enough to come inside and right now I’m really worried he’s going to either steal the Quinjet and take off or jump off the tower and take off. Either option comes with a lot of paperwork that I have to sign so I’d prefer it if he just came inside so why can’t I try? We can’t send another alpha out there, he’ll take that as a sign of aggression, and we can’t send Sam. The last time Bucky met him, he kicked him off a helicarrier. So that means we’re down to me. Sucks that it’s me but I’m our best option.”

“If he hurts you—” Steve begins.

“He won’t,” Tony says softly and turns so he can nose at Steve’s scent glands. “You won’t let him. I know you’ll be right there, ready if something goes wrong.”

Steve clearly still doesn’t want to let him go out there but his arms loosen enough for Tony to slip away. He smiles at the others, hiding his own nerves beneath a façade of self-confidence that he absolutely doesn’t feel. It’s not like any of them are wrong: feral alphas are dangerous, and this one is more dangerous than most. But he’s not wrong either: Bucky is in more danger the longer he stays out there. Hydra is searching for him and it was sheer luck that the Avengers found him first. But he doesn’t know how long that luck will hold, so the quicker they can bring him in out of the cold, the happier he’ll be.

He straightens his shirt and steps outside, ignoring the way the rest of the team trails him to the door. Bucky’s red eyes snap instantly to him. It’s unsettling, a little terrifying, and Tony has to stop himself from reaching for his sunglasses or from jamming his hands in his pockets. Instead, he holds himself loose and open, hands at his side and palms open so Bucky doesn’t think he’s hiding a weapon in his fists.

“Tony, what do you think you’re doing?” Clint murmurs, alerted to his presence by the sound of the door closing. Natasha is still concentrating on Bucky, trying to soothe him. Even from where he’s standing, he can feel her pheromones washing calm over him and he revises his plan to include her. He’s never felt this kind of strength from her before but he’d be an idiot not to use it.

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Bucky, who’s growling lowly now. “Go back inside, Natasha and I have got this.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint says. “Steve would have my head if—”

“Steve’s my backup. He’s right inside. Go inside; I can’t calm Bucky down if he’s worrying about you.”

“But—”

“Please.”

He thinks it’s the please that does it. By now, the team knows that the whole Tony Stark doesn’t use social niceties thing is bullshit but he still spends so much time in the workshop, and so much time teasing the others when he’s not working, that it’s still an indicator that he’s completely serious about something.

Clint doesn’t waste time asking any other questions. He, more than anyone else on the team except for Steve, knows better than to underestimate people and question them when they’re confident. And Tony is about as confident as he can be. There are ways that this can go wrong, absolutely, but they’re running out of options and what he’s about to try is something that’s been scientifically proven to be effective.

He doesn’t watch Clint go, though Bucky does, only to snap his gaze right back to Tony as soon as Tony takes a step forward. He places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as he passes her, murmurs into her ear too low for even supersoldiers to hear, “Keep up the good work. You’re helping,” and comes to a stop within armlength of Bucky, knowing that Bucky could easily reach out and hurt him if he wanted to.

It seems to throw Bucky off, who blinks at him. Tony smiles at him and reaches up to his neck, loosening the scent blocker just enough to dilute the bonded scent pouring off of him and allow his own to filter in.

Bucky blinks again. “Omega,” he says eventually, voice rusty with disuse.

Tony smiles again. “That’s right.”

“And… Stevie?” Bucky guesses. In that moment, he sounds so young that it makes Tony’s heart break. Bucky had his future stolen away from him just the same as Steve did. He can’t fully regret that because it brought them both to him, but he knows how much pain and healing Steve had had to go through after waking up in this century and he knows what Bucky will still have to do, and he hurts for them.

“Steve’s my alpha,” he says. “Do you remember Steve?”

Bucky hesitates and then slowly nods. The red is slowly starting to recede from his eyes—though Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with what he’s doing or if it’s just because he’s managing to baffle the alpha—and then Natasha shifts. It’s nothing more than a twitch of her leg but Bucky instantly notices it.

Before Tony realizes it, Bucky has snatched him to him, tucked him behind the mass that makes up Bucky’s body, and is snarling at Natasha, eyes scarlet red again. Just barely, he sees the door start to open and if it does, if the team comes out of it ready to fight, they’ll lose Bucky.

“No!” he shouts, startling Bucky. It’s enough though. The door pauses. Tony can see Steve through the crack, looking terrified, but he isn’t hurt. He’s okay. Bucky hasn’t done anything other than seemingly try to protect him.

He darts in front of Bucky again, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and tugs him down to his neck, tucking his face into the loosened scent blocker so he can inhale both Steve and Tony.

“Settle,” he commands. It’s usually a command an alpha uses for their omega but there’s precedence of omegas using it too. He draws on every ounce of strength he typically reserves for the boardroom and pushes it into his voice, ordering him again when Bucky lets out an answering growl.

It takes a moment but Bucky suddenly melts, going limp and boneless against him. Tony’s only half-expecting it; the alpha’s weight takes him by surprise and they sink to the ground, Bucky taking in huge gasping breaths as he breathes in their combined scents.

“Oh my darling,” Tony whispers, hands coming up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Without quite meaning to, Bucky ends up moving into the guest room on his and Steve’s floor. Tony means to put Bucky on his own floor but then Bucky spends the afternoon following him docilely around the common areas, as sweet now as he was feral a few hours earlier. The others still seem a little wary but as time passes and it becomes obvious that Tony is in fact doing some good, they start to relax. By the time they’d be heading up to bed, Bucky is stretched out on the couch, head on Tony’s lap and feet tucked under Steve’s legs, as the team watches a movie.

“I think he’s imprinted on you,” Clint observes dryly as he heads for the elevator. “Like a duck.”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but he feels the alpha tense. “That’s okay, darling,” he comments idly. “I’m pretty sure Steve and I imprinted on each other once we started living together too.”

Natasha groans. “Don’t remind me. It was like watching a Disney movie without the singing animals.”

“Disney movie?” Bucky asks, voice muffled by Tony’s thigh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony assures him.

The rest of the team starts slowly filtering out until it’s just the three of them. Tony and Steve exchange a look over Bucky’s head, not needing to communicate with words after the years they’ve spent together. They’re both concerned about where Bucky will sleep tonight. With a quick glance toward Bucky and a tilt of his eyebrows, Steve tells him that he would be more than happy with Bucky staying with them, but he’ll leave the decision up to Tony. No one likes the scent of a distressed omega after all, and the easiest way to end up with a distressed omega is by inviting someone into their space that they don’t want there.

Fortunately, Tony would be more than happy with Bucky there. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that one look at Bucky and it had felt like they were meant for each other, just as it had felt with Steve—and, he suspected, just as it had felt with Steve and Bucky, even if they’d never made a move.

But he wants the choice to be Bucky’s, so he gently lifts his hands away from Bucky’s hair and asks, “Bucky? Do you want to have your own floor? We’ve got a few extras for when we expand the roster. Or you could stay on our floor, if you’d prefer?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to say, “With you.”

He knows Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he wants, doesn’t mean that he’ll join them in their bed, but maybe… Maybe someday, once Bucky is better (he isn’t so naïve as to think this is the end of it; he only has to look at his own history with backsliding after Afghanistan and Stane and the palladium reactor to know that) and if he and Steve can figure out the right words to invite someone into a triad bond…

Well. Maybe someday.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve gently shaking his shoulder. “Waz wrong?” he mumbles, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I have a nightmare?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, leaning over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Bucky wanted to know if he could join us. Said he was worried about Hydra.” He doesn’t say if Bucky was worried about Hydra taking him away or someone else, Tony or Steve, he notes, but the answer is the same either way.

“’Course he can, long as he’s not a blanket hog.”

He fully expects Bucky to climb in on Steve’s other side. It only makes sense: the two grew up together so of course, Steve would be the middle in this instance. Instead, Steve tugs Tony closer to him so that he’s spooning up behind him, and Bucky crawls under the blankets so that he’s facing Tony, looking more relaxed as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Huh. Maybe there’s something to what Clint was saying about Bucky imprinting on him. He would be more worried, but alphas don’t imprint on someone unless they feel safe with them, unless there’s the beginning stirrings of a mating bond in the back of their mind, even though a full bond takes time, communication, and love to develop. Considering that Tony’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on Bucky the same way, he really isn’t that concerned about Bucky’s feelings.

Still though, he makes a note to sit down and talk with Bucky eventually about how they can’t just rush into this. They’ve all been through too much to immediately strike up a relationship. Bucky isn’t in the right mental state at the moment. And as for Tony, he wants to make sure they’re all on the same page and that Bucky won’t regret this two years down the line. Hell, he’s still uncertain that Steve won’t regret this at some point, so he definitely wants to know that Bucky’s sure of his feelings.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Tony, he decides. Tonight, he’s going to snuggle into his alpha’s warmth and enjoy having Bucky close by instead of somewhere out in the world where Tony can’t keep him safe.

The next day is weirder. Not in a bad way! Just—here: when Tony finally drags himself away from the warm spots in the bed that his mates (not his mates; his mate and his mate’s best friend… who might one day be his mate), makes his way into the kitchen, and sleepily grumbles, “Coffee,” there are suddenly two steaming mugs in front of him, one from Steve and one from—someone else. He raises his eyes slowly to where Bucky is watching him with hopeful eyes. That answers that question then.

“Uh, thanks, Snowflake,” he says and takes a cautious sip out of the one Bucky put down. It’s not that he thinks it’s poisoned. It’s just that Bucky has been here for less than twenty-four hours, there’s no way that he know how exacting Tony can be about his coffee, how particular—how—how…

Huh. This is pretty damn perfect actually.

He takes another, larger sip and then looks at where Steve is busy making breakfast for the three of them. Steve watches him with an amused look in his eyes. Tony knows Steve isn’t concerned about someone else preparing his coffee—Bruce has done it plenty of times and whenever Rhodey’s in town, he insists that he’s the only one who can make Tony’s coffee—he’s just enjoying watching the two of them together.

He thinks about the nights he used to wake from a dead sleep to the sound of Steve weeping over Bucky, about the concerns he used to share with Tony that Bucky wouldn’t want to stay with them or would want to leave. He wonders now how much of that was fear that Tony wouldn’t want Bucky to stay because he wouldn’t be able to stomach housing the person Hydra used to kill his parents. Silly alpha, he thinks fondly. As though Tony wouldn’t love anyone Steve loves.

At least that’s a fear he can put to rest.

Gulping down half his coffee in one go, he leans back in his chair and casually says, “Steve, you’re fired. Pack your things and go. I’m keeping this one. His coffee is lightyears ahead of yours.”

Steve bursts out laughing and crosses the kitchen to pull him up and kiss him soundly. Tony purrs into the kiss, answered with a low rumble from Steve and then, so low he almost misses it—another rumble from Bucky. He smiles triumphantly and pulls away with another kiss, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest.

“Better finish up that breakfast, soldier,” he says teasingly. “Got things to do today in the workshop and I need my alpha down there to stand around and look pretty. You too, Bucky Babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “Universe gave me two supersoldiers, be a shame not to take advantage of that.”

He doesn’t know what Bucky looks like but the kitchen suddenly scents like contended alpha, and he knows it’s not Steve’s scent because he knows Steve’s scent as well as he knows his own. He smiles again, nuzzles deeper into Steve’s chest and hums happily.

It’s not perfect yet, he thinks, but soon—soon it will be.

Tony was right that first day—it takes time, months really. Time for Bucky to backslide and Steve to backslide and Tony to back-shimmy because he doesn’t do anything as gauche as slide. It takes months of therapy, days of consultation with the world’s top experts on how to remove the brainwashing and programming from Bucky’s brain, hours of working together in the workshop on Bucky’s arm as Tony comes up with improvement after improvement.

It’s countless bad nights where Bucky wakes up in a nightmare and reaches to strangle Steve—never Tony, never his omega, but always his best friend—and countless bad days afterward trying to convince him to come back to their bed. It’s figuring out how to work around the myriad of triggers all three of them have and sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t realize that Tony can’t handle baths anymore. Sometimes Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sometimes Tony misses that it’s the anniversary of Bucky falling from the train.

It’s bad sometimes.

But it’s good sometimes too.

It’s figuring out how they curl around each other in bed and waking up warm and rested. It’s feeding each other by hand in the morning when they’re too tired to bother with silverware. It’s cups of coffee and donuts with sprinkles and warm hugs. It’s Bucky resting his head on Tony’s lap and tucking his feet under Steve’s legs during movie nights.

It’s Tony and Steve dancing together around the kitchen island as Bucky cooks, watching them fondly. It’s Bucky crooning old songs from the 40s when Steve’s on a mission and Tony can’t sleep without his alpha. It’s Steve and Bucky spending hours walking the streets of Brooklyn, reminiscing about growing up together.

It’s love, blooming slowly but surely for everyone to see.

And when one night as Tony is changing out of the charcoal suit he’d worn for the board meeting that day and into his pajamas and Bucky stops him with a hoarsely whispered, “Doll,” he smiles and guides Bucky’s hand to his waist.

“It’s okay, darling” he murmurs. “You can.”

Bucky’s kiss, when it comes, feels like coming home.

#stuckony #alle writes #alle answers #if you like please consider reblogging #fingers crossed that tumblr lets me post this #willowlark369

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another-cancer · 2 years

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Chapter Eleven: Obviously it’s because of me!

First Previous Next

Masterlist ao3

Notes:

Haha, surprise?

Besties this is not abandoned. I refuse.

///

He was in his Robin mindset. And he changed into the outfit too. Maybe it was a bit stupid for the vigilante to chase down a girl he didn’t know. But he wanted answers. He needed answers. But when he arrived at the warehouse he saw her panicking.

It wasn’t a look that seemed comfortable on her face as she attempted to stuff her bags while tripping around. The grace she typically carried disappeared and she simply looked like a kid attempting to pack their bags a couple of hours before a big trip. She was preparing to run.

Perhaps it was selfish and egotistical but the young Robin thought the girl was afraid of him, or well his alter ego. Could it be Ladybug after all those years carried a fear of Damian, the boy she spared? Could he be her one weakness?

No. He was wrong. But he was too blinded by the slight identity crisis he was experiencing. Ladybug had more shit going on than this man. A lot more.

There was panic coursing through her veins. Fear in her eyes as things in the warehouse went flying around. Too distracted she didn’t detect Robins's presence until he impulsively decided to step out of the shadows in hope of convincing her to stay. Let’s just say things didn’t go as planned.

She froze. It was just a moment, but she knew she couldn’t be slowed. Every moment would count. She couldn’t slow down. Not even in the face of surprise.

Instead, she talked as she packed, “Why are you here?”

Robin was thrown off by how she ignored the bigger issue with his presence. He was sent into a rare state of confusion.

“I followed you,” he simply stated.

“Why?”

She was scattering the warehouse searching for something.

“Why are you packing?” Robin asked.

There was no use in lying anymore she would be gone soon, “I need to get out of this city.”

“So your running from your problems?” Robin scoffed, “How childish.”

Marinette was upset, she was panicked and scared, but now she was upset on top of all that, never freezing in her steps she went off on Robin, “Maybe it’s childish. But you know what for once in my life I want to have the right to act like a fucking child. I am a child, but I never have gotten to be one. And even when I leave this city I won’t be able to either. So stop judging me.”

“There are better alternatives than running,” he suggested in response.

Marinette didn’t get it, “You tried to kill me last time you saw me. You tried to kill a fucking stranger, now you want me to stay?”

Marinette was technically correct. Robin was backed into a corner.

“I didn’t say that,” he tried to excuse himself.

“You implied it.”

“I just think maybe you should face your problems head-on.”

BUT WHY DID HE WANT HER TO STAY SO BADLY? Perhaps it was the guilt he would have to carry if she left people she carried about because of him. Perhaps he was a selfish fool. Maybe he even carried about her well-being and happiness. His feelings were just a mess at the moment.

Marinette however, was finally letting go of things that clouded her judgment.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know why I’m running. You can’t even give me a good reason to stay,” she said.

She was right. She was always fucking right.

But he was an impulsive selfish idiot.

“Obviously it's because of me!”

“What.”

Shit.

He didn’t reply.

“What do you mean?” Marinette asked.

After all the back and forth she finally had stopped moving. She knew this was important.

If only he could keep his fucking mouth shut.

“You’re leaving because of me.”

He should have just shut up. His addition wasn’t helpful. It just gave one of the smartest people he knew more information to work with. And he could see her mind at work.

A look of realization came to her eyes.

“Damian. Shit.”

Her eyes emptied.

“You need to leave. If she finds you here-”

His mind whipped around who was she talking about? Why couldn’t he vocalize his thoughts?

“Who?”

That was all that came out.

Marinette at this moment felt like she could trust him more than ever. If anyone were to understand it would have to be him! He grew up the same way she did and then he became a hero. He changed. So she told him who exactly was after her. She told him the dangers she was up against. And he listened to everything she had to say.

“We can help you,” Damian suggested.

“We?” Marinette questioned.

“My family, the rest of the bats. Maybe even the Justice League.”

“Why?”

“You need the help,” was all he said. There was obviously more to it but it went unsaid.

She considered her options, “I think help sounds nice.”

Marinette for once was going to accept what was offered. Her circumstances had backed her into a corner, and if excepting help from a boy she once let live was her only option she would take it. She wasn’t going down without a fight. This city had become her home in the months she had settled there. More of a home than any of the others. More of a home than Tibet. This city drew her in and she wasn’t going to let the order push her out.

Damian was surprised by her willingness to open up. But nevertheless inspired and willing to embrace her courage.

“I’m going to need to blindfold you,” he awkwardly said.

“I already know your secret identity,” she didn’t like the idea of a blindfold.

He shook his head, “No, you know me as Damian Al-Ghul a lot has changed. My family has secrets I can not expose to you right away.”

“Don’t mistake me as stupid, just because I know you as Al-Ghul doesn’t mean I didn’t recognize Batman as Bruce Wayne the second I saw his on a build board. The people of Gotham may be stupid, but I’m not blind. Now if only I looked into the rest of the Wayne family,” she said proving a point, “No blindfold.”

Marinette knew she was pushing it, but she didn’t like her eyesight being taken from her. It reminded her too much of training with the order.

“Fine,” Damian caved.

Notes:

Got a lot of shit going on so you know I write when inspired, so who knows when the next update will be. It could be tomorrow it could be 3 months from now. Love u guys. Thanks for reading!

#living among the regular people of the world trying to blend in #damienette #maribat #ml x dc #enemies to lovers

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gallifrey1sburning · 3 years

Note

Okay Drarry prompt: (your choice who is A and who is B) Character A tilting Character B’s chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by B’s mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, B’s heart skips a nervous beat as A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained. “Who did this to you?”

Hello hello! I almost never write angst, so I was going to fluff-ify this, but then I had a bad day and decided to take it out on Harry. (Sorry, Harry. I promise it ends okay.)

Pardon Me While I Burst

Harry poked at his split lip in the mirror and hissed. He could already see a nasty bruise forming across one cheekbone, and his eye was beginning to swell. And that wasn’t even getting into the various smaller cuts and bruises.

Christ. He was beginning to sober up a bit, and the numbness that came with being several whiskys deep was fading, giving way to a sharper pain than he’d expected. He gingerly traced a scrape across his cheek with a fingertip, vaguely remembering the glint of a ring on a huge, meaty fist as it flew at his face, and winced. He might have gotten a bit overambitious in his choice of opponent tonight. Still, he’d had worse.

Just then, the door to the flat slammed, making him curse under his breath in panic. He’d thought he’d have more time before Draco got back from his date; he usually didn’t come home until dawn. There was no way Harry was going to get himself healed before Draco made it this far, and Harry, like the idiot he was, hadn’t even closed the bathroom door. He contemplated spelling it shut now, but he was still tipsy enough that he wasn’t sure he could control the force of the spell. He didn’t think that accidentally knocking the door off its hinges would be particularly helpful to his current predicament.

Sighing, he dropped his head and closed his eyes, resigned to the inevitable. Four… three… two…

“Oh good, you’re up! You would not believe the night that I—” Draco’s cheerful voice halted abruptly as he reached the bathroom door. Harry gripped the edge of the sink, aware of how his bloodied knuckles must look against the porcelain, and didn’t look up until a gentle pressure under his chin forced him to. He heard a sharp inhale, and reluctantly opened his eyes, although he couldn’t bring himself to meet his flatmate’s gaze. Draco’s expression was unreadable as he tipped Harry’s head from side to side, cataloguing his injuries. Harry guiltily savored the warmth of Draco’s fingers against his skin, trying to memorize the sensation before it ended.

Draco didn’t let go of him right away, though. Instead, he held Harry’s head still, raising his other hand and swiping a thumb along his split bottom lip, making Harry flinch. Draco raised the hand in front of Harry’s face, showing him the streak of blood across his pale skin.

“Who did this to you?”

The ice in his voice was enough to make Harry’s eyes finally snap to meet his. Silver eyes bored into him, and he looked… fuck, he looked furious. Suddenly overwhelmed by guilt, Harry felt his own eyes begin to well and quickly yanked himself out of Draco’s grasp, turning away to escape that penetrating gaze before he gave too much away.

“It was no one; don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it? Harry, you look like—” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Who was it?”

“Just some guy at a bar. It really doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t believe you. No one just jumps Harry Potter at a bar.”

“It was a Muggle bar. And—” Harry was very glad that he wasn’t facing Draco for this part. “And I hit him first, anyway. It’s fine.” Draco was silent, and Harry babbled on, fueled by alcohol and anxiety. “You just got home earlier than I expected; normally I’d have—” He stopped abruptly. Shit.

“Normally.” It wasn’t a question. Draco’s voice had gone flat, and Harry almost missed the icy anger, because at least that hadn’t been directed at him. “Explain.”

“Draco, please, can we drop it? It’s fine; I’m fine. I’ll heal it in a minute. Just—”

“No, we cannot just drop it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco’s fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His whole body radiated tension, like he was tempted to hit something himself. “You just more or less told me that you get into bar brawls frequently enough that you have a ‘normal’ routine for afterwards! I don’t even know where to begin. Who are you going to bars with that lets you pick fights with strangers? Why are you picking fights in bars with strangers? And when the hell is this happening that I’m not aware of it?! For Merlin’s sake, Harry, we’ve lived together for almost two years. I thought I knew you!”

The comment hit hard, and Harry couldn’t contain his wince. He tried to rub a hand down his face, but grimaced as he bumped his swollen eye. He felt so small. He’d never wanted Draco to know about any of this. “I just… get angry, sometimes,” he muttered. “I go by myself. It’s just… an outlet. I don’t know. It’s never with anyone I could actually hurt. And I can heal myself. It’s just a thing I do. Sometimes.”

When Draco answered, Harry curled further in on himself, hating how distressed he sounded. “I don’t… Harry, why? If you need an outlet, why this? Why not, I don’t know, get one of those Muggle punching bags? Or spar properly, safely?” Harry clamped his lips shut, not wanting to let anything else slip out, but Draco kept going. “Why not come to me? I could have helped.”

Harry mumbled an answer under his breath.

“What?”

He repeated himself, barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t happen when you’re here.” He turned just enough to glance at Draco from under his eyelashes and immediately wished he hadn’t. Draco’s brow was furrowed with hurt and confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

Harry was tired. He was so tired, and so sick of hurting, and just intoxicated enough, still, that he couldn’t think up a plausible way to get out of this—and so he gave up. Maybe Ginny and Luna would let him crash with them for a while, if Draco kicked him out. Or even if he didn’t. Harry was recognizing, as he felt his carefully built walls crumbling around him, that he’d let it go on too long. He should have left before it got this bad. He should have left as soon as he’d realized what he was feeling, what it meant. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around himself.

“I only get angry like that when you go out.”

It was quiet for a moment. Finally, Draco asked, “Why?”

He sounded truly bewildered, and Harry laughed, except it was more a sob, really, and—fuck—the tears had started to escape. The salt stung his face. “Because it hurts, Draco, why do you think?” Draco didn’t answer. Harry hadn’t expected him to. “You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you— Every week, it’s someone new. And it never stops hurting.”

“Harry…”

“You were never supposed to know.”

“Harry.” The voice was closer now, right behind him. A hesitant hand slid up his arm, elbow to shoulder, before grasping gently to turn him. Harry kept his head down, but, once again, those damnably gentle fingers lifted his chin, forcing him to look.

It was like a hazy mirror of the moment when Draco had first seen him—head held still, eyes searching his face, but instead of anger, they held something else, something Harry couldn’t identify.

“Harry.” The second hand came up, the thumb now wiping away tears instead of blood. Draco’s eyes flitted between Harry’s, still searching, and then he leaned in. Harry was frozen.

As soon as Draco’s lips brushed his, however, Harry snapped out of his daze, quickly turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut against a fresh wave of tears. “Don’t,” he pleaded, and his voice sounded wrecked. “Please, Draco. Not if you don’t mean it.”

Draco’s hands hadn’t left Harry’s face, and they easily guided him back, holding him still until he met Draco’s gaze. “Of course I mean it,” he said, voice shaky but firm.

“But—”

“You said it yourself, Harry. Every week, someone new. They don’t matter. They’ve never mattered. It’s…” And now it was Draco’s eyes welling, Draco’s lids dropping closed to hide his vulnerability, Draco’s voice sounding rough. “It’s just an outlet.” He swallowed and opened his eyes again, watching whatever series of emotions was likely flashing across Harry’s face, now that all his walls had been torn down. “I didn’t think that you. I didn’t—” He traced a thumb under Harry’s eye again, over his uninjured cheek, sliding his hand down the length of his neck and around until he was cupping his nape, but he didn’t lean back in.

Instead, he waited—hesitantly hopeful—until Harry did.

Also on AO3

(Thanks to @mxmaneater for the beta, and for reassuring me that my angst writing is just fine!)

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #prompt fic #my writing #drarry fic #angst #angst with a happy ending #yes this title is an Incubus reference #no I'm not sorry

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oneisallallisone · 3 years

Text

All I Know, All I Know Greedling x Reader fic Chapter 1

In a land ruled by alchemy, there are some who would call you a sorcerer. You intend to understand what this means. Along your journey you end up getting mixed up with two strange brothers, a military conspiracy, a potentially world-ending event, and the avarice of something more than human.

I wanted to see more Greedling x reader stories in the tag. This one’s going to be a SLOW burn, but we’ll get there. I have plans.

Read on AO3

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All I Know, All I Know

Chapter 1: Koldun

There are ancient legends: tales that tell of a city disappearing within a single night, stones that hold the power of god, of immortality itself, just to name a few. Myths such as these have been passed down through generations by word of mouth, pen to paper, and are woven into the fabric of everything that fascinates humankind.

There is no name for the legend that you are, however.

Alchemy is the science of understanding, reconstructing, and deconstructing matter. Alkahestry is the art of reading the Dragon’s Pulse, of sensing the flow of energy within yourself and the world around you, and then manipulating it. Both rely on a give and a take. A desire, an exchange, and a result. But you, with your will and your breath and the force that plays at your fingertips, are something else entirely.

No, there is no name in Amestris for you. But there is an ancient Drachman word for what you might be. A word so old and feared that it is uttered in barely a whisper. “Koldun,” they call you. “Sorcerer.” It is the only word that seems to fit what you are, and the way it is spoken is just as cold as the air that bites your ears and the tip of your nose. Drachman winters are harsh. The resentment of Drachman people who don’t understand your nature is harsher.

But enough about the cold. Now you found yourself in the warmer weather of the south, regretting the bearskin cloak you have draped around your shoulders. It might not be fit for a sunny day in Central City, but its weight provides a calming sense of familiarity. A small piece of home that was actually yours to keep.

The journey to Amestris hadn’t been hard, but it had been long. The mountain pass was no longer safe to use, as both Drachman and Amestrian soldiers were posted nearby at all hours of the day. The peace was holding out, for now, although it seemed like things could take a turn for the worse at any moment. So instead of taking the mountain pass, you traveled the road through the forest with a group of merchants who were on their way to Aerugo. They needed to pass through Amestris first. You’d parted ways with them in Central, and they wished you luck despite not knowing the full details of your mission.

How could you have told them, though? They would have left you for dead with nothing but the snow as a blanket for your final rest had you told them what you were. Koldun. The word still didn’t feel right in your mind, but it was the only lead you had to cling to.

So there you were, walking through the streets of Central in your too-hot bearskin cloak and worn leather boots, trying to find the greatest wellspring of information the West had to offer in order to gain some insight into the nature of your existence.

Only when you got to the First Branch of the National Central Library, you found a pile of rubble instead.

“What?” you gasped, barely audible. “No, no!”

You ran up what was left of the charred stairs and into the wreckage.

All around you were mountains of debris and ash. Wooden shelves reduced to nothing, charred husks of books no longer readable and scattered about. You stumbled around every turn, through every crumbling passage that looked once like it might have been a hallway, searching the skeleton of each room for anything that might look like a single page intact, but there was nothing. It was a ruin. You sank to your knees.

“Dammit!”

An involuntary surge of your power shook the room with your cry—violet waves that knocked loose a few pieces of stone that had not yet fallen. You buried your head in your hands and willed yourself not to sob. There had to be another place to find answers about your abilities. There had to be. You couldn’t have come all this way for nothing.

You were muttering this softly to yourself when another voice interrupted you.

“Um, hello?”

You turned sharply to an unexpected sight. A boy with blonde hair and a long red jacket, and…a massive armored fellow? The voice from before, coming from the blonde boy, spoke again. “Are you alright?”

You quickly rubbed your dampening eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m just fine.”

“We heard a crash,” the armored fellow said in a voice that sounded far more childish than you expected. “Are you sure you’re not injured?”

“Yeah, yeah I was just…throwing some things around. I’m fine. Just frustrated.”

“Did you happen to see who did this?” the blonde boy asked.

You shook your head. ��No.”

He narrowed his eyes a little then. “How do we know you didn’t do this?”

“What?” you hissed. “Look, when I got here the place was already a wreck. I didn’t see who or what did this. I swear.”

For a moment it looked as if the boy was going to continue interrogating you, but then his eyes softened. He dropped his shoulders. “Alright, Al.” He turned to the suit of armor. “I guess we’re going to have to figure something else out.”

There was a clanking as the suit of armor, Al, hung his head. “I guess so.”

“Wait,” you said just as the boys were turning to leave. “Do you know if there’s anywhere else in the city that would store knowledge similar to what was in this branch?”

The blonde boy crossed his arms. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

You hesitated for a moment. How were you supposed to explain your predicament to these strangers? “Well…I’m looking for any sort of historical records or myths of people with beyond-human abilities.”

“So you mean like alchemists?”

“Honestly, not quite,” you said hesitantly. “But that wouldn’t be a bad place to start.”

The blonde boy huffed. “Well believe me, when it comes to people with ‘beyond-human abilities,’ alchemists are the only thing you’re going to find. Alchemy isn’t anything supernatural, but it’s the closest thing humans will ever have to augmented abilities.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“Yup. Anything else is just made up.”

The corners of your mouth twitched. Was it pride? Was it spite? The only thing you knew is that you wanted to wipe this guy’s smug smirk right off his face, and you could already feel the power surging to your fingertips.

You hadn’t even called upon it. It knew you.

Raising your hand, you allowed your energy to manifest at your fingertips. Small flickers of purple danced across your skin as you curled and flexed your fingers. It was like passing a coin between your knuckles.

The blonde boy’s mouth flew open, first in shock, then as if he was going to say something, and then settled into shock again. The armored fellow next to him startled.

“Brother…” the metallic voice rang.

“How…how are you doing that?” the blonde asked you.

“They didn’t perform a transmutation or anything!” the armored boy said, partially to his brother but mostly to himself, it seemed.

“I’ve never seen alchemy like that,” the blonde started, “Not even Teacher’s is like that. Seriously, how are you doing that?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” you responded.

“What?”

You pointed at the suit of armor. “What’s his story? I haven’t been in this country for long, but I know that citizens casually going around in full armor isn’t the standard.”

The metal boy shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I, well…uh…”

A resolute look fell onto the blonde boy’s face. He placed a hand on the armored torso of his companion. “Al, it’s okay. We can think of this as just another equivalent exchange, information for information. And besides,” he lowered his voice, “Whatever their power is, it’s not something we’ve seen before. We’d be idiots not to learn more about it. Maybe they can help us.”

You raised an eyebrow, but neither of the boys saw it.

The armored fellow raised his head to catch your gaze again. “Please just don’t freak out.” He brought his hands up to his helmet and pulled. There was nothing underneath.

At first you thought that the boy inside the armor must have been too short to stand within it. But then you took a few steps closer and realized there was no boy in the armor at all.

“Oh,” you said. “Well that’s not something you see every day.”

“And neither are you,” the blonde said. “We told you ours, now you tell us yours.”

You frowned. “Unfortunately there’s not much to tell. It’s why I came here, actually. I’m trying to learn more about the nature of my abilities, because they are definitely not…what you call alchemy.”

“Well, where do you come from?” he asked. “Maybe it has a different name in your country?”

You shook your head. “Alchemy exists in my country. It is something that is taught. I, however, was not taught any of this.” You lowered your gaze to the floor, preparing to say the words that you had only said to so few. “I am from Drachma. The only word they have for me is Koldun. It translates to sorcerer.”

#me looking at the greedling x reader tag: Fine. I'll do it myself #anyway this entire thing is the result of me listening to the 'loving you is a losing game' song and going 'hmmmmm'#'the greedling/reader vibes this gives....painful'#aha #greedling x reader #fma #fullmetal alchemist #greed x reader #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #edward elric #alphonse elric #ling yao #fmab x reader #greedling #fma brotherhood #fmab greed #fma greed

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