#I am full of barely contained rage

[awhhayden]

CONTAINS : age gap 20+, dilf!hayden, fluff, anxiety/panic attack, short story

SUMMARY : Hayden wakes up from a nightmare, his anxieties weighing down on your relationship.

Hayden stirs beside you, the peaceful rhythm of sleep abruptly shattered as he shoots upright, fear flickering across his features. A cold sweat glistens on his chest and neck, his breath coming in frantic gasps as another nightmare haunts his consciousness.

For the past week, the same chilling dream has plagued him, each one a manifestation of the simmering anxieties about your relationship. With you just stepping into your 23rd year and him carrying the weight of 43, the whispers of the world loom large, as if the media’s scrutiny could unravel the delicate threads of what you both share.

Each day, he finds himself on high alert, bracing for the latest wave of cruel commentary about your love—the love that defies conventional norms but thrives in its authenticity. Hayden positions himself as a shield between you and the relentless barrage of judgment, yet deep down, he knows the sting of those words reaches you, drawing a painful line back to him.

Guilt tugs at his heart, knowing that these dark reflections are a consequence of his existence in your life, and he longs for a way to silence the storm that rages endlessly in his mind.

He turns and gazes at you, a soft contrast to the panic in his chest. Your hair spills like silk across the pillow, catching the soft glow of the moonlight that dances through the window. Each rise and fall of your chest is a tender symphony, a rhythm that lulls him into a deeper calm.

With a gentle smile, he lays back on his side and wraps his strong arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his warmth. The sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo envelops him, a fragrant reminder that you are all he needs.

You stir slightly, your voice a soft murmur in the quiet of the room. "Mmm, you okay?" Your eyes flutter open just enough to glimpse the worry etched on his face, and he smiles, leaning into the fragrant softness of your hair. "Now I am," he whispers, his words a soft caress that fills the space between you with a warm intimacy, as if the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of you as his anxieties melt away into oblivion.

He feels the heat radiating from your body and leans in closer, letting the moment deepen. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft sound of your breathing. With each breath, he finds himself more anchored in the present, savoring this shared moment of peace that feels both timeless and sacred.

"Do you remember the first time we slept like this?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He recalls that night, when the stars overhead seemed to twinkle just for you two, a new chapter just unfolding.

You chuckle softly, eyes still heavy with sleep. "I think you were the one who ended up stealing all the blankets," you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

He smirks, nudging you playfully. "Guilty as charged." A moment of laughter passes between you, a thread of shared memories that wraps around you in warmth. Beneath that playful exchange, a deeper truth lingers in the air—an unspoken understanding of each other, grounded in genuine affection.

You shift slightly, nestling into his embrace, and he tightens his hold instinctively, as if afraid to let go. The soft rhythm of your breaths intertwining sets a peaceful cadence. “What are you thinking about?” you ask, curiosity sparking your gaze as you finally meet his eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, it’s just…” He takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes I worry about the age gap between us. I mean, I know it’s not the worst difference, but still…” You frown slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow, giving him your full attention. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting toward the moonlight spilling through the window. “With me being in the public eye, everyone seems to have an opinion about everything. I can imagine the headlines, the gossip… it worries me. I don’t want to be that guy who’s dating someone significantly younger. I don’t want it to look like I’m… I don’t know, taking advantage of that.”

Your heart sinks a little at his unease, seeing the vulnerability etched in his features. “You’re not taking advantage of anything. We’re not like that. We have something real here.”

“I know that,” he replies, looking back into your eyes with sincerity. “But the media spins things. I've seen it happen to friends, people in the industry facing scrutiny just for their choices in relationships. I don’t want to subject you to that kind of negativity. You don’t deserve it.”

“You can’t control how others see us,” you say gently, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “What matters is how we see each other. You mean the world to me, and I don’t care about the age gap or what people think.”

He listens, but the concern doesn’t entirely vanish from his eyes. “You say that now, but what if it becomes a burden in the future? What if the attention—both good and bad—pulls us apart instead of bringing us closer?”

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to make it work,” you reply, your voice steady and unwavering. “And if we do hit bumps along the way, we’ll face them together. Love isn’t about age or public perception; it’s about trust, respect, and the connection we’ve built.”

He smiles softly at your words, grateful yet still clouded by his worries. “You make it sound so simple. I just don’t want to risk losing what we have because of outside noise.”

You take a moment, gathering your thoughts, before responding. “I’m not naive. I know the world can be harsh. But I also believe that if we’re strong in our bond, we can withstand anything. Our relationship doesn’t have to be defined by the age gap—or by the spotlight you’re in.”

He studies you intently, his brows slightly relaxed as he absorbs your words. “You really believe that?” He probes, searching your face for reassurance.

“I do,” you affirm, leaning closer, grounding him with your presence. “Each day with you just feels right. It’s not about the years; it’s about how well we fit together and how we support each other”

A soft chuckle escapes him, his tension easing slightly. “In all my life, I’ve never met someone quite like you,” he admits. “You’re a breath of fresh air, you keep me young” he jokes.

You smile at that, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. “I’m glad I can be someone who brings you comfort. Just remember, I want this, I want you” you say softly. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he gives a light squeeze. “Thank you for being you. For standing by me. I just want to protect what we have.”

“Then let’s protect it together,” you say, resolute. “I love you” you whisper, he smiles

As you settle back into his embrace, the weight of his worries lingers in the air but feels lighter now, softened by the understanding between you. Together, you drift into a shared silence, sleep finally weighing down on Hayden’s eyes, you fall back asleep together, a newfound understanding and the sound of the wind in the air.

a little story while I work on a chapter two of my james kelly fic! also still adding to my taglist so lmk if you want to be added! <3

taglist : @bimbo-baggins17 @malinadbbdh @speaknow-sw @haydensheartt @inlovewithdob @fredswrite

[brookghaib-blog]

Silence between hearts ( preview )

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.

Note: I’m testing ideas and I came up with one, I’m mostly posting this already for you guys feedback, the first chapter will take a few days to be posted, I am working on my dissertation, but you guys understand.

—

The glass was thicker than it needed to be. Reinforced, sealed with polymer layers, and bolted into an alloy cradle designed to survive a small war. But none of that mattered to Y/N. All she could see was him inside it.

Bob.

Still.

Cold.

Lying there like a man who’d simply fallen asleep with no promise of waking.

The O.X.E. lab—once bright, bustling, and full of scientific ambition—now reeked of sterilizer and silence. They were shutting everything down. His project had failed, they said. Too unstable. Too dangerous. Too powerful. And now—too dead.

“Project SENTRY has been terminated. Containment protocol 6X is in effect,” droned a voice over the speakers. The kind of voice that never wavered. Not for ethics. Not for grief. Not even for love.

Y/N stood frozen as technicians fastened the final clamps onto the glass coffin. Her coat, still stained with dried blood from trying to stabilize him, hung limp around her. Her hands trembled. Her face was pale. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no sound came out.

Two security guards hovered behind her.

“Dr. L/N,” one of them said gently. “You need to let them take him.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stepped forward, eyes locked on the body within. Bob’s chest didn’t rise. His face was pale, serene—eerily calm for a man who had been made of light and rage. His golden hair framed a face that once radiated warmth, now drained of it entirely.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like splintered glass. “You don’t get to box him up. You don’t get to just erase him.”

“Doctor—”

“He’s not dead!” she snapped, finally spinning on the guards. Her voice echoed through the corridor, sharp and broken. “He’s not dead, he’s not—he’s not—”

But her knees buckled before her words could finish. She collapsed to the floor, her hands catching her barely an inch above the cold tile. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one scraping her throat like rusted nails.

The guards hesitated, unsure whether to comfort her or restrain her.

Valentina didn’t.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she approached—always polished, always calculated. “This isn’t a romantic tragedy, Doctor,” she said, arms crossed. “This is containment. He was compromised. If you’d like to keep your clearance and your career, I suggest you walk away now.”

Y/N lifted her head slowly, tears streaking her face.

“I don’t care about clearance,” she hissed. “I cared about him.”

Valentina’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’re a liability.”

The moment stretched like wire pulled too tight.

And then, Valentina gave a cold nod.

“Seal it,” she ordered.

Technicians obeyed.

Y/N watched as a final hiss of hydraulic steam sealed the edges of the glass. The lighting inside dimmed, bathing Bob in a faint blue glow, like he was being buried beneath a glacier.

They strapped the coffin to a magnetic dolly, preparing to roll him out—out of the lab, out of history, out of her reach. Like he’d never existed. Like the nights they’d spent in quiet corners of the lab, whispering about the sky and everything he’d forgotten about being human, had never happened.

Like she hadn’t kissed his trembling hands after his first breakdown.

Like he hadn’t told her he was scared of the darkness inside him.

Like he hadn’t looked at her the night before the meltdown and said, “If I lose myself, don’t let them lock me away. Just tell me you loved me once. That it mattered.”

She scrambled up, stumbling toward the coffin, arms outstretched.

“Wait!” she cried.

The guards tried to intercept her, but she ducked around them, slamming her palms against the glass.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, forehead resting against the cold surface. “Bob. I’m here. I didn’t leave. I—I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry. But I remember you. Do you hear me? I remember everything. I do love you.”

No response.

She pressed her hand over his heart, her eyes tracing the shape of his closed eyelids, the curve of his lips. She could almost believe he was sleeping. Almost.

“Please,” she whispered, softer now. “Please come back. Just open your eyes. Just—just breathe. I’ll take the Void. I’ll take all of it. Just come back to me.”

Silence.

Valentina made a gesture. The guards pulled her away, gently but firmly.

“NO!” Y/N screamed, kicking and fighting. “You don’t get to take him! He’s not—he’s not a thing! He’s a person! He was mine!”

But Bob remained still, and the glass began to fog slightly with the temperature shift as the containment unit rolled toward the freight elevator.

Valentina didn’t look back.

And Y/N—struggling in the arms of men who didn’t know who Bob was, what he had become, what he meant—finally went limp.

Her voice, barely a breath now, rasped, “Please don’t leave me here without you…”

The elevator closed with a heavy clang.

Then he was gone.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

IPKKND OS: Slip of Tongue

Sangeet was supposed to be a friendly family ritual.

A charming little dance competition between the bride's and groom's sides - a harmless pre-wedding tradition to bond, laugh, and mildly embarrass oneself on stage while attempting vaguely synchronized Bollywood moves.

Again, that's what it was supposed to be.

Until Arnav Singh Raizada decided to turn it into Dance India Dance: Apocalypse Edition over a mere challenge by Khushi Kumari Gupta.

Who now stood in the middle of Shantivan’s garden, lehenga flaring, bangles clinking with her hands on hips, chin jutted out and eyes ablaze with moral indignation.

"You are a cheater!" she yelled at his back.

Arnav Singh Raizada didn’t bother to look up from his phone.

“This is a family dance competition!” Khushi yelled again.

“Yeah, excuse me-,” Arnav signaled NK, "NK please tell her it's a competition and Khushi... try to keep up.”

Khushi gasped at his insult. Trust Arnav to find inventive ways of ridiculing her!

"Haan Nanheji, what else can a talentless man do?" Khushi smiled as Arnav stiffened, turned slowly toward her, arms folded, jaw sharp enough to slice through the tension.

Now, she had his attention.

"Excuse me?" he said, like her accusation had personally offended his entire bloodline.

The said bloodline had stopped whatever they were doing in the name of dancing and watched the battle that was yet to begin.

Khushi marched toward him, dupatta flying like a battle flag. "You’ve flown in professional choreographers and actors for Jiji's wedding?! Who does that? It’s a wedding, not Jhalak Dikhhla Ja!"

Arnav took a single step forward and stopped her march, his eyes zeroed straight on hers.

The intensity always, always, threw her off.

But it was not the time to think of those things. Her accusations had barely begun!

Regaining her composure she began her tirade, "So what’s next, backup dancers in silver jumpsuits? Fireworks? Smoke machines?!"

"You're overreacting," Arnav replied, going back to his phone for a message from Aman.

"Oh, am I?" she snatched his phone. "You are not even calling actors who are Jiji and Jijaji's favorite - no, no you're straight up calling Hrithik Roshan AND Shahid Kapoor to perform in OUR SANGEET FROM YOUR END. HOW DARE YOU! HEY DEVI MAIYYA THEY ARE NOT EVEN FAMILY."

"Do they remember it's our sangeet?" Akash whispered to Payal.

"Akash ji, I don't think they even remember this is our wedding." Payal replied, hoping Buaji isn't around to whack Khushi for yelling at Arnav.

Even if he deserved it.

"Khushi, just accept that you're afraid of losing." Arnav grabbed both her wrists with one hand, plucked his phone from her fingers and smirked at Khushi, who had turned red in rage.

Khushi scoffed, and freed her hands from his. "Oh it's not me who is afraid of losing. Because you wouldn’t need to ‘win’ so desperately by hiring others if you could actually dance. Admit it. You’ve got two left feet and a fragile ego."

He stepped closer, just enough to crowd her personal space - not that Khushi ever backed down.

"You think I can’t beat you on that stage?" he said, nostrils flaring at her insult.

"You?" She laughed. "Even Lakshmi ji can dance better than you-" on cue, the goat blared nearby. Arnav, for once, really craved a mutton biryani. Khushi gave Lakshmi a high five in the air.

Arnav's jaw twitched. "Khushi-"

"What?"

"On that stage, I could you eat you out in a sec-"

His mouth clamped shut a second too late.

Silence.

A pause.

Then, full stop.

Arnav’s breath caught.

His eyes widened fractionally.

Khushi blinked.

Arnav blinked.

They blinked at each other.

The world froze. Akash looked like he'd swallowed his own tongue. Payal had turned a curious shade of crimson. Anjali faintly murmured, “Not like this Chhote...” NK wheezed with barely-contained laughter.

Khushi's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again like a dying fish.

Then - in what could only be described as a tactical retreat - Arnav turned on his heel and walked away.

-- -- --

Arnav didn’t sleep that night. He lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling like it had wronged him.

He tried to be logical. Maybe she didn’t know what it meant.

Maybe she was just embarrassed because he’d shouted something vaguely weird in public.

Maybe—

No.

Khushi, had very briefly, looked at his lips before he left.

He had heard the slightest, softest gasp.

Which was worse - making an image lodge itself in his brain.

Khushi.

Under him.

Eyes dark.

Lips parted.

Calling his name. In soft, sweet, gasps.

He flung a pillow over his face.

This was torture.

-- -- --

The next morning, the rest of the family acted like nothing had happened - bless their collective denial.

But Khushi?

She acted like he was contagious.

If he stepped into the kitchen, she evaporated. If he glanced at her across the room, she snapped her head away like he was staring into her soul.

And while ignorance was bliss, a part of him felt like an apology was due. Even if that apology was like a thousand thorns on his tongue.

He wouldn't want to embarrass Khushi in public.

-- -- --

Khushi drowned herself in jalebis. Walked into a tree. Told Payal she was just “hot” when she was visibly sweating bullets.

“We need to talk,” Arnav said - having appeared from nowhere. How does he keep doing that?

Khushi spun, startled. "Talk?"

"About yesterday."

"What are you even talking about?" she said, too fast. Too fake. Arnav rolled his eyes at her terrible lie.

"Khushi, you know what I meant.”

Her eyes narrowed. Her cheeks flushed.

And then she exploded.

“Is that what you want?! A girl who doesn’t know anything? A clueless little thing you can shock and corrupt and then brag about? Is that your thing, Arnav Singh Raizada?!”

He took a sharp step back. “What the f—? No!”

“You want some poor naive girl who doesn’t even know what it means so you can-so you can teach her?! You disgusting, horrible, cocky, ALPHA MALE- no-flower-giving, no-dating, no-LOVE-having—"

“Khushi-”

“—Laad Governor with no heart and no shame and - what the hell kind of man are you?!”

"THE ONE WHO WANTS TO SAY SORRY."

That made her pause.

He took a slow breath, the kind that meant he was gearing up to be serious. “I shouldn’t have said that. Not like that. Not in public.”

“And I just needed you to know that,” he added, almost awkwardly.

Khushi didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “It's not that Arnav ji...”

That made him look up.

“What does make me want to hurl a chappal at your handsome face is that Arnav Singh Raizada doesn’t even know how to date someone!”

He blinked. “What?”

“To what extent must I analyze you? Where are the flowers? Where’s asking a girl out with words and not…LED screens and groin-level hip thrusts?”

“I didn’t hip-thrust at you.”

“You THOUGHT about it.”

He looked genuinely offended. “What the f-no, I didn’t! What's wrong with you?”

“What's wrong with me is that you're not normal!” she cried. “You’re the kind of man who seduces women by glaring at them across rooms and then wonders why we’re all confused! What am I supposed to do, Laad Governor? Paint a signboard that says FLIRT WITH ME, YOU BRICK WALL?”

He stared at her. “You want me to flirt with you?”

“YOU’RE MISSING THE POINT.”

"You have a point?"

"I do! You can't even take me out and you're straight into eat-" Khushi clamped her hands over her mouth.

"Hey Devi Maiyya," she shrieked, and fled with her dignity on the floor.

Arnav stood in stunned silence.

And then slowly, a smile crept across his face.

Because she had just handed him the playbook.

-- -- --

That night, Khushi curled up under her blanket with a mountain of jalebis and a heart rate comparable to a dhol beat.

What had come over him? What had come over her?!

How had they gone from talking about a dance competition to... to whatever in the world these things are.

And he didn't have to apologize. They both were had foot in the mouth disorder.

She tried reading a romance novel.

Mistake.

The hero's name was Arman. And in Chapter 4, he was eating strawberries off the heroine’s-

She threw the book across the room. Then quickly rescued it and put it in her secret drawer. She would die before anyone got to know what she read.

Clutching her dupatta, she tried to screw her eyes shut to sleep.

She was in a red saree. The pallu floated like in the wind. A man stood by a rain-soaked window, transparent white shirt clinging to his chest in a way that would definitely get a sanskaar warning on Doordarshan. 'Teri Meri' swelled in the background. She ran into his arms. There was spinning. Wrist-grabbing. A full-blown neck kiss that would put SRK to shame. Wait... why did the man look familiar? And then, with one hand, Arnav... Arnav! reached behind and tugged at the dori of her blouse.

Khushi sat up in bed with a gasp.

“Hai Devi Maiyya!”

Hands over her mouth. Wide-eyed. Very, very awake.

And so incredibly flustered.

She couldn’t face him.

She wouldn’t face him.

-- -- --

Devi Maiyya disagreed.

Khushi and her friend had practiced 'Teri Meri' as a mockery. As to how Jijaji and Jiji didn't really have a conflict but created this dramatic love story out of nothingness.

But the funny commentary CD and her friend - were both delayed so she was left on the stage in her green saree and just the original soundtrack.

And Arnav showed up. Sans the actors and choreographers - who were apparently cancelled last minute.

Arnav and Khushi danced.

He made her feel the rhythm.

And Khushi's heart absolutely misbehaved.

Because he let her win in more ways than one.

-- -- --

Khushi ran into the guest room, clutching her heart and knocking over carpet into the bed where there were a few things.

A white rose, a box of jalebis, a long rectangular box that she suspected had bangles and a handwritten note that was impossible to decipher.

Blue Orchid, 8pm, Saturday?

She stared at the note for three solid minutes.

She squeaked. Then panicked. Then almost fainted. Then screamed into a pillow and promptly knocked over a stack of bangles.

And of course — at that exact moment — he walked in.

"Khushi."

"Ji Arnav ji," she panted, snapping back to poise like she hadn’t just done the Macarena of joy.

"Tum theek ho?" She nodded so hard at his question that her head could've nearly fallen off.

And then, he stepped in.

Arnav Singh Raizada, in all his devastating, smirking calm.

“Uh… someone left this,” she said, clutching the note like a weapon.

Arnav raised his eyebrow. So this is how she was going to play it.

"Someone?" He asked.

"Someone," Khushi shrugged, twisting the end her saree between her poor fingers.

"Khushi. Kumari. Gupta." Arnav punctuated each word with a step towards her, making her hit the wall behind her.

"N-not like this." Khushi whispered, closing her eyes.

"But Khushi... if not like this-" Arnav tucked her hair behind her ear, "then how will I tell you that-"

Khushi gripped his hands, hoping whatever Arnav was planning quickly got over-no-no-it lasted long enough for him to not change his mind!

Hey Devi Maiyya she was not ready for a kiss! She needed at least five more minutes to scream.

"T-tell me what A-Arnav ji?"

"That Di is calling you downstairs." Arnav stepped back and hid a smile at her obvious disappointment.

Khushi turned red - this time in anger - and picked up the rectangle box to fling it at him.

"Khushi! The bangles will break!" Arnav ducked.

"HA! YOU BOUGHT IT FOR ME!" Khushi cheered,

"I knew it! And who leaves notes without signing their name? What if it was for someone else? What if someone else wrote this? Must I assume everything written around me is by you? You and your God complex. And okay this is cute... but-but I don't know why you're doing this. Tell me why? You can buy these things for me but can you tell me-"

She stopped.

Because Arnav had leaned in and kissed her cheek. Quiet. Certain. Just once.

It was over before she could inhale.

"I hope that answers your questions," he murmured.

Khushi blinked. Brain buffering. And then, on impulse, she stood on tiptoe and planted a quick, nervous kiss on his cheek too.

Arnav - who had faced boardrooms, buyouts, and Buaji - actually looked startled.

"I-uh-okay so if we're doing this, then-then you can’t just show up in your car. Buaji will have a heart attack. And Happy ji’s garage is too crowded, also oil stains. No, no, maybe you stand near the paan stall and I 'coincidentally' come for... for tamarind-no, that’s not believable-OH DEVI MAIYYA."

Arnav folded his arms, watching her with quiet disbelief and far too much fondness.

"Khushi."

She looked up, mid-rant.

"It's not a heist. Just a dinner."

"It’s not just dinner! It’s our first proper-thing. And our families are nosy. And your face is too famous. And I panic around candlelight. And I don’t know what fork to use. And-"

"Khushi."

"Haan?!"

"We’ll go to dinner."

"That's what I’m trying to figure out!"

"In Delhi. Like adults. I’ll pick you up at 8. Ring the bell. Say hello to Buaji. Like a normal human man. She won't question me at all"

He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. Gently, not claiming. Just there.

She stared at their joined hands.

"...Okay, but if Buaji throws a chappal at you, I did warn you."

"I’ll bring a helmet."

Khushi laughed.

"Fine," she muttered, cheeks pink. "Come at 8. Ring the bell. Say you’re here to discuss… lights. Wedding lights. That’s believable, right?"

"Not even a little."

"Whatever, just bring jalebis. She’ll forgive anything. You're beginning to be her favorite anyway - ever since your advertisement for the steel factory. And if nothing else, praise the company or the fabric of the sarees she stiches." Khushi chuckled.

Only Arnav could defend the Guptas gift by citing the revenue of the company that made the steel thali.

He laughed under his breath. "Okay."

"And," she added, voice soft, "don’t forget to bring yourself."

"Khushi... I think that's the plan."

-- -- --

Khushi wore the bangles that night.

And the next day.

And to the mandap rehearsals and while eating laddoos and while yelling at NK about choreo counts. She wore them to sleep, even though Payal teased her about it.

One night, Arnav noticed.

He was helping her up after she tripped over yet another strategically misplaced rug in Shantivan.

"You're still wearing these?" he asked, catching her wrist.

Khushi shrugged. “They’re pretty. They go with everything.”

“You wear them all the time?” he asked casually, eyes flicking to the glass bangles.

Khushi looked down. “Haan. All the time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Impossible.”

“Oh, it is very possible!” she huffed. “While eating, yelling, dancing, fighting - oh, remind me to tell you how Hari Prakash ji said jalebis can't be sugar-free, I mean who is the halwai's daughter here? Anyway, yes, fighting, sleeping, bathing-”

Arnav smirked and stepped closer. “Bathing?”

Khushi blinked.

Blushed.

Internally screamed.

The fairy lights blinked rapidly between them like scandalised chaperones.

"Sir, I need these files-" Aman, the savior (and sautan when he called right when Arnav and Khushi tried kissing, again), showed up in time and helped Khushi run away in mortification.

Because Arnav was right.

Apart from the fact that the chime of these bangles told her that everything was a reality, there was something else that Khushi felt too intensely in her heart when these were the only pieces of jewelry she wore in a bath, or clinked in between her very very unsanskaari dreams at night.

Now all she had to do was wait, wait for Jiji's marriage and tell the family about the latest development.

-- -- --

(": THE END :")

Tagging the usuals (pls mention if you’d like to be tagged - also this is a new list so if I’m forgetting anyone - sorry!)

@chutkiandchotte @dreaming-star @professor-cant-fuck @thedupattaknowswhatsup @bigfatreader @muttonthings @da-ka-ba @fresh-child-bouquet @hand-picked-star @fancydreamphilosopher @scorpio-smiles @thenainitaldisaster @titaliya @sankititaliya @sampigehoovu @jalebicheesecake @dnkkpi @nammy07

[midnight-bay-if]

How would Alek react to rebelious Teen!MC?

Like what would he do if he got yet another call from school about MC getting a fight with some kids 😅

(Well, I always pictured MC at least somewhat rebellious in their youth. I’ll leave it up to your imagination how much. So, the likelihood of Alek having received a call from the school at least once is high, lol.)

“Hello? Is this Alek Graves, the guardian of—”

Alek didn’t need the voice on the other end of the phone to finish the sentence to know how it would end. He sighs before the woman can speak his name, dropping the phone from his ear and rubbing his face with his hand, reluctant to hear what he can guess will be another call to retrieve you from the empty classroom they have isolated you in. Alek wears his long shift on his face, dark bags under his eyes denoting his lack of sleep, the same purple as his tie. He yanks the tie down, suddenly feeling suffocated by it.

“Mr Graves? Are you there?” Alek can now hear the woman despite the receiver being nowhere near his ear. “Hello?”

He dreads what else he might hear, but as escaping the conversation entirely isn’t an option, he returns the phone to his ear. “Yes, I am here. What’s this about?”

“Well, as I was saying, MC has been caught fighting with a boy from her year once more. We have separated the pair, but we felt it was best that they be removed from school property.”

It’s everything Alek expected to hear, and yet he suddenly feels a heavy weight in his office chair. That heaviness lingered throughout his explanation to his colleagues about why he had to leave, during the car journey to the school, all the way to the school gates, and beyond. He rehearsed the same well-worn lecture he has recited a hundred times before in his head until the moment he is directed into the room where you sit, and he sees the glassy look in your eyes reflecting a fragile heart he fears one stray word will crack.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and guides them from the school, walking in tandem with you, never taking a step ahead of you the entire way out. It is only when they have both climbed into the police cruiser that he begins to speak.

“What was the reason this time?”

You shrug, pointedly staring out the window. “Looked at me funny.”

Alek sighs. “I know that was not the reason, kid.” He waits, hoping you will expand rather than compel him to guess, but you remain silent, a bird perched atop the school gate capturing your attention far more effectively than Alek. “I know things have been rough, and I know how you are feeling—”

“No! You don’t!” The words come out explosively, spinning towards him with barely contained rage, tears threatening to spill, and Alek is grateful for it. Anything is better than that vacant stare from inside the school. “Did you know I’m the only kid in my year who can fuck up, start a fight in school, and then hear the teachers debate about ringing home because they aren’t sure if anyone will be available for pick-up anyway? Or that there are kids in this school who probably know more about my dad than their own because of the endless news reports that play every yearly anniversary? You have no idea how this feels…”

Alek swallows his grief, burying it alongside the rest of his ghosts that pound on the lids of their coffins beneath the full moon. He will neither bend nor break, even as your words bruise. In the moments before sleep and while lying awake, he will permit himself to succumb, but until then…

“You’re right, kid. I don’t know how you feel; it was wrong of me to suggest that I do. But I also never will if you do not share it with me.”

“You’re never around long enough for me to.”

Ouch. Words sharper than any blade.

“I’m here now.” He reaches out, takes your hand in his, and rests his other on top, engulfing your chilled hand in a comforting warmth. “At any time, anywhere, if you call me… I will come. This, I swear. I will always be on your side.”

[cherryrikis]

사랑으로 (with love,)

PAIRING swim instructors riki x fem reader

WARNINGS mild profanity

GENRE enemies to ??, fluff, angst if you squint

SYNOPSIS you hated riki because when it came to teaching your classes, he always one upped you. but riki doesn’t hate you. so when you both are punished for breaking equipment, he uses every opportunity to try and talk to you.

a/n loosely based of personal experience cz im a lifeguard🛟 also not proofread

it was meant to be a part time summer job. you just wanted something to do with all your free time, now that school was out.

but, the kids grew to love you, and you grew to love what you do.

so, you began to work full time at the local community pool.

instead of 2 classes a day, you’d teach 4 classes a day. it wasn’t too bad, each class only being 30 minutes.

you were so glad to help out, often even training the new interns.

until one. nishimura riki.

he was barely an intern for a week before becoming a full time employee. at first, you paid him no mind. he was a good teacher. very professional and good with the kids, often demonstrating the skills they needed to know to pass his class.

but eventually, he became better. he grew to become an even better teacher than you. the kids who loved you since the beginning started requesting to be put in riki’s class.

you watched him from across the pool, playfully splashing his students (who really, used to be your students), as they squealed about how the water was too cold.

but he always noticed your gaze. he turned around, smiling at you softly.

and you hated it, you felt nothing but hatred for him to the core of your heart. most of the staff noticed it, and it made it a bit awkward to work with either of you.

it was around 8:00 when your last class had ended. all your co-workers were putting the lane lines back in, preparing the pool for the swim team’s practice the following day.

“y/n? can you collect all the kick boards and put them away?” the manager, anton, asked you. “riki, go help y/n with all the other equipment.”

“what?” your mouth fell open, “anton, i can do it myself,”

“y/n.” anton cut you off. “don’t fight it. just let him help you.” he sighed before walking back into his office to pack up for the night.

you stood still in the middle of the walkway, ignoring how your coworkers moved past you to go wash up in the showers.

finally moving out the way to collect the boards, you huffed as you saw riki follow you into the storage room.

it was eerie. the lightbulb constantly went out, so the staff just figured to keep a candle and a lighter on the shelf above the bins.

riki lit the flame before going to help you clean up.

as you finished stacking the equipment, you went to walk out of the room, but riki grabbed your hand, pulling you back in.

“why do you hate me?”

“i don’t hate you.” you mumbled, before attempting to leave once more, only to be brought back to him.

he raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down.

“fine, i just don’t like you.” you scoffed. “you constantly one up me, taking my position, and even luring my students over to your class. nowadays, i don’t even get paid as much as you do anymore!”

“it’s not my fault! you act like my sole purpose was to come here and take your place.” riki grimaced at you. “maybe i am just the better instructor between us. it’s not my fault you can’t accept that.”

one might say it was out of jealous rage, or just an intolerance of immaturity. but something inside you snapped.

you shoved riki’s shoulder, causing him to fall against the wall and hit the shelf which held the candle.

from that point on, everything was in slow motion. the sound of glass breaking was loud and very audible.

the hot wax spilled across the plastic bin, melting the lid and spilling all over the foam boards which sat inside.

“what the fuck y/n?” riki yelled out.

immediately, anton came rushing in. he looked inside the bin, noticing how there was now a huge hole burnt through the container and all the boards inside. the equipment was no longer usable.

“are you serious? who’s fault was it? who did it?” he asked sturnly.

“it was y/n.” “riki did it.”

“are you kidding?!” you both exclaimed in unison.

“you knocked over the candle.” “you pushed me!” riki scoffed in disbelief. “it was foam! how do you manage to damage foam of all things?”

“enough!” anton intervened. he looked between you and riki, before moving his gaze to your red swim shirts. lifeguard, it read.

“your shirts are a symbol of your dedication and responsibility as a lifeguard and swim instructor. you may be good in the water, but you are both unbelievable outside it. if you keep this up, you could get those shirts revoked.”

“anton.. i’m so sorry.” you apologized, realizing what you done and that it technically was your fault.

“as much as i appreciate your apology, an apology won’t fix this mess. you two are on cleaning duty. i’ll call the janitor to tell him he doesn’t need to come tonight. the keys are on my desk, lock up before you leave.”

you nod in response, but riki still had something to say. “what? this is completely unfair! if anything, she should do it herself!”

but by then, anton had already left. “asshole.” he muttered. “this is all your fault y/n! by this rate we won’t finish for another hour or two.”

“by this rate, we won’t finish at all if you keep standing there and doing nothing. go grab that trash bag and mop.” you sighed.

riki was hesitant to help, but did so anyway, knowing it wasn’t up to him.

after power washing the concrete floors, scrubbing the bathrooms, and replacing all the damaged equipment, all the work was done by 10:05pm.

“good job, i guess. just wait for me then we can go.” you muttered as you finished wiping down the mirror of the employee’s bathroom.

“why would i wait for you?” he scoffed.

“you’re the one who got us in this mess.”

“i- whatever. just, let me help you.” riki licked his dry lips, taking the sponge from you.

the pool doors and the office were all locked up. you both were ready to leave before he paused right in front of the entrance.

“you wanna get something to eat? i’ll drive you home after. you shouldn’t walk by yourself and especially not on an empty stomach.”

“yeah. that’d be nice.” you replied, smiling genuinely at him for the first time.

with the both of you freshly showered yet so tired, riki drove to the nearest mcdonalds, ordering for the two of you.

after the food was picked up at the window, he pulled up at empty parking lot, turning off the engine so you could eat together.

“why are you still so nice to me after i was so rude to you?” you asked with a quiet voice, suddenly feeling bad as you reflected on your past interactions

“you know, it was never on purpose..” he whispered.

“what?” you asked, confused. his answer seemed slightly unrelated to your question.

“earlier, when we were still at the rec center. i asked why you hated me, and you said i basically replaced you.” riki reminded. “it wasn’t on purpose. i just really liked you back when you were only training me. and i thought, i don’t know.. maybe you thought it’d be attractive if you saw i was good with kids or something. but i never meant to make you feel that way.”

“oh riki..” you pouted, putting your box of chicken nuggets down. “i’m so sorry. i had no idea. i mean, if it makes you feel any better, i thought you were pretty cute when i was training you.”

“yeah, i guess that actually does help.” he smiled.

“can i..” you mumbled, leaning forward towards riki as he remained still in the drivers seat.

slowly, he moved closer to you, before eventually connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.

you moved your mouth against his, softly deepening the kiss.

riki smiled against you, and it was very noticeable. you found it cute how his face ran hot when you finally pulled away to repeatedly peck his cheek.

he brought a hand up to your face, holding you delicately. you leaned into his touch, before grimacing as you felt a slimy substance touch you.

“ew, riki!” you exclaimed, realizing his thumb had just accidentally wiped mustard under your eye.

he laughed, the sound like music to your ears, before he helped you wipe it off.

“i’m looking forward to working with you now that we don’t hate each other. maybe whenever we make eye contact mid class, you’ll stop looking at me weirdly.” you joked.

“oh come on, you know i only ever looked at you with love”. riki pursed his lips into a smirk, before bringing your lips back against his.

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

the tortured poets department

Info Post

Moodboards

Part I

Prev Part < - > Next Part

Contains/TW: omg lesbians guess what?? WE MADE IT Y’ALL!! this chapter WILL BE NSFW and you should know the drill by now but STILL- MINORS DNI! you are FINALLY getting smut… glorious beautiful wlw lesbian sex 🙏 it IS millie’s first time however she is not infantilized or completely clueless about sex and i’m trying to not make her overly innocent as well. this chapter will also contain some texts in the beginning/smau type shit, brief discussions of self harm/scars, anxiety/panic attacks, and a good old fashioned menty b! also some brief 3rd person/ellie pov at the end of this?? anywaaaaays… hope you enjoy! <3

WC: 5.9k i was a yapper in this soz 😭

Part VII

false god

I was still shaking as I clicked my phone off and peered at my reflection in the mirror. Vi’s shirt was way oversized, the sleeves easily hitting my elbow and the edge easily brushing my mid thigh. Ultimately, I was still mostly covered and I think I would’ve been okay with it. If it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t seen all the scars yet.

“Ummm… hey Vi?” I questioned, cracking open the door just a mere inch. “D-Do you have a jacket or-?”

“Are you still cold?” She wondered, eyebrows furrowing as I saw her approaching the door. “I turned the heat up for you before we came in, can you not feel it yet?”

“Well, I mean- I can it’s just…” My voice shook as I seemed to trip over every word, barely even able to string them together. But thankfully I didn’t have to do much before I felt her hand slipping around my wrist, and the tiniest instinctive flinch I felt myself do was very telling.

“Baby, you don’t have to hide those in front of me, alright?” Her thumb just barely brushed over the scarred skin as I felt the door to the bathroom naturally swinging open, tracing over the individual lines that were slowly fading yet still clear and raised ever so slightly. “You’ll talk to me first if you ever wanna do this again, right? Or it doesn’t even have to be me… me or Ellie or Caitlyn or Jinx or- literally anyone-“

“Violet, I promise.” I spoke, feeling like her full name would add some sort of strength to it. The stronger a promise the more of a reason I would have to not break it. “I- I promise. I-I haven’t even done it in like a month. There was an incident over the summer after I got out of the hospital but Ellie caught me and hasn’t let me be alone with sharp objects since so… her and Caitlyn definitely have precautions.”

Vi let out a heavy breath and nodded, she didn’t want to linger on the subject or pry but I could tell it scared her. And I hated it. How I even managed to scare somebody like Vi. “I just… I really really- really care about you, Mills.” She spoke, stuttering over her own words like she wanted to choose different ones. Nevertheless though she didn’t bounce back to change them or anything. She just simply placed her hands on the side of my face as she pulled me in to place a firm kiss to my forehead. “I know you don’t need it,” She spoke next, arms slipping around me to pull me back into her. Her arms always feeling like such a safe space now, soft but tight all the same. The way she would hold my head against her chest every single time. It felt like a war could be raging on outside and as long as I was here, wrapped up in her arms, I would be safe. “But I just have this overwhelming urge to want to protect you. You’ve been through enough and I just… I want you to finally not have to worry about any of that shit while you’re here. I- I want you to be happy.”

“I am though.” I stated with softened eyes as I peered upwards at her, lifting a hand to softly lay against her cheek. A curious thumb drifting outwards to trace around her light scattering of freckles across her nose. “I am happy. With you. Right now.”

A light smile tugged on her lips, my heart almost feeling like it was skipping in my chest as I felt her hands sliding around my waist once more. “Promise?” She questioned, closing the already small gap between us as she pressed me to her body. And I caught myself hoping she couldn’t feel my racing heart beneath my ribs.

“Promise.” I felt breathless as I stood up to my tiptoes to place my lips to hers. All of the air sweeping out of my lungs as I encircled my arms around her shoulders, Vi always meeting each kiss with equal or more enthusiasm. And each kiss feeling more and more like the first one all over again. Though this one was stronger. Fiercer. Deeper.

“Are you sure you want this?” She seemed to breathe into me as I felt her hands drifting lower, already bringing up that same frustrated ache in between my legs that had only seemed to fester.

I nodded, barely able to choke out a ‘please’ before her arms encircled around my thighs and she lifted my legs to hoist around her waist with ease. “Vi-“ I stammered out with instinctive nerves as my arms tightened for dear life around her shoulders.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. I won’t drop you.” She whispered in a soothing voice before connecting her lips back to mine. Fingers brushing along my bare thighs almost causing me to whimper before she pressed me to her unmade bed where she crawled over top of me with ease. Her hips fit so effortlessly in between my spread legs finally drawing the softest moan from my lips at even the lightest friction. “Hey,” She halted, gentle eyes peering downwards at me as my trembling hands gripped her shoulders for dear life. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point.”

I gulped an anxious lump down my throat with a nod, almost feeling like my thighs were only tightening around her waist at the uncontrollable ache that seemed to form in my lower abdomen. Our bodies almost seemed to mold together as her hard muscles pressed into my own, flexing around me nearly causing me to let out a breathy moan all over again. Her hands gripping my hips and holding them to the mattress below. “You’ve never been touched before?” She whispered against my lips, the statement causing me to tense up in response. Vi’s expression softened, laying a delicate hand against my cheek as her eyes never left mine for a second, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

I brought an anxious hand up to my lips as if to latch on to one of my nails again as I shook my head in response. “Have you ever touched yourself before?” Another shake of my head as I slipped my nail in between my teeth, cheeks red with embarrassment as I prepared for the absolute worse. Insecurity almost rivaling the unbridled want that seemed to course through every inch of my body. What if she didn’t want this or me? She was so experienced so why on earth would she want me for anything that lasted more than a night? “Hey… Hey, doll, it’s okay.” I heard her soft voice once more, a warm hand brushing underneath my cheekbone just before a small tear could stream down it. “That doesn’t change anything. If you still want this… just tell me. Talk to me.”

The only thing I could hear was the thumping of my heart, the heavy breaths still pushing through my lungs as she stroked my cheek. Her eyes didn’t leave mine for one second, as if searching for any hint of an answer. “I’m just… I-I’m just really scared.” I blew out a long sigh from my tight lungs, leaning into her bruised hand that had never seemed so delicate before. “But I want this- I-I really do I- I want it to be with you.”

“You promise?” She whispered, pressing her forehead to mine as her thumb softly brushed underneath my eyes. “Swear to me?”

“I promise, Vi, on everything, I promise.” I muttered just as I let my arms slip back around her shoulders, answering by pressing my lips to hers once more. I almost whimpered the moment she pressed me back to the bed, her hips slotting perfectly in between my own spread legs. Her hands toying with the hem of my shirt as if asking for silent permission.

My body shivered as I gulped an anxious lump down my throat and nodded. Her eyes were soft as she gingerly lifted the fabric from over my head. On instinct I lifted my quivering hands upwards to my chest as if to cover them until I felt Vi’s careful hands slipping around my wrists. “Let me see you, baby.” She whispered, slowly pulling them away, more silent asks for permission. Giving me the ability to change my mind if I wanted to. But somehow I never wanted to. “So… goddamn… beautiful.” She murmured as her eyes seemed to scan down my body with the look of someone who had never seen the female body before.

“Fuck, doll, you’re way too good for me, you know that?” She spoke with a half smile and a shake of her head before reaching for the back of her wife beater to yank it over her body. I don’t know what I was expecting to be fair, I knew she worked hard on her physique. I could’ve gotten lost just tracing the curves of her muscular arms, her biceps, the darkened lines of her tattoos. But to actually see the entirety of her body, it almost left me choking. The toned markers of her ab muscles and pectoral muscles, the way her back tattoo peeked out from behind her broad shoulders giving way to her hourglass figure. And were those two distinct silver bars poked through her nipples? Her body looked like a work of art itself. Carved and sculpted by only the most talented individuals.

“Ummm, I-I don’t know I- I think you might be too good for me.” I stammered with widened eyes just as I saw her lips lift in a smirk.

“Nah, I think you’re fucking perfect.” She muttered underneath her breath before pressing her bare body to mine as she caught my lips on her own. A soft moan broke through in between kisses, the cool metal of her piercings causing my back to arch against her. Seeking even more of her out as our lips seemed to mold together in a perfect sync. The ache in between my legs only spiraled towards unbearable as my hips bucked upwards, desperate for contact.

Vi let out a low chuckle against my lips before letting her own trail back towards my neck. “Patience, pretty girl, you know I’ll take care of you.” She murmured as I felt the expanse of her hand wrapping around my thigh to give it a faint squeeze.

“It hurts.” I spoke through a quiet whimper, squeezing my arms around her shoulders.

“I know… I know I’ve made you wait too long tonight just hold out for a little bit longer, okay? I wanna savor this.” She whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my pulse point before letting them slowly drift lower. Inching towards my collarbone, down my chest, each kiss I swear making that ache in between my legs get stronger and stronger while my breathing grew heavier and heavier by the moment.

Her lips wrapped around one of my perked out nipples, my jaw dropping with a sharp gasp as she ran her tongue around the sensitive area and her hands worked their way down my squirming body. “Can I, doll?” She whispered, lightly tugging at the flimsy pair of underwear still attached to my body. The only piece of clothing still attached to my body.

“Please… please, Violet.” I answered, finally giving up on my attempt not to beg. But her hand was so close. Carefully slipping it underneath the fragile fabric, a heavy moan spilling from my lips at the overwhelming pleasure that finally hit all at once as she brushed a calloused finger against my clit. My nails sunk into her back as I clutched onto her for dear life, “Vi-”

“You’re so sensitive, princess, I barely even touched you.” She whispered, her hot breath against my sensitive breasts causing my chest to arch against her. “You’re soaked too, doll, is all this for me?” I whined in need, probably nodding like a fucking bobblehead as another hand slipped downwards to delicately caress my hip bone, “You wanna let go of me so I can go down on you, baby?”

My arms seemed to squeeze even tighter around her broad shoulders, barely noticing how I had burrowed my face into the crook of her neck. I was terrified to let go of her, even though it felt like a throbbing wet mess in between my thighs. Even though I needed her so bad… so desperately… so intensely I wasn’t even sure what to do with myself. “I’ll still be right here baby, I’m not going anywhere and if you wanna stop you just tell me, okay?”

“Okay.” I finally let out through a long and airy breath with a nod. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” Her praise brought about another soft moan as she let her lips trail back down my body, immediately causing me to spring upwards onto my elbows with a loud whimper once they reached my lower stomach. Vi’s expression shifted into a more stern one as she lifted her arm once more to wrap her hand around my chin and press me back towards the bed. Gentle, but still firm all the same. “No, you lay back and relax. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay… o-okay.” I said through the same shaky breaths as she inched the now probably soaked underwear down my legs. All hints of nerves seemed to be replaced with need the moment I felt her soft lips brushing along my inner thighs, her hot breath dancing along my core right where I needed her the most. “Violet.” My hips bucked upwards, a shivering hand stretching downwards as if begging for her to take it.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” Vi whispered, lacing her fingers through mine with a tiny squeeze as she placed a line of kisses up my thighs.

My jaw fell open with a cry of pleasure though as I finally felt the warmth of her tongue running upwards through my wet slit. Lapping at my folds I could already feel a sense of euphoria creeping through me as she sent the vibrations of a moan through my body. “Fuck doll, you taste so fucking good. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”

Her hand reached for my thigh, wrapping her arm around the circumference to hoist it over her shoulder with ease. A gasp slid from my throat as she pressed her face closer to my core, parting my continuously slick folds with her tongue, mouth seeming to envelop the entirety of my cunt. My moans grew louder, heavier, my hand practically squeezing the life out of hers at her breath on my clit. Soon replaced by the soft tip of her nose nudging it ever so slightly, with the utmost gentleness like she didn’t want to work me up so quickly. However we were already long past that.

“Vi…” I whimpered, a cry of pleasure sounding from my lips at the stimulation to the sensitive area. My hips bucked almost painfully, rolling against her face almost looking like it was causing her eyes to roll back.

“Good girl.” She whispered, the praise covering me in goosebumps as my leg curled around her head. “Keep moving your hips like that, doll.” My hands tangled into sheets below, back arching all over again as her tongue seemed to move in sync with my hips. A sea of pleasure that made my own eyes roll back. My jaw fell open all over, desperate and erotic moans seeming to take over the entirety of my breaths.

The moment I felt her tongue curling around my clit I nearly shot up once more, massaging the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make me see stars but not enough to rush through it. This wasn’t a matter of her seeing how quickly she could make me finish. This was a matter of her wanting to savor it, take her time, as long as she possibly could. “Vi… V-Violet- oh Violet.” I could barely recognize myself, speaking her name like I knew no other word as she ran a torturously long lick around the circumference of the sensitive bundle of nerves right through my wet folds. A motion that seemed to hit every sweet spot, like she didn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched, untasted. “J-Just like that- o-oh my- just like that, p-please don’t stop.”

“Feels good, baby? Right there?” She whispered, the vibrations of her voice nearly driving me up the wall before diving back in. Increasing the pressure with each lap through, I swear I squeezed her hand so tightly I almost thought it was hurting her. But she didn’t seem to mind, just kept running her thumb along my knuckles in a soothing motion.

“R-Right there… right there… o-oh fuck- Vi!” I practically squealed at the vibrations of her own moans, her soft lips running along my clit that throbbed in pleasure. Another cry of euphoria bursting through my lips as she flattened her tongue against the swollen bundle. Lapping at my center as if she was starving, dying of thirst even.

Closer and closer she drew me towards the edge, my breathing quickening as the pressure in my lower stomach seemed to build to heights I almost couldn’t handle. “Violet… Vi- I- I think I’m gonna cum.” I could barely get the words out at the sensations, the heavy build-up that made tears burn at my eyes.

“Let go for me, baby, just let go. I’m right here.” The high felt neverending, hitting me like a shattered dam as my eyes rolled back for the millionth time. My body felt like it was encased entirely in goosebumps, leaving me nearly breathless. Vi worked me through every bit of it though, lapping up every bit of the mess like it was the sweetest nectar she had ever tasted.

The moans turned into sobs not long afterwards, the pleasure reduced to a racing heart as my entire body seemed to shake in the aftermath. “V-Vi?” I stammered through her name, like my brain had almost completely forgotten she was there until she was right in front of me. Hands cupping the sides of my face, soft powder blue eyes coming into view as she smoothed out my messy hair, strands probably soaked in sweat.

“Right here, doll, I’m right here.” She whispered, her voice a soothing symphony over the roar within my head, and I caught myself curling my trembling hands around her shoulders as if in some attempt to ground myself. I burrowed my face into the crook of her neck while the white noise of her shushes slowly drowned out the feeling of my racing heart. She didn’t pull away until the shaking stopped, soft thumbs stroking my cheeks as she wiped away every bit of the tears.

“You still with me, princess?” She whispered, the softest hand of all time gently curling around my chin and pulling me to face her.

“I- y-yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” I said through a long and heavy breath, almost trying to match them up with Vi’s, making it just the tiniest bit easier to catch my own. “I’m sorry I- I should’ve anticipated that that was gonna happen. Th-That was amazing a-and I don’t want you to feel like it wasn’t-”

“Baby girl, you don’t have anything to apologize for. And you don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay?” She said with a shake of her head, brushing scarred lips against my temple. The weight of her body felt like a warm blanket, a soothing embrace as I wrapped tight arms around her broad shoulders, probably clinging to her like a damn koala. “Do you need me to get you anything, princess? Something to eat maybe? I live with a fuck ton of jocks but I’m sure I could find something you like.”

“I… like you.” I murmured, cheeks as red as roses as I let my pointer finger gently trace along the curve of her jaw.

“Doll, I know, you already have me though. What else can I get you?” She chuckled lightly, pressing her lips to my forehead this time. Sweet little delicate kisses that only made my smile grow. I had definitely thought about what I’d be into during sex, but never really put a ton of thought into what I’d want during aftercare. I guess I always assumed I’d probably be high maintenance due to sensory overload and so on… but with Vi, I found that in a lot of ways her arms were enough. Still, I didn’t want her to think I was too clingy.

“Do you by any chance have a weighted blanket? And can you tie my hair back… maybe?” I questioned, nervously chewing on my bottom lip and hoping it wasn’t too much. Vi only cracked another small smile as she nodded.

“Yeah, I think I can do that, and I’ll see if we have one.”

Moments later after a few more forehead kisses and cleaning myself up in the bathroom, she was gently running a brush through my long hair as my eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. She of course wasn’t very well-versed in hair care. Not in the way that Caitlyn would always braid it in different intricate styles whenever we were growing up and Ellie even being surprisingly good at it whenever we were in the psychiatric program over the summer. I didn’t mind though. It was soothing, feeling her take her time running the brush through the long strands, getting all the knots out.

“Is this your love language? Letting people play with your hair?” She finally spoke up after a moment of comfortable silence.

The corners of my lips quirked upwards in a little chuckle as I felt her twisting the thick strands into a loose ponytail, though I wouldn’t have minded letting her run her fingers through it for a fair bit longer. I guess that answered her question. “Caitlyn started it I guess you could say. I’ve always liked my long hair and felt really pretty with it so I never wanted to cut it short but… sometimes having it down would just make it so much easier for me to get overstimulated. And my parents never had time to, well, do a ton of nurturing stuff like do their daughter’s hair so- Caitlyn learned how. I swear almost every day from year 5 onwards she would do my hair every day before school. She had like a dozen different girls asking her to braid theirs at some point too for like, school dances and formals and stuff.”

I rambled on, my cheeks only heating in response as I fiddled around with the edge of Vi’s shirt that I had slipped back on. “Sorry- i-if I talk about her too much, I know she’s sort of your ex, she’s just- she’s like my best friend, you know?”

“She’s hardly my ex.” Vi almost snickered with a shake of her head. “And I get it, she’s a big part of your life… and in all honesty I can’t blame her for being at least a little bit wary about, you know,” She took in a deep breath as she lounged back against her bed, arms stretching upwards to rest her hands behind her head. A moment of hesitation passing, as if she was afraid to say the words. “Us.”

Something felt like it was blooming in my chest as she said those words. A deep flush creeping back up into my cheeks that I ultimately tried to ignore as I cautiously moved to lay next to her. “How come?” I wondered, curling up onto my side as I watched her eyes sweep over to meet mine.

“You really wanna see the good in everybody, don’t you, doll?” She questioned, the dodge of the question causing my chest to tighten for a brief moment.

“Not always.” I muttered with a tiny shrug, “I’ve found that humans are vastly complicated beings. They’re rarely entirely evil, and even then… we rarely actually think we’re entirely evil, and then whenever we do- it’s rarely true.”

“You sure you’re not a philosophy major?” She questioned with a lifted brow, a tiny giggle breaking through my lips as I let myself inch closer to her warmth.

“Definitely not, but I am an english lit major which is… kind of the same thing.” I suggested with another shy shrug as I curled up to her side, immediately feeling her muscular arm sliding around my shoulders to pull me into her chest. Surprisingly soft, those same damn pheromones drawing my eyes shut as I draped my other arm around her body.

I barely even noticed it at first, my fingers accidentally brushing against the lines of a few slightly raised scars etched onto her side. Though I almost jumped whenever I heard Vi’s breath hitch and her hand wrap around my wrist to pull it from the area, instead letting it settle against her chest. “I-I’m sorry.” I stammered, shoulders tucking inwards in an instinctual wince.

“No, it’s okay, doll… it’s just a sensitive spot, you didn’t know.” Her hand loosened on my wrist at the reaction, brushing a soft thumb along my knuckles as she did so. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” She added with a slightly guilty sigh as she lifted my hand upwards to brush her lips to my knuckles next.

“I feel like-” I began, cautiously tossing the words around in my head as I rested my cheek back on her chest. Weighing them in my head, still approaching each interaction with caution. Because I was raised in an environment where asking questions was seen as an act of defiance. “You know everything about me but I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know everything that matters.” She spoke with a sigh that almost sounded exasperated, brushing her fingers underneath my chin to tilt my head upwards to meet her eyes. Still gentle, still careful, but firm in her stance nonetheless. “I’ll tell you more eventually, okay doll? But for now I really need you to get some rest, alright? I’ll be here whenever you wake up.”

I caught my bottom lip in between my teeth, fighting back my stubborn and anxious protests with a nod. “Promise?” I muttered, finally drawing another tiny smile from her lips, nearly causing me to sigh in relief at the sight. She isn’t angry, she isn’t angry at you. You’re fine.

“I promise.” She answered, brushing a soft pair of lips against my forehead before I could snuggle back into her chest.

I almost wished I could say sleep came more difficult that night, in a new environment wrapped up in the arms of someone who clearly wasn’t just a friend. I wished I could’ve said that so I could convince myself I wasn’t falling too hard too impossibly fast. But it came so easy… and I was clearly well and truly past the point of just falling.

~

The empty locker room after the break of dawn was usually the best place to breakdown in private. Especially with Jinx being a known snooper, Ellie being a known introvert, and Jinx also not being the best person to wake up without landing yourself a black eye. And in Ellie’s defense, it’s not like she could sleep. So she had originally drug herself to the 24-hour gym attached to the hockey rink first to blow off some steam which later… of course- resulted in her breaking down where she was today. Her face buried into her knees, sketchbook open in front of her and headphones latched over top of her head playing music that absolutely was not going to make her feel better.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried to this extent. Certainly not while she had been here, and if she had she couldn’t remember. But this wasn’t a cry she could easily forget. It was one that made her entire head ache, and even more so the space behind her red eyes. The type of cry that you could feel in your chest, a crushing ache that almost made you think your heart was actually physically breaking.

It was ultimately a selfish reason to cry, brought on by her own co-dependency. And maybe partially a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to admit yet.

The feeling of someone tugging at her headphones nearly made her jump out of skin. Probably letting out a supremely embarrassing squeal as she dropped them around her neck. “Geez? Crying alone in the locker room? Not even the lounge? You must be on some serious self-deprecating shit.”

“Jesus Abby! A warning would’ve been nice!” Ellie huffed as she immediately dug at her eyes with the heels of her hands in some attempt to hopefully dry it all up before she could make a fool of herself even more than she already had.

“I said your name like 5 times and snapped in front of your face. This was a last ditch effort.” Abby said with a shake of her head before whirling around to face her locker. “You look like shit, what’s up with you? Boy trouble? Girl trouble? Whatever you’re into trouble?”

“Definitely not boy trouble.” Ellie whispered, bringing out her phone to pause the song still raging in her headphones.

“I figured but- didn’t wanna assume.” Abby said with a shrug, already setting to work with undoing her lock as she shrugged the oversized backpack from her shoulders. “So… girl trouble then?”

“Why are you acting like you care?” A slight crack crept into Ellie’s voice as she peered over at her, and she hated herself for it.

“Oh… I don’t- don’t flatter yourself. Sometimes that’s easier though… talking about it with somebody who doesn’t care.” Abby added casually as she began to unpack, shooting another nonchalant look Ellie’s way with another simple shrug. “Up to you. You can of course let it fester if you want, seem like an expert at doing that anyways.”

“I don’t let things fester I- not anymore. I just can’t talk to people about this.”

“You mean you can’t talk to Amelia about this.” It wasn’t even phased as a question because she already knew. Ellie was easier to read than she liked to let on. In fact whenever she was in the hospital one of the first things she was called out for was her ‘resting sad face’. Whenever it was blotchy and tear-stained it probably didn’t make it any better.

“She would hate me.” She muttered to herself, not even knowing why she was even talking to Abby about this. But regardless she was. “I would blindside her… right whenever she’s finally happy. Right whenever she’s finally making connections with somebody who isn’t me. I can’t- I can’t do that to her. I would look so fucking selfish!”

“My god, you’re such an opposite of a piece of shit it drives me crazy.” Abby huffed as she dropped the remainder of her backpack load in the locker before whipping around to face her. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re bawling your eyes out to Taylor Swift alone in a locker room at 6:30 in the morning, currently spilling your guts out to your bully instead of any of your actual friends because you’re worried about how your pain affects other people. Do you not realize how ridiculous that sounds, Williams?”

“Because I don’t want my pain to be the cause of other people’s pain because I don’t know how to control it, Abby! I’ve spent 20 years of my life being a piece of shit and not being able to control myself and you wanna know how the universe responded? By giving me a fucking gun!” Her voice cracked as she flew up to her feet, eyes burning and blurring with incessant tears and fury chipping away at every single bit of sanity she had worked so hard to finally develop. “I can’t- I- I’m sorry. I-I should go.” She sniffled, lifting a shaking hand as she quickly shoved the sketchbook back into her backpack. She barely could understand the words that came out of her own mouth, the tremble seeming to take over her entire body.

Fuck, what had happened to her? She was unstoppable in the army, her gun like an extension of her hand. And there she was, the youngest person in her platoon yet simultaneously the best shot her lieutenant had seen in a while. But now, here she was, breaking down alone in a locker room, overtaken by the shakes.

She had become so weak. So defenseless. So everything she promised herself she’d never be.

“It’s a shame.” Abby spoke up with a carefree sigh and a shrug, “We were finally starting to get somewhere.”

“Listen, Abby-” Ellie huffed as she hoisted her backpack onto her back before whirling around to face her once more. “I know you think you have me all figured out but respectfully, you really don’t, okay? Wh-Whatever version of me you created in your head… she just isn’t real. I-I’m not a good person, Abby.”

“So ask yourself, is my version of you the one that isn’t real or is it the version of you that you had no choice but to be?” She took a step closer, Ellie’s breath almost hitching in her throat the second she had to tilt her head upwards to meet her eyes. It was only a few inches of a difference, three minuscule tiny inches, but lord did it feel like so much more than that. Her broad frame that felt like it could’ve covered Ellie’s entire figure.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ellie stammered, arms slipping around herself in a makeshift hug or a shield either one. She didn’t know which one she needed more. “You throw my face into the ice one day and get your shit rocked by Vi trying to defend Amelia’s honor and now you’re talking me down in the locker rooms the next? D-Did she seriously have that much of an impact on you?”

“Vi’s a pretty good mediator believe it or not. She’s not just a dumb jock who only thinks with her fists.” Abby added, taking a step backwards only to start unbuttoning her many layers to protect herself from the cold. And Ellie couldn’t help but to gulp a dry lump down her throat the moment Abby finally stood in not much other than a simple grey wife-beater. Just in time for Abby to glance her way and catch her eye. “Are you just here to ogle now or-”

“In your dreams, Anderson.” She scoffed, quickly turning away from her to grab her half-drank water bottle. “I’m not into ‘roided out mascs.”

“Your blush says differently but go off, Williams.” Abby stated, eyes briefly giving Ellie a once over which only causing her cheeks to burn even more.

“That’s only because it’s cold.” Ellie brushed off, a hand flying upwards to her face as if in some attempt to wipe away the flush. “Anyways umm, I-I should go. Thanks for the pep talk… I think.”

“Oh you absolutely should thank me for the pep talk. Will I see you at training later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ellie forced out, almost wincing as she pulled herself from the locker room. Not letting out the frustrated groan she was currently feeling until she was completely out of the building.

A/N: i’m so sorry it’s taking me longer to pump these out 😭 mental health has not been killing it lately but i’m still trying hard to put out good content i just might need a bit of a break occasionally 😅 regardless though i have so much fun shit planned for this story so i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! also… brief hint of ellabs at the end?? thoughts?? 😌

Credits: main divider by @saradika-graphics mdni divider by @adornedwithlight 🤎

Taglist: @sawaagyapong @autisticgirlkisser @macamilarofe @nombreuxx @snowbunnyboo @lils-1979 @myrrusstuff @baylegend6 @withyou-withoutthem @lil7-I @cloudy-fay @liliwritin @primarina-diamandis @soodle-noup @livil589 @riches-expresso @deepobservationcherryblossom @pixieolives-blog @roseannih @fernanda-2022 @clefairysoup @cherrybomb2298 @purplerose418 @sharklover331 @lizzielovee @rocknr0ll @nomarksonelegance

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[misssparklingpaws]

Shadow in the Flame

Chapter 38:  The Week That Shall Not Be Named

The Tower was in full lockdown, not from an external threat, but from a five-foot-two ticking time bomb named Aria Lucía Stark.

She stormed into the living room barefoot, hair in a haphazard bun, wearing Bob’s hoodie (barely containing her very pregnant belly) and a scowl that could peel paint.

“Why. Is. It. So. Hot.” She snarled, flinging a throw blanket across the room like it had personally offended her. “Is the AC broken? Are we in Hell?”

Yelena, who had been eating cereal in absolute silence, slowly lowered her spoon. “It's set to sixty-eight...”

“Then why do I feel like I’m inside a volcano?” Aria snapped.

Bob entered cautiously with a glass of ice water. “Here, sweetheart. You’ve been sweating.”

“I don’t want water, Bob! I want this baby out of me!” she growled, slapping the glass away (gently, but dramatically). “It’s been a week. My ankles are tree trunks. My back is breaking. I’m carrying a tiny human who refuses to evacuate. I am DONE.”

Everyone froze. Ava slowly set her coffee down. John quietly retreated behind the couch.

Yelena dared to speak. “Maybe we can go on that walk Bruce suggested.”

“Oh, now everyone’s a doctor,” Aria said, throwing her hands up. “I’ve tried everything,”.

Bob peeked over the counter, cautiously. “We haven’t tried just relaxing—”

“RELAXING?!” Aria spun toward him with the wild-eyed rage of a woman done with pregnancy. “I drank raspberry leaf tea, bounced on that damn yoga ball until my legs gave out, walked thirty flights of stairs, and ate enough pineapple to burn off my taste buds! I even tried spicy tacos, AND I’M MEXICAN!”

“…You also threatened to curse the baby into an astrology placement you didn’t like,” Bob whispered.

Aria lowered herself onto the couch like a collapsing sandbag, dramatically groaning as she arranged eleven pillows around her. She stared up at the ceiling like it had betrayed her personally.

Bob, ever hopeful, stepped closer with cautious optimism. “Maybe you just need”

“Don’t,” Aria warned, holding up one hand. “Don’t finish that sentence unless it ends in ‘a portal to a reality where I’m not pregnant.’”

Bob sat beside her slowly. “I just meant, maybe.”

“I knew it,” she said suddenly, sitting up with a sharp gasp. “You planned this.”

Bob blinked. “Planned… what?”

“You did this to me on purpose.”

His face was all confusion and puppy-eyed concern. “What did I—?”

“You got me pregnant,” she hissed. “Deliberately. Strategically. Like some kind of… emotional assassin.”

Bob looked genuinely panicked. “Wait—what?!”

“You lured me in with foot rubs and home-cooked meals and all that gentle supportive energy and BAM! Pregnant. Out of nowhere. Like a damn babytrap!”

Yelena, eyes wide, mouthed “oh my god” and slowly lowered her cereal bowl.

“I didn’t babytrap you” Bob tried.

“Yes, you did!” Aria barked. “You knew I was in my prime. A weapon. Dangerous. Beautiful. Powerful. And you said, ‘Let’s neutralize the threat with love and soft sweaters and reproductive sabotage.’”

“I literally just asked if you wanted tacos that night!”

“Exactly! You tricked me with tacos and cuddles, you beautiful manipulative sweetheart!”

Bob opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“You seduced me with emotional security and long-term commitment!”

Ava nearly spat out her coffee. John quietly crawled behind the armchair.

“I have been waddling for a month, Bob. I haven’t seen my feet since October. I cried over a commercial for almond milk this morning. I am weak. You did this.”

Bob looked like he was trying to find a non-lethal way to respond. “I—I love you?”

“WELL LOOK WHERE THAT GOT US!”

Morgan peeked into the room. “Do we need more towels or just emotional support?”

“I need a time machine!” Aria snapped.

Bob offered her a hand. “Can I at least get you—?”

“Don’t touch me, Bob! Unless you can extract the child!”

He sat back, hands up, smiling nervously. “Still love you.”

“GOOD. BECAUSE I’M HAUNTING YOU IF I DIE.”

Behind them, Ava was silently texting Bucky:

 “She’s fully feral. She tried to bribe the moon.”

---

Later That Night. Aria sat in the tower lounge, miserable. Hair in a bun. One foot in a bucket of cold water and the other elevated on a stack of pregnancy pillows. She hadn’t smiled in seven days.

Morgan tiptoed by, gently set down a chocolate bar next to her, and fled like she was offering tribute to a volcano god.

Bob had fallen asleep sitting upright on the couch, arms folded over his chest like a guard at Buckingham Palace.

Enter: Yelena. Fearless. Reckless. Iconic.

She dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh and eyed Aria’s expression. “Still pregnant?”

“Do you want to lose your eyebrows?” Aria growled.

“No. But if you don’t give birth soon, I think the baby might file for eviction out of pity.”

Aria blinked.

Yelena wasn’t done. “Or maybe they’re just waiting until your mood stabilizes. Maybe they’re scared.”

“Babies can’t.”

“Listen. You’ve scared Avengers. You scared the toaster this morning. It stopped popping up toast and hasn’t made a sound since.”

Bob let out a snore-snort in his sleep.

“And,” Yelena continued, “don’t think we didn’t hear you yelling at your uterus last night. Ava recorded it. You shouted, ‘Come out, you coward!’”

That, finally cracked Aria.

She burst out laughing. Full-body, tear-streaming, gasping-for-air kind of laughing.

“Oh my god, stop, I did not”

“You did! It was like a WWE promo but for your own womb!”

Even Bob woke up, confused, seeing Aria curled on the couch, clutching her sides. “What’s going on?”

Aria could barely speak through her laugh attack. “Yelena said the baby’s hiding because I’m scary!”

And then…

Pop.

Everyone froze.

Aria stopped laughing mid-wheeze.

Her eyes widened. “...Oh no.”

Bob shot upright. “What, what? What’s wrong? Did I miss something?”

Aria slowly looked down.

“I think my water just broke.”

Yelena’s face split into horror and delight. “WAIT, MY JOKE DID THAT?!”

---

Bob was spinning in the hallway like a malfunctioning Roomba.

“One step at a time. Okay. Okay. Car. Or jet? No, too dramatic. But is it dramatic if the love of your life is HAVING A BABY.”

“BOB.”

Aria leaned over a chair, breathing through a contraction with deadly calm.

He froze. “Yes, my love?”

“Stop hovering. Get the bag. And breathe. You look like you’re about to pass out and I do not have time to resuscitate you before giving birth.”

Bob nodded so fast his curls bounced. “Right. Bag. Bag, okay.”

In the corner of the chaos, Morgan Stark, zoomed around like a tiny general.

“I’ve got the bottles, the socks, the charger, Pepper’s protein bars, a teething ring, and the silver spoon. You never know.”

Bob squinted into the bag. “Did you just pack a travel humidifier?”

“In case the hospital’s air is dry. Do I have to carry this team?”

Yelena, lounging on the couch, deadpan as ever, took a long sip from her energy drink. “I don’t see what the panic is. She looks like she could wrestle the baby out.”

Aria turned to her, deadly serious. “Suit up.”

Yelena blinked. “What?”

“You’re coming with us.”

“To the hospital?” Yelena laughed. “No thanks. Not my battlefield.”

Aria didn’t blink. “I want you there.”

“Why?” Yelena asked, almost amused.

Aria’s face softened just a touch, even as she winced through another contraction. “Because I need my chaos sister.”

Yelena froze.

No witty comeback. No sarcastic jab.

Just quiet. Processing.

“…Shit,” Yelena muttered. Then: “Fine. But if you puke on me, I’m stealing the baby.”

Aria cracked a small smile. “Deal.”

Bob peeked over the bags. “Do I count as your sister?”

Morgan shoved a granola bar in his face. “No talking, just driving.”

---

Inside the Elevator

9:58 p.m.

Aria groaned, holding the railing. Her whole body tensed and released again.

“Okay. That one sucked.”

Bob wiped his forehead with the speed of someone in a sauna. “You sure it’s not Braxton Hicks?”

Yelena gave him a look. “If this is Braxton Hicks, I’m a ballerina.”

“You’re not?”

Aria growled. “Drive the damn car before I give birth in this elevator.”

The team scrambled into the car.

Bob flung bags into the trunk like he was defusing a bomb. He gently helped Aria in like she was made of glass and lava. Yelena took shotgun, already pulling up maps.

“Music? No music? Mozart? Rain sounds? Baby Lullaby Spotify playlist?” Bob panicked.

Aria snapped, “Just get me to the hospital before this baby shows up on the highway.”

Morgan stood by the garage door, crossing her arms.

“You got this, sis,” she said solemnly.

Aria locked eyes with her, smiling even as another contraction curled her forward. “Thanks, Captain.”

Morgan saluted. “Tell that baby I said they owe me for the tactical bag packing.”

---

The hospital entrance doors whooshed open like a dramatic movie cue.

Aria was wheeled by Bob quickly breathing through another contraction. Her usually sharp gaze was blurry with effort, but the fire still burned under the sweat-slicked brow.

Bob was carrying two duffle bags like a mule on the verge of collapse.

Yelena followed calmly behind them, texting Morgan updates like a very intense soccer aunt.

“Hi!” chirped a young receptionist in pink scrubs at the triage desk. “Welcome to The Manhattan Solace! Name and due date?”

Bob opened his mouth to answer but Aria stand up, eyes narrowed.

The receptionist blinked. “Uh... you’ll need to fill out these forms and we’ll get you into pre-labor.”

Another contraction hit.

Aria’s hand slammed on the counter not hard, just precise. Like Tony used to when someone said something stupid during a board meeting.

Her voice was calm. Cold. Stark.

“I’m Aria Lucía Stark. My OB-GYN is Dr. Cho. I am currently forty-one weeks pregnant and having a contraction every three minutes. If you value your continued employment in the health care system, you are going to get me my suite. Now.”

The receptionist blinked again, now visibly sweating. “I-I thought that suite was only for emergencies.”

Yelena leaned forward slowly, elbow on the desk. “I dare you to tell the Stark heiress in labor that she’s not an emergency.”

“Uh. Uh. One moment please!”

She fumbled so hard with her keyboard the mouse hit the floor. As she bent down to grab it, she finally looked back up at Aria, at Bob, then Yelena and her eyes went wide in recognition.

“Ohmygod. Y-you’re the one from the cover of Time.”

Bob tried to help. “She’s not scary, she’s just.”

“Pregnant,” Aria deadpanned. “And hormonal. So unless you want a future Stark baby named after your incompetence, I suggest you move.”

The receptionist vanished. She didn’t even finish her sentence, she just ran off.

Bob turned to Aria. “That was... hot.”

“I’m contracting,” she panted. “Don’t flirt with me.”

Yelena grinned. “I’m naming the baby ‘Receptionist’ just for the drama.”

Dr. Cho appeared like a sleep-deprived angel.

“You made it. Good timing. Room’s ready. I’ve already paged the delivery team. Let’s get you comfortable.”

Aria muttered through gritted teeth, “Define comfortable.”

“I can offer drugs and cool lighting?”

“Acceptable.”

Bob hovered beside her like a twitchy golden retriever with access to billions in tech.

“Do you want ice? Cold cloth? I can sing?”

“Bob, if you sing, I swear I will leave.”

Yelena grabbed a chair, kicked her feet up. “I’m staying for the show.”

“We’ll check you in and then settle. You’re doing great, Aria. I mean it.”

Aria looked at Bob and Yelena as the next wave hit. She breathed through it hard, but when it passed, she turned to the ceiling.

“Okay. Next person who tells me I’m ‘doing great’ is getting a Stark Industries rocket launcher up their ass.”

Yelena raised a hand. “Noted.”

Bob kissed her hand.

“You’re still doing amazing,” he whispered.

Aria stared at him.

“…I’ll take my rocket launcher now,” he added quickly.

Aria had officially been in labor for fourteen hours.

She had walked, bounced on the yoga ball, breathed deeply, chewed ice chips, glared down Dr. Cho, and threatened to dismantle the hospital’s central air conditioning.

She was still only six centimeters.

“I have launched missiles faster than this,” she growled, gripping the edge of the bed like she was about to flip it over.

“Six is good,” Bob offered from the chair beside her, clearly trying to survive. “It’s over halfway…”

“Over halfway?” she turned, fire in her eyes. “Bob, if I had your strength, I’d throw this bed out the window. Over halfway is nothing. This baby is mocking me.”

Bob held her hand. Mistake.

She squeezed it with the full force of Stark rage and mutant-hormonal strength. He let out a strangled squeak.

“You did this to me,” Aria hissed.

“I know.”

“With your stupid, beautiful eyes and your anxious boyish energy, this is your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

“FULL? You think that helps? That this is teamwork?”

A nurse stood in the corner checking the monitors, wisely pretending to be invisible.

Yelena sat cross-legged in the armchair, eating trail mix and very much not pretending to be invisible. “He did warn you his DNA was like molecularly chaotic.”

“Shut up, Yelena!”

“Okay.”

Bob was rubbing Aria’s back as another contraction came. She grunted, groaned, then straight-up growled. Somewhere in the building, a nurse dropped a tray.

“I swear, if this baby doesn’t come out in the next hour, I’m going to design a robotic uterus extractor and perform my own surgery.”

Bob, sweating. “Please don’t invent something during labor.”

Yelena, smug “This is better than the winter soldier docuseries.”

“I hate you,” Aria said, red in the face.

“I know,” Yelena smiled. “You’ll love me again when they give you the baby.”

Dr. Cho gently stepped forward. “Aria, I know you’re tired. But baby’s doing well. You’re progressing. We can help with a little more medication if you’d like.”

“No,” she snapped. Then paused. “Actually, yes. Give me everything. Medicate me like I’m going to the goddamn moon.”

Bob reached up and gently wiped sweat from her forehead with a cool towel. She stared at him like he was the enemy.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

He grinned softly. “Luckiest guy alive.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m in pain.”

Yelena whispered to the Dr., “I think she’s ready for exorcism.”

“We’ll check her again in 20 minutes. Hang in there, Aria. You’ve got this.”

Aria flopped back dramatically.

“This baby better come out hot, bilingual, and wearing Stark Industries onesies or I swear to God.”

---

The contractions were hitting faster now. Meaner. Crueler. Like waves that didn't care about dignity or decency.

Aria clenched the hospital bed sheets in one fist and Bob’s fingers in the other like she was about to rip both apart.

“You’re breathing wrong,” she snapped.

Bob blinked. “I'm not, I'm just”

“Too loud. Stop it. You’re stressing me.”

Bob immediately stopped breathing.

 “This is all your fault. With your perfect hair and your stupidly gentle hands, who told you to touch me like that nine months ago?!” Aria yelled.

Bob, sweating bullets, held up his palms in surrender. “No one. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“And your eyes! You looked at me like I was your whole universe and I melted like an idiot!”

“You kissed me first,” he mumbled.

“SHUT UP.”

Yelena slowly pulled out her phone. “I'm texting Ava. She needs to see this.”

“NO PHONES!”

Bob reached out again, trying to offer the cool cloth. Aria swatted it away.

“I don’t want that. I want this to be over. I want my body back. I want sushi. I want everything.”

And then, just like that.

She broke.

Her face crumpled, eyes glassing over with a softness that contrasted the fury from moments ago. Her bottom lip trembled, and she looked down at Bob like he was the only safe thing in the world.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “I love you, Cielo. I love you so much.”

“I know,” he said, gently climbing to her side. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. “I’m just, it hurts. So much. And I’m scared. I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”

Bob cradled her against him, brushing her damp hair from her face. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared. But you’re not alone.”

“I feel like a bad person for yelling at you.”

“You’re literally in labor, Sweetheart. You could curse me out in twelve languages and I’d still want to marry you.”

She hiccupped through her tears. “You are going to marry me. You think I’m going through this for free?”

Yelena blinked slowly. “She’s back.”

Dr. Cho looked up from the monitor. “Nine and a half centimeters. We’re almost there.”

Aria groaned. “If I don’t get to ten soon, someone’s going to get fired or set on fire. I haven’t decided.”

Bob kissed her forehead. “You’re doing amazing.”

“I feel like a trainwreck.”

“You look like a goddess going to war.”

She sniffled. “That’s disgusting and sweet. I hate how much I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She gave him a watery glare. “Impossible I’m going to get my vagina torn to give you a child.”

[cheekykitsune]

Hey guys, I'm back with a little follow-up from last-week's poll!

The prompt, if you can't quite remember, was:

"I want to fuck you right up against this glass so that everyone can see how well you take my cock."

You were all asked to guess which character would say this, and although only two votes came in, the results were split between Katsuki Bakugou and Dabi. BOTH excellent, filthy choices, obviously.

Now, being the utter goblin that I am, I won't be doing a full scenario. I have WAY too much in the works right now.

But! I will be treating you to a filthy little blurb featuring Dabi, because let's be real, that man oozes this kind of energy.

So, here it is: short, sinful, and just enough to ruin whatever you were doing before reading this.

  You felt him the second he stepped into the room—anger rolling off of him in waves; causing tension to crawl up along your spine slowly. Each of Dabi’s steps filling you with dread.

  Still, you kept your voice even, your smile professional as the new recruit leaned in too close; tried too hard. His scent was suffocating—cocky, overeager. You had no intention of participating in whatever disappointing fuck the Alpha wanted from you; you had an Alpha to keep you satisfied. Even if he preferred to keep things quiet.

  But it seemed like Dabi didn’t care about intentions today. He was more focused on the fact that another Alpha was looking at what he considered his.

  One moment, you’re mid-sentence, the next your words choke off into a gasp—Dabi’s hand wrapping tight around your throat; calloused fingers digging in just enough to make your knees buckle. The rookie flinched, immediately averting his gaze; though everyone else stared.

  Today, Dabi really didn’t seem to give a singular fuck. He merely yanked you back against his chest, lips brushing against your ear.

  “Flirting now, huh?” He growled out low, his voice thick with barely-contained rage. “You want attention that bad? Fine.”

  He kissed you before you could even manage to gasp out an explanation—his mouth slamming down onto yours, his tongue forcing its way between your lips; biting at the softness until your head was spinning from a lack of oxygen.

  You clutched at his coat to stay upright, shame burning hot in your face as your body betrayed you; a desperate need for your possessive Alpha stirring to life while slick coated your panties.

  When he pulled back, your lips were swollen and your vision swimming. You could barely blink the daze away before his hand gripped your upper arm hard enough to bruise—immediately dragging you away from the new subordinate who had likely just landed you in trouble.

  Dabi dragged you past stunned faces, but no one dared to say a word, they simply watched him drag you around until he slammed the door to Shigaraki’s empty office open. Then, as if by magic, everyone had something else to do.

  He didn’t speak as he shoved you inside the room, nor when the heavy door clicked shut behind him—locked, you were positive—and the silence in its wake was deafening. But then, he was on you again.

  Your back hit the glass with a heavy thud, rattling the panels as the cool surface stole the breath from your lungs. Dabi crowded into your space like he intended to suffocate you there; one hand braced beside your head, the other still bruising your arm as he pressed his body flush against yours.

  “You’re mine, (Name). So what the fuck are you doing out there letting some fucking runt look at you like that?” Dabi snarled out the words, his gaze furious as he stared deep into your eyes; barely hanging on to what little sanity he had left.

  His lips curled into a sneer at your silence. He took in your appearance with narrowed eyes; your dazed expression, your swollen lips, your trembling body. You were fucked, and you knew it—he hadn’t even gotten your clothes off yet and you were already falling apart from simple acts of jealousy.

  “Pretty little Omega, all dolled up for work.” He muttered out, voice thick with mockery and hunger as his hand moved to your blouse. “Bet you knew exactly what this outfit would do to me.”

  You didn’t have the opportunity to reply before the sound of fabric tearing filled the air. Buttons scattered across the floor as he yanked your blouse open without hesitation; exposing your bra and the goosebumps blooming across your skin.

  The skirt was next, hiked up roughly to your hips—panties yanked to the side without care.

  “I’m gonna fuck you right here, Omega. Right up against this glass.” He growled low in his throat as he spoke, leaning in close—his breath practically scorching against your ear. “So everyone out there can see how well you take my cock.”

  “Dabi—” Your voice came out a shaky, desperate little whisper. “You—we can’t. This is Shigaraki’s o—”

  Your words died in your throat as he spun you without warning, shoving you into the glass roughly. It was cold against your flushed cheek, your breath fogging up the panel while your hands scrambled for balance. Desperate not to make a fool of yourself.

  Dabi’s hand shoved between your thighs, two fingers thrusting deep into your dripping pussy without hesitation. You gasped out sharply, your knees buckling as your body betrayed you once again; clenching tight around his digits.

  “Don’t worry that pretty little head about shit like that.” Dabi chuckled low against your ear, pressing his chest against your back firmly; his voice dripping with amusement. “You just focus on making those cute little sounds for me.”

  He curled his fingers without warning, making an almost broken sounding whimper spill past your lips.

  “Or maybe I’ll forget to let you cum when I stuff you full with my knot. You don’t want that, do you?”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Weekend writing challenge 4/4 pt1

I saw these prompts from like a month ago and several really struck me with the desire to write for them so here I am lol.

The prompts are by the lovely @thedissonantverses and can be found HERE

I’m using the prompt : Character A is kidnapped specifically to lure Character B into a trap and Character B is aware. Optional C and D trying to talking them out of rescuing A.

Set sometime after Hardings lock in

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Taash stood in the doorway of the meditation room arms crossed, watching Zalan prowl the room, attaching small daggers to various parts of his armor. He hesitated by a bow- Harding’s bow before grabbing it and carrying it in his hand.

His own bow was slung across his back and he grabbed his last sword before stalking out of the room. Shoving past the Qunari.

They let out a frustrated sigh and followed, using their longer strides to get in front of him and blocked the entrance to the eluvian room. Bellara was in the library with most of the others, her hands twisting in worry.

“Get out of my way Taash.” Zalan was nearly growling and Taash ground their teeth, he was so angry, they could smell the sharp almost metallic scent heavy in the air. So overwhelming it was almost covering the fear coming from half the team.

Flaring their nostrils the dragon hunter shook their head.

“They took Harding on purpose. If you just rush in like this you’ll die.” A shudder still ran through them watching Zalan. No one had ever seen him like this, he was barely contained rage and glared murderously up at them.

“Move.” His hand was on the hilt of his sword and Taash was suddenly very aware that most of the others had no weapons on them. Their own axes were tucked away in their room up the stairs and would be no help in this moment.

The air suddenly felt colder; it could have been Neve’s magic or it could have been the silence slicing through the room. The sounds of quiet arguing between the others in the library moments ago over what to do, how to get Lace back, who should go, how to approach the obvious trap all came to a halt and everyone’s eyes were on Taash and Zalan.

The crow was coiled, his eyes empty of their normal mirth.

“I will go through you or past you. Your choice.” His voice was hard and deadly and Taash knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“Rook! If you go you’ll be killed. We just need a few minutes to figure out how to help her-“ Bellara had taken a few steps closer, trying to reach him with the worry in her voice but Davrin grabbed her arm to keep her back.

Zalan didn’t budge or even turn to look at her, he took a step towards Taash instead, gently pulling on his sword handle, the threat clear.

“They will kill you. That won’t help Harding.” They tried one more time, keeping their arms loose at their sides ready to try and grab Rook if he made a move.

“They can try.” He snapped, face twisted in rage and he took another step, fully drawing his sword. “Move Taash.”

There was a little gasp from Bellara whose eyes bugged. Davrin pulled her behind him and took a few cautious steps forward but even that didn’t put him close enough to lunge at Rook if he attacked. The tension was so thick in the air Taash felt bogged down like it was smoke filling a closed off room.

A tiny bag landed at Zalan’s feet, clattering and Lucanis held his hand out.

“Give me Harding’s bow. You won’t be able to carry it with your own on your back.”

The assassin was in his full battle armor, swords at his hip with several extra daggers on his belts just like Zalan. Rook didn’t move but did turn his head just enough to glare at his fellow Crow.

“I will not slow you down. I know how a crow operates on a contract.”

Taash watched Zalan’s jaw clench and he reluctantly handed over the bow still in his off hand. Lucanis just slid it onto his back and looked up, calmer than anyone else in the entire room as he picked up the little bag that, by the scent, contained tiny explosives.

“We will be back with Harding. Taash please finish dinner for me, all the preparations were already laid out.”

Unwillingly Taash leaned to one side, worry still weighing on them, making their face scrunch. But even that small opening was enough and Zalan was storming through, Lucanis calmly on his heels.

“We aren’t going to stop them?” Came Bellara’s almost shrill protest, gesturing at them while Davrin stayed in front of her, not letting her try to go after them.

Taash threw their hands up in surrender and walked away from the eluvian room. Not knowing what else to do.

“He was serious Bell. I think he really would have fought Taash to get through.” Neve grumbled, coming to stand near the elves, arms crossed herself.

The whole team was angry. At themselves for letting Harding get taken. At the Venatori for sending in a ransom note that said for Rook to come alone. At Zalan for rushing off. At themselves for not being able to stop him.

“Lucanis is well known for his Mage killing.” Emmrich said, patting Manfed’s arm who was making distressed noises. “Surely he will be able to keep even Rook’s recklessness in check and be able to bring them all home safely.” His voice was calm, sure, but Taash could smell the worry coming from him too.

They were all scared for Harding, trapped by the Venatori, and for Rook who had looked like a completely different person since they’d told him about Lace and the note. He’d looked like an enraged dragon, eyes full of fire and the promise of death. His anger had radiated off of him in waves and it made Taash wonder if the mages with their magic could have physically seen that, it had felt like they should be able to see it even if logically it wasn’t really magic and so probablythey couldn’t.

The crows were gone, to fetch their lost scout and Taash looked around the room. The others looking as lost as they felt. Guess the only thing left to do was wait.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The best part of this is definitely that I could swap Zalan and Harding here and I feel like it would basically be the same, she would have been a little less plow through your friends about it but she would definitely rain death on her enemies to get Rook back

[ghostsy]

Forever Hold Your Peace

WARNINGS: yandere, mentions of death, mentions of murder, non-consensual implications, implied kidnapping, hand kink if you squint

A/N: another quick short drabble, pls enjoy a deranged lil wedding crasher dabi.

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! DABI X READER

“Give me one good reason not to kill you.”

She’d never known blue to be such an angry color, but even glowing with barely contained rage, she couldn’t help but find his eyes beautiful. 

“I can’t.” 

It was growing all around them now, ice-colored fire licking at the tattered remains of her white dress. Still, she thought the heat was less threatening than warm. 

Her answer seemed to physically wound him, the soft tremble in his brow almost begging her to say something. Something to justify whatever confusing ugly thing he felt finally standing in front of her after all these years. Something that would let him sleep at night if he were to burn her bones to ash that moment, give into that cruel voice in his fractured mind demanding he destroy any and every memory that had ever made him feel something. 

“You broke your promise.”

“I wasn’t aware there were promises to keep with corpses.” There she was, that quick wit he remembered her for, loved her for, once upon a time. Even with his hand at her throat, even with the blood of the man she’d just sworn to love until death–another corpse, whose promise had quickly been fulfilled–even with his blood smeared across her cheek, she still stood tall, dignified.

“Is that what I am to you?” He breathed, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, fingers flexing at the feel of her racing pulse under her neck, “A corpse?” It was a silly question; the patchwork wounds stapled to his rotting skin suggested he was anything but a real, living, man. If he thought about it, he really hadn’t been living for quite some time.

“No, I suppose not,” Her voice was shaky, and he couldn’t tell if the mascara-stained tears wetting her cheeks were for the mass of burning bodies behind them or for him, “More of a ghost.”

The corner of his lips quirked up, huffing a short, bitter laugh, “A ghost,” He pondered for a moment, “I like it,” His other hand made its way up from her hip, brushing at the underside of her clothed breasts, “Here I am haunting you, after all.”

“I think,” Her hands balled into fists, but he made note as they stayed trembling at her sides, “That you’re here haunting us both.”

“I guess you’re right,” His eyes fell to scan her singed gown, “In another life,” Ignoring the clenching of her jaw, he continued, “You’d have worn that dress for me.”

She swallowed, “In another life,” Her eyes left his now, sweeping the mutilated remains littering the pews, “You’d have loved me enough.”

All of a sudden he tore himself from her as if she’d burned him, “Loved you enough?” An incredulous laugh as his arm stretched out to the scene behind them, “What the fuck is all this if it isn’t enough?” 

“It’s really so devastating,” She sighed out a name that was once his, and he was surprised at the weight one word could leave on his heart, “That you would consider this love.” But his anger had returned full force, and he thought maybe now he’d be able to kill her.

“Did you love him?” 

Here it was, the answer that would seal her fate. He could do it if she said what he knew she’d say. He would do it.

“No,” His heart skipped a beat, “I do love him.” And all at once, the mangled coal in his chest crumbled to ash. Do it. You said you’d do it. Do it, you fucking coward.

No, he needed more. His fingers twitched at his sides, sparks of blue igniting and snuffing out in nervous repetition. Just one more thing, and he could do it. 

“You can’t keep a promise to a corpse,” He spat, “But you can love one?” He stepped closer to her, glowing eyes narrowed, staring down at her.

“Not any more or less than one can love a ghost, I’d imagine.”

His hands flew back to her throat, and he wrenched her face up to meet his, “And do you?” His voice fell to a raspy whisper, and he couldn’t tell if it was out of fury or desperation, “Love a ghost?”

“I don’t want to,” And again more tears welled and fell, “I really didn’t want to.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His words were shaking with anticipation, fingers trembling as they cradled her cheeks.

“Does it matter?” She sniffed, eyes flickering to the carnage, “I shouldn’t. Especially now, I shouldn’t,” There was a wrinkle in her brow that betrayed her self-disgust, “I never should have.”

He swallowed, gaze catching on her lips, “But you do.” He’d meant it to come out as a question, but there was a sort of finality in his words. She makes you weak. Kill her. Do it. Now. Do it now. Shut up.

She tried to pull away from him, but he held her face firmly, “No matter where I go,” The turn of her voice was bitter, “You haunt me.”

A soft, manic laugh, “I think,” He leaned down, lips brushing hers, “We’ve both been haunting each other.” And after a month-long moment he surged forward, crashing his mouth against her own, tongue swallowing the strangled yelp that died in her throat.

He stepped forward as she stumbled back from the force, and her fingers flew to grip at his wrists in an attempt to stabilize herself, nails digging into the ruined skin. His leg steadied between both of hers, the bones in his patchwork hands straining as they pulled her into him, as if he were trying to make her body melt into his; make him whole.

Finally she ripped herself from him, stumbling, and wiped furiously at her lips, “I don’t want you,” Her voice was hoarse as she caught her breath, “Nothing else matters, because I don’t want you.”

It was like someone had poured ice water in his veins, and he’d come to the terrifying conclusion that it didn’t matter what she said or did; she could tell him she wanted him dead, and he’d still find an excuse to keep her here with him. 

“I don’t care,” A breathless confession.

After years without, he hadn’t realized just how starved the idea of letting her go would make him feel. He intended for his flames to swallow her whole when he'd found her again, but there was an entirely more appetizing option. He’d starved himself long enough.

The tapestries along the walls had caught fire, and the light shone through the stained glass windows, casting a blue tint across her skin. Like it was marking her as his. His hand shot out to wrap around her wrist when she tried to turn away, and he yanked her back to him.

“Nothing else matters, because I don’t care.”

She tried and failed to pull her arm from his bruising grip, feet sliding as she used her full weight, “Kill me, then,” She choked on a sob, “Why don’t you just kill me, then?”

He stared at her a long moment as she struggled, streaks of ruined makeup painting her cheeks, that once angel-white gown stained black with ash, a gloss in her eyes he could only describe as heartbreak, and he couldn’t help but think that she’d never looked so beautiful.

“I can’t.”

[des-no9]

take me back

Orpheus/Voss E 1.9k Where reality, dream and memory collide. What one do they really want? Tags: unhealthy relationships, oral sex, angst

Inspired by my dear friend @unaarista's beautiful art of Orpheus and Voss of the kiss prompt I sent her. Art is also included in the fic. Hope you all enjoy. Sorry it got sad <333

Full below cut including translation of tir used, or read it on AO3 here.

There was always something to Voss that had made Orpheus want to drop to his knees, to proclaim him my Prince, my mar. Sometimes t'var felt so contained on his tongue as he spoke it now against his one good ear (had scratched into the soreness of his other with the edge of his nail, wheeling the small lines of tir'su into his ravaged flesh, watching the way he'd squirmed, breathy, decadent in the pain to pain).

From that first vision of him as a challenger in the fighting pit. So tall, sinewy. Unafraid to belittle and harm the Prince, when so many had been hesitant. Voss hadn't held back in any of his punches that day, flooring Orpheus, tight between his thin thighs, but power. Orpheus felt comfortable stuck between them, beneath.

He was supposed to be fighting against submission that day. Instead he would give it all to Voss, from knees, from hands, from the last drop of my blood to you—

Their gaze hangs over the lightless Prism, heavy and sunk between Voss’ knees.

Vanquish had kept it. Attachment formed for what it had given, taken from her. Voss had asked for it back, useless to her now but a trinket, memento.

She'd seen the real meaning in his eyes. The way his touch had brushed over her hand instead of the Prism. An ask. A gentle ask from her beast. It was almost time to part, and letting go of the Prism was just the first farewell.

"And what do I get to take from you," she'd said, voice low, a rasp, clutching so hard to the Prism with him she'd near bled.

No words, no kiss. Had closed his eyes, dragged his sore forehead against hers, smearing a line of dirt, blood. Had wanted to say "all I can give" but what foolish sentiment for an istik.

"You kept me alive in there," says Orpheus, shaking Voss from the memory, of the promise to come back for her tonight, for that long goodbye, goodbye—

Voss feels Orpheus' knees dip down beside him. Hears the quickness in his breath that shouldn't be there; the too fast of a heartbeat; the suck of his teeth for muscles that ache, not moved in millennia.

"A version of me."

Armour, leathers long discarded. Just skin to furs and the stale air of their tent, a cocoon behind to the muffled joy beyond. The stir and embers of freedom, and for some the peeling of disbelief, of a new dawn, new life once inconceivable.

Voss turns to Orpheus, slow. Feels his touch fumble across bare chest, protruding bones, skin that sags, is sore.

You were inconceivable, he thinks, this touch so long a ghost, a marker of my dreams my waking wish. But now—

"You're here," the words slip out, unintended. A broken husk against his throat as his eyes dart around the visage of his Prince, of Orpheus, of the one he pummelled into the ground the day they met, bloodied and beautiful, z'varc z'varc on my tongue in my heart on your face.

"I am here."

"And just the same as that day I lost you."

Orpheus listens. Watches.

Voss runs a hand through Orpheus' beard, soft within, ends ragged. "I am a stranger." Before Orpheus can speak, Voss drags fingers along Orpheus' mouth, claws catching lips, threatening to cut. "Even to myself."

Then anger. Then a snap of that beautiful power and swell of rage as he feels Orpheus' psionics snap around his arm, as it smothers his fingers, lines of lust and fury, of sha va zai forgotten, now found.

"Then let me remind you of who you really are," he hisses, a firm fury of a hand wrapping around the edge of Voss' jaw, fang nipping at a scar he does remember.

Presses his tongue against it. Old and faded. Stale.

Voss' eyes dip down, teeth part bared as if preparing to snap.

Then feels Orpheus' tongue lap along the fresh and deep wounds on his cheek. Hisses at the touch, hisses at the deep warmth of tongue to flesh, at the prickles of his psionsics he feels underneath the pads of his fingers, and the pricks of his nails.

Here, he tastes fresh and flesh. Like raw meat he could bite down to eat. A tang and almost sweet. Dedication drips in these wounds, knees to the ground. Up up their walkway to the ragged chew of his ear. Rough and like it had been torn off with teeth.

Teeth that now scrape the edge of it, then tongue, wet flesh wrapping around the soreness that twitches. Orpheus knew Voss disliked his ears being touched. But maybe he didn't anymore. Had to make sure.

How much of you is memory, how much of you remains. He knows the question stings in Voss' mind too. Hears it too loud from the fringes of Voss' thoughts. It had been difficult to contain his power since freedom. You could say atrophy, but he was just stale. Stale.

Orpheus hears Voss sneer. Feels the angle of his head as he half pulls away, half pushes into his touch. Grins delighted at the visceral reality to the touch against his ear.

Real. It's real.

Breathes deep, smelling his swollen slit, wet and desperate, his scent always giving him away first. Unique and strong against a githyanki tongue, Orpheus had always thought.

A stray thought as he wonders what he tastes like to an istik tongue, a familiar mla'ghir tongue.

He licks Voss' scar harder. Rougher. Teeth scoring lines on lines–

Feels a hand wind around the back of his neck. Gentle. Firm. Grounding, like he'd always been. Something his psionics sought to tether to. A beacon that blared, called for him. That light that warned him of the shore, that reminded him there was one.

Their eyes connect, and Orpheus feels her name on the edge of Voss' mind. It's a bruise. A beautiful bruise he wants to press. To see the pain it pulls, to see the colour it blooms. Wants to wound it again to make it last.

Knows she already will. Her name soundless between them. Wonders for how long.

Squeezes his eyes shut, snaps back Voss' head, finds a scar he doesn't know, and licks.

Licks the feeling of its ragged skin. Deep down as he feels the rapid beat of his hearts, wondering why the scar is there. Making up his own story, his own mind. Will ask later. Doesn't matter now.

Voss on his back, lost in furs and the visage of his Prince above, hands roaming over skin he'd inked several times as his own. Bathed in ink and blood and washed his own face with it, licked lips clean of the baptism of his Prince from head, to toe. Would bathe in his body if he could. Will one day if he has to.

Deep claw marks over chest. Two harder than the third. A smaller hand than Voss, than Orpheus. But not fresh, not her. Wonders who, why. Follows the shape of his tongue with a touch of his own. And down.

Cut of a sword on your stomach, taut and old, bones like keys of an instrument, like broken blocks of stone protruding from an old building, worn, weathered.

Hands rove, reading what's left of him protruding through ancient skin. Leathery and taut. Stretched like hide in places, sagging in others, fingers sliding through the folds of skin stamped in age in spots of fade.

Lower.

He'd seen this scar earlier as they'd undressed. Curiosity, heart wild at its beauty.

Impatience as he feels the tip first. Shallower here, to down. Down where it's deeper as it drags over his slit, swollen, parting, tongue lashing over the ridges of his cock pressing against his slit as it widens.

He feels Voss' back arch, bones and elbows and mess of his hair scouring into the fur beneath as Orpheus licks, as some sort of love drips through the way he moves.

Hands spread legs, rough. Pushing aside his thigh as if meaningless. Feels a constellation of scars beneath his palm. Tries to count them. Loses number back to one when he rolls his tongue back over Voss' cunt, wet and warm and the only fucking thing that makes sense.

Voss dips up. Loud. Face freer, drawls a moan, restless hand over prickly skin.

What Orpheus doesn't know, was Voss had become a contained lover. Sounds restrained, methodical in his motions. Power. Beauty.  Orpheus knows the youth of him. The wildness of unleashed, no burden but the one we make.

Now, Voss acts strange to himself, but to Orpheus it's like always, like when we were us, skin and blood and the stars above, the water around us, laughter and death between our toes.

It drives him wild. Grounds him. Makes him whole.

Digs his tongue deep. Deeper. Feels the coil of Voss' cocks, digs his tongue between them. Keeps them there, as he rolls his tongue along the edges of his slit. Of the folds that turn to scar tissue. To the rough skin that would bleed an istik (did she bleed when you fucked her).

Voss snaps Orpheus' head up, hearing the stray thought bleed in his psionics, brush against his own mind.

"Va." It's breathy. A crack in Voss' throat. A sound that makes Orpheus smile. Lines of saliva and sweet cum lining lips, tongue.

Dips back down. Sees the tip of Voss' cocks peek out, dripping cum, their edges rough and starlit in the notches of his barbs.

A refusal as he pushes them back in with his tongue. Feels a whine of protest in noise, in motion as Voss arches of the furs, hissing a curse, clawing a scathe over his Prince's head.

But a smile on his face.

He trembles. Ears twitching.

Orpheus can feel him so close so quick. Presses a hand hard down on his pelvis, feels the motion of his cocks as they move inside, refused; as his tongue languishes against their swollen flesh, rough barbs. As he realises just how far and deep and wide this scar went.

He'll ask why soon. It doesn't matter. It just matters that it's there. A z'var'zai. From head to cock to cunt to toe.

Presses harder with his hand--

Rougher, with his tongue--

And soaks in the sweetness of his cum, and the noise of his moan.

Hands smear it further. Paints his scars and spots. Kisses blotches on his stomach, chest, to face.

Crawls up. Hovers above a shaky body, looks down at a knight, a constant, the light to his shore, the star to his home.

"Do you really think I've not changed?" says Orpheus, quiet, dipping down low, the words almost not there.

Voss, breathless. Sweat soaked saliva wet, closes his eyes, reaches out to feel the edges of Orpheus' face, claws skimming the slide of his ear, the silver of his piercings, the exact lines where he knows his tattoos cut. Remembers counting the dots as he'd inked him. The taste of ink, and blood.

Breathes. Feels more down his neck, shoulders. The walkway of his back. More he knows through the blind bliss of black, through the voice of his touch, infallible.

Voss doesn't speak.

Just a kiss

"Voss?"

a kiss a kiss

take me back to the night we met

a kiss

---

Tir used in 'take me back'

mar - all, everything mla'ghir - liberator t'var - my one, my star sha va zai - I love you va - yes, acknowledgement z'varc - blood wild; bleed me dry, fuck me wet z'var'zai - worth of blood; blood beauty. Aka, seeing beauty in someone's wounds/scars.

[crimsonlyinglilly]

25. Alt   “Maybe it’s better this way.”                                         

| Cage | Ransom | Basement

Day 26 for @juneofdoom, and I am going to finish this.

Freedom in Fur following in Dahlia's defeat Klaus is stuck with a unforeseen consequence and Cami is stuck as the voice of reason with Elijah voiceless

Set shortly after The Originals season 2 finale

---

Klaus pulled his hand back just in time as teeth snapped where it had just been, biting down on the bars of the cage.

Elijah snarled, still in wolf shape and Klaus was beginning to accept it was the crescent curse and not Elijah’s own stubborn spite as he had first blamed. First hoped but deep down he had known, Elijah wouldn’t have let his anger endanger Hope until Dahlia had been dealt with.

Ansel had shared his thought of it being unconscious act of Elijah’s mind, to escape his grief over Gia and supposed betrayal at Klaus’ hands, something that happened within his pack a thousand years ago but Klaus hadn’t asked further and his blood father’s anger, at him over the crescents and everything he had done with Dahlia, had left him unwilling to share freely.

“I love you, your my son,” Ansel had told him days after Dahlia’s death. “but right now the sight of you disgusts me.”

The wolf let go of the bars and bared his teeth at Klaus making his own rage clear without words, he had been like this since Cami had removed the blade from his heart, waking up and shifting almost at the same moment she had told Klaus later.

He’d call him feral but it was only Klaus he was like this with. He hadn’t harmed Cami, only curled around Gia’s body, followed Rebekah to help with Klaus’ plan on getting Esther back and when he had tried to attack Klaus the first time and Marcel had moved between then Elijah and back away instead of biting the less durable vampire.

Amber eyes glowed as he stepped back into the shadow allowing the dark to swallow his near black fur.

“Maybe it’s better this way.” he mused, Elijah was contained, unable to act against or abandon Klaus, each full moon Elijah would return to himself and eventually learn to accept and forgive Klaus, it wasn’t like he would have a choice.

“You don't believe that.” Cami spoke, alerting Klaus to her presence, he wasn’t sure how she knew he was here but he would blame Marcel.

“Seems fitting, he sided with them against me, why shouldn't he share in their punishment?” he asked, hoping speaking it out loud would make it easier to believe.

“He- they put your daughter first-” she excused and Klaus saw red.

“THEY TRIED TO TAKE HER FROM ME!” he roared, she jumped at the sudden increase in volume but didn’t flinch or step away.

The deep growl from the cage vibrated in his bones but he refused to acknowledge it, Cami sent Elijah a sad look.

“So you're going to leave your brother locked up?” she said instead of pointing out how his actions would have made them doubt him, which Marcel, Rebekah, Freya and Ansel had all done.

“Until he stops trying to maul me, yes.” he replied knowing it wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“Klaus.” she sighed, and the sound and reason lit his long held insecurity, once again second to Elijah.

“If you care so much about prefect bless-” he started only to be cut off

“He’s my friend, of course I care about him,” she argued, “You Care about him,” she snapped, furious and beautiful, “and even if I didn't, leaving him locked up alone in the basement is cruel.” 

The basement was dark and bare, enough room to pace but not run,  but he told himself he was being kind, he could have had him muzzled and chained, but Cami’s glare made those thoughts hollow and Klaus could feel the weight of the pair of judgmental eyes from behind the bars join hers.

“Then come the next full moon you can convince him to behave.” he told her, smothering his guilt to show indifference as he left, walking away, not running.

[bunny7567]

I got you - chapter 28

Pairing: Rex x Jedi!ofc

Word count: 5.8k Tags/Warnings: aftermath of Umbara; grief and mourning; angst; am i making them cry too much?; for someone so empathetic, Lexie’s brain sure shortcircuits any time she has to deal with emotion… Anakin isn’t much better; Padmé is the only adult in the room (as usual); more ominous premonitions

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The couple of days spent on Umbara were tense.

The meals were quiet. Too quiet now that Hardcase wasn't there to loudly crack a bad joke and howl afterward like it was the funniest thing in the galaxy.

Jesse and Kix still weren't speaking. Fives was using Tup as a buffer between him and Rex. Halves kept shooting Lexie desperate looks, silently pleading for her to fix it all – wave her hand and magically make everything better again. Technically, she could. But no matter how badly she wanted to fix things, she refused to even entertain the idea of messing with their heads.

The trip back to Coruscant wasn't much better.

The Tribunal was quiet. Eerily quiet. Once the course was plotted and there was nothing left to do but wait, the tense atmosphere became unbearably evident. The troopers were on edge, exhausted, bitter. Those who weren’t crammed in the medbay – which was filled at capacity – were laying in their bunks in silence or burying themselves in busywork to avoid thinking too hard.

Usually, the flights back to Coruscant were filled with anticipation. The clones would be excited and relieved to finally have some time off and so the mess hall and break rooms would be buzzing with plans, laughter, and comms to partners or friends from other battalions who had overlapping leave.

Not this time.

This time it was quiet.

Rex still wasn’t talking about it, but the weight of it all was crushing him – Lexie could feel it. He retreated to her cabin as soon as he could and, in the comfort of her arms, in the dimly lit room, he finally allowed himself to break. His arms held her tightly – so tightly at times that it was difficult to breath – and his face was burrowed into the crook of her neck. Lexie didn’t say much. Now and then she’d softly whisper that it wasn’t his fault, while gently gliding the pads of her fingers over his buzz cut. But she knew the best thing she could do was simply be there. Let him cry. Let him cling to her. Let him fall apart, if only for a while.

And he was clinging to her – holding on like she was his lifeline in a storm – trying to focus solely on the warmth of her skin and the sweet smell of her hair. Trying to tune out everything else, hold his head above the waves of fury and grief that threatened to pull him under. He held onto her as if he was worried he would be swallowed by the storm raging in his mind. He didn’t let go until the ship was out of hyperspace.

Then came the debrief.

The investigation into Krell’s actions and death was in full swing, with High Command desperate to resolve it quietly before the press got wind of the whole shitshow. They weren’t even given any respite. Lexie and Rex, Fives and Jesse, as well as Kix and some officers from the 212th were promptly summoned to give their accounts. All of them were asked to step in one by one and present the events of the campaign. First was the Captain, then it was her, and after that they continued with the rest of them. It was a thorough interrogation and Lexie could barely contain her anger as she heard all the details again… and she felt sick to her stomach when the friendly fire incident was recounted.

It was too much. And it was much too soon. She almost stepped in to demand a break multiple times, but luckily, Rex was by her side. Each time her fidgeting worsened, he inched closer, subtly grounding her with his presence. Lexie was so grateful for him. He was the only reason she wasn’t causing a scene.

But when Dogma’s fate was brought into discussion? She couldn’t stay silent anymore.

“A court-martial is completely unnecessarily,” she stepped forward to address whatever admiral had just uttered those dreaded words. “He eliminated a threat to the Republic! If anything, he should be commended, not punished.”

“That is not how things work within the GAR, General Khalla,” the admiral responded. “His actions were mutiny.”

“No! His actions–” she tried to argue, but was cut off.

“General Khalla doesn’t seem to understand the inner working of the Grand Army of the Republic,” came a cold voice from the side. Tarkin’s voice. “Let’s not forget she herself is under investigation right now and was not even authorised to be on Umbara.”

Lexie did not even bother hiding the death glare she shot him. Of course he had to be there.

“The Council was aware of General Khalla’s departure for Umbara,” Master Plo Koon stepped in. “There was no time for formal authorisation, but we commend her initiative. Her role in thwarting the final Umbaran attack on a critical airbase was instrumental in capturing the planet. That is what matters most.”

Lexie quickly glanced at the Kel Dor, focusing all her effort on keeping her expression neutral and playing along. He wasn’t necessarily lying – she had told Anakin to inform the Council before she left, and she had contacted Obi-Wan to get the coordinates for the base. The Council had, technically, been aware. Now, how much they actually commended her actions… that was another matter. But, Maker, was she grateful Master Plo was in the room – he’d always had a soft spot for rebellious Jedi.

The rest of the debrief passed in a blur after that, with the voices of admirals and Jedi Masters blending together and fading into the background. But when it came to the next steps – that she heard clearly.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Lexie hissed as she paced around Rex’s office.

“Not worth it, cyare,” he replied, watching her from his chair.

“I want to kill him,” she rephrased, her words laced with anger.

“I know. Me too.”

She stopped by the window, gazing at the little view it offered. She could just about make out the First Battle Memorial.

“I could’ve convinced them,” Lexie continued, her voice faltering.

The Captain slowly shook his head. “You couldn’t. Even without Tarkin’s interference, the court-martial was always inevitable.”

Lexie wrapped her arms around herself and pressed her forehead against the cool transparisteel. The weather outside was miserable – dark grey clouds covered the sky and a cold, heavy rain was falling down relentlessly. How fitting.

“Hey,” Rex spoke softly, getting her attention. With a double-tap against his thigh, he then added, “Come here.”

Lexie hesitated, a flicker of guilt taking seed within her. Rex still wasn’t alright. The weight of Umbara still darkened his mind. She shouldn’t add to his troubles. She should be comforting him and she should be strong for of him.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, just stop and come here,” Rex insisted.

This time she listened and made her way to him, settling on his lap. One of her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she lowered her forehead to his. Rex placed his strong hands around her back and on her leg. She sighed, feeling his warm breath fanning over her face. It was nice, in a strange way, that they could be not alright together.

Lexie loved being in Rex’s arms. It was the safest place in the galaxy. It was her home. He was her home. She brought a hand up, gently placing it over his jaw, her thumb tracing slow circles on his cheek. He’d not had the time to shave in days, and the stubble felt coarse against her skin.

“I need to shave, I know,” he remarked with a small chuckle.

“I don’t know…” Lexie mused. “A beard might suit you.”

Rex rolled his eyes, his half-smile finally gracing his features. It felt like ages since Lexie had seen it.

“I’ll consider it after the war,” he offered. “For now I’ll stick with regulations.”

“Oh sure, because the bleached blond is definitely standard GAR issue,” she teased.

He gave her a look, the smile still tugging at his lips. Lexie settled more into his embrace, humming a small, satisfied smile as he started slowly rubbing her back. It was what they both needed. Just to sit with the other, to breath in sync and forget about the world outside of that office. Forget the war. Forget Umbara. Forget what they both considered their greatest failures.

And yet, the dread for the next day was too powerful to ignore.

“Will they be enough?” she asked quietly. “Our testimonies.”

“I hope so…” he breathed.

“They were already calling it mutiny. I just… it feels like they’ve already made up their minds. Like tomorrow’s just gonna be performative banthashit,” she continued, anger once again lacing her words.

“I really don’t know, cyare. I have to hope there’s still due process,” Rex said, although his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

“I wish you would’ve let me take the blame.”

His arms tightened around her instantly. “You’re in enough trouble as is.”

And she really was. The committee had delayed their decision on her investigation, citing “new context.” No one told her what that meant. She had no idea what her fate in the GAR would be.

“My character reference for Dogma... it might not even matter now.” The worry was loud, even if her voice had been but a whisper.

“There’s still mine. And General Skywalker’s,” Rex tried to ease her mind.

But what if it still isn’t enough?

There had to be more that she could do. There had to be something – anything. A way to convince the committee to not give out the harshest sentence. To not decommission Dogma.

Lexie sat up, an idea finally taking shape in her head. “We need more influence. We need a senator.”

In less than an hour, Lexie was in Padmé’s apartment. She was the only senator Lexie knew personally, and even if they weren’t close friends, she’d grown to trust and admire her during the Kaldonya mission. Still, she was tense and nervous about showing up unannounced, asking for favours.

“I’m sorry for the wait,” Padmé said as she emerged from the direction of the bedroom.

Lexie had arrived not long after she’d returned from the Senate, and so, she had excused herself in order to slip into some more comfortable clothing. It was quite late. The sun had already disappeared beneath the horizon – not that anyone would know, the thick clouds were shielding any glimpse of Coruscant Prime. The Federal District was basked in a strange, grey light, that was now ever so slowly dimming, being replaced by colourful glows flickering on every high-rise. The balcony of Padmé’s apartment provided such a panoramic view of the city. The sunsets must be spectacular… on better days.

“No worries,” Lexie replied. “I should apologise for dropping in like this.”

“Nonsense, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” Padmé gestured to one of the crescent couches and the two of them took a seat.

A golden protocol droid walked in carrying an oval tray with a teapot and two porcelain cups, apologising profusely for some reason Lexie could not understand. The droid poured the tea, offering her a cup first. Lexie inhaled the steam rising from the warm beverage. The liquid had a rich dark green colour, and just a sip was enough to fill her mouth with its powerful herbal aroma.

“This is really nice,” she hummed a small, pleased sound.

“It’s a Naboo herbs blend. I stock up whenever I travel home,” Padmé explained. the droid then offered her a cup, which she accepted with a sincere “thank you”. She then turned back to Lexie. “How are you? How is Rex?”

Lexie stiffened, taking another sip of tea as an opportunity to carefully choose her words. Might as well jump right into it.

“Not very well, unfortunately. Umbara was… it was hell,” she replied, her voice low, guarded… pained.

Padmé’s expression shifted into one of worry. She’d caught wind of the whispers after all. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s why I’m here actually.”

Lexie took a deep breath before starting the horrible tale of Umbara. She recounted what her men had told her, trying not to go into too much detail. Padmé listened, her brows furrowed and lips slightly parted at the incomprehensible horrors that the clones had been through. Finally, Lexie told her about Dogma, and explained her reason for dropping by.

“Of course,” the senator spoke. “I don’t know how much sway I have with the committee, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Lexie exhaled, the relief clear in her voice.

“Good thinking, asking a senator for help,” Padmé commented with a light chuckle.

“Gotta use your connexions when you’ve got them,” Lexie laughed.

“You’ll make a good politician if you decide to take on that role,” the senator mused.

A confused frown appeared on Lexie’s face and she shot the woman a questioning look.

“Something the senator of Seccaya mentioned a little while back,” Padmé clarified.

Lexie huffed a small laugh and shook her head. Of course. Anara had probably warned the poor senator not to get too attached to the job. In the few comms exchanged here and there – mostly with Myria – she’d become aware that her cousin’s offer from all those months ago was more than just a passing remark. Anara truly expected her to eventually become Seccaya’s senator. It probably helped that she wasn’t categorically declining.

“What are you doing here?”

The cold voice of Anakin made Lexie go rigid, but she did not turn immediately. Instead, she quietly set her now-empty cup of tea on the couch cushion beside her, stood, and then spun to face him. Anakin was standing at the top of the two steps leading to the sitting area, glaring at her. He appeared calm, but there was a bitterness behind his eyes that Lexie did not miss. She couldn’t – it was a reflection of her own.

“I came to ask a favour,” she answered, forcing her tone of voice to remain even. It was difficult – she still resented him. She knew she shouldn’t, but there was no helping it. And her nerves were also already fried after days of shouldering everyone’s pain.

Anakin scoffed… and that was all it took to set her off.

 “I’m trying to save Dogma,” she snapped. “Remember him? One of our troopers? About this tall, face tattoo, loyal to a fault?”

Anakin clenched his fists, her jab leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Don’t act like I don’t care about one of my own men.”

“You sure as hell don’t show it,” Lexie spat.

Padmé rose from her seat and stepped towards Anakin, trying to diffuse the tension. “Let’s all take a moment and breathe.”

He couldn’t listen to her unfortunately. Anakin walked right past his wife and closed the distance between him and Lexie, anger sparking like a fire behind his eyes. “Spare me the self-righteous act. You are not their saviour.”

Lexie blinked, white-hot fury flashing through her like lightning.

She stared at the man in front of her. He used to be her friend. She used to think of him as a little brother. But now? She couldn't recognise him. When did this rift happen? When did the chasm between them grow so deep? There was something wrong, something deeply wrong rippling in his Force signature – something cold, eerie, something that shouldn't be there. But was it coming from inside him? Or was it outside influence? She reached to him through the Force – but he blocked her.

“At least I’m trying to do something,” she hissed.

“I’m trying too,” he shot back. “I’ll take the stand, I’ll give him a character reference and I’ll let justice take its course.”

“Justice?!” Lexie barked. “You call this justice? He’s been through enough! He shouldn’t even be in front of a tribunal. You weren’t there to see how–”

“You weren’t there either!” Anakin cut her off, his voice rising.

“I was!” she shouted. “I got there right at the end and I’ve been there to pick up the pieces ever since – while you were off prancing around diplomatic dinners!”

Anakin recoiled, completely thrown off-balance by her accusation. In truth, Lexie couldn’t believe those words came out of her mouth either. She wasn’t like this. Not usually. But the guilt, anger and tension of the past few days had reached a boiling point.

“You–” Anakin began.

But this time, Padmé physically stepped between them. “I think that is enough. From both of you.”

Lexie stepped back a took a deep breath. Padmé was right – that was enough. That was too much really. That was not what she had expected to happen when she walked through the door.

“I apologise, Senator,” she said, her voice tight with forced calmness. “Thank you again for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lexie caught Anakin's eyes one last time. He was furious, irritated, anxious… ashamed – just like her. She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she walked past him.

There was nothing left to say.

The walk back to base was miserable – and not just because of the weather. Lexie moved at a brisk pace, simmering in a storm of rage and guilt. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the black cloak she was wearing doing little to keep the cold rain from drenching her.

As she passed the Senate, she stopped. Fully stopped dead in her tracks, as if a wall of ice had materialised in front of her. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the imposing building. Everything seemed normal, and yet… something felt wrong. An eerie shiver crept up her back. Icy, unnatural – the unmistakable warning of the Force.

And then… it was gone. Just like that.

Lexie shook her head and resumed her journey, turning the heads of a few troopers once she reached the base. She was wet from head to toe and angry. So damn angry. She stepped in the lift, but hesitated to press the button for her floor. Rex would be in her room by now, she couldn’t go there like this. He would see through her in a second, he would see that something was wrong. She couldn’t burden him with this too. This stupid, unnecessary fight with Anakin.

It wasn’t the first fight she and her fellow Jedi had gotten into. The two of them had butted heads in the past on quite a few occasions. They were both so stubborn after all, both competitive and passionate. Their tempers had collided, their differences and similarities had engaged in fierce duels. But none like this. None as bad as this. Their fights had never cut to the bone like the words they had now exchanged did. Truthfully, Lexie didn’t see a way back from this – and that scared her.

She got off on the training level. A few rounds with a punching bag should do the trick, should help get rid of some of the lingering anger and anxiety. It was a good plan.

The training rooms were mostly empty, and that left a bitter taste in her mouth. With both the 501st and 212th on leave, this level should’ve been buzzing with life. Usually, it was packed with troopers – sparring, shouting, laughing. But not this time. She spotted a few men running drills, even caught the echo of a laugh – but it didn’t carry the same warmth it once did. Not this time.

She walked down the corridor, peering into the training rooms until she spotted some familiar faces – well… more familiar than the standard – and she stepped through the door.

“Shift your feet, Tup. You’re not a droid – stop being so rigid,” Fives instructed as he held a punching bag in place.

The trooper tried to follow the advice, but his strike still fell short.

"You're explaining it wrong," Jesse cut in, stepping behind Tup and grabbing his shoulders. The younger trooper stumbled slightly as Jesse repositioned him. “Try now.”

Fives noticed her and greeted with a nod, still bracing the punching bag. Lexie smiled. She was so relieved and grateful to see them more relaxed, to see them spending time together, maybe even having fun. She clocked a couple of bottles of ale on the floor, then her gaze shifted to the bench behind the three clones. Halves was there, dressed only in his blacks same as the rest of them, drink in hand. When he spotted her, he quickly placed the bottle down and gestured for her to follow him to the corner of the room. The urgency of his movements immediately made her stomach twist.

“You need to do something,” he leaned in to whisper. “Jesse made Kix cry earlier.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

“Okay, not cry cry,” Halves clarified. “But he looked really close.”

Lexie quickly shot a glance towards Jesse, accidentally making eye contact. He was fidgeting and he immediately dropped her gaze. The nervousness and guilt were clear – he’d been expecting Halves or Tup to tell her about it.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t catch the whole thing,” Halves spoke quietly, “but Jesse said something along the lines of ‘oh so now you remember you’re a medic, thought you forgot when you had that blaster in my face’. Kix just stared at him for thirty seconds then walked out the room.”

Lexie’s eyes went wide. She couldn’t even imagine what Kix must’ve felt when he heard that. Then again… she also couldn’t imagine what Jesse must’ve felt when his best friend held him at gunpoint. She swiped a hand over her face, inhaling deeply, trying to decide what to do. Her plan had been to let them work through it themselves, to be there for support and allow them to grieve and forgive at their own pace. But this was too much.

“Jesse,” she called. “A word please?”

The lieutenant hesitated, his eyes moving quickly between her and the floor. Finally, he took a deep breath and walked over to the corner – and shot Halves a sharp glare as they passed each other. The young ARC briskly made his way to Fives and Tup.

“Look, I know Lex, okay?” Jesse started as soon as he was in front of her. “I don’t need a lecture, I feel like shit already.”

“I wasn’t gonna lecture you, honey. I was gonna ask if you’re okay,” she said softly.

Jesse opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was expecting a fight – hell, hoping for one. He’d been trying to provoke one for days now. He didn’t even know why anymore. Jesse wanted to yell – at Kix, at Rex and at anyone who tried to talk to him. That’s what he’d been waiting for, a moment, an opportunity to snap, to be justified in taking his anger out on someone. But no one would give him the opening. Everyone kept to themselves – Kix kept to himself. So when his vod had finally talked to him – when he tried to do what he does best and conceal his care and concern behind the medic façade – Jesse immediately threw the harshest words he could think of at him. And regretted it instantly.

Lexie lifted a hand and gently squeezed his bicep, bringing his attention back to the present. He finally met her eyes and… he cracked.

“He raised his blaster at me. At me!” he barked. “And he fired. Kix fired – they all did and I thought… for a second I thought that was it.”

“What would you have done differently if the roles were reversed?” Lexie asked. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t as patient anymore.

“I… I don’t know,” Jesse chocked. “But how the hell am I supposed to just get over that?”

“Wasn’t Tup in the firing squad too? You seemed fine around him when I walked in,” she pointed out.

“Tup’s just a shiny–”  

“Not really,” she cut in. “Not anymore. He’s seen a couple battles.”

Jesse shot her a glare and took a step back. Her arm fell to her side. “It’s not the same – Kix is my vod, my oldest friend. We’ve known each other since we were cadets. H-He should’ve… he…”

“What? What should he have done? What could he have done?” she insisted.

“I don’t know!” Jesse shouted. “I don’t, okay? But I just… I can’t stop feeling betrayed.”

She stared into his eyes for a moment. The words were there, right on the tip of her tongue; but were they too harsh? Were they cruel? Or were they what needed to be said – finally said? She took a deep breath.

“You’re letting him win.” Her tone was tight. Controlled, but apprehensive. “Krell. You’re doing exactly what he wanted.”

She said it loud enough for the other three to hear at well – not that they weren’t listening anyway. A deathly silence settled over the training room. Her eyes darted to Fives, stood rigidly by the punching bag, fists clenched as he stared at her. She could sense the anger radiating off him – off all of them really.

“Don’t you see this is exactly what he planned?” she continued, raising her voice just a little. “He wanted to torture you. He wanted you to torture each other. And you are! You’re still playing his fucked up game.”

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, with neither her, nor them having anything else to add.

Then, a sudden sniffle cut through the stillness. Lexie turned her head to look at Jesse. The lieutenant’s eyes were frozen to the floor as a couple of tears fell on the training mat under his feet.

She stepped closer and whispered his name. “Jesse…”

He practically collapsed into her arms.

His weight caught her off-guard and she stumbled back, nearly losing her balance. She quickly regained her footing and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he began to shake, his tears soaking into her shoulder.

Lexie’s eyes drifted across the room, meeting Fives’ gaze. She didn’t even need to say a word – the ARC slowly nodded and guided the others out, leaving her and Jesse in the privacy of an empty training room.

The lieutenant cried for a while, mumbling fragments about Umbara, about Kix… about Hardcase. When that last name slipped out, Lexie couldn’t hold back anymore, and her own body started trembling as the tears began to fall. She hadn’t realised how badly she needed to break as well.

At first Jesse didn’t notice – she had perfected the skill of crying in complete silence – but eventually he picked up on it.

“Are you crying too?” he asked, his muffled voice mixed with faint amusement.

“Oh shut it,” she choked a laugh. “I miss him too.”

Jesse pulled back from the hug, laughing through the tears. “He’d make fun of us so bad if he were here.”

“He would,” she agreed, wiping her eyes. She watched as he did the same, then gently reached out through the Force to gauge his emotional state. “Feeling a bit better?”

“Yeah… yeah. Thanks Lex.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Come with me.”

“Where?” Jesse asked.

“You know where.”

The lieutenant sucked in a breath. A multitude of conflicting emotions passed behind his eyes, and he shut them, taking a moment to ground himself – to decide how long he wanted to hold on to the grudge. Finally, he exhaled and gave a quiet nod. Then, without another word, he followed Lexie to the infirmary.

Dogma’s court-martial was fast-tracked, and within only three rotations of the battalion’s return on Coruscant, there already was a verdict. Lexie wondered if the GAR was always this overzealous, or if the higher-ups had decided to make an example out of this whole mess. Or sweep it under the rug. Or both.

To his credit, Dogma kept his composure admirably through most of it, including through some very aggressive interrogations that had Lexie clenching her jaw so tight, she gave herself a migraine. The calm façade did crack when Krell’s death was recounted, but could anyone really blame him? His outburst was understandable, the betrayal had cut deep. And he wasn’t the only one barely holding it together.

Rex was tense – tenser that Lexie had ever seen him. More tally marks had been added to his armor and throughout the entire trial his thumb kept absentmindedly tracing the newest scratches on his vambrace. He’d said nothing about it, but there had been an incident.

The first day of the court-martial had ended on a very negative note and, really, it seemed like Dogma’s fate was already settled. The push for decommissioning was strong… Rex had practically stormed out of the room as soon as the session adjourned, his mind a tangled mess of rage and self-loathing. Lexie had sensed it, and so she quickly followed after him, but had not caught up in time to stop his fist from harshly colliding with the durasteel wall. He cursed loudly and she had to drag him to the infirmary once they were back on base so that Kix could place a bacta patch on his broken knuckles.

“I should’ve pulled the trigger, not Dogma,” was the only thing he said about it later that night.

Safe to say, Lexie was still very concerned for his mental state.

But at least the verdict was favourable. Padmé had really come through for them – and not only that, but she’d also shown up with another senator, Riyo Chuchi of Pantora. With not one, but two senators pushing for leniency, the committee had to cave.

Lexie walked out of the trial room, and leaned on a wall as she exhaled deeply. She brought a hand up to massage her temples, trying to soothe the throbbing headache. Thank the Force it’s over. She looked up when Rex came to stand by her side, offering a faint smile.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the alternative,” he said.

“I know,” she sighed. “Logical too. He did snap.”

Rex slumped back on the wall next to her, closer than he probably should. “I’m glad we can finally put this whole mess behind us.”

“Yeah,” Lexie agreed. She inched her hand closer to his, brushing the backs of their palms together – just long enough to say I’m here.

With the court-martial finished, the investigation into Umbara was also complete. The chapter was closed, they could move on. But why did it still feel like they lost?

Dogma wasn’t going to die, but he wasn’t going to be a soldier anymore either. Still, wasn’t his life being spared enough? Lexie couldn’t shake the uneasiness inside of her – the uneasiness she’d picked up from Dogma as the verdict was pronounced. No, not just uneasiness – a deep, burning feeling of injustice and loss. Sure, he wasn’t going to lose his life, but he was going to lose his purpose, his identity. And judging by what she sensed, he considered it just as bad.

Lexie turned her head to look at Rex, suddenly aware of the storm of emotions raging inside of him. She didn’t mean to read him – she always tried her best not to intrude in the privacy of his emotions – but his mind was just so loud. The guilt and rage that had enveloped him ever since Umbara only seemed to have intensified with the verdict. He was a clone, he understood it better than she did. He understood why for Dogma this verdict might as well be an execution order.

“Rex–” she started, voice filled with concern.

But the Captain cut her off, pushing abruptly from the wall. “We should go tell the others. Fives commed saying he’s outside with Tup.”

He didn’t even wait – just turned and started marching down the corridor. Lexie stood there a little dumbfounded, following him with her eyes. A deep worry started festering in her chest – she didn’t know if she should keep giving him space or if she should push him to talk.

Lexie followed after him down the corridors of the Republic Executive Building and out the large transparisteel doors. The rays of Coruscant Prime hit her harshly, and she had to momentarily shield her eyes until they adjusted to the daylight.

She made out Tup first. She saw as he noticed her and the Captain, hit Fives lightly with the back of his hand, then hurried over. Fear and anxiety were written clearly on his face. Fives walked over as well, followed by Halves, Jesse and Kix.

“He’s not getting decommissioned,” Rex announced once the little group gathered in front of them.

Tup let out a breath he’d clearly been holding for days, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. He wasn’t going to lose his batchmate. Dogma was safe. Jesse slapped Tup on the back, a wide smile blooming on both their faces. The others joined in as well, all except Fives, whose sharp eyes were already scanning Lexie’s and Rex’s faces, reading every flicker of expression.

“What’s the catch?” the ARC asked. His voice was low, already preparing for bad news.

The group immediately fell silent.

“He… uhh,” Lexie started quietly. “He’s not returning to the 501st.”

“What?” Tup said, his bright smile melting into a frown of panic and confusion. “W-Why? Where is he going?”

“The committee though it best that he be removed from active duty,” Lexie continued, not meeting his eyes. She cleared her throat, the words felt dry, like trying to swallow a bitter pill without water.

“He’s being reassigned to logistics,” Rex took over. “Supply coordination, admin work. Safe, quiet… off the battlefield.”

“Desk duty?” Fives scoffed.

“It’s the best outcome we could’ve hoped for,” the Captain said, the calm of his tone forced.

“The best outcome? Are you serious?” Fives snapped.

Rex clenched his fist by his side. “He’s not losing his life. So yes, I’d say so.”

Fives opened his mouth to keep arguing, but Lexie did not give him the chance.

“Don’t,” she hissed, stepping in front of the ARC. “We tried. We really did. I don’t think you understand how many members of that panel wanted to stamp decommissioned on the report and be done with it. The fact that his life was spared is honestly a miracle.”

“Thank you, General,” Tup said, coming to stand by Fives’ side and diffusing the tension. He was disappointed – Lexie could sense it, could see it written on his face – but he was more understanding than the fiery ARC.

Lexie offered him a small, grateful smile. “He’s staying on base here on Coruscant. You’ll be able to see him every leave.”

Tup nodded and smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

A soldier made for combat sentenced to desk duty. Never to hold a blaster again – it was a slap in the face.

But still… it was better than the alternative. Tup understood that – they all did. Even Fives, despite his anger.

Taglist: @selene131 , @yoursrosie , @olasz-2003 , @ichimatsu-gal , @whisperofwild

There's more chapters to come so if anyone would like to be tagged let me know

[kpforpresident]

Does Clarke go away on travel for a bit and leave Hiro with plant shop owner Lexa?

mrow. mrow. meow. MEOW.

Lexa cracked open an unwilling eyeball, forcing her bleary eyesight to focus on the small numbers glowing at her from the alarm clock perched on her bedside table. She fended off the small but persistent paw that was insistently batting at her earlobe as she did so, earning a disgruntled rrrfft as Lexa shoved the tiny kitten off of where she had been cheerily perched on her neck for the past ten minutes or so, alternating between kneading her aorta and boxing her earlobe with one small mitten.

4:07 am blinked back at her.

Lexa sat up in a huff, shoving a tangled wad of curls out of her face as she fished around her nightstand for her phone, ripping it from its charger with barely contained rage as Hiro trotted dainty to the end of her and Clarke's shared bed, sat down, and promptly began to clean her asshole, one tiny leg held primly aloft.

4:08 am

Lexa: Clarke, this goddamn cat is getting locked out of the room from here on out, so help me god. This is the second night in a row that she's woken me up at the crack of dawn to feed her. It's like trying to negotiate with terrorists, for chrrisake.

Lexa is not expecting her girlfriend to answer immediately despite the two hour time different between Polis and California, Lexa begrudgingly feels around for her slippers, sliding them on her feed in grumpy acceptance as Hiro twines figure eights happily around her ankles, chirping happily.

Hiro's delighted little warbles continue, floating through the watery grey of the early morning light as Lexa pads her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She stifles a jaw- cracking yawn as she flicks on the kettle, sleepily reaching for a mug and a sachet of tea to hopefully kickstart her day- even if it is two hours earlier than she originally planned. She's just pouring boiling water over her Earl Grey teabag when her phone chimes cheerily.

Hiro looks up from where she's cleaning her paw to cock her head in inquiry as Lexa crosses the kitchen to check her mobile.

4:47 am

Clarke: fuck, I'm sorry Lex. She just loves you and is off her with me gone. I'm ordering her a timed feeder right now, I swear- you can set it to go off at 4 so she has a pre-breakfast and won't tapdance on your head for food so early. I love you! I'll be home in two days!

Lexa smiles begrudingly at the text, reaching across the counter to pet the downy soft hair that lays just under Hiro's chin. Hiro purrs in contentment, dropping down from the counter to trot over to her now-full food bowl.

Lexa's phone chimes again as she reaches for her mug, alerting her from her and Clarke's linked Amazon account that her new stainless steel cat feeder will be on her doorstep in just four short hours.

Lexa angles her phone to send Clarke a photo of Hiro curled up in an early morning beam of sunlight in response, signing it with a few kisses for good measure as she scoops up her book and tea to curl up in their duvet and read for a few hours before work.

[lkblackham]

Studio Space Show-and-Tell

So.... I'm currently waiting on feedback for the Big Thing I had to write for my thesis, and I have a very sobering activist post I'm planning for tomorrow, and it's just been a really rough couple of weeks in general. So I've decided to do something fun and frivolous and not terribly productive but that's the point.

I've seen other artists show off their studio spaces, and they're ALL way more cool and well-decorated and generally cleaner than mine. I know a lot of that is tidied up for social media, and I do love me some organization porn, but I thought it would be fun and worthwhile to show off my studio/home office/living room space in all its messy dumpster fire glory:

Things to note:

The kneeling chair. I have ADHD and a bad back, and this chair is kind of the best investment I've ever made for both of those things. I can stim by rocking while I work. It forces me to not hunch over. OR it makes me go full 'L from Death Note', depending on the hour of the day.

The cat carrier. Literally nowhere else to put it. My cats hate it.

The ukulele, amp and lurking electric guitar. Sometimes I get so frustrated with my work I need to jam it out angrily on some musical instrument. Usually the ukulele, because I don't have to plug it in. My neighbors are very understanding and I try to keep my rage-jamming to daylight working hours. I'm not a good musician, but I am a very enthusiastic one.

PeachyBbies slime. When I'm too tired to jam, or rock, I slime. It's actually really effective. I haven't used them in a while, though, because they have melted a bit in the sun and are all sticky. Need to spray 'em with some baking soda and water.

Giant Ass Waterbottle. Yes, it's a Stanley. I drain this thing multiple times a day. I'm never dehydrated and I spend roughly half the day in the bathroom. I've recently added a Manfred sticker to it. It's me and Manfred against academic bureaucracy.

The just-barely-in-view Lego box. It contains the set for Gandalf and the Balrog. It's adorable. I can't put it together, however, because I have a cat who literally seeks out objects I value in order to knock them down when he's upset. So it's just sitting there. Chilling. Vibing. A lost dream.

Eagle-eyed viewers might be asking, "Laura, why is there a painting of a clown on your wall?"

The answer is, that clown is my grandpa. As painted by my grandma.

Yes, he was a Real Actual Clown. My grandma was also a Real Actual Clown. Literally graduated from Real Actual Clown School. But she didn't do a self-portrait of her clownsona, which is a travesty. That would have been the CUTEST and WEIRDEST couple's portrait set.

Grampa Pickles here keeps an eye on me and makes sure I don't take anything too seriously.

I would also like to show off my keyboard:

In my humble opinion, when you are in a typing-intensive type of job and primarily work from home, a really nice thonky mechanical keyboard is actually a major productivity aid. Plus, it's rainbow and it lights up. Really top of the line tech.

I would also like to bring attention to my assistant who hangs out by the window while I work:

I was trying to take a nice portrait of him but he really wanted to boop the camera. He's saying hi!

Finally, a close-up of my Emotional Support Bottle:

He helps me get through the day. And stay hydrated.

AAAAnd there's my show-and-tell. Warts and all. I would LOVE to see and hear about YOUR studio/working spaces and all the cool/weird stuff you've collected in it. Clean well-organized offices are fine, I guess, but I do love to see how people have molded their spaces to reflect their personality and priorities.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 34: The Rot—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: Obviously this chapter is gong to contain discussions about the previous chapter and its contents, so please be aware of that as you read. I am done with my semester and I got a 4.0, so I'm pretty pleased about that! I'm working full-time this summer and going on vacation this next week, so my posting next Sunday might be a little off haha, but I just thought I'd give you the heads up. Thanks for reading and as always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

Winnie remembered this one winter, back when she was about 11.  Her father had gone out for the weekend and he didn’t return.  Robby had been sick at the time and they didn’t have heat in their house.  It had actually snowed and there had been a cold wind that had ripped through some of the shattered windows of the pathetic little shack that they had lived in at the time. 

She had thought that her father was going to go out and get Robby medicine that he needed. 

Dalton Allen didn’t come back for a whole week.  So that week, as Robby kept on getting sicker—head burning and chest too weak to cough anything up—Winnie had ventured out into the snow and she had begged people for help. 

It took hours of shivering out on a corner before some pastor had taken pity on her and let her inside, giving her the money she needed for the medicine.  Winnie’s little hands and fingers had been numb right down to the bone by that time and she wasn’t sure that Robby was even going to be alive when she made it back. 

He still was. 

And she never forgave her father for simply not caring . 

It was this sort of numbness that had crept back into Winnie Allen’s chest, strangling and rotting like some sort of weed that threatened to eat her whole in its fanged jaws. 

She just kept putting one foot in front of the other.  Refused the jeep when it came to collect the bodies.  She would walk—damn the pain between her legs that struck up every single nerve whenever she put weight on the lower half of her body.  

Don’t be a hero, just survive. 

Winnie was so far stuck in her own head as she walked.  She barely noticed the fact that Nixon had an arm slung around her to ensure that she would continue to walk.  It was as if his touch didn’t even affect her.  They had found her shoes, somewhere a few feet around the trees.  It felt strange to have the shoes back on her feet. 

The cold was biting, but even in Nixon’s jacket, she didn’t feel it anyway. 

That would have been cause for concern to the good doctor, but Winnie knew what this was.  Knew that she had just shut down in order to survive.  Because what the hell else was she supposed to do?  She had fought like hell and done whatever she had to do in order to try and survive the encounter and it was that anger and rage that simmered below the surface like some sort of demon waiting to be clawed from her skin that had endowed her with the ability to survive. 

They had found her clothes not long after finding her shoes.  She was dressed fully and it wouldn’t have made a damn difference. 

“You’re still bleeding,” Nixon’s voice murmured quietly in her ears as they approached camp. 

She knew that.  Could feel it still dripping down her legs and staining her pants.  “I’m fine,” Winnie mumbled out.  She wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know that .  Didn’t need to know that she wanted to take a hammer to every single part of her body and just scream and rage and destroy and break it all. 

“Bullshit.” 

“I’m a doctor,” Winnie retorted evenly, casting him a hollow glare. 

“You’re a damn idiot who needs medical attention, you stubborn woman,” Nixon retorted in a sharp voice. 

“After I tell Liebgott.” 

Heavy silence fell between the two of them and as they entered into the camp limits, Winnie just kept her head solidly trained ahead.  She didn’t fail to notice the looks of horror and wide-eyed expressions on the men as they saw the bruises and the blood—the solemn expressions of everyone she was walking with.  Winnie wondered if she looked as hollowed out as she currently felt. 

If all they saw was a skeleton who had been gnawed down to the bone. 

She sincerely hoped not. 

Questions picked up on the wind and she could hear them talking, murmuring to themselves as the jeep came to a stop up ahead and Winnie caught sight of Liebgott, pushing his way to the front of the group of men.  “Hey, what’s—” Liebgott started in a sharp tone. 

Winnie exchanged the same look with Winters, something of deep-seated pain.  She stepped forward and quietly caught him by the elbow.  “Lieb—” 

“Holy shit, Winnie—you—” 

“Lieb,” Winnie said in a soft tone. 

It was the soft tone of the normally sharp and cold doctor that caught his attention.  And he felt his throat go as dry as sand as he stood there, eyes unconsciously flicking to the bodies covered by a thin blanket in the back of the jeep.  “No, no, no, no, no—Leen’s fine.  She’s fine, damn—” 

Winnie caught his arms in a firm grip as he began to thrash, weakly pulling him into a fierce hug as any emotion he was feeling just came spilling out of him.  “She’s gone, Lieb.  She’s gone.  It was quick,” she murmured into his ear.  Hot tears spilled onto her uniform and it stung—quite literally, every motion and sensation of fabric against the cut on her breast felt like it was on fire. 

It was a damn lie . 

It hadn’t been quick. 

She had been pregnant. 

She had wanted to marry him. 

Wanted to have a life with him. 

And Winnie was too kind to tell him that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To her credit, Winnie held incredibly still the entire time that she was in medical.  She didn’t say a damn word, jaw clenched so tightly that Roe thought she might have broken something in her mouth and he wasn’t that kind of a doctor. 

“Winnie,” he murmured quietly, gently pressing a soapy rag to the cut on her chest. He was just trying to tell if she was even still there—or if she was so far gone into her own head that there would be no return.  He wasn’t sure himself how he was standing and doing this, cleaning her up, helping her—except for the fact that he knew so concretely what had been done to her and he didn’t know what to say about it and knew that she wouldn’t want anyone else knowing about it.

At that, she hissed, biting down on her tongue ever so slightly at the raw sensation.  “Yeah?” she murmured. 

“How…how are you so damn composed?” He questioned quietly, continuing to clean up the swastika wound.  It would surely scar lightly—and it was an ugly thing, jagged and dirty in more ways than one. 

Winnie was silent for a long moment.  “It’s not the first time such things have been done to me, Roe.  I doubt it’ll be the last,” she said quietly. 

His hands froze in the cleaning motion and he just stared at her, lips slightly parted. “You—” 

“Don’t ask.  Please ,” Winnie insisted in a firm tone. 

“O-okay,” came the soft reply.  “I can’t stitch this up.  I’m gonna need to just put a bandage on it.” 

“Works for me,” Winnie said quietly.  

“Talk to me,” Roe murmured. “I can give a pretty good guess as to what happened, Win.  But…I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s goin’ on.” 

Almost immediately, she straightened up and her medical opinion shone through once again.“I don’t have an infection.  At the moment, anyway.  Some light burning down below that probably signifies a tear.  I checked when we got back to camp.  Should heal up on its own,” Winnie murmured.  “The bites and the bruises aren’t that bad.  Shouldn’t even scar.” 

“My God—” 

“The bruises around my throat are gonna keep me raspy for a while, but I don’t think there’s any vocal cord damage,” Winnie continued.  “They punched me in the ribs a few times and those are sore.  Maybe bruised?  Not broken, or I’d be a damn mess on the floor right now.  My wrists…will take some time to heal up from the ropes.  And my jaw aches, but I didn’t chip any teeth or anything.  It could have been a lot worse—” 

“ Could have been a lot worse ?” Came the steel reply from Roe, who was staring at her as though she had just clawed up from hell itself. 

“Yeah.  It could have been a lot worse,” Winnie said evenly.  

“Win, I don’t know a single person who could say that—” 

“I’ll survive.  It’s what I do.  I’ll need to monitor the bleeding.  But it seems to be slowing down.  That’s a good sign,” Winnie said wearily.  “I’ve agreed to rest.  So that means that Nixon and Winters are gonna have to come here for the report.” 

“You’re not ready for that.” 

“I outrank you and I’m not drawing this out.  I need to tell them the report while it’s still fresh on my mind.” 

Silence for a dead minute.  “Fine.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:30 AM—

Doctor Allen and Nurses Garrett and Gray tended the wounded.  Gray heard a clattering noise.  Gunshots in succession.  Men in the hospital and other aides tried to fight back.  Seven German soldiers held up the field hospital at gunpoint, killing three of their patients.  The Germans asked questions about the Company, none of which were answered by the nurses or Doctor Allen. 

When it became clear that no information was going to be given and that no hostage exchange would be put up with, the Germans began executing prisoners in the field hospital.  Doctor Allen shoved a cart of fluids at them as a distraction.  Nurses Garrett and Gray followed her into the woods, running and attempting to get away. 

Winnie had paused, staring blankly at the wall behind Dick as he talked, reading back the report to her.  

“Win?” 

“Hmm?” Winnie glanced up, finding both him and Nixon looking at her in concern.  She hadn’t even realized they had been speaking to her again. 

“So you ran?” Dick questioned, raising a brow for clarification. 

She gave a nod. “I stayed in the back since I did track.  I wanted to make sure that Reba and Eileen got away.  We zig-zagged through the trees.  Kept it up for a while, too.” 

12:05 PM—

Doctor Allen watched Reba Garrett trip.  Allen heard a gun go off and watched Eileen Gray hit the ground.  Gray was hit with a bullet in the knee.  Allen picked up a tree branch and began defensive maneuvers against the Germans, armed with only a scalpel. 

She was overpowered by the Germans and held down by three of them.  Two converged on Garrett, holding her face-down.  Two others did the same to Gray, but on her back.  Allen heard the rapes take place as she endured her own.  Heard and watched both Garrett and Gray’s deaths.  

“We don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Dick said in a soft voice.  He sounded more like a wounded animal than Winnie currently was. 

She shook her head.  “No, it’s alright,” she murmured.  “They were going to kill me too.  But I still had my scalpel.  I…I took out the eye of their officer, slashing it out.” 

At that, Nixon just buried his head in his hands and Dick just stared at her, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to put that in his report to Colonel Sink.  “You…slashed out his eye?” 

“Tried to go for the jugular and that’s when I got strung up,” Winnie admitted evenly, staring at the dirty wooden floor. 

1:15 PM—

Doctor Allen endured hours of torture, using various methods at the hands of the Germans.  This included various forms of sex and rape, as well as inflicting physical trauma.  It wasn’t much later that Doctor Allen pretended as though she were unconscious.  According to Doctor Allen, they didn’t so much as check for a pulse and just left her hanging there. 

She hung there for over an hour.  

This is when Cpt. Dick Winters and several members of Easy Company found her. 

“How are you not sick to your stomach right now?” Nixon asked quietly, staring between the two of them. 

Winnie just stayed perfectly still, glancing between the two men—a face of calm inexplicable feelings present.  “I’m sick to my stomach over what they did to Eileen and Reba,” she said quietly.  “They had futures.  People who loved them.  Who wanted to marry them and have a future with them.  And I survived because I….because I know how to bite back.  And that’s not fair.  It’s not. None of it is fair.  But if I were to give in to the sick pit in my stomach, let the rot win, then they lose even more.” 

“I’ll deliver this to Sink and I can start on the letters—” Dick started. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No,” Winnie echoed again. “I need to be the one to write the letters to their families.  I’m the one that handpicked them to be my nurses.  I chose them.  I should have done more to protect them.  It’s my responsibility.  Not yours.” 

“Winnie—” 

“Don’t try to convince me otherwise and don’t try to make me feel any better.  You won’t,” Winnie said evenly.  “And stop looking at me like I’m gonna….keel over and die.” 

“Don’t even joke—” Nixon snapped in a harsh tone. 

“I’m not!” Winnie snapped.  “I am not going to die from this.  I’m not!” Her voice was harsher than either of them had ever heard.  “I’ve got rage the size of Texas burning in my chest and between my thighs.  This is not the thing that gets to take me down.  I am staying on the line and I will recover here.  And if such consequences arise from what happened to me, then I will deal with it then.” 

“Consequences?” Dick asked quietly. 

Winnie just let out a heavy breath. “There’s always consequences for this sort of thing.  I just don’t know what they’ll be yet.  But I’m not going anywhere.  No way in hell.”