#i'd tag properly ofc

[seaofreverie]

Wait so this means we're going to have the most Sparks-filled Sparkstember there's ever been, right???

[the-kr8tor]

May I req a fic about Hobie and reader going out on a first date? Like I'm talking NERVOUS HOBIE

Ofc we get that princess treatment though:3

Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), pining, a bit of loser! Hobie, established relationship, CW food mentions, fluff!

Navigation

When Hobie asked you out on a date, you thought that the usual flirty and nonchalant Hobie would hand you flowers or even chocolates. What you're carrying right now begs to differ. The box of garden grown onions, tomatoes, and eggplants he handed to you on your doorstep were unusual to be given to your date, yes, but it has you giggling and flustered nonetheless. They look plump and healthy, better than anything you've seen in groceries.

“I thought you'd like them instead of store bought flowers.” He says as he scratches the back of his neck nervously when you haven't answered him after he gave you his present. “I tried plantin’ flowers— your favourites but they're still buds.”

You can't believe the same suave man who asked you out all smoothly is standing before you with his hands in his pockets and eyes turned away from you. And he planted your favourite flower too? What did you do in your past life to deserve such a sweet man to give you even the time of day?

“No—no, I love them!” You suddenly exclaim. The sad disappointed expression on his face has you stepping down the doorway to his side, eyes shining with a wobbly shy smile. “Thank you, Hobie.” You want to engulf him in your arms if not for the lovely present in between you.

Hobie sighs in relief, eyes gazing at your necklace before he roams his eyes back to your flustered face. You clutch the box against your chest, it's getting heavier by the second as you both stand there like awkward crushing teenagers.

“Really?” You nod at his bewilderment. “I mean— that's good, that's fuckin' mint— ‘m chuffed, love.”

“I've been meaning to buy vegetables, but the prices have been horrendous these days.” You struggle to hold onto it, cardboard sliding down from your arms. Hobie takes the memo, grabbing underneath it, hand accidentally grasping your own as he slides the box over to him easily. The skin where he briefly touched feels like it's on fire. In a good way.

Hobie cradles it in one arm as he smiles at you sweetly. “Fuckin' tariffs.”

You nod with a chuckle. “Fucking tariffs.”

You two share an affectionate look for what seemed like forever. The city noise is muffled in your ears, and the people walking along your street fades away in your vision. It's just you and Hobie, and his vegetables.

“Shall we?” You ask with a tilted head, hands placed behind you as you nervously fidget with the ribbon on your dress. The outfit took days of decision making, after speaking to the council (your friends) you settled on a simple baby blue summer dress, that you've accidentally matched with his denim jacket. “You can leave the box inside, unless you want to lug it around the city?” You joke with a barely tamped down shyness.

Hobie shakes his head with a chortle. “Yeah— I'd look like your personal shopper instead of your date.”

Date, you still can't believe after ten whole months of pining after him that he would feel the same, that he would ask you out. Never in a million years you thought that he'd even look at you with the same fondness that you sport whenever you gaze at him across the fluorescent light coated office.

You give him a bashful chuckle, taking the box again to quickly place it on the kitchen counter. “I'll put it away for you.”

Hobie doesn't waste time in pulling the box towards him again before you could even hold it properly. “Nah, love, let me do it. Can't have my date strugglin’ now, hm?”

“The kitchen's ten steps away from here.” Your eyes crinkle at the corners as he playfully rolls his eyes.

“I won't be liable if you break your back.” He shrugs, tapping your foot with his own. He has been at your place a couple of times for drinks with friends, but never alone. It fills him with a dizzying giddiness and nerves that comes with a proper first date.

“Okay, fine, big strong man, you do it.” Standing to the side, you give him space so he could close the small distance towards the tiny kitchen island you bought off of marketplace.

“Ungrateful.” He mutters teasingly with a lilt in his tone. Even (gently) shoulder checking you as he enters the flat.

You fake a gasp, cupping your ‘wounded’ shoulder. “My date is rude.”

Hobie grins from ear to ear as he slides the box over to the counter as you ogle him from behind. The jeans he's wearing fits him well. Too well as it hugs him in all the best ways.

He turns around, acting like he's dusting his hands. He pauses on the spot, seemingly admiring you under the yellow light of your flat. Your heart lurches in your chest, hands suddenly clammy as you see him visibly sweat. The warm lights may make you look good, but it makes you see all the tiny details. Like how the corner of his lips quirk up into a subtle small smile, the silver charms in his hair, and the slight shimmery sheen on his black shirt. He looks handsome as always, but you can't help but feel shy under his gaze as you hide yourself with your arms crossed over your chest.

Hobie notices, and he has to wake himself up by slapping the rubber band that's around his wrist. “Come ‘ere often?”

“I live here, Hobie.” You beam at him with a slight roll of your eyes.

“Right, ‘m trespassin’, ain't I?” He finally gets the courage to come close to you, smelling the strawberries and cream scent of your perfume. He feels like he's floating on cloud nine.

“I don't think it counts if I invited you in.” With a trembling hand, you reach for his sleeve, fingers running over the rough denim.

He stands toe to toe with you, eyes soft and hand slowly reaching for you as you lead him outside. “W-wait hold on.”

“Hm?” You hum, and you see his hands reaching towards your neck.

“Can I?” His palm hovers around the underside of your jaw, thumb briefly brushing along your heated skin.

Your lips part slightly, breath hitching in your throat as you tug him closer to you. You're thinking that this is it, that he's about to kiss you properly this time. Not like the quick and awkward kiss you two had after his confession. It was awkward because it was during a work trip, and it was quick because he took your still lips against him as a sign that he misread your affections. He was dead wrong. It took guts to yank him back in front of you and place a kiss on the corner of his lips before someone could see you two lip locking on company time. It was the best decision you've ever made.

“Y–yeah, you can, Hobs.” You can't even hear your own voice above the thudding of your heart.

Hobie nods and leans closer as you shut your eyes. He's so close to you that you can smell his cologne. Warm hands graze your neck, fingers gently looping around your necklace as he twists it around your neck. “Sorry, it was botherin’ me.”

Your eyes open immediately, looking down at your fixed necklace where the pendant of a clover now sits right on your collarbone. “Oh.”

His brows knit together. “Oh?” Then his face morphs into realization. “Oh!” Shit. “I could still—”

“It's nothing! We should go, we're wasting precious time.” You didn't intend to have your voice so unnaturally high. You clear your throat, arm reaching behind him to close and lock your front door. Trainers squeak against the steps as you embarrassedly make your way down. You wish the earth could just swallow you whole.

Hobie bites his lip to tuck the laugh inching in his throat. “Sure, love.”

“Don't laugh!” You squeak from the sidewalk as you stare up at him.

“‘m not!” A chuckle escapes.

“You are!” You point accusingly at him.

“‘m just chuffed, alright?” Hobie goes down the stairs to meet with a very flustered you. He tugs you against him by your pinky and lets you hide your face on his chest. You groan, the deep rumble felt through his entire being. His palm rests in between your shoulder blades, thumb brushing along your nape. “If I only knew—”

As quick as lightning, you cup his mouth. “Not a word.”

He mumbles, words quieted by your hand while his eyes smile.

“I didn't think that you were about to…you know.” You lie through your teeth, and he narrows his eyes suspiciously, letting his expression convey his words. Huffing, your hand falls. “Don’t say anything, please?” You're embarrassed enough as it is.

With a smile, he moves down and places a kiss on your cheek. Lips lingering on your skin. It almost had you keeling over on the dirty sidewalk.

“There, enough to tide us both over until the end of the date.” You haven't noticed his hand grasping your own, as his index traces the shell of your ear and plays with your dangling earring.

“You're excruciatingly insufferable.” You say with the fondest of tones. Arms looped around his neck while his hands fall down towards your hips.

“You have that effect on me,” with another kiss to your cheek, one that's closer to the corner of your lips, he then takes your hand, pecking the back of your hand and then holding it and placing it inside the pocket of his jacket. You feel how shaky he is against your touch, and the clamminess of his palm. “C’mon, we have places to be.”

Your head casually leans against his shoulder whilst you two walk. Letting the street lights guide you both towards where he parked his motorcycle.

“I was thinking of making use of the vegetables you gave me and make you dinner someday? Possibly? Maybe?” You say with trepidation as you two cross the street.

“That sounds great, love.” He holds onto you protectively, head swiveling to make sure there's no oncoming traffic heading your way. Now safely back on the sidewalk, he leads you towards the familiar bike. “Your flowers might have bloomed by then too.”

Hobie lets you go to grab a spare helmet for you. The same one he always reserves just for you whenever he gives you a ride home.

“Moussaka for the eggplant, some pasta with the tomatoes.” You excitedly say while he gingerly puts on the helmet on your head just like always. And he even makes sure he doesn't ruin your hair. He listens intently at your yapping with a soft smile. “I have no idea what to do with the onions though, maybe french onion soup? Would that even pair well with the others?”

Hobie pats the top of the helmet, wiggling your head with it. “As long as you let me help you with the cookin’”

“You want to help me?” Your eyes shine brightly under the streetlamp.

“‘Course, love.” Without another word, he kneels down before you and you swear your heart stops as your eyes widen. “That could be our second date.”

Before you could embarrass yourself more with another assumption. Hobie ties your loose shoelaces for you. He makes sure that he secures it well with a tug and even moves to the other shoe to double knot its shoelaces.

He gives your shoe a good pat before you give him a hand to help him up. His eyes glow as he looks up at you with reverence.

You have no idea how you'll manage throughout the rest of the date without melting into a puddle.

[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₉

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 5.7k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 9

The rhythmic thunder of mighty drums reverberated through Berk, a sound so deep and resonant it seemed to summon the spirits of Viking warriors long past. It was a cadence fit for legends, each beat pulsing through the frost-kissed air, stirring the blood of every soul gathered for the final challenge.

The village, draped in the first melting snows of winter, shimmered with an unusual festive fervor, its rugged edges softened by a rare swell of anticipation. Torches flared against the gathering daybreak, their flames licking the cold, casting a golden glow over the arena where half of Berk had crammed to witness the slaying of a dragon in the pit.

The space couldn't hold the entire island, but those who fit pressed shoulder to shoulder, loud and bulky as ever with their breaths fogging in the chill, eyes alight with the promise of glory by none other than their chiefs' son.

High above the throng, Stoick the Vast emerged from the shadowed stands, flanked by the village elders, their fur-lined cloaks billowing as they took their seats. Behind them hung tapestries of past chiefs, woven with threads of crimson and gold, each one a silent testament to their own triumphs over dragons in this very pit—faded faces staring down, unyielding and stern.

The drums swelled as Stoick rose, a towering figure against the flickering light, and then—abruptly—they fell silent, the cheers of the crowd snuffing out like a candle in the wind. He strode to the cage's edge, his boots thudding against the wooden platform, his face carved from stone until a proud smile cracked its surface, warm and unrestrained.

"Well!" he boomed, his voice rolling over the arena like a wave, "I can show my face in public again!"

Laughter erupted from the stands, a raucous burst that shook the chains lining the pit, and Stoick's own chuckle joined it, deep and hearty. He waved a hand to quiet them, the mirth fading into an eager hush.

"If someone had told me that in a few short weeks Hiccup would go from being—well. . .Hiccup—to placing first in dragon training, I'd have tied him to a mast and shipped him off for fear he'd gone mad!"

The crowd roared again, a tidal wave of amusement, and Stoick grinned, jabbing a finger toward them. "And you know it!"

He paused, letting the noise settle, his expression softening as he continued. "But here we are. . .and no one is more surprised—or prouder—than I am."

Below, in the shadowed tunnel leading to the arena, Hiccup stood apart, his gaze fixed on the packed dirt on the stone at his feet. The weight of his father's words pressed against him, mingling with the tumult of his own mind—Toothless hidden in the cove, the dragon he couldn't kill from the beginning, and now this Nightmare he had to face, and above all, you.

His eyes darted through the crowd from his vantage point, searching for your familiar figure among the sea of fur and leather, but you were nowhere to be found. His brows knit together, a pang of heartbreak slicing through him, sharp and cold.

He'd failed you—pushed you away with words he couldn't unsay—and now, on the eve of his greatest test, your absence was a wound that pulsed with every beat of those drums. His thoughts flickered back to your solo Gronckle trial weeks ago, a day he'd missed, too caught up in his own world to be there when you'd needed him. The guilt had never left, and now it festered anew as the feeling struck him hard.

Stoick's voice carried on in the background, a distant rumble. "Today, my boy becomes a Viking." Hiccup clutched the Viking helmet tighter against his chest, the metal biting into his skin, leaving a faint, red imprint. He exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that clouded in the damp air, wishing you were here.

A soft shuffle of footsteps broke his reverie, and Astrid appeared at his side, her blond hair catching the torchlight as she leaned against the tunnel wall—for a moment his heart had skipped thinking it was you.

"I couldn't spot her anywhere," she said, her voice low with concern. "No one's seen her—not even Gobber," she had said, meaning you.

Hiccup nodded, a sad, mechanical motion, his eyes lifting to scan the stands one last time. Astrid sighed, tracing a finger along the rough stone beside her.

"She'll show up," she offered, though her tone wavered with doubt. He nodded again, mute, his throat tight.

"Be careful with that dragon," she added, her gaze flicking to the arena beyond.

"It's not the dragon I'm worried about. . ." Hiccup murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the crowd.

Astrid tilted her head, studying him. "What are you going to do?"

He bit his lower lip, brows furrowing as his mind churned—Toothless, his father, the trial, and you, always you. He had to end this, had to try, for the dragons and for the friendship he'd let slip through his fingers. If you were out there, he'd find a way to make it right, to offer the apology you deserved.

"Put an end to this," he said at last, resolve hardening in his chest. "I have to try." The words carried a dual weight—to stop the cycle of Viking and dragon bloodshed, and to salvage what he could with you.

He turned to face Astrid, his green eyes locking onto hers with a seriousness she hadn't seen before, a gravity that made her straighten. "Astrid, if something goes wrong, just make sure they don't find Toothless."

His plea hung heavy, his gaze imploring, and in his heart, he ached to say it to you too—to beg you both to protect the dragon he'd bound his fate to.

She nodded, firm and steady. "I will. Just promise it won't go wrong. . ."

Hiccup's lips pressed into a thin line, a faint shake of his head his only reply. "I can't make any promises. After all, I can't keep the ones I've already made."

His voice lowered, the weight of you—unspoken, unknown to Astrid—lacing the words with a sorrow she couldn't place. Before she could press further, Gobber rounded the corner, his wooden leg clunking against the stone.

"It's time Hiccup, knock 'em dead," he says, jerking his head toward the arena.

Astrid gave Hiccup a final, searching look before following Gobber out, the gate clanging shut behind them with a hollow ring. Alone now, Hiccup held his helmet before him, its horns glinting dully in the light. He exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him, and slid the helmet onto his head, the cold metal settling against his scalp like a crown he wasn't sure he'd earned.

The roar of the crowd hit him as he stepped into the pit, a wall of sound that crashed over him—boisterous cheers, chants of his name, the clanging of fists and boots against the iron bars. It was louder than he'd ever heard it, a cacophony that throbbed in his skull, threatening to split it open.

He felt smaller than ever, dwarfed by the towering stands, like a boy lost in the great forest once more—eyes boring into him from every angle, waiting, watching, preying—anticipating his every stumble.

His breath came shallow, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill, the world slowing around him as if time itself thickened. The whispers of old failures crept in—weak, embarrassment, failure—their voices hissing through the din, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

He shut his eyes, boots scuffing as he moved forward on instinct, drawn to the weapon stand like a moth to flame. His breath hitched, nerves spiking, a tremor running through his hands—then your voice broke through the haze, soft and clear in the back of his mind.

"I'm proud of you," you'd said once, followed by the echo of your laughter, bright and unshakable.

His eyes snapped open, his pulse syncing with the drums' of Valors' mighty rhythm, a fire igniting in his chest. He was ready.

He seized a shield first, its weight grounding him, then a knife, its blade catching the sunlight with a wicked gleam.

"I'm ready," he declared, his voice steady now, gaze fixed on the iron doors that caged the beast beyond. He nodded sharply, the signal given, and the gates groaned open.

The Monstrous Nightmare exploded forth, wreathed in flame, a snarling inferno of scales and fury. It surged into the arena, circling high, spitting torrents of fire that sent the crowd scrambling with shouts of awe and fear.

The beast's eyes scanned the chains, seeking a flaw, a weakness—until it stilled, its blazing gaze locking onto Hiccup. He stood there, shield raised, knife in hand, the air between them crackling with challenge, the drums fading into a distant heartbeat as the trial began. 

The cliff stretched out beneath you, a jagged lip of stone perched high above Berk's harbor, where the sea churned in restless waves that glittered under a rare, defiant sun. Yesterday's snow had melted into a slick sheen of wet grass and mud, the ground glistening as if the island itself wept for what was to come.

You sat atop a weathered plank of wood, a makeshift barrier against the damp that seeped through the earth, your fingers idly turning a dagger in your hand—its blade catching the sunlight in fleeting, silver flashes. The air carried a faint warmth, a cruel tease against the cold that had settled into your bones, not from the weather but from the hollow ache within.

Beyond the cliff's edge, the harbor sprawled, its waters a restless expanse of deep blue, crashing against the rocks below with a rhythm that mirrored the tumult in your chest. The wind tugged at your hair, sharp with the scent of salt and wet wood, and from afar, the thunderous applause of the arena rolled up the hillside, a faint roar dancing on the breeze.

Your stomach twisted with every pulse of that sound, each cheer a needle threading through your thoughts—Hiccup, alone in the pit, facing the Monstrous Nightmare. How was he holding up? Could he weave his way through this trial without bloodshed, or would it spiral into chaos, into Hel itself? Would he emerge whole, or broken?

The questions gnawed at you, relentless as a pack of wolves tearing at a carcass, and yet your eyes remained dry, the tears you'd shed at dawn now hardened into faint, salty streaks that stung your cheeks.

You traced a thumb along the dagger's dull chipped edge—your gaze distant, lost in the waves that crashed far below. This was the first time you'd ever missed something vital in Hiccup's life, a trial that could redefine him, and the absence clawed at you, a guilt so fierce it left your chest raw.

But you couldn't go. Wouldn't. The cliff—your shared refuge with Hiccup, where you'd once laughed over half-formed dreams and watched the aurora paint the sky—held you fast, its solitude a shield against the arena's clamor and the words from yesterday that echoed in the recesses of your mind, sharp and unyielding, a blade he'd swung without mercy.

They festered there, entwined with the cruel jabs made by those who had sat with him—their voices a chorus that had convinced you he didn't need you now. He'd clawed his way into Berk's favor, surrounded by the cheers he'd once prayed to Odin for, the acknowledgment he'd craved since he was a boy tripping over his own feet.

Those people had planted their poison deep, and you'd let it take root, believing he'd be fine in that pit, that he'd thrive without you trailing behind. Your fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt, the leather grip creaking under your grip, and a bitter taste coated your tongue as you stared out at the sunlit sea, its beauty a mockery of the maelstrom stirring within.

The applause swelled again, a distant thunder that rumbled through the cliffs, and your heart lurched, a pang of longing cutting through the numbness. You pictured him—his lanky frame dwarfed by the arena's iron walls, his auburn hair catching the sun, his green eyes flickering with that mix of fear and resolve you knew so well.

Was he scanning the stands for you, even now, as you'd once done for him? The thought tightened your throat, but you pressed it down, your jaw clenching as you flipped the dagger again, its weight a cold comfort in your palm. The sun climbed higher, its rays spilling over the harbor in a golden flood, warming your skin and creating a glow unknown to you.

You'd always been there—through every stumble, every wild idea of his, every quiet moment when he'd needed you most—and now, the space you'd left felt like a betrayal, a wound you'd inflicted on yourself as much as him. Yet his words held you here, a chain forged of hurt and doubt, binding you to this cliff as the arena's roar faded into the wind, leaving you alone with the waves and the ghosts of what you've lost.

Your thoughts continued to churn like the tide until a distant roar of the arena had faded to a dull hum, a sound you tried to ignore—until a sudden, jarring bang shattered the stillness, echoing from the pit like the crack of a felled tree.

It jolted you upright, the dagger slipping from your fingers to thud into the damp earth and over the cliff, your breath catching as a piercing screech—the Monstrous Nightmare's guttural cry—tore through the air. The crowd's cheers twisted into a cacophony of panic, a discordant wave that rolled up the hillside and slammed into you, raw and unfiltered.

Your heart lurched, hammering against your ribs with a force that drowned out your surroundings. You were on your feet before you realized it, the plank tipping behind you as instinct seized control. The arena—so far across the rugged sprawl of Berk—beckoned like a beacon through the haze of your fear, and your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you down the cliff's uneven path—faster than you'd ever gone.

Wet grass slicked beneath your boots, and halfway down, the ground betrayed you—your foot skidded, sending you sprawling into the mud with a dull splash. Pain flared in your palms as you caught yourself, the cold, thick muck seeping through your tunic, but you scarcely felt it.

You scrambled up, breath ragged, mud streaking your hands and knees, when a sound sliced through the chaos—a familiar, keening wail, sharp and unmistakable—Toothless. The Night Fury's cry ignited a fresh surge of dread, your eyes snapping toward the arena just as a blast of violet plasma erupted, punching a jagged hole through the pit's iron chains. Smoke billowed upward, thick and acrid, as Toothless soared in like a blur, his black wings cutting the air like a blade. 

You froze, rooted to the hillside, your pulse thundering in your skull, eyes wide as the scene before you unfolded in a haze of fire and fury. The arena loomed ahead, its stone walls trembling under the weight of the chaos all around, and you stumbled forward, drawn irresistibly toward it. The crowd surged around the pit's perimeter, a tide of shouting, shoving bodies, their panic a living thing that pulsed through the air. You pushed through them, elbows jabbing, your breath hitching as you fought to reach the blasted breach Toothless had carved. Mud clung to your boots, slowing each step, but you pressed on, the sting of ash in your eyes blurring the world into smears of gray. 

At the hole's edge, you stopped dead, heart in your throat, squinting through the choking veil of smoke that roiled within. Your gaze darted frantically, as you leaned in whilst grabbing the bars chain careful not to fall, careful not to burn your hands—searching the haze for Hiccup—his lanky frame, his auburn hair, anything to anchor you in the madness. 

A gust from the dragon's wings swept through, parting the smoke like a curtain torn asunder, and there he was—Hiccup, crouched low, shield raised, his face taut with fear. Toothless stood before him, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, his snarls reverberating as he squared off against the Monstrous Nightmare.

The larger dragon thrashed, its fiery hide crackling, claws raking stone as it lunged, but Toothless met it with a ferocity that shook the arena's bones—teeth bared, wings flared, a dominance of protection for his boy that made the other dragon growl in disbelief.

The crowd gasped, some scrambling back, others leaning forward, their shouts a jagged chorus of awe and terror. Your chest tightened, relief warring with dread as you watched Toothless drive the Nightmare back, its flames sputtering under the Night Fury's relentless assault. At last, with a final, resentful screech, the Monstrous Nightmare retreated, crawling into its cage, the iron gate slamming against the stone with a clang that echoed like a death knell.

But the reprieve shattered in an instant. Vikings leapt into the pit, their war cries rising as they descended upon Toothless—axes glinting, ropes swinging, a swarm of fury turned on the dragon who'd dared to defy them as he fought back fiercely. You lunged forward, desperation clawing at your throat while you pulled on their furs.

"Stop!" you shouted, your voice raw and cracking, but it was swallowed by the din.

A burly shoulder slammed into you, knocking you to the ground, your palms scraping the stone as you hit.

You pushed up, shouting again, "Leave him alone!" But the crowd surged past, heedless, their boots trampling the just inches from your hands.

Through the chaos, you saw Stoick plunge into the fray, his massive frame cutting through the melee, his face a mask of rage as he wrestled with the Night Fury. Toothless reared, jaws wide, a blast of plasma igniting the air—aimed straight for Stoick's head.

Hiccup's voice broke through, a desperate, piercing "No!" that halted the dragon mid-strike, the flame fizzling into a harmless sputter. The Vikings seized their chance, one by one pinning the dragon to the ground before ropes snapped tight around Toothless' wings, chains clanking as they forced a neck brace onto him soon after, his struggles muffled by the iron grip that dragged him out of sight.

You sank to your hands and knees, the stone cold and unyielding beneath you, tears spilling hot and unchecked down your face. Sobs racked your frame, each one a jagged shard of grief—for Toothless, for Hiccup, for the world falling apart right in front of this boy.

Vikings streamed past, their muttered curses and shaking heads a blur—disgust aimed at the dragon, at Hiccup, at you sprawled on the ground, at the whole unraveling—disappointing—mess this all turned out to be. You staggered to your feet, swaying as the crowd buffeted you, their bodies a relentless current pushing you back.

You fought against it, weaving through the press of fur and leather, your eyes locked on Hiccup—still in the pit, his helmet askew, his face pale with shock. But before you could ever reach him, Stoick's hand clamped onto his arm, rough and unyielding, dragging him toward the tunnel with a force that brooked no resistance.

Hiccup stumbled the entire time, his gaze darting wildly—searching for Toothless, for you—but the crowd swallowed them, their figures shrinking into the throng as they moved toward the Great Hall.

You stood there, breath heaving trying to catch your breath but for a moment, the arena's dust settling around you like ash from before. The sun blazed overhead, its light harsh and unforgiving, glinting off the broken chains and the scorch marks left by dragon fire.

Your legs trembled, but you forced them into motion, following the tide of Vikings at a distance, their murmurs a low growl in your ears—traitor, fool, dragon-lover. The words stung, but they couldn't drown out the panic driving you forward. When the crowd thinned near the village's heart, you broke into a run, boots pounding the muddy path, your tunic flapping as the wind whipped past. 

The Great Hall's towering doors loomed before you as you finally made your way up, their carved snarls glaring down as if to judge your every faltering step. The sun blazed overhead, its light spilling across the muddy yard in harsh, golden streaks, just perfect enough to give light from the outside within as the doors stood ajar, voices spilling out—Stoick's booming timbre, Hiccup's strained replies—and you pressed a hand to the rough-hewn frame, peering into the shadowed interior.

Inside, the hall was a cauldron of tension. Vikings clustered in knots far into the dark corners typically near the kitchen to prepare the feast coming, their faces hard with anger and confusion, while Stoick towered at the center, his fist bawled up—white—with fury as his voice boomed.

You retreated down the weathered steps again, each one a quiet thud beneath your boots, pulling back into the shadows behind a pillar before either of them could spot you. The air thrummed with tension even outside the empty yard, Stoick's voice splintering everywhere.

You didn't need to be closer to catch their sting; they carried on the wind, sharp and heavy with accusation, a father's wrath unleashed in a way that made your stomach twist. Then, silence—a beat of stillness so profound it felt like the world held its breath—before Stoick staggered out, his broad frame filling the doorway.

His face, usually a mask of iron resolve, crumpled briefly, washed pale with guilt as the weight of what he'd done settled into his bones. He didn't see you, didn't glance your way as he stormed down the steps, his cloak snapping behind him like a tattered banner, his fury driving him toward the harbor's docks with a purpose you couldn't fathom.

You lingered there, rooted to the spot behind the pillar—frozen to see Hiccup—the damp moss on the stone freezing under your gentle touch as you opted to wait. The villages' murmurs faded into a low drone, the the small crowd dispersing from within, their voices a muted echo as they left the Great Hall angrily. Minutes crawled by, each second a slow drip of dread pooling in your chest. You had stood straight, about to go in until the doors creaked open again.

Hiccup emerged, his lanky figure hunched, one arm shielding his face as silent tears streaked down his cheeks. The sight hit you like a blow—his shoulders trembling, his steps unsteady as he walked past and down the stone stairs—The boy who'd faced a dragon now broken by something far worse. Something in you snapped, a switch flipping deep within, shoving down the hurt, the words he'd flung at you, the venom that had kept you away. None of it mattered now—not when he looked like this, lost and unraveling under Berks' cruel glare.

He hadn't made it far, barely crossing the yard beyond the hall's shadow, when you moved. Your boots skipped steps and pounded the earth, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the harbor's distant crash, and you caught his arm, yanking him around with a force that surprised even you.

He stumbled, caught off guard, his arm dropping as he wiped at his red eyes with a sleeve already damp with grief. Then he saw you—really saw you—and froze, blinking through the blur of tears as if you might dissolve like a mirage. You didn't hesitate, didn't give him time to doubt any further as you let out a shaky breath leaning in.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, a fierce, unyielding embrace that refused to let go this time. His breath hitched, a shudder running through him, and for a moment, his hands hovered, uncertain—until the tears broke free again, hot and unchecked, and he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms finally closing around you in a desperate, clinging hold.

You stood there, locked together in the yard's muddy sprawl, the world shrinking to the space between you. His quiet sobs shook his frame, muffled against your tunic, a flood of years' worth of pent-up pain spilling out in ragged gasps all at once.

You tightened your grip, fingers threading through his hair, patting gently as you whispered, "It's going to be alright."

The words felt fragile, a threadbare promise against the wreckage of the day, but you said them anyway, willing them to hold. Your own tears came then, silent and steady, tracing new warm paths down your face as you clung to him, the salt mingling with the dirt streaked across your cheeks.

His hands fisted in the back of your tunic, wrinkling the fabric in tight, desperate bunches, but you didn't care—couldn't care—not when he was breaking like this, and you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Hiccup couldn't speak, couldn't find the words through the waves of his tears. They'd been dammed up too long—years of failure, of being less, of chasing his fathers' footsteps he'd never catch up to, and so much more—until now, with Toothless torn from him and you standing here, these emotions that taunted him finally broke free.

He'd thought he'd lost you—your love and friendship, that his sharp words in the forge had severed the tether between you for good. And now, with Toothless chained and gone, dragged off to gods-knew-where by his own tribe, he'd felt truly adrift—until your arms found him, grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he'd needed until it was almost too late.

His breath hitched again, a sob catching in his throat as he pressed his forehead harder into your shoulder, the damp of his tears soaking through to your skin. You held him steady, your hand resting against his hair, the familiar scent of him—leather, pine, smoke, and something faintly metallic—mingling with the mud and salt in the air.

The yard stretched empty around you, the sun climbing to its peak, its light glinting off the wet grass in a shimmer that felt too bright for the moment—but as if finally smiling at you two after a sad week of forecast between you both. The harbor's waves rumbled along with shouts in the distance, a steady counterpoint to the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

But here, in this fragile pocket of time, it was just you and him—locked in a quiet, weeping embrace, the weight of the day—of the past two months really—pressing down and yet somehow lifting, if only for a breath. He'd thought he'd lost everything—But your arms around him, was like a blanket of comfort, shifting the ground beneath him.

He'd been so utterly wrong—about you, about needing space—and the realization sank deep, a quiet ache beneath the relief. You were here, despite it all, and as his tears stained your clothes, he knew he'd fight to mend this, to reclaim what he'd nearly thrown away.

Time stretched thin, the minutes blurring into a quiet eternity where neither of you moved to break the hold. You stood there for as long as he needed, locked in Hiccup's trembling embrace, until his tears had finally slowed, the sobs that had wracked his frame tapering into shallow, uneven breaths, but his arms remained tight around you, like his life depended on it, like he would break if he let go again.

You still didn't pull away, didn't flinch under the weight of his grip; instead, your fingers continued their gentle rhythm, threading through his auburn hair, tracing soothing paths against his scalp. The strands were damp with sweat and debris, tangled from the chaos of the arena, but you cared not—the motion steadied him—his breathing softened, his shoulders easing your touch alone could unravel the knots of grief coiled within him.

You could feel the tremor in his fingers, the faint shudder of his chest against yours, and it stirred a deep, aching tenderness in you—an understanding forged through years of shared stumbles and silent loyalties. The air hung heavy with the scent of Berk, the faint tang of smoke still clinging to him from the pit, and you breathed it in relieved, grounding yourself in the reality of him here, alive, in your arms—to you that is all that mattered.

At last, the tension in his grip eased, and you both drew back, a slow unraveling that left a hollow ache where his warmth had been. No words passed between you; none were needed. You'd seen each other cry before—over scraped knees as children, over failures whispered in the dark over again, over losses too big to name—and this was no different, yet infinitely more raw. Your eyes met his, tear-streaked faces mirroring one another—cheeks flushed, red-rimmed eyes swollen from the flood, noses damp and glistening in the sunlight.

But beneath the mess, there was something unspoken, a quiet language etched in the lines of your expressions. His gaze carried an, "I'm sorry," so deep it seemed to tremble in the green of his irises, a plea for forgiveness he didn't know how to voice. Yours answered in kind, soft and unguarded, a mirror of regret for the distance you'd let grow, for the cliff you'd retreated to when he'd needed you most. In that shared look, a certainty settled—bruised and battered as you were, it really was going to be alright.

You glanced down, your eyes catching on his hand—pale, calloused, still trembling faintly with anxiety from the mess he'd weathered. Without a word, you reached for it, your fingers sliding into his, interlacing with a quiet firmness that felt like a vow. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm a familiar map you'd traced a thousand times, and you gave a gentle tug, pulling him with you into a slow, deliberate walk.

He followed, his steps hesitant at first, lingering close as if testing the ground beneath him, afraid you might slip away again. But you leaned in, your shoulder and arm brushing his, the fabric of your tunics catching faintly as you pressed closer—a reassurance woven into the contact, a promise that you weren't going anywhere.

His hand tightened around yours, a squeeze that echoed your own, and you felt the warmth of it seep into you, a lifeline threading through the cold that had gripped you both. The walk was unhurried, each step a soft crunch against the wet earth, the mud sucking at your boots as you moved away from the hall's shadow.

The sun beat down, glinting off the damp grass in tiny, fleeting sparks, painting the world in a light that felt almost tender after the day's brutality. Hiccup stayed near, his arm brushing yours with every stride, his breath still hitching faintly as he adjusted to the quiet between you.

You could sense the weight he carried—Toothless torn from him, his father's words a fresh scar, the village's judgment a looming specter—and it mirrored your own: the sting of his outburst, the teen's barbs, the guilt of your absence in the arena. Yet here, in the slow rhythm of your steps, those burdens felt lighter, shared in the silence that wrapped around you like a worn cloak.

You passed the edge of the yard, the harbor unfolding below in a sprawl of sparkling blue and silver, its waves whispering secrets against the docks where Stoick and the others began loading boats for whatever reason you'd both find out later. The wind stirred, cool and sharp, tugging at your hair and drying the last traces of tears from your faces.

Hiccup's head dipped slightly, his free hand brushing at his eyes as if to erase the evidence of his breaking, but you squeezed his hand again, a silent tether that said he didn't need to hide—not from you. He glanced over, a flicker of something soft crossing his face—gratitude, relief, a shadow of the boy who'd once rambled under tables to chase your fears away—and you returned it with a small, steady nod.

The village loomed ahead, its thatched roofs and smoke trails a faint promise of little peace if only for a moment, but neither of you rushed toward it. This walk, this quiet, was enough—a mending stitched not with words but with presence, with the simple act of holding on.

Hiccup's thoughts, glimpsed through that omniscient veil again without wanting to, where a tangled weave of loss and dawning loss bloomed. He'd stood in the hall, flayed by Stoick's fury, certain he'd lost everything. The tears had come unbidden—without control, a flood he couldn't stem, and he'd braced for a solitude he'd brought upon himself.

But then you were there—Of course you were there. . .His heart of berk—Your arms a lifeline he hadn't dared hope for, your touch a balm to wounds he couldn't fathom on his own. As your fingers laced with his, he felt the ground shift beneath him again—not steady yet, but closer to it than he'd been in days. And it made his heart flutter to life again.

He'd been wrong, so wrong, and the ache of that realization pulsed with every step, tempered only by the warmth of your hand in his. Toothless. . .was gone, his father's trust shattered into pieces, but you—You were here. . .Thank Odin, Hiccup sighed—And that was a thread he'd cling to, a chance to rebuild what he'd nearly broken beyond repair.

The path went on, winding ever closer toward the forge your shoulders stayed pressed together—so close—a quiet defiance against what was waiting, and the silence between you deepened—not empty, but full, heavy with the weight of tears shed and promises remade.

This is Chapter 9 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis | @icantcryicantstopcrying | @teeesthings | @ph4nt0m19

[codenamereaper]

The Ghost & The Reaper

Summary: She’s the blade in the dark. He’s the shadow that never misses. Working side by side, they move like one—but keeping their distance is harder than staying alive.

Warnings & tags: Ghost x OFC, slow burn, friends (colleagues?) to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, childhood trauma (& trauma bonding), multiple POV

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3

Chapter Two

Reaper

The flight back was quiet—debriefing handled mid-air, the weight of the mission already settling behind us. 

At some point, Price radioed ahead and I caught one line:

"Have Soap on standby."

That made me glance between him and Ghost. Not because I cared much, but because I’ve learned to pay attention when men in charge start moving pieces around.

Ghost didn’t react. Just adjusted the strap on his gear absently and kept staring out the window like the clouds held secrets. But there was something under the surface that I couldn’t quite place.

There was a lot about him I couldn’t place, if we’re being honest. He sat still for most of the flight, arms crossed over his chest, eyes behind the mask completely impassive. If he had thoughts about me or the mission, he kept them to himself. 

I wasn’t about to break the silence to ask.

When the transport finally touches down, the sky is already that slate-grey kind of miserable, typical for the Scottish Highlands. It’s just past 7am but it might as well be midnight for how exhausted I feel.

The second the doors open, the chill bites through my tac gear when a sharp, damp wind cuts across the landing pad. It’s the kind of cold that slips under your collar like it’s got a grudge.

I swing my rucksack over one shoulder as we descend the ramp of the helo. Price walks beside me. “Welcome to RAF Scáthach*. Looks can be deceiving.”

When my boots hit the ground, I take a look around. It appears to be an abandoned facility at first glance, but I see a watchtower on the other side that could be a perfect nest for a sniper. I bet if I looked harder I'd spot some cameras around the perimeter fencing and other security measures.

“Above ground, it's just crumbling hangars and old watchtowers. Officially, this place doesn’t exist,” Price explains. “The good stuff's buried underground, where no one can see.”

We make our way across the cracked tarmac and I clock a guy watching us in silence. Tall, mohawk, smaller than Ghost but still looks like he can rip someone’s head off with a well-placed roundhouse.

He stands off to the side, leaning against the outer wall of an old building, arms crossed, clearly waiting for us. He looks well-rested, casual, like he hasn’t just been pulled into something unexpected. Soap, then, I assume.

He straightens when Ghost and Price approach. Then, the moment his gaze lands on me, I see it—a flicker of surprise. His brows lift just slightly, then he blinks, masking it almost as fast. But not fast enough. I can practically hear whatever assumption he had about me shattering in real-time.

His eyes dart between Ghost and Price, questioning, like this is some kind of prank they’re trying to pull on him. I resist the urge to smirk.

He probably expected someone twice my size. A guy, maybe, built like a brick wall. Probably someone like Ghost. Anything but a girl barely brushing five-foot-four, blood under her fingernails and half a tired smile.

Price stops in front of him, and they clasp hands. “You’ll be sharing quarters with MacTavish,” he tells me over the shoulder. “Only spare bunk we’ve got at the moment. That okay?”

I don’t particularly care who I’m bunking with as long as they keep to themselves. So I shrug. “Fine by me, Captain.”

The last few days have been a series of missions, movements, and barely-there downtime, and the thought of finally having a place to drop my gear—even if just temporarily—is more appealing than it should be.

Soap coughs once, then turns to me properly. “Right then. You must be Reaper.”

“Last I checked,” I reply, adjusting my pack over my shoulder.

“Johnny MacTavish,” Soap says, offering a hand. “Everyone calls me Soap. You don’t have to, but you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t.”

“Reaper,” I say, gripping his hand briefly. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

That earns me a grin. “Oh, I like you already.”

Then his gaze flicks to Ghost and lingers, likely a silent check-in, an unspoken question. 

Ghost tilts his head ever so slightly, voice low and dry. “She’ll do.”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “High praise, really. I’ll put that on my résumé.”

Soap blinks like he’s just been slapped and his brows twitch up. That pause says everything—it’s clearly not the answer he expected. Then he gives me a silent once-over, less judgment and more genuine curiosity this time.

“Soap will show you around.” Price claps a hand on my shoulder, effectively pulling my attention. “Get some rest, kid.”

I nod before he peels away without another word. Ghost follows, grunting low as he walks past us.

“Charming fella,” I mutter, as soon as he’s out of ear shot.

“Absolutely,” Soap chuckles, and gives me a quick head nod. “Didn’t picture you like this,” he admits. “Figured you’d be… scarier.”

“Most people do,” I say. “That’s usually their first mistake.”

He grins wider. Then jerks his thumb toward the underground entrance where the others disappeared into. “C’mon. I’ll show you where we’re holed up. Try not to judge our little underground bunker too hard. We’re very sensitive.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

I follow him inside, boots echoing off the concrete. He talks a mile a minute, tossing out nicknames, half-finished stories, and warnings about the quirks of the base as if he’s afraid silence might swallow us whole.

“Mind the third step down this hall—creaks loud enough to wake Price from a coma,” he says, pointing as we descend. “Training area’s on this floor, armory’s just past that. Medical bay’s next to it—don’t ask why, you’ll figure it out eventually.”

He takes a sharp left and slaps a big red button on the wall. A door groans open, revealing another underground stretch of the base—concrete walls, dim lights, and a chill that seeps into your bones. The air smells like metal, coffee and faint gun oil.

“Mess is closer to the barracks. You’ll probably get lost a few times, but if you smell burnt toast and shitty coffee, you’re close,” he continues. “And if the lights flicker twice in there, that’s not Morse code—it just means Gaz tried to microwave something he shouldn’t.”

I arch a brow. “Define ‘something he shouldn’t.’”

“Let’s just say the inside of the microwave still has some charred bits of melted plastic we never managed to get rid of.”

“Lovely.”

Soap grins. “You’ll get used to the chaos. Just keep your boots off Price’s table and don’t touch Ghost’s tea stash.”

That catches me off guard more than it should. “Ghost drinks tea?”

“Religiously. The man’s an enigma, but God forbid you mess with his Earl Grey. Had a bloke once who drank the last packet—swear Ghost’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for his handgun right there.”

“Sounds about right.”

We move deeper into the base. It’s a mix of sterile corridors and old reinforced concrete, the kind of place that still hums with Cold War memories. The smell of disinfectant coming from the hallway leading to the medbay overpowers everything else before we go down another flight of stairs. 

“Quarters are down this way,” he says, motioning me forward. Soap moves like he’s used to being in control of his space, comfortable but still easygoing. “You know, I’m pretty sure Price stuck you with me ‘cause I’m the most socially adjusted one around.” 

“Uh, is that code for ‘loud enough to break the tension when Ghost’s being extra murdery’?” 

Soap snorts. “You catch on quick.” He pushes open the door leading to a long hallway lined with evenly spaced doors. “So why’d you sign up? What made you wanna do this job?”

I exhale, reading the names on the doors as we walk by. “Didn’t sign up.”

Soap frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

I glance at him, debating how much to say. “Price invited me.”

His expression shifts, curiosity deepening. “That so?”

I nod. “Maybe he thought you lot needed someone to keep your asses out of trouble.”

Soap lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s rich. Price must’ve thought you were some miracle worker, then.”

“Something like that,” I say with a half smile.

“Think you’re up to the task?”

I shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Soap watches me for a beat, then nods. “Fair enough.”

We pause in front of a reinforced door with two nameplates already slapped on it—Soap and now, underneath, Reaper.

“How official,” I mutter.

“Price likes to label things,” Soap says, pushing the door open and stepping aside with a mock bow. “After you.”

The room is basic—two bunks, two lockers, a small desk shoved against the far wall. The covers on the bed furthest from the door are slightly wrinkled, like someone was lying there not long ago. There’s a black notebook on the desk and a half-empty bottle of water on the same side. 

I step inside and drop my bag beside the bed that doesn’t look lived-in. This is not much different from every other barracks I’ve ever stayed in. At least it’s not just an old mattress on the floor, so that’s something to be grateful for. 

The adrenaline from the mission's long gone, and exhaustion is settling in like a weighted blanket. I need to sleep, I need food and a shower. Perhaps not in that order.

Soap watches me for a second, then nudges the door shut with his boot and leans against the wall. “So… what’s your deal?”

I glance at him. “That’s subtle.”

He grins, unrepentant. “C’mon. You’ve got the whole ‘mysterious loner’ thing going on. Ghost’s got it too, but you’ve got a different flavor. Less murdery, more… haunted.”

“Charming.”

“I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I unzip my rucksack and start unpacking—just the essentials. Extra ammo mags and spare knives go on my locker. A beat-up copy of Bravo Two Zero that’s survived five deployments and two IEDs on my side of the desk. My zippo lighter resting on top of it.

Soap sits on his bed, watching me like he’s trying to piece me together. His eyes follow me as I move around the room, tracking my every motion like I’m some cryptid he’s studying.

I can feel the weight of it—his curiosity. He’s waiting for me to drop some kind of hint, a clue that might tell him who the hell I am and where I came from.

Tough luck. I’m not going to make that an easy task.

Instead of giving him what he wants, I ask, “You always this chatty?”

“Nah,” he says with a mischievous smile. “Only when I’m bored. Or nervous.”

The scent of gunpowder and sweat clings to everything I’m wearing. I peel off my tac vest and toss it on the floor. Then tug my overshirt over my head, sleeves still stained with dried blood, and drop it onto the growing pile.

“Which one is it now, bored or nervous?”

Soap shifts on his bed and lies on his back, sprawled out like he’s got nowhere to be. One arm flung behind his head, the other resting on his chest. 

He grins at me, unabashed. “You’re kinda scary so I’m a bit nervous, not gonna lie.”

I snort under my breath and tug off one of my boots, tossing it with a heavy thud onto the floor. “You have no idea” I mutter.

Soap just hums, amused. His gaze never wavers, even as I sit on the edge of the bed and start unlacing the other boot with slow movements

“So,” he says after a beat, “the op went well?”

I remove my hidden combat knife from inside my other boot before kicking it off as well, and lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I didn’t die. That’s usually my bar.”

Soap snorts. “C’mon lass, give me something.”

I roll my eyes, grab a towel from my duffel, and wipe some of the grime and dried blood off my hands before responding. “Well… Ghost didn’t slow me down.” 

Soap barks out a laugh, shaking his head like I just told the world’s best joke. “Oh, he’s gonna love that.”

I glance at him, and without meaning to, the memory flickers—Ghost’s voice in the helo, low and dry as he muttered, “Soap’s gonna love this one.” Like he already knew how this conversation would play out.

“Funny,” I say, tossing the towel aside. “He said the same thing about you.”

Soap perks up instantly, sitting up straighter like I just activated some hidden command word. “He did?”

“Yeah.” I smirk as I unzip a side pocket and pull out a crumpled ration bar. “Said you were gonna love me.”

Soap blinks. “Ghost said that?”

I nod, tearing open the wrapper with my teeth. “Well, not in those exact words. More like… ‘Soap’s gonna love this one.’ Real heartfelt.”

He lets out a low whistle and leans back against the wall, eyes wide with mock awe. “Bloody hell. That’s practically poetry coming from him.”

I take a bite of the bar, chewing slowly, pretending not to enjoy how off-balance he looks. He’s still trying to figure me out—and now he knows Ghost might already have.

The room’s gone quiet, except for the hum of the ventilation and the occasional groan of pipes hidden somewhere deep in the walls.

Soap’s voice cuts through it, softer this time—thoughtful. “He doesn’t say things like that lightly, y’know.”

I pause halfway through a bite. “I figured.”

He’s sitting up now, legs crossed on his bunk, elbows resting on his knees as he watches me. There’s no teasing in his expression this time—just curiosity and something else. Caution, maybe.

“You get under his skin or something?”

I don’t say anything right away. Not because I don’t know how to answer—but because the question is too close to something I haven’t put into words yet.

“Not on purpose,” I say finally. “We didn’t exactly spend a lot of time talking.”

“Still…” 

Soap squints at me, like he’s trying to see through fog. “You’ve got him clocked already, don’t you?”

I shrug one shoulder, turning back to my pack. “Enough to keep up. Tonight was just… easy.”

I drop into a seated position on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms behind me, rolling my shoulders until they pop. The tension still lingers in my spine, a phantom from the mission that hasn’t quite let go yet. I wince as one knot tightens, then breathe out slow.

Soap tilts his head. “Easy?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear someone say that about working with Ghost.” His brow furrows, like he’s been giving a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t quite fit. “He doesn’t always tolerate new people, let alone say anything close to a compliment.”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh, trust me—‘she’ll do’ is practically a love letter, coming from him. Means he’s already counting you as one of us.” He glances at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “And that’s honestly kinda freaky, not gonna lie.”

I let out a quiet huff, more amused than annoyed, and start undoing the velcro on one of my kneepads. “Why?”

“Ghost is picky about who he works with, and it takes him a while to get used to new people. Makes me wonder what the hell you did tonight.”

He says it like he expects a full report, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for a confession. I debate brushing him off. But instead, I give him just enough.

“We didn’t even have to talk out there,” I say, tugging off the other kneepad. “We just did our job. No drama, no fuss.” I glance at him. “I mean, I thought I was the quiet one until I met him. We exchanged maybe… ten words.”

Soap straightens a little. “During the op?”

“Total. Since Price introduced us before the briefing.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” I lean back on my hands, staring up at the ceiling, voice quieter now. “You ever work with someone and it just clicks? No uncertainty. No stumbling over each other. You move, they move. Go in, do what you gotta do, and get out.”

Soap goes still for a second. “Ghost’s not exactly the click-with-anyone type.”

“Guess we’re both weird, then.”

Soap just hums, his tone light but observant. “You’ve already cracked his surface, I can tell.”

I glance over at him, one eyebrow raised as I pull my legs up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. “Yeah?”

He nods, stretching like a cat before slouching back against the headboard, arms folded behind his head. “Mm-hmm. He didn’t glare once on the landing pad. Coming from Ghost, that's the same as a hug.”

I snort, resting my forearms on my knees. “Maybe he was just too tired to be annoyed.”

“Doubt it,” Soap says, chuckling. “Man could be bleeding out and still judge you with a single look.”

That earns a quiet laugh from me, soft and unexpected. He's not wrong. Ghost has a stare that could strip paint off a wall—and I’m not sure whether I passed through it unscathed or he just didn’t bother trying.

He watches me, that same little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s filing this entire conversation away somewhere in his brain for future reference. “You’re not what I expected.”

I smirk as I pull my hair loose from its braid, fingers running through the tangled strands. “Most people say that right before they start running in the opposite direction screaming.”

He laughs, bright and genuine, like he didn’t expect me to have a sense of humor. “You’d have to do a lot worse than ‘efficient in combat and surprisingly sarcastic’ to scare me off.”

“Give it time,” I mutter, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail and flicking the tie around it.

Soap raises an eyebrow, grinning. “That a promise or a threat?”

I shoot him a look. “Depends on how loud you snore.”

“You’ve got attitude, I’ll give you that.”

I let out a soft snort, surprised I’m even still talking. I usually shut down after missions. Go silent. Vanish into my own head. But Soap makes it hard to stay closed off—he talks like the world hasn’t broken him yet.

That’s refreshing. 

It’s strange—this ease. I’m not used to it. Not with strangers.

I shift on the bed, propping one knee up and leaning back on my hands. The mattress isn’t exactly comfortable—standard issue, stiff as hell—but it’ll do.

“Really, though. You snore?” I ask, tilting my head toward him.

He lifts an eyebrow, mock offense written all over his face. “You planning to smother me in my sleep if I do?”

I grin. “Just gathering intel.”

Soap huffs a laugh, ruffling a hand through his mohawk like he’s considering whether this is a trap. “Nah, not usually. Unless I’m sick. Or really, really drunk.” He pauses, then gestures vaguely in my direction. “You? Any weird sleeping habits I need to know about?”

I hum, pretending to think, dragging it out as I reach into my bag for a spare shirt to change into after a shower. “Well, I do this thing where I levitate six inches off the bed and speak in tongues around 3am.”

Soap snorts, loud and abrupt. “Ah, brilliant. Can’t wait. Should I keep holy water on standby?”

“You can try.”

I settle back against the wall, tucking one leg under the other. My body’s starting to calm, with that dull soreness that always creeps in after the action stops finally setting in. There’s a moment of quiet between us—not awkward, not tense. Just… still.

Then I speak, my voice low and even.

“I sleep light.”

Soap doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches me, expression unreadable now. Waiting. Listening.

I exhale through my nose, slowly, eyes fixed on the far wall.

“If you ever notice me slipping out for a stroll in the middle of the night,” I murmur, quieter this time, “just turn around and go back to sleep, yeah?”

The weight of the words hangs in the air like smoke. I don’t look at him. Don’t need to.

A beat passes. Then another.

Soap’s voice comes soft and steady, no hesitation.

“Aye.”

That’s it. No questions. No judgment. Just that simple word, like an unspoken agreement. Like he’s already accepting my quirks.

I nod once, just enough to feel it. Then I lie back and close my eyes, giving myself a moment to rest before crawling out again to take a shower.

It’s not trust. Not yet.

But it’s something.

--

*Scáthach is pronounced "Ska-ha" (IPA: /ˈskaːhax/).

The "Scá" sounds like "ska" (as in Skate or Scar). The "thach" is a softer "ha" sound with a slight guttural "ch" at the end (similar to the "ch" in the Scottish "loch" or German "Bach").

--

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[athenaareia]

hello PLEASE i am here for the yap about lalthambika i want to know everything you coudln't include because of outsider pov

there's actually a LOT brewing in the fic, because one point we have to remember is that except apollo (because sight) and annabeth (tartarus) have really seen her yk?

the idea actually began with a "hm... desi rhea + ma durga is in every girl/woman = fic?" and then I went down a rabbit hole of epic proportions.

some of this is addressed in the beginning notes, wherein I contextualize why exactly I had rhea take on characteristics and powers etc of both maa AND krishna - because if you keep looking further, they're the same.

other random facts:

as the tags say, sally and yashoda ma would get along so well in terms of their weirdly powerful prophecy babies that they love so so much. and notice how rhea steals cookies the way krishna steals makhan??

everyone sees her differently because a, she has many forms but more for this, b, for their own understanding. notice how I say hera sees women and mothers where artemis sees young girls? it's a matter of being your domain

grover is barely conscious, but basically rhea channels navdurga when fighting the minotaur (and I just realised that's unintentional symbolism because mahishasur was also half-buffalo). in my head it's mainly ma katyayani

rhea having that charming smile? actually krishna canon.

yes. she is literally everywhere, which is why she appears suddenly to give advice. also it's very funny to me.

I did imply that leo had taken brief sanctuary at a hindu temple, and that's where he heard the hymns/aartis rhea was singing. ashwatam keshvam is stuck in my head so she definitely sang that once, and also 100% can confirm she likes singing yada yada hi dharmasya for the bit.

did I casually ripoff annabeth's realization moment in tartarus from the mahabharat? yes. I even built up the exposition of them being a best friend duo who also happen to be cousins. plus I even made tartarus akin to a battlefield for annabeth. truly created kurukshetra!tartarus ft. arjun!annabeth and krishna!rhea before gta 6.

jason's scene? also a ripoff because I can't let my baby die and also it was the PERFECT opportunity. I'd be stupid to let that go. basically, you know how draupadi prays to krishna during the vastraharan and her saree becomes never-ending? jason asks rhea for help and so he gets more strength and also rhea takes one look at caligula's spear and says "not on my watch".

also personal fav moments: having her keep one foot over medusa because her iconography often has her standing over the demons she defeated. and ofc, manhattan bridge. the story goes that ma kali is technically a representation of ma durga's wrath. and we know she cares for and protects her followers like they're her children. so that's the aspect rhea taps into after annabeth is stabbed. also, in some iterations, ma kali is translated as "invincible" (I think?), which is what kronos later calls her.

apollo can see her properly because he's god of both knowledge and prophecy. he sees all her forms, but primarily, I think he can see ma adishakti herself (hence the subtitle name for his pov). the gods are old, they've met other pantheons, so they definitely suspect. apollo is just completely sure, and he's right.

another fun fact! ten points to you if you figure out what I mentioned without even meaning to in the last paragraph.

[sugar-omi]

good lord I was trying to study but out of nowhere I know where🩸this came into my mind:

having a night in at ur grown up house w cove derek and baxter (only dating cove) and everyone gets wasted asf so they sleep over and late at night the other two can hear u and cove in ur bedroom 👀 ykwim?

the smut and angst potential of them getting off to listening to u two from their respective guest rooms and the irony of both ur guests doing it omggggggg 🫣

in the morning neither of them can properly look at u two out of shame and u and cove r just embarrassed cause u think it’s just cause they heard u (and ofc ur only half right)

these ideas fr come to me at the worst time lol

-🗑️

I AM SCREAMING. YOU'RE SO BRILLIANT I CAN'T.... derek would really try not to, but i feel like it'd end up seeping into his dreams and he just can't resist. and baxterrrr omg... he'd be so embarrassed n ashamed, i dont think he'd be able to sleep the rest of the night at all, even once you n cove are done... pls you sent this at the perfect time bc i was about to start writing n i cannot focus until i write this now, i must have this in a fic.. n ik it isn't what you're talking about, but this is also so good n i instantly thought abt this scenario. i will take ANY chance for derek n baxter to fall in love or into bed LOL

tags : NSFW, baxter x derek, one night stand (UNLESS), you and cove drink, auralism*, oral (derek receiving), top/dom baxter, bottom derek, derek has a crush on you/MC, baxter has a thing for both of you or maybe he's just a kinky bastard

*to be aroused by sound. (can be compared with voyeurism)

synopsis : baxter and derek are staying with you for an extended vacation (much needed for both of them.) and while you two have been considerate and lovely hosts, you're a bit loud... not that it's a problem. quite the opposite actually..

imagine baxter is pouring himself a glass of wine, unable to get your and cove's muffled moans out of his head.

he's generous with his pouring, since everyone already had a lot to drink during dinner, being reserved is unnecessary.

baxter tips back his cup, licking his lips, savoring the sweet taste of this wine, humming at the taste. not bad..

he's checking the label, wanting to remember the brand so he can add it to his shelves at home.

"oh."

baxter looks up, tired eyes wide at the sudden guest. he's met with derek's wide eyes, equally tired..

baxter gives a lopsided smile, trying to be friendly with his new friend. he gestures to the barstools across from him, "care to join me?"

derek rubs his neck shyly, "ah, i wouldn't want to impose. i just came for some water.."

baxter shakes his head, leaning back on the island, taking a sip of his wine. if he knew he'd have company, he wouldn't have poured so much at once.

he licks his lips, trying not to eye his glass to see if it looks like an reasonable amount of wine. trying to preserve his put together image is fruitless anyway, baxter is a hot mess walking and you could probably smell his issues all the way from france.

"nonsense, i wouldn't mind company. the best conversations are best shared under the stars, i'd say. although, i won't blame if you're going bak to bed." baxter laughs to himself humorlessly. "probably a better idea than getting drunk again."

derek laughs, "well, if you don't mind the company then.." and goes about grabbing some water before sitting across from baxter, trying to be quiet when he drags out the barstool.

there's a stretch of silence between them, the two of them sipping their drinks and baxter plays off his awkwardness by admiring the photo collage in the hallway, visible through the wide doorway.

baxter turns back to derek, who's holding his water with both hands, dozily looking into the glass. he looks up and is surprised to meet baxter's sharp gaze, but plays it off with a smile.

baxter speaks lazily, his movements languished and his bones heavy. he's feeling warm from the wine, and a bit chatty. "couldn't sleep either, huh?"

derek laughs, "that obvious?"

baxter shrugs, speaking around the lip of his wineglass. "i figured we're in the same boat."

derek stills, his cheeks slowly filling red, and he looks up, trying to figure out if he's trying to say he also heard you and cove doing... it. the other night.

baxter bounces his eyebrows, and that makes derek flush brightly, looking down. "y-yeah, i guess we are.."

he laughs, covering his mouth to muffle the noise.

derek seems to relax a bit at his amusement, and eventually they relax a bit more, and baxter goes on to tell derek more of his wedding horror stories when he asks.

they're laughing, trying to muffle the sound with their hands when they get too loud, and baxter is leaned over the counter, rambling to derek as softly as possible.

baxter signs and shakes his head, a smile still on his lips as he takes another sip. he's definitely getting buzzed again.

and at some point baxter even sits next to him and derek seems to greatly enjoy baxter's open laughter and his wide gestures as he narrates his stories, even throwing up his own chaotic stories about what it was like growing up with his brothers.

"hey.." derek calls, and baxter hums curiously in response. "does that taste good?"

baxter raises his brow but tips his glass towards derek. "it is. it has notes of peach and honey... wanna try?"

derek glances between baxter's eyes and the wine, nodding, taking the glass from his hands and taking a long sip...

baxter's eyes are stuck on derek's lips, his eyes following how his throat bobs when he swallows and his tongue dashes out to lick the wine running down the corner of his lips..

baxter snaps his eyes back towards derek's, who's already looking back at him.

the silence seems long, and the distance between derek and baxter's lips seems even longer, and he feels antsy even though they're both leaning in, their lips meeting in the middle in a soft kiss.

derek deepens the kiss, leaning into baxter, and humming into the kiss when baxter starts rubbing his thigh, his fingers sliding down th fabric of his sweatpants until he's touching his inner thigh, dangerously close to his bulge..

a moan echoes, and baxter and derek break apart, panting and their lips wet and swollen. then they hear it again, and some muffled talking.

they look into each others eyes, unable to move. they're both wide awake now, both because of that hot kiss and the sounds of cove's deep, and futile muffled moans.

their chests rise and fall, tension in the air, mingling with something else...

derek speaks first, taking baxter's hand before he can pull away. "do you... should we go to your room?"

baxter blinks owlishly, shocked and flustered. but really fucking turned on.

"yes, yeah, yeah okay.." he stumbles his words, totally knocked off his feet by the way derek looks at him, his green eyes deep with lust, and the whole turn of events.

derek leads him down the hall, and baxter is grateful he didn't somehow knock over the barstool or the flower vase in the hall.

they walk past your shared bedroom, baxter's designated room for his stay, at the end of the hall.

baxter tries to ignore the way his cock throb when he hears cove curse and growl, "fuck, you're so warm..." he tries not to think about it, but the idea of what you two are getting up to, how you both look and sound, what you're doing to each other...

he's trying not to let his mind run away with him but he's admittedly, a weak man. and so is derek, if the way he clutches his hand tighter and all but shoves baxter through the door and closes the door a bit louder than he should.

you and cove always drown out all other forms of life when you're together, and baxter doubts it's much different in the bedroom, if not "worse."

derek pushes baxter to sit on the bed, standing over him, his legs on either side of baxter's lap and he pulls off his shirt, throwing it on the floor.

baxter licks his lips, his hands sliding up derek's waist and stomach, his body thick and toned with muscles... "goddamn..." baxter exhales, all but drooling at the sight.

derek laughs shyly, lifting his arm to rub his neck (a nervous tick baxter has come to realize) and the muscles in his arm stretches and flex. baxter has a distant thought about derek being able to manhandle him...

"is this okay?" derek asks, suddenly shy now.

baxter nods, leaning in to kiss along derek's bronze stomach, his lips trailing down his happy trail to his bulge. "more than okay.."

baxter tugs on derek's sweatpants, looking up at him. "let me know if you want to stop..."

he tugs down derek's pants and underwear, letting his cock spring free. baxter strokes his cock to full mast, and derek holds onto baxter's hand for support, his other hand coming up to muffle his moan.

baxter wraps his lips around derek's flushed tip, sucking and circling his tongue over the head.

"b-baxter..." derek gasps, his thighs shaking.

baxter takes him deeper down his throat, keeping eye contact as he swallows around his cock, reaching down to palm his own bulge through his satin pajamas.

he groans, the vibrations sending shivers up derek's spine and derek mumbles, his fingers finding their way to baxter's hair, clinging onto the already messy locks.

baxter tears his hand away from his hard-on, to undo the buttons on his pajama shirt, the buttons slipping through his fingers until his shirt is wide open.

"mhm-!" baxter startles, gripping onto derek's thighs, his hips bucking up into his warm mouth.

derek moans shakily, "oh f- i'm sorry. sorry.." he babbles, pushing back baxter's fringe, his thighs twitching and his muscles clenching under baxter's hands.

baxter hums around derek's length, patting his thigh. his tongue drags along the underside of his cock, baxter's lips pulling off him with a pop, his lips wet and puffy.

baxter's sharp, lustful eyes meeting derek's equally horny gaze. derek's flushed cheeks are a feast for baxter's eyes, he can't wait to have him in bed..

"do you.. wanna go further?" baxter asks, his hand making obscene wet noises from all the pre-cum and spit, as he strokes derek's cock in his fist.

derek nods, his throat bobbing as he tries not to fall to his knees or cry out and alert you and cove to what they're doing in here.. "yes, please.."

baxter pulls away, standing up to tug off the rest of his clothes while derek tugs off his pants, almost tripping when the leg gets stuck on his ankle but baxter ignores it since he's not very elegant either, the wine still buzzing through him.

he throws his clothes on the floor, all but throwing himself into the bed with derek, straddling his lap as he captures his lips in a kiss, his tongue slipping past derek's lips, guiding his tongue to move with his own.

derek grips baxter's waist, his hands pulling him down to grind him into his lap, their cocks sliding together.

baxter breaks the kiss, his lips falling to derek's neck...

"cove- cove- cove!" your cry is heard through the wall, followed by muffled moans and whimpers.

"ah!" derek moans, his fingrs digging into the plush of baxter's hips when he bites down on his neck.

"oh- sorry. did i hurt you?" he worries, kissing the area soothingly. he didn't expect you to.. cry out so loudly. not that you aren't allowed to be loud in your own home, or anything like that. he just didn't think you'd sound so hot.

he's trying not to think about if he wishes it was his name on your lips, or what cove is doing to make you call his name so loudly and lewdly...

derek shakes his head, or tries too with baxter under his chin. "i mean, it hurt but.. it wasn't bad..." derek admits shyly.

baxter smiles, pulling off his neck to kiss his lips again, smiling too much to kiss properly but they have all night for that anyway...

he leans over the edge of the bed for his bag, fumbling through the open inner pocket for a condom and lube.

it's not that baxter planned to get laid on this trip, it's just bad to be unprepared.

"do you want to be on top?" baxter inquires, pointing the condom at derek.

he flushes, licking his lips and glancing off to the side. "um.. if you don't mind, you can be on top..."

baxter raises his brows, a blush high on his cheeks.

ohh derek really is interesting.

"not at all." baxter purrs, fixing their position so one of derek's legs is on his shoulder, and the other over his thigh.

he slowly sinks one, then two, then three digits into derek's hole, scissoring his fingers and rubbing derek's thigh soothingly. he's such a mess just from his fingers alone, derek's face half buried in the pillow and his hips bucking up and his thighs shaking.

"that's-" derek pants, swallowing thickly. "that's enough... put it in.. please..." he gasps, peeking at baxter through his lashes.

"fuck..." baxter curses, his stomach dipping with lust.

he fumbles, trying to open the condom but his fingers are covered in lube and he ends up ripping it with his teeth impatiently. baxter rolls it over his length, leaning over to pull derek into a kiss as he sinks into him.

"hmmn!" derek mewls into the kiss, his arms coming to lock around baxter's neck.

baxter slams his hips into derek, a loud slap sounding through the room from baxter's hips meeting his ass. baxter breaks the kiss, hissing.

that was definitely too loud, but it's also been so long since he's been with someone, and derek is so charming, that he's not sure he cares..

derek moans, trying to stifle it by biting his lips.

they pant, letting derek adjust to his length and for them to catch their breath, baxter feels like the air has been knocked out of him with how derek's hot walls are wrapped around him, his hole clenching and flutter around him, trying to take him deeper.

"mn, y/n-" cove voice is muffled, keeping them from hearing the rest of his sentence. although it was probably cut short, if the deep groan they hear through the wall is anything to go by.

baxter pants, "i'm.. i'mma start moving..." he gasps, moving so he's sitting up again, his hand pushing derek's knee up towards his chest.

derek covers his mouth with his hand, baxter's cock dragging so slowly against his walls, his eyes rolling and fluttering shut when his tip bumps against a sensitive spot in his walls, dangerously close to his prostate..

"harder!- ha- oh fuck!" you curse and moan unabashedly loud, followed by your bed frame thumping against the wall.

it quiets down to some creaking, with dull thumps every now and then.

baxter picks up the pace of his thrusts, spurred on by all your sounds from the other room and derek's lewd expressions.

derek whimpers, his moans and cries barely muffled by his hand and when baxter's hips slam into his repeatedly, he can't hold onto his barrage of moans and whines, babbling nonsense.

baxter leans over him, forcing his legs against his chest so he can whisper in derek's ear, stuffing his fingers down derek's throat, his middle and ring fingers pressing on his tongue.

"shh, darling. they'll hear us..." baxter purrs, although he laughs and nods his head to the side, "although, i think being quiet is a bit useless for all of us at this point."

derek whimpers around baxter's fingers, drool pooling in his mouth. he closes his lips around the digits and sucks, swallowing, dragging his tongue along baxter's fingers seductively..

"god." baxter grunts, his face scrunching up in pleasure.

his hips thrust up into derek's g-spot, his thrusts shallow as they both get closer and closer to finishing.

baxter pulls his fingers from derek's lips, a string of spit connecting derek's lips to the digits before it breaks, his hand slipping between their bodies to stroke derek's weeping cock, pre-cum pooling along the valley of his abs...

baxter captures derek in a sloppy kiss, neither of them really trying to hold back their sounds anymore. and from the sounds of it, you and cove aren't worried about being quiet either, your moans more frequent and totally unrestrained.

"i'm gonna-" derek pants, his nails dragging down baxter's shoulder.

"go ahead. cum. cum for me." baxter growls, his hand abusing derek's sensitive tip, making short strokes.

derek's legs shake on either side of him, his eyes rolling as he cums into baxter's hand. baxter groans, his hips stuttering as derek clenched around him, filling the condom.

they melt into each other, their chests rising and falling, and their heavy breathing match.

baxter turns his head to the side, seeing the sky turn from night to early morning..

"i'll.." he pants, pushing himself off derek's chest. "i'll run a bath... wanna join me?"

[coff33andb00ks]

Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 10/12

One part small town girl coming home from the big city. One part handsome stranger. Five parts lifelong friends (don't forget to include their partners). One part stubborn father. A dash of Christmas spirit. Part: Ten of Twelve Pairing: Oscar Piastri x ofc (with appearances from Mark Webber. Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Esteban Ocon, Pato O'Ward, and George Russell) wc: 5,668 warnings: none? a little emotional soundtrack: spotify ⋆❆⋆ apple music nav: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

Lift the bundle from the crock. Untie and remove cheesecloth. Brush with liquor and syrup mixture. Wrap in waxed paper. Place in box. Seal. Wrap and fasten with red ribbon. Affix tag. Add to stack.

Repeat.

The steady, repetitive task kept Natalie's mind blank. The kitchen reeked of fruitcake and the liquor and syrup. She had purposefully chosen non-Christmas music to play on her phone, though had somehow missed a couple carols on her playlist. Adding another cheesecloth to the pile, she picked up the brush and dipped it into the bowl, sweeping the syrup over the top of the cake then sliding it onto the waxed paper.

She couldn't hear anything above the music playing in her ears but knew the moment the back door opened. She wasn't sure if it was because of the cold air that slipped into the kitchen, or the shadow that moved in her peripheral vision. Pausing in her task, she held her breath, finally turning to see her father washing his hands in the sink. He didn't say a word, even after she removed her earbuds, and she felt the pain in the silence as he took another fruitcake from the large crock.

They worked without speaking. She remembered a long-ago night when they had worked in this fashion. When the air had been thick with the words she had already said and the silence had been painful. The only difference was that they were both a little older.

As he placed the last fruitcake on the counter, she felt a pang in her chest. The last fruitcake was always taken home. It was the only one he allowed himself, even though it was his favorite holiday treat and hers, too. He wrapped it meticulously in the waxed paper, as those for customers had been wrapped, then paused.

Natalie furrowed her brow when he unfolded the paper and reached for one of the knives on the magnetic strip. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but it was obvious he was going to slice into the fruitcake. Despite his self-imposed rule that it wait for Christmas Eve, when it would be enjoyed with his best brandy after getting back from the candlelight service at church. She watched the knife glide through the cake, watched the slices cascade, then watched him set the knife down.

"I don't have my brandy," he said.

"It's not Christmas Eve," she pointed out.

"Are you gonna be here then?" he asked.

Her breath caught, and she thought of her laptop, which she'd left on the kitchen table, email open on the job offer. "I will."

"Then we'll take another one home for then." He picked up a slice and looked at it.

"Two fruitcakes for yourself?"

"Why the hell not."

Natalie bit her lip, waiting for him to bite into the slice. When he didn't, she frowned.

"Did I ever tell you where I got this recipe?" he asked, still staring at it.

"I don't think so."

"It was in your mother's family. Started as a Christmas pudding with her great-great-grandmother in England, and when they came here they adapted it. Her mother perfected it. It was the one thing I'd never been able to do right, and when we got married, she and your Nana showed me how to do it properly." He sighed. "It was the third-best thing she ever gave me."

"What were first and second?"

"Second was her love and partnership over the twenty-two years we had together." He turned, holding the slice of fruitcake out to her.

She took it, knowing just by touch and smell that it had been prepared perfectly. "What was the first?"

"You."

"Oh, Dad," she whispered, vision blurring with tears. She wasn't a gift. She was a nightmare. She'd left him at the worst possible time, had distanced herself for years, and had only come back because she had no choice. And her knee-jerk reaction when she got upset had been to do the exact same thing. But it occurred to her that if she took the job in Atlanta and left, that she wouldn't be welcomed back so warmly. "I think you're wrong."

"I never thought I was."

"Even when I left?"

"Especially then."

"How?" she asked, setting the slice down. She didn't deserve a bite. "How could you still think I was great when I basically told you to take this place and shove it?"

"Because you're my child. And I'll always love you. I'll always be proud of you."

She shook her head. "I'm nothing to be proud of. I've had how many jobs? I either choose a place about to go bankrupt or a company I don't fit in with—"

"That's just bad luck, Natalie."

"How many punches on my bad luck card do I have to get before I get some good luck?" Natalie shook her head again and pushed away from the counter. "Ever since Mom died, I've spiraled like water in a toilet before it flushes down."

"You think you're the only one?" he asked, scowling. "You think you're the only person this world craps on? Grow up. People around the world have it worse in a day than you have in a year."

She gaped at him, not sure if she was insulted by or surprised by his outburst.

"There are folks out there who don't know where their next meal is coming from. Families that have to choose between keeping the lights on or putting food on the table for the week. People get kicked out of their supposedly loving homes because of who they're attracted to or what they do or don't believe in and have to fend for themselves. Kids that are sick and dying but can't get the help they need."

"I know," she said. "But—"

"You've never had to worry about any of that. Because of this place," he said, gesturing around them. "Because my grandparents chose this little spot to settle after they got married, and because they put years of blood and sweat and tears and love into this dump. And then your grandparents stepped in and kept it going. When prices had to go up and sales slacked off, we went without just to keep this place open. Then it was my turn, and when you came along I swore that I would do everything I could to make sure you never had to want for anything."

"Dad—"

"You're allowed to be selfish. I know when you're down how hard it is to see that it could be so much worse. But you don't have it so bad. There's a roof over your head and you didn't have to pay for your schooling." He inhaled then exhaled shakily. "I wanted you to take over for me when it was my turn to hang up my apron, because it's the family business. And yes, it hurt like hell when you told me you'd rather do anything else, but I knew I had to let you go."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn't know what else to say.

"I'm sorry that you're upset because I'm selling the place. But I'm not sorry I'm doing it. You don't want it. Max does. And he'll be successful, because he loves this almost as much as I do."

"Does he?"

"He does. I told him I'd take down all the old stuff and he insisted it stay. He doesn't want to change it. He said…" Her father paused, closing his eyes briefly. "He said there are lifetimes of memories on the walls and he wouldn't dream of wiping them away."

"He's right." Anywhere she looked she could pull up a memory. The counter, currently stacked with fruitcakes, wiped clean and being dusted with flower so her mother could teach her how to knead. The row of knives on the magnetic strip, which she had taken down once a week so her father could sharpen them. It was a physical rolodex of memories, good and bad, and so was the shopfront, where she had spent the afternoons of her childhood. "I grew up in this building."

"I know you did."

"It was the last place I saw Mom." She stared in the direction of the back door, which her mother had pushed open and then paused, unruly snowflakes floating inside as she reminded Natalie to put the chicken on for dinner. Her own bored reply echoed in her mind and she again felt the flush of guilt and shame.

"Me, too." He finally stepped away from the counter, limping over to switch on the coffeepot near the oven. He stopped, placing one hand on the door of the oven. "She was mad at me."

"She was?" Natalie frowned. She didn't recall her mother being mad. Rushing, yes, and complaining about the weather she had to drive in, but not mad. "What about?"

"I was supposed to go shopping with her. But I had to put in an order, and was running late on getting the work for morning done. She didn't like driving in the snow. I told her to stop being a baby. She told me I was being an inconsiderate ass. It was my fault she was leaving late, and it's my fault she went alone."

"Dad, no," Natalie whispered. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know the accident wasn't. Not really. But… It was. If I'd left the work for morning go until we got back, or told her to wait until the next afternoon… Or if I'd delayed her longer so she was five minutes later. Or had told her to leave earlier…" Mark drew in a shaky breath. "She wouldn't have been in that spot when that driver hit the bit of ice."

"But it could have happened to her either way. Or it could have been so much worse." The fact that no one else had been injured or died in the accident had at first been a point of anger, but it had shifted into a comfort. Her mother would have been upset at more loss of life. "Or you could have been in the car and died, too."

"I know all that, sweetie. It doesn't make it easier."

"I know," she murmured. She hesitated, then finally closed the space between them.

"I didn't tell her I loved her."

"I didn't either."

He lowered his head and her heart broke for him. She slowly reached forward and placed her hand on his arm. He turned slightly and her breath hitched at the tears in his eyes. "It hurts every day I walk in here, because I always remember that my last words to her were 'hurry home' and not that I loved her."

"She knew you loved her. Dad, she knew."

"She knew you loved her, too." He wrapped his arm around her and exhaled slowly. "She would be so proud of you."

"Sometimes I think so." Natalie squeezed her eyes shut. "She'd hate that I'm single and childless, though."

"Yeah, she did want grandkids," he murmured with a quick chuckle. "But more importantly she wanted you happy."

"I thought I was. Then I wasn't. For a little bit when I first moved back I was. Now I'm not again." Sniffling, she pressed her face into his shirt.

"Have you talked to Oscar?"

She stiffened and pulled away, brushing her tears away while turning to put the boxed fruitcakes away. "There's nothing to talk to him about."

"He didn't do anything, sweetie."

"He lied to me."

"And you've never lied?"

"Not about something this important." Picking up two boxes, she carried them to the storage rack.

"I lied, too. Be mad at me."

"I love you too much to stay mad at you," she admitted.

"I was gonna say the same thing." He got his garish mug from its hook above the coffeepot and filled it. "You love him, too."

"No I don't."

"You're lying again."

"I don't!" She set the next two fruitcakes down with more force than necessary. "God, I don't even know him."

"Well." When she glanced over, her father was twirling the coffee in his cup. "You know him pretty well, I'd imagine."

"I'd rather not talk about that."

"You never said how his scrambled eggs were."

"They were sunny side up."

He chuckled. "You do love a runny yolk."

"It takes more than sex and a good cooked egg for love, Dad."

"You know what it took for your mother and me?" He waited until she threw up her hands in silent defeat and smiled. "A laugh."

"A laugh," she repeated, blinking in confusion. "Really?"

"She was visiting her cousin over the summer. They came in one morning for donuts and I shortchanged her." His smile widened and Natalie knew he was lost in the memory. "Wish I could say it was because she was so beautiful I forgot how to subtract, but it was because I was in a hurry so I could go out back and smoke. She came back in a few minutes later and then marched right out back to tell me to give her the three dollars I owed her. Then she took the cigarette from me and threw it on the ground. Hop to it, she said, snapping her fingers. I asked her who the hell she thought she was, and when she said either my dream customer or my worst nightmare, I laughed in her face."

Natalie smiled. She'd heard the tale before, but only that her mother had come in and had thought Mark was cute. She had only meant to stay in town two weeks to visit her cousin, then had extended her stay to last the entire summer. She'd come back over her Christmas break from college and had never left except to go get her things from her dorm.

"She told me the night I proposed that she fell in love with me right then."

"That's sweet, Dad. But it's more complicated for me and Oscar."

"Because you're making it complicated."

"He doesn't even know what he's going to do after Max and Eve move into the house."

"So?"

"And I might be leaving."

"And?"

"I don't think Oscar's the type to follow a woman to Atlanta." She sighed. "He doesn't like big cities."

"There's always a suburb. And the type of work he does he can do anywhere."

"Plus he lied to me."

"Because it wasn't any of his business. It was my job to tell you, and I royally screwed that up. He cares about you."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm not blind, sweetie." He sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "Don't push him away. You know he's a good man."

"He is," she agreed.

"And I guess he's okay looking."

"He is," she said again. He was more than okay looking.

"I'm not trying to push you into a relationship with him, I just want you to patch things up. It's up to you to do that."

"I guess so." She smiled faintly, remembering Oscar gently urging her to talk to her dad.

"But do it quick."

"Why?"

"I miss Penny."

Oscar slid the last cookie onto the platter and tossed the cooling rack into the sink. Baking wasn't his strength, but he had always heard that the scent of fresh-baked cookies made a house smell like home. He knew his friend would be slightly disgusted that he'd bought and baked pre-made dough, but it was the best he could do. Setting the platter on the island counter, he moved to rinse the racks and dried them off before pushing them into the drawer next to the stove. He wiped down the sink, slightly adjusted the platter of cookies, then did a quick look through the house to make sure everything was truly ready.

It was. He'd made up all the beds with the sheets Eve had brought one weekend. There was a new puzzle mat waiting for Lucas in his new room. For Grace was a set of toy horses, one of which resembled Bonny and her foal. On the dresser in the master bedroom was a vase filled with purple roses and a gift certificate to the town's salon for Eve. Next to it was the pair of sunglasses he'd purchased to replace the ones of Max's he'd broken accidentally. Eve's home office was ready to go except for her computer and whatever little things she wanted to place on the shelves. The bedroom he had been using was clean, his things mostly packed and ready to be loaded into his truck after Christmas when he left. He wasn't sure but he had an inkling it would soon be made into a nursery. Max's home office downstairs was ready to go, complete with the new computer Eve had ordered for him. The playroom was organized and neat, all the toys in their respective cubbies. The living room and den and dining room were ready, and he knew without looking that the basement was, too.

He ran his hand along the back of the couch, checking that the living room was perfect. His gaze moved to the plush rug in front of the fireplace and he tried his best to ignore the way his chest squeezed. Turning his attention to the Christmas decorations, he nodded to himself, glancing to the twinkling tree in front of the bow window. Underneath it were two wrapped gifts for Grace and Lucas to open that night. Moving into the front hall, he idly adjusted the lighted garland twining down the banister of the staircase.

From the utility room behind the kitchen came a small yip, and he watched Penny come trotting through to the front hall, skidding to a stop at the front door, where she sat, tail thumping excitedly.

"They here?" he asked, bending to scratch behind her ears while he opened the door. She waited, body starting to wriggle, then darted out as soon as Max's SUV was parked and the engine cut off. Oscar leaned in the doorway, smiling, as the dog rushed around in excited circles, then zoomed to greet first Eve and then Max.

"Hey!" Max laughed when Penny leaped through his open door.

"Penny," Oscar called, stepping out onto the porch. "C'mon, girl."

A few seconds later she jumped out of the passenger door, and took her time to join him on the porch. Her tail wagged incessantly as Eve let Grace out, and when they headed across she gave another yip of greeting.

"Hey," Oscar greeted, catching Grace when she threw herself at him in a hug. "Good drive?"

"Mommy peed three times," the girl announced.

"Yes thank you, Grace," Eve sighed. "I'm sure Oscar needs to know about my bladder function."

He knew why already, but he had to ask. Grinning, he caught her in a quick hug while Max carried Lucas from the car. "Did Max make you drink Red Bull again?"

"He knows better by now." Eve smiled. The same smile she'd given him twice before. "I've been drinking more water today."

"Why?" he asked, making a face.

"Damned if I know." She moved inside, then turned around and grabbed his arm. "You know, don't you?"

"Know what?" he grunted, stumbling when she yanked on his sleeve. "Eve!"

"He told you!" She glared at Max, who was just coming up the steps. "You told him!"

"I didn't tell him a damn thing!"

"Oooo!" Lucas's eyes widened. "Bad Daddy."

"Your mother drops the f-word three times a day and I get scolded for saying damn?" Max shook his head. "What's up with that?"

"Mommy." The boy shrugged as though that were enough explanation, then tipped his head back to look at the lights crisscrossing the ceiling of the porch. "Pretty lights."

"The decorating looks great, Oscar," Max said, nodding with approval. "Your best work."

"Thanks. I had thorough instructions."

"It does look great," Eve agreed, still holding onto his sleeve. "It looked so beautiful from the street. Did you leave—"

"Room on the main tree for the kids' ornaments, yes," Oscar finished for her, nodding. "Can I have my arm back now?"

"Did he tell you?" she asked.

"No, he didn't."

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "You were supposed to ask me what he allegedly told you."

Oscar blinked, then slowly turned his head to look at his friend. "What'd she say?"

"You gave the wrong answer." Max looked at his wife. "I didn't tell him."

"But he knows."

"I gotta nose," Lucas announced, jamming his index finger in one nostril. "See?"

"Ew," Eve groaned. Letting go of Oscar's sleeve, she took the boy from Max and began rummaging in her purse for a tissue. "No boogers, please, Mommy can't handle it today. Do I smell cookies?"

Grace jumped up from where she'd been lying, loving on Penny. "Cookies? You baked, Oscar?"

"Uh, yeah, but—"

"Cookies!"

"They're the pre-made stuff," Oscar told Max before he could ask. "Don't judge me."

"I judge you every damn day, it's my right as your best friend." Max grinned and headed inside. "Wow, you've made a lot of progress. All the floors are finished?"

"Yeah." Oscar closed the front door while the kids ran towards the kitchen.

"Oh my god," Eve gasped, freezing in the archway to the living room. Her hands came up to cover her mouth, and she slowly spun to stare at him.

"Surprise," he said, smiling.

"Babe, the dining room – Whoa," Max said, joining his wife.

"You said it would be after Christmas," she said.

"I lied?" More than a little touched by their reaction, especially when he saw the glimmer of tears in Eve's eyes, he cleared his throat. "I didn't want you to have to cram the last of the moving into those few days after Christmas, and… I wanted to give y'all a good gift. Especially with, y'know."

"What?" Max asked, unzipping his coat.

"You know," Oscar said slowly.

"Oh for fuck's sake, we all know I'm pregnant again, stop tiptoeing around it." Eve flung her arms around Oscar and squeezed. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," he murmured, hugging her back. "You guys deserve to spend Christmas in your new house."

"The upstairs is done, too?" she asked.

"Beds made, rugs vacuumed, everything already here is put away." He smiled when she headed up the stairs. "I even put a mint on the pillows."

"You're an asshole for not telling us it was finished, but I love you," she called over her shoulder.

"Love you too," he promised.

Max hung up his coat, then picked up Eve's from where she'd dropped it. "When did you finish?"

"Couple days ago. I spent yesterday and today doing the decorating and cleaning up." Oscar picked up Eve's purse and set it on the console table. "I figured I could rent a van and start bringing the rest of your stuff down next week."

"That'd be great. Did Natalie help?"

Oscar tried to not react to the mention of her name, but knew his frined had caught something when his eyebrows lifted. "No, she didn't."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"She found out about the bakery."

Max sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Mark said he was gonna tell her this weekend."

"She found something about it from a lawyer." Moving into the living room, Oscar crossed to the fireplace and adjusted the screen. "She was upset. At me."

"Because you didn't tell her?"

"Yeah."

Max nodded. "It wasn't fair to ask you not to say anything."

"If I'd told her, she still would have been upset," he sighed, staring at the fire. Not wanting to remember what had occurred in that spot the last time the fire had been going, he stepped away, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Maybe not as bad."

Oscar sighed. "Doesn't matter. She's done with me."

"Done?"

"I asked her if we could talk about it and she said she had nothing more to say to me." He shrugged, trying his best to pretend he wasn't as affected by her cold dismissal as he truly was.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Max whispered. "It's all my fault."

"No it's not."

"I should have told her. I should have made Mark tell her. I should have told Susie. I should have—"

"Max, stop. It just wasn't meant to be."

"You're gonna give up?"

"It wasn't like it could go anywhere."

"Why the hell not? You like her. She likes you. There were hearts in your eyes and music playing whenever you looked at each other."

"It's better this way," he insisted. "I'm leaving after Christmas."

"You're what?"

Oscar jerked his head up at the sound of Eve's voice. Sighing, he nodded. "I'm leaving after Christmas."

"Why? Where are you going? What are you gonna do?" she asked, glancing towards the kitchen. She squatted down, catching Lucas when he toddled up to her and thrust a cookie in her face.

"Oscar cookies," the boy said proudly, bringing the cookie back so he could take a large bite.

"Where's your sister?" Eve unzipped her son's coat and struggled to get it off without making him let go of the cookie. "Grace!"

Oscar watched his niece appear, coat hanging from her arms. She shook it off then dragged it to the coat rack. And, when her mother told her to go look at her room, she took off upstairs.

"Well?" Eve demanded, straightening and looking at him.

"I'll figure something out between now and then," he said.

"I thought you were looking at the place on the edge of town."

Oscar swiveled his gaze to his friend.

Max shrugged. "I tell her everything."

"Take Lucas up to see his room," she said, eyes never leaving Oscar. "I've got to talk to Oscar."

"Good luck," Max whispered before scooping his son into his arms.

She wasn't usually one for exercise. But the day was so nice. It was damp due to the rain the night before, and the snow was still in thick drifts, but the sun was shining and it was warm enough she didn't need a thick coat. She had felt closed-up, something she wasn't used to feeling, and had finally thrown on a jacket and decided to go for a brisk walk to clear her head. At first she kept to the side streets, and after going around until she was nearly back home, she headed for Main Street and then followed it along until she reached the outskirts of town.

Stopping to unzip her jacket and consider how she wanted to go back through town, she felt a sudden prickle of awareness. She turned slightly, seeing first the 'For Sale' sign and then the little white clapboard split-level. Mr. Wright's house, she thought, recalling hearing that he had moved to the center of town to live with his sister. Her gaze moved to the truck in the driveway and her chest lurched.

Oscar.

As though her presence had conjured him up, the door opened and he stepped outside, laughing. Carlos was behind him, laughing as well, and the two men stood on the small porch, chatting.

Her heart squeezed almost painfully. He didn't see her. Or maybe he did and he didn't care enough to acknowledge? She wavered, unsure whether to call out a greeting or turn and go away before he could look in her direction. She hadn't yet made up her mind what she wanted to say to him, or if she wanted to say anything to him at all. She looked on as the men shook hands, and took a step forward just as Oscar started down the steps.

He stopped, so she did as well. Despite the distance she saw the hesitance in his expression, and bit her lip when he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Oh, damn it, she had to speak to him. She continued walking forward, sneakers slipping a little on the pile of snow at the end of the flagstone walk. With each step she tried to think of something to say, but then she saw that he was walking toward her. They met halfway and both stopped at the same time.

Natalie pulled her earbuds from her ears, hastily cramming them into the pocket of her jacket. What was she supposed to say? How could she begin to explain her outburst, her irrational anger towards him that had now faded? What could she possibly say to make it even a little bit better? There was an awkward tension between them and even though she couldn't look away from him she knew that Carlos had sensed it when she heard him mutter something and go back into the house.

Oscar's eyes looked a little sad and she wondered if that were her fault.

"I'm sorry," she blurted.

"I'm sorry," he said at the same time.

"I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you—"

"I should have told you when you asked—"

"It wasn't fair—"

"It was wrong to keep you in the dark—"

"I dragged you in the middle when you were just a bystander—"

"I just didn't want to upset you—"

"I blew it all out of proportion because I was hurt—"

"Especially when I realized I was falling for you so fast and—"

"I was thinking I might be falling in love even though we just met—"

They both stopped. At the same time.

Natalie blinked. So did he. She didn't know why, but she began to smile. And was relieved when he did, too. A laugh bubbled up when they both took a step forward. Slipping her hand into his when he held it out, she sighed.

"You wanna go for a walk?" he asked.

"I just did, but yes."

They strolled to the sidewalk, and his fingers slotted between hers. "Can we talk, too?"

"I think we should." She stopped, frowning. "You're just gonna leave your truck?"

"I can walk back and get it."

Resuming her steps, she squeezed his hand. "I'll walk back with you."

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina!! First of all, I wanted to thank you and Daisie and everyone else here for the amazing Larry masterlist. I'm a new larrie myself, though I've been around the fandom since 2011 (tho not super closely) when WMYB MV was released. I was deep diving on receipts, and as per usual, I took it all in with a grain of salt and kept all my conclusions rational and unbiased. I just wanna add something you might consider a receipt, connecting to one of the tour receipts ones I’ve read on Daisie’s tags (I dove into both yours and Daisie’s tags lol). This isn't so big and new at all but I thought I'd add. Sorry in advance if I am too vague with this lol

A quick context: I had worked with small event productions here in my country, and had become pretty close with suppliers (tech, security, venue, etc). I got curious about an entry I read from your receipts tag which happened in an international tour here. Anyway, I am pretty close with our security supplier, and I thought I'd check if there were traces of them working with the boys. After a few google search, I saw them with Louis on a video during his tour here - confirming that at least for that show, they did work with Louis. He has been very open to me ever since we met, so when I DMed him about being involved in the show, he enthusiastically answered that they did all 1D-related ones in the country.

Anyway, bottomline, I tried to ask if it's true that Louis was here during Harry's concert because I've kind of heard it somewhere (being the receipt I read from Daisies' account). That’s when he got weirdly super silentl and left me on ‘seen’/‘read’ (which had never happened EVER before). I waited with the chat box open; he se seemed type after a few mins - and then stopped completely. When I realized he (c)wouldn't reply, I didn't push it and said he doesn't have to respond and that I respect if he’s bound by certain contracts. After that, he immediately replied, basically just saying "Thank you" (for understanding, essentially). We just chatted a bit more before ending the convo.

So I guess I'd say it somewhat solidifies that theory in my head because I personally know them, and if there's really something super big they cannot share at all, they WONT. I knew there was something because it was almost comical for me how he suddenly left me on ‘read’. So if it's not a big deal at all he would've shared because we've talked about other works they've done in the past (he was so enthusiastic and shared all the names of the shows they've done with 1D a few mins prior lol) - but when I specifically asked if Louis was with Harry here for his tour, he immediately closed off and stopped replying - and THEN thanked me when I said he didn’t have to reply lol (I didn’t ask anything else, just that exact wording, straightforwardly asking if L was there during H's show, and I didn’t phrase it in a playful or teasing way like I am implying there’s smth gossip-worthy between them I'm fishing out of him)

ANYWAY, I’m not even sure if this is worth posting but I needed someone to share it with and I thought it could be like a backup info for the future hahahaha I am trying to be vague because I do want to protect myself and my (in a way) source (?). But if you need any clarification from me - I’d be open to elaborate more in the dms (I’m rusty with tumblr so I hope I can navigate this properly lol)

Ofc, a part of me wish I could've gotten something, but I also respect them for staying quiet. And even if they did share something big, I might've had second thoughts on sharing bcs I was mainly asking it for my own sanity tbh, knowing that I knew who the security team was lol So I guess my point of sharing this with you is to basically share that the usual NDA thing with H&L, whether as a whole 1D unit before or as solos, is definitely enforced here. That the silence somewhat solidified my belief of other Larry receipts such as 1.) in relation to the Argentinian security confessions, and 2.) the receipts pointing out that those two fly together sometimes in the tours.

Idk if this is worth posting at all, but I just really needed to let it because I feel like I might be getting biased but also not (it was very fishy for me for sure lol). Thank you!

Hi, darling. No, it’s totally worth posting! I agree with you that it says something without saying anything. Are you able to tell me what year you were asking about? Or what country? I won’t post anything you don’t want public.

I’m really glad to hear that people take their NDAs seriously and even if it was from years ago they would still be professional about it.

Thank you so much for sharing this. If you think of anything else you can add, LMK. Or send me a DM. I’ll keep it private. 🩷

[bunny7567]

I got you - chapter 26

Pairing: Rex x Jedi!ofc

Word count: 6.2k Tags/Warnings: Umbara; major character death; brief description of dead body; grief; so much angst; guilt

A/n: sorry for the wait with this chapter. I haven't managed to write anything for the series since I took the break (damn you Fox) and I am just a little, slightly, all-consumingly worried about it but let's just hope for the best right? i'm still 2 chapters ahead so for now should be fine. for now. idk pray for me or smth. anyway spiral over, hope you guys enjoy pain cause this chapter and the next few ones are about Umbara.

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osik - shit Jetti - Jedi Ne'johaa - Shut up vod - brother cyare - beloved

~~~

“The nerve-the nerve of that steaming pile of banthashit! To try and suggest that I-that I'd work against the Republic when it was his fucking mistake that almost got me blown up!”

 Lexie was pacing in Rex’s office, anger burning in her chest. She’d finally found the bastard who’d almost got her killed. After weeks of filing multiple operational grievances and chasing down high-ranking logistics officers, she finally found the officer who had assigned Clone Force 99 to blow up the outpost she was meant to infiltrate – Captain Tarkin. Or rather, Commander Tarkin now. Somehow, despite the blatant oversight, the man had just been promoted.

She’d been very annoyed when she found he was the one at fault, but she believed she’d handled it properly. All she’d wanted was acknowledgment – a simple recognition of the oversight, a correction to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. So she followed protocol and she filed a new report, then left it at that. She didn’t think she would come to regret it so much.

But unfortunately, Tarkin had not taken too kindly to his mistake being called out. And he retaliated.

Lexie was pulled from the middle of an assignment and summoned before the Jedi Council – never a good sign. But even then, she hadn’t expected this.

Her integrity was under scrutiny. Worse – her allegiance to the Republic was being questioned. Somehow, he’d managed to twist everything. Commander Tarkin had called for an investigation into her mission history, labelled her as hostile, and convinced his superiors that her presence on Maalsu had been suspicious. So now, she was the one under fire.

It was banthashit, even the Council knew it – they had assigned the damn mission themselves – but they were still going along with it, maintaining the optics, appeasing the few senators that Tarkin managed to influence. It wasn’t like she expected an apology from him, but this? This was too much. Being accused of hostility just for filing grievances? Being placed under investigation and grounded until it was resolved? She couldn’t believe the injustice and her eyes were stinging with tears of frustration as she vented to Rex. Yet the overwhelming sense of being wronged was not going away.

“I know cyare,” Rex tried to console her, stopping her pacing and bringing her in his arms. “But the Council will sort it out. You were there for a mission.”

“It’s going to take days, Rex,” she exclaimed, her anger morphing into worry. “And I’m kriffin’ grounded until then!”

“You’ve been on mission after mission – you were due some leave anyway,” he quipped in an attempt to lighten her mood.

Lexie shook her head, a cold shiver running down her spine. “Last time I was pulled from the middle of a mission like this… Echo died.” Her voice was barely a whisper, afraid to bring the thought into existence. But she couldn’t ignore it. “And now you’re being sent on a mission without me.”

“I’ve been on missions without you before, cyare – I was just on Horain and everything was fine. Don’t go there. Don’t worry,” Rex pleaded, his fingers gently brushing through her hair.

“But this one is different – Umbara is different. The plan Anakin and I made… two platoons, two ARCs–”

“We’ll be fine with only Fives,” the Captain interrupted.

“But what if you’re not?” she cried. “What if you’re not fine and I’m not there to protect you?”

“I thought we agreed neither of us needs protecting,” Rex remarked.

She pulled away from his embrace, her eyes sharp, searching his face. “This isn’t funny Rex. I am worried. Genuinely worried. Something bad will happen… I can feel it.”

She’d sensed it during the briefing.

Lexie had to join via holo-call, as she and her ARCs were deep in the Circarpous sector, but the feeling was unmistakable. Dread. Bone-chilling dread that tightened her chest and made her breath shallow. Just like at the Citadel… just like before Echo.

Lexie focused on the briefing, she focused on the intel and battle plans presented by Obi-Wan, Master Krell, Master Tiin – but there was no shaking her anxieties. No dismissing them. Not this time. She wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.

After the briefing, Lexie asked Anakin to stay on the call a little longer and together, they solidified the 501st’s approach. By the end of their strategy meeting, the dread had lessened a little, and she could breathe easier. Her team would wrap up their mission and rendezvous with the fleet directly above Umbara. Their ground assault plan was solid.

But the following rotation she was ordered back to Coruscant and told about the investigation that Tarkin had ordered. And once again, she couldn’t breathe.

Was this her fault? Should she have just let it go? Not push so hard to find the person responsible? She had made it out alive and mostly unscathed, so was she just being dramatic? She thought she was doing the right thing. But now that it had all backfired – now that she was being left behind while her men went off to fight – she was starting to regret pursuing it at all.

“We’ll be alright,” Rex reaffirmed, although his own worries were beginning to slip through the cracks of the forced optimism he’d put on for her. “General Skywalker will be there and the plan is solid. Everything will be alright.”

“The plan is solid,” Lexie repeated, nodding slowly a couple of time.

She settled back into his arms, letting out a shuddering breath and Rex pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. Anakin would follow the plan – she’d speak to him before he left the next day, share her concerns. And Rex was right. He didn’t need her protection. He was one of the best soldiers she’d ever met – he could take care of himself, and of the other men.

Everything would be alright.

It had to be.

The rest of the evening was spent in the company of her friends at the 79s – one last night of fun before deployment. The boys were eager, they always were, and Lexie found herself on the dancefloor with Fives, Jesse and Hardcase, letting the loud music drown out her worries. This time, they even managed to drag Halves onto the floor – though, unfortunately for the ARC, they also convinced him to do more shots than he could handle. Lexie and Rex volunteered to take him back to base, and after dropping him off in the infirmary, they headed up to her room, where they spent the rest of the night tangled in the bedsheets.

In the morning, Lexie woke up as early as the men, but she did not join them for breakfast – instead she went straight to the hangar and waited for Anakin to arrive.

She knew Anakin well. They used to be so alike – impulsive, hot-headed, competitive. But over the past year, things had changed. She had changed.

Maybe the war had forced her to mature. Or maybe her attachment to Rex – and to the rest of the men – had made her cautious in ways Anakin wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, she’d realized just how different their approaches had become. Anakin still cared about the clones – she knew he did – but his priority was winning the war. Hers was making it out of every battle with as few casualties as possible.

So Lexie waited for him in the hangar, then pulled him aside to talk to him privately, trying to ignore the look she received from Obi-Wan – he could probably sense her anxiety. She wasn’t really doing a great job of hiding it. She brought up the plan again, told Anakin about the dread that hadn’t left her mind since the briefing, asked him not to deviate from their strategy like he usually did. But the conversation didn’t ease her nerves – if anything, it made them worse.

Anakin listened, sure. But whether he actually heard her was another story. He nodded along in that impatient way he always did when his mind was elsewhere, and dismissed her worries with a wave of his hand.

“We’ll be fine, Lexie,” he said. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

That makes one of us.

She tried to voice her concerns again, but time was not on her side. The transports were filling up, troops moving into position, and Obi-Wan was already calling Anakin over. He offered her a quick “Good luck with the investigation,” then turned and left before she could get another word in, leaving Lexie to stew in her anxiety.

By the time Rex walked into the hangar, Lexie was moments away from spiralling into a full-fledged panic attack. He clocked it immediately – her hand was on her chest, fingers tracing slow circles on her sternum. He knew her tells and he knew her. He knew how close she was to falling apart. Without a word, he handed his datapad to Jesse, leaving the lieutenant to handle final preparations. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he signalled her to follow. They slipped away to a quieter corner of the hangar, ducking behind an out-of-commission LAAT.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, concern clear in his voice.

Lexie shook her head. She didn’t need to say anything more – Rex already knew. He could see it written all over her face. He’d hoped his reassurances the other night had helped, but clearly, whatever Jetti osik she was feeling was stronger than anything he could say. Truthfully, she was starting to worry him too. Rex didn’t pretend to understand the Force, but he knew enough from her to know when something was really wrong.

Of course, he did not let his own concern show – the last thing he wanted was for her to worry even more. So instead, Rex interlaced his pinkie finger with hers, the discreet gesture grounding her in the present.

“I’ll be careful, cyare. I promise,” he whispered softly.

Lexie slowly slid her hand into his, squeezing it gently as she met his beautiful honey-coloured eyes and took a few slow, steadying breaths. It helped – a little – but the anxiety didn’t vanish. Not fully... Guess I’ll have to live with it until he come back from Umbara.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their quiet moment, and Lexie let go of his hand, taking a step back just in time. Luckily, it was only Fives, greeting them with his usual shit-eating grin.

“You two lovebirds done?” he teased. “General Skywalker is looking for you, Rex.”

The Captain rolled his eyes but stepped close to Lexie again, dropping his voice. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll try to keep you updated if I can.”

“Please do,” she replied. “And I’ll let you know how the investigation goes.”

Rex gave a short nod, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you soon, princess.”

“See you soon, Captain.”

“Aww, so sweet,” Fives jested.

“Ne'johaa, vod,” Rex muttered with a small smile, giving him a light shove as he walked past.

Fives turned to follow, but Lexie stopped him, stepping forward and grabbing his arm.

“Please… please be careful out there,” she pleaded, her voice laced with anxiety. “A-And watch out for him? Please.”

“I will, Lex, don’t worry,” Fives replied, his brows furrowing at the look in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, letting go of his arm.

Fives paused, giving her a long, searching look. Over the months they’d spent working so closely together, he’d learned to trust her instincts – and if she was this worried, maybe he should be too.

Lexie walked with him to the shuttle that would take them up to The Tribunal, lingering on the platform as it departed. This time, Rex purposely left his helmet off, so that he could hold her gaze for as long as possible.

Two rotations later, Lexie was stood in front of a panel comprised of members of the Republic Security Council. Masters Windu and Unduli were present, which eased her worries slightly – and Senator Organa too, whom she’d met briefly a few times and knew to be a good man. But the rest of the panel wasn’t nearly as reassuring. She recognized Senator Ask Aak of Malastare – not exactly a Jedi enthusiast – along with a few security officers she’d crossed paths with before. Behind the committee there were some unfamiliar faces too, admirals she didn’t know, just silently observing. Funny. For something that wasn’t supposed to be a trial, it sure felt like one.

A flash of anger darkened her eyes – Tarkin wasn’t even present. He’d shown up at the start to lodge his complaint and justify this whole investigation… and then just left. The kriffing bastard. He’d stirred up all this banthashit, got her grounded while her men were sent off to fight without her, and didn’t even bother to stay and hear the testimonies.

Fives’ report was read first, then Hunter’s, and finally Halves was called forward to testify about the mission. When he finished, the ARC returned to her side, offering a brief, encouraging nod. Now it was her turn.

“General Khalla, you may now step forward and present your account,” the president of the committee announced.  

Lexie straightened, clasped her hands behind her back and strode to the middle of the room. Her gaze swept steadily over each panel member seated at the crescent-shaped table. Master Unduli offered a faint, reassuring smile, while Senator Organa gave her a subtle nod. Senator Ask Aak, however, looked like he wouldn’t need much convincing to push for a formal reprimand.

 Finally, her eyes settled on the tall Zeltron seated at the center of the table – Ruto Pazloc, High Inspector from the Republic Internal Security Division.

She’d met him before, back when he still held the rank of admiral and had coordinated several infiltration missions she and her Master had undertaken on the Republic’s behalf. He wasn’t the biggest supporter of the Jedi or their methods – he’d made that perfectly clear to her in the past – but he was a fair man. Lexie knew he wouldn’t let someone else’s vendetta dictate his judgment.

“Let’s start from the beginning. Did you have authorization to pursue this investigation, and if so, who authorized the mission?” the High Inspector asked dryly.

“The mission was assigned directly by the Jedi Council. Masters Windu and Unduli can confirm,” Lexie responded.

The Zeltron glanced towards Mace Windu.

“That is correct,” the Jedi Master stated simply, his voice as firm as ever.

Lexie then went on to outline the mission parameters, digging her nails into her palm with every pointless interruption.

“At any point, were your actions outside your official purview?” Pazloc questioned.

“No. I went in with the task of retrieving intel and that is exactly what I did. At no point did I deviate from my objective.”

“What about this supposed security breach?” Senator Ask Aak interjected. “Was it confirmed or were you acting on Jedi intuition?”

“I would say the blaring intruder alarms and the ray shields cutting me off from my men confirmed it,” she shot back, unable to resist the sarcasm.

From the corner of her eye, Lexie caught Senator Organa hiding a smile behind his palm. She squared her shoulders, a quiet satisfaction settling in – she wasn’t entirely alone in this room.

“You claim this was a simple infiltration mission – so how did it escalate to an engagement and destruction of the facility?” the High Inspector resumed his inquiry.

“My mission was a simple infiltration,” Lexie replied, evenly. “Clone Force 99 had been assigned to destroy the outpost. Once I secured the intel, there was no reason to stop them from completing their objective.”

“But it was Clone Force 99 that compromised your mission by triggering the security alert,” Pazloc continued, sounding almost bored as he typed something on a datapad.

Had she not known better, Lexie might’ve thought he wasn’t even paying attention. But she did – and she recognized the tactic. He was watching, listening, prodding for cracks. Playing the part of disinterest to provoke a reaction. It made sense. Tarkin had accused her of hostility – now her composure and professionalism was on trial just as much as her actions.

“Yes, their approach unintentionally compromised the covert nature of my team’s mission.”

“Then why wasn’t a formal complaint filed against Clone Force 99?” Luminara Unduli asked.

“Because I do not believe them to be at fault. Clone Force 99 was acting on intel relayed through official GAR channels. They had no way of knowing my team was also inside the outpost,” Lexie defended.

“So you’re saying this mishap was caused by miscommunication between Republic units?” the High Inspector asked, his voice sharp.

“That is what I am saying yes,” Lexie confirmed. “The individual who marked the outpost for demolition and assigned Clone Force 99 failed to verify whether other Republic assets were already operating in the sector.”

“Why didn’t you escalate your concerns through standard GAR channels?” Senator Ask Aaks demanded.

Lexie blinked slowly in confusion, her jaw then clenching as annoyance simmered in her chest. Is he kriffing serious?

“I did. That’s why we’re here,” she replied, keeping her voice level despite the spike of irritation.

“Senator, if you refer to page three of the report, you will find that General Khalla raised her concerns through the appropriate channels as per standard procedure,” Mace Windu calmly interjected.

Her eyes flicked to the Jedi Master, and Lexie was almost certain she saw him offer a small, reassuring nod. The hearing soon wrapped up for the day, and Lexie was dismissed, though she was called back the next rotation for follow-up questions. Then, to her growing irritation, she was asked back again the following day. By the third round, Lexie was starting to lose her composure, especially when the High Inspector posed a question that made her chest tighten.

“Do you feel you failed this mission in any capacity, General?” Pazloc asked coldly.

The question struck a nerve, especially because, for a split second, she almost thought she heard al’Prani’s voice echoing in her mind. Her fingernails sharply dug into her palm again, in an attempt to keep herself grounded. Maker, how she wished Rex were there, or at least that she could hear his voice. But there had been nothing from the Captain – just a brief comm text when the battalion reached Umbara.

She took a deep breath before answering. “I did not have the time to gather all the intel I had hoped for, due to the advancing droid forces. However, I am satisfied with the mission outcome. We sustained no casualties, and the information we were able to retrieve has proven useful.”

Silence settled over the room as Pazloc typed something on his datapad. Lexie glanced around, taking in the impassive faces of the people gathered to witness her ‘non-trial’. It was unnerving really. Her eyes then moved to Halves. The ARC didn’t need to be there anymore, but he’d still come to support her. The loyalty of the clones always touched her.

"Thank you, General Khalla,” the High Inspector said without looking up from his datapad. “I believe we have everything we need from you. Once this panel finishes deliberations, you will be notified of the outcome.”

Lexie walked out of the Republic Executive Building with Halves by her side. She felt drained of energy, a dull throb pulsing in her temples. Her back ached – a sharp pain right between her shoulder blades, thanks to the hours of rigid posture. What she needed was a strong cup of caf, a stiff drink… or a solid week of sleep. Maybe all three.

“This is such a waste of time,” Halves grumbled. “There is not a single good reason to be looking into that mission.”

“Yeah, well… be careful who you piss off,” she muttered, mentally cursing Tarkin for what had to be the hundredth time that day.

She pulled out her comm, checking for any new messages from Rex – but there was nothing. Still just the last message from days ago, sitting above her own string of updates, questions, and complaints about the investigation. Unanswered. She switched to the encrypted channel with Fives, then to the group chat with him, Kix, Jesse and Hardcase. Nothing. Not a single update from either of them about the situation on Umbara. Her hand instinctively lifted to her sternum. The radio silence was beginning to strangle her.

And it only got worse when she saw Anakin.

“Isn’t that General Skywalker?” Halves asked.

Lexie’s eyes snapped up from the comm, landing on Anakin as he was coming out of a different part of the REB. Her stomach dropped and her heart started racing – he shouldn’t be here; he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Anakin!” she shouted, getting the Jedi’s attention.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” he greeted, coming to a stop in front of her. “How’s the investi–”

“What are you doing here?” Lexie interrupted.

“As I was saying, I was looking for you,” Anakin answered, taken aback by her sharp question.

“No. Here on Coruscant. What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Chancellor Palpatine needed me for a diplomatic event,” he clarified.

“What about Umbara?”

“Still ongoing. I left the 501st there with–”

“You left them there?” Lexie interrupted him again, panic seeping in her voice. That feeling of dread was back, and it was clawing its way out of her chest, slowly expanding over her entire body.

“Not by themselves. They’re with Master Krell,” Anakin said, appraising her cautiously.

Lexie shook her head, the worry morphing into anger. She’d heard whispers about Krell – whispers that reminded her a little too much of her own Master.

“I’m going there,” she announced.

“What?” Anakin and Halves both asked at the same time.

“I’m going to Umbara.” Lexie started walking towards the military district, her pace determined.

“Lexie, wait,” Anakin called after her, striding to keep up. “Have you been cleared?”

“No, but I can’t wait. Rex is in danger,” she stated.

“What are you talking about? I’ve left him and the battalion with Master Krell. They’re fine. Rela–” he tried to calm her, reaching for her arm.

“Don’t!” Lexie shoved his hand away. “Don’t tell me to relax. Something is wrong, Anakin. I need to get there. Halves, let’s go.” Her eyes shifted to the ARC trooper who had just caught up with them.

“What about the investigation?” Anakin asked.

“They don’t need anything from me anymore and I’m not going to wait around for them to make a decision while my men are in danger,” Lexie ranted.

“I think you mean our men,” the Jedi said, his irritation beginning to grow as well.

“Do I? You’re not really acting like their leader – just leaving them in the middle of a battle,” she retorted.

“The Chancellor requested me personally. I couldn’t ignore that.”

“You’ve ignored plenty of orders in the past. But the one time – the one time – I tell you I’m worried and I ask you to stick to the plan, that’s when you have to follow orders?” Lexie bit back.

“It’s the Chancellor, Lexie. You’re being unreasonable,” he snapped.

“How would you feel if I left Padmé in a similar situation?” Lexie hissed through gritted teeth.

 Anakin recoiled at the words, a flash of anger sparking in his eyes. His gaze darted to Halves, who had suddenly become very interested in the duracrete floor. The ARC’s eyebrows were raised as far as humanly possible, and he was clearly trying to pretend he hadn’t just heard what he very much had.

“That was low even for you,” Anakin responded, his voice flat and icy. “You know very well I can’t ignore a direct request from the Chancellor just because you have a bad feeling.”

Lexie’s anger deflated slightly, a flicker of guilt stirring in her stomach. She did know better than to weaponize Anakin’s love for Padmé – especially in public. She was ashamed of herself. But her worry for Rex? It was stronger. Much stronger. She squared her shoulders and met Anakin’s stare head-on.

“I am going to Umbara. Tell the Council where I am – or don’t. I don’t care,” she stated coldly, then turned on her heels and resumed her brisk pace toward the base.

Halves hesitated, cast Anakin a quick nod, and jogged to catch up. They walked in silence for several minutes before Lexie finally turned to him.

“You better forget everything you heard back there,” she said, her voice stern, but holding an unspoken plea.

“Of course, Sir,” the ARC trooper replied, eyes forward.

Within less than an hour, they had boarded the Amaranth and left Coruscant’s atmosphere. The hours in hyperspace did nothing to ease her anxiety, and Lexie was pacing around the cockpit like a caged nexu. She’d managed to get a hold of Obi-Wan, only to be told he had directed Master Krell and the 501st to a critical airbase. But once it had been captured, all contact with them had been lost.

Obi-Wan sent her the coordinates, so her plan was simple: head straight to the airbase the second they dropped out of hyperspace.

Halves was sitting in the co-pilot seat, watching her carefully. He had done most of the flying up until then – unlike Fives, he never complained about piloting the Amaranth. In fact, Halves seemed to enjoy the challenge the ship presented. The blue light of the hyperspace tunnel illuminated his face, highlighting the slight furrow of his brow as he sat deep in thought. Finally, as Lexie dropped into the seat beside him, he turned to her.

“You know, General–”

“Halves, please,” she cut in with a shake of her head.

The ARC huffed a small laugh. “Sorry. Lexie,” he corrected.

“That’s better. What were you going to say?”

He hesitated, carefully selecting the words before he continued. “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

 Lexie tilted her head, brows drawn as she studied his face. “About what?”

“About us – clones I mean. But you really do.”

“Umm… I’ll take your surprise as an insult, I guess,” she chuckled, though the laughter was a bit forced.

“It’s just… it’s not at all how I imagined a Jedi would be,” the ARC explained. “And I’m glad I was wrong.”

Lexie turned her head to the viewport, her gaze lost to the endless blur of hyperspace. Halves meant well – she knew that. In his mind, it was a genuine compliment. He’d come to trust her, to admire her, to see her as something more than just a superior officer. Maybe even a friend. But his words called forth something deeper. They’d unearthed truths she hadn’t wanted to examine – questions about a future that had once seemed certain.

Until the war.

Until Rex.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Halves – I’m not a very good Jedi,” she said with a dry chuckle.

“Oh come on, I’ve seen you in battle, you’re amazing,” he argued.

 Lexie shook her head. “Using the Force and swinging a lightsaber does not make one a Jedi.”

“What do you mean?” Halves asked, his confusion clear in his voice.

“I’m saying there are things I need to figure out. Nothing for you to worry about though.” Lexie replied, already pushing herself to her feet and stretching her arms. “I’m gonna lie down. Let me know when we’re about to drop out of hyperspace.”

She didn’t sleep, her worry for Rex wouldn’t allow it. By the time the Amaranth reached Umbara’s atmosphere, her heartrate was so elevated, she genuinely struggled to catch her breath. But that sense of impending doom had lifted, which only made her anxiety worse. She was too late – she could just feel it. Whatever had happened – whatever she had feared – was already done.

Lexie had to take over piloting the ship, needing the Force to help guide them through the chaos of the space battle above the planet.

“Transmit the clearance codes before they shoot us out of the sky,” Lexie ordered.

Halves complied from the co-pilot seat, while she focused on steering the Amaranth through the darkened skies of Umbara. The airbase finally came into view and as soon as the ship touched down, Lexie bolted to the exit.

The first thing she noticed was the blue paint on the troopers around – but also some orange. A few of the clones were sat or laid on the ground and she could sense the deep exhaustion that surrounded them. But there was something else too, a cold, horrible feeling – regret mixed with anger and sorrow and so, so much pain. It struck her immediately, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. She almost didn’t want to find out what had happened…

A familiar helmet caught her eye – Appo was jogging towards her, his pace quick.

“General,” he saluted, coming to a stop in front of her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“What the hell happened here?” she asked.

“Krell betrayed us, Sir. He betrayed all of us. He betrayed the Republic,” the Sergeant said, the anger in his voice unmistakable.

Lexie recoiled, her mind racing. She needed to find Rex and get a clearer picture of the events that had taken place. “Where’s the Captain?”

“The brig, Sir. I’ll escort you.”

The distant rumble of explosions echoed through the sky as Appo urgently informed her of the impending Umbaran attack. They were already preparing for it – the Captain had ordered the reinforcement of the perimeter and troops were scrambling into position – but despite the threat, the Sergeant was genuinely relived she was there now, and he voiced that thought out loud several times. 

 Finally, as they approached the building, Lexie spotted Rex walking out the blastdoors, followed by Fives, Jesse and Tup.

He looked exhausted and worried, but he was uninjured. The suffocating weight that had been crushing her chest finally lifted. He was alright. He was alive. Without a second thought, Lexie started running, calling his name as she threw her arms around his neck.

The Captain froze, needing a second to process what was happening. He had not expected to see her so soon. Maybe not ever again… Too many times during this campaign, he’d been certain he wouldn’t survive Umbara. So, Maker, was he glad she was here now. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tighter than he meant to – but neither of them seemed to care.

“Thank the Force you’re alright,” she whispered.

Rex didn’t answer, worried his voice might betray him – might crack under the weight of everything he’d been carrying. So instead, he held her closer and breathed in her sweet, floral scent, its familiarity a soothing balm against the horrors he’d endured the past rotations.

“Are we gonna get one of those?” they heard the teasing remark mumbled by Jesse, followed by Fives’ small chuckle.

Rex released her from the embrace, the reality of where they were suddenly crashing down. Lexie held his gaze for a moment, before stepping towards Jesse and throwing her arms around him.

“Of course you are,” she said, feeling his arms wrap around her in response.

Jesse let go after a couple of seconds, and she moved on to Fives, hugging him just as tightly. “I'm so glad you’re all safe,” she breathed.

“Glad you’re here now, Lex,” the ARC whispered.

Then she turned to Tup, pausing for a beat to check if the trooper was alright with her hugging him. Tup wasn’t just alright with it – he looked like he really needed it. His arms held her tighter than the others’, a shuddering breath escaping him. She didn’t let go until his grip loosened and he finally pulled away, embarrassment written across his face.

“I'm sorry Sir, I–” he started.

“Don’t apologize Tup,” Lexie cut in gently, “never apologize for needing comfort. I'm here for you. For all of you,” she added, turning to look at all four of them. “Where’s Kix?”

“Medbay,” Jesse answered. “There’s a lot of wounded.”

“And Hardcase?” she asked.

The silence that settled around them was deafening. Lexie’s eyes darted from Rex, to Fives, to Jesse, then to Tup.They were all... tense. Fives refused to meet her gaze and Jesse’s eyes appeared glassy. And all of them had the same solemn frown on their faces…

No…

Lexie shook her head, that heavy, cold feeling of dread beginning to twist around in the pit of her stomach again, and slowly spread over her entire body. This isn’t happening.

“Lexie,” Rex said softly, taking a step closer.

That was confirmation enough – Rex never used her name in front of the others, always so careful to maintain appearances. Her eyes met his and she found grief, anger, regret – all mixed together in the beautiful honey glaze of his irises.

“Oh,” a whisper rolled past her trembling lower lip. Lexie swallowed the lump in her throat, taking a deep breath to center herself. “H-How?” she managed to ask.

“He sacrificed himself in order to destroy the supply ship,” Fives answered, his voice a little strained. “We used their fighters to sneak past their defences, but the reactor was ray-shielded.”

Lexie nodded, her eyes filled with unshed tears. First Echo, now Hardcase… She wanted to break down, she wanted to run back into Rex’s arms and fall apart – but she couldn’t do that. The Umbarans were mounting an attack to retake the base. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

“I need a sitrep. Anakin said you were left under Master Krell, but Appo said he betrayed the Republic? What the hell happened? And where is he?” she asked Rex.

The Captain visibly tensed. “Krell is dead. He was executed for treason.”

The shocked look on her face was almost comical. Lexie parted her lips to speak but the words remained lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath – there was a lot to process.

“Take me to see him,” she ordered. “And tell me exactly what happened.”

Krell’s lifeless body lay facedown on the floor of the brig, a single blastershot visible on his back. Lexie was stood in the entryway of the cell, her arms crossed over her chest and a headache slowly building behind her eyes. Her mind was racing, trying to balance GAR protocols, circumstances and her beliefs. She glanced through the bluish shield dividing the cells, her eyes finding Dogma. What the kriff am I going to do about him?

“I had to, Sir,” the clone choked, his voice distorted by the shield. “I-I had to…”

“I know, Dogma,” she nodded slowly. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

She brought a hand up to rub her temples, urging her brain to remember what protocol she was supposed to implement.

“Has Kix been here to confirm and log time of death?” she asked, glancing back at Rex who was stood silently right behind her.

“Not yet. I was headed to get him when you showed up,” he said. “I commed him now – he’ll come as soon as he’s done patching the wounded. Stasis unit’s prepped and waiting.”

Before she could reply, Rex’s comm crackled to life.

“Umbarans approaching, Sir,” came Appo’s voice. “T-minus twenty minutes.”

“Understood,” the Captain acknowledged. “We need to get into positions, General.”

Lexie nodded, though her eyes and mind were still intently focused on the dead body laying at her feet. The dead body of a Jedi. The dead body of a traitor. Anger was starting to burn in her chest, first directed at Krell, then at Anakin… and then at herself.

“I should’ve been here,” she whispered as she walked out the cell.

“It’s not your fault,” Rex said, following behind her.

“None of this would’ve happened if I had been here,” Lexie murmured. Her arms wrapped around herself, seeking comfort she didn’t believe she deserved. Her mind was stuck in a loop of self-hatred and guilt she couldn’t shake – if only she'd been here, or at least, if only she'd gotten here earlier. She would’ve prevented so much unnecessary death.

“Maybe,” Rex sighed, coming to stand by her side as the platform began rising. “But it’s still not your fault.”

“But–” she tried to argue.

“No”, Rex cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. “I am not going to let you beat yourself up over something you had no control over. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

His tone was categorical and it made her heart clench. “Rex… no, that’s not–”

“Could we talk about this later?” the Captain interrupted again, this time softer. “I... we need to focus on the Umbaran attack.”

Lexie nodded, throwing a quick glance his way. She could sense his pain and it was breaking her heart. She let her arms fall by her side, then extended her pinkie to gently brush against his. Rex responded immediately – his own finger curling around hers. The gesture was small, intimate, grounding – not exactly what he needed, but better than nothing at all. They both pulled their hands away as they reached the ground level, then walked out to join the rest of the men. There was still one battle left.

Taglist: @selene131 , @yoursrosie , @olasz-2003 , @ichimatsu-gal , @whisperofwild

If anyone else wants to be tagged in future chapters let me know

[selfshipconfessional]

I feel I should give the bag a shake and let yall know a few things (reminders and maybe new stuff idfk)

Confessions that deal w darkship topics are allowed here! Yalls mod is a darkshipper so yeah ofc I'd allow it. It's in the pinned that its okay but I figure ppl miss that.

The only like. Rule around those is PLEASE add CW tags (ie: "cw dubcon cw weapons cw blood") so I can tag it properly!! Especially for smth I may overlook.

If it's overly graphic / sexual, I will be using post labels and tagging it as such. It's nothing against you, I just wanna tag the bejesus outta this blog.

Proshipping is allowed as well! Anti-shippers, you can interact but ur on thin fuckin ice. Keep it respectful and don't engage with a confession if it goes against ur personal opinions on shipping. Be nice and play nice. Thanks.

Also no invalidating other confessions that were sent in. >:[ don't fuckin do it.

Some reminders of - we are kin freidnly here. We do not support bigots. We encourage creativity no matter the level.

Anyways send in a confession, or like. If ur a creative, tell me about smth cool ur working on?? That's always good.

Might start reblogging ship art + stuff if ppl want me to. Do gotta reblog another ask game for yall.

• Wraith 💀☢️

[kumquats-are-gay]

I require johnny fluff! (This is a stick up🔫) maybe with a reader who's sick/tired/injured etc

OH SHIT- ✋😨🤚

But YAYAYAY!! Tysm for giving me something! I wasn't super hopeful that I'd actually receive anything, but this and the other prompt I got have made me so happy :'] thank you thank you!!!

I planned on writing these as short little blurbs but ofc I went and got carried away. AGAIN. Go figure, lol. Anyway, I hope you like it! :D

(THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE IDEA BTW)

Johnny Cage x Reader (SFW)

Tags: no use of Y/N, gn!reader, sick!reader, sick fic, flirting, established relationship, directly pasted from Google Docs (forgive weird formatting), Johnny takes great care of you <3

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51606256

You had been out with Johnny on a date, enjoying each other’s company as the two of you walked hand-in-hand down the pavement. Everything was perfectly fine when you guys had first left: the crisp autumn air was refreshing, and little made you happier than getting to spend time with your partner. However, whatever it was you had come down with hadn’t taken long to make itself known. About half an hour into your outing, you began to feel a little clammy. At first, you had just chalked it up to the cool weather giving you the chills, but the vertigo that checked in shortly thereafter quickly changed your mind. Like hell you were going to say anything about it, though; you didn’t want Johnny to worry. So, you bit your lip and got a grip, hoping to bear through it…until you couldn’t anymore. Mumbling a weary, “I think…I’m going to pass out,” you immediately collapsed. Johnny’s reflexes were sharp, thankfully; he reached out and grabbed you before you could hit the ground.

Johnny carries you back to the car, drives home, then carries you inside the house. All the while he’s transporting you to bed, you have your face buried in his chest, weakly groaning.

He helps you remove your damp clothes before he slips a soft t-shirt over your head, which is followed by a pair of pajama bottoms being gently pulled up your legs. You’re barely able to stand, so he lays you down in the bed, literally tucking you in as he pushes the sheets in around your body. Apparently, you had made this process rather difficult; you kept feebly tugging at his arm and whining for him “not to go”. He had to continuously reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Nooo,” you had whined, “don’ leave the bed.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately and continues fussing over you, constantly touching your forehead and repositioning the blankets. You whine again as Johnny moves away, and he’s trying very hard not to give into your pleas; he needs to go get some things so that he can properly take care of you, damn it!

You just keep making those adorable little whimpering noises, though, seemingly having given up on words, and he can’t help but pivot his head to look at you. He sees you reaching out with pitiful grabby-hands, pouting adorably, and—oh, fuck it.

Johnny relents, already making his way back to you as he asks, “What about the things you’re gonna need? Water? Advil?”

You wrap your arms and legs around him like an octopus the moment he settles in next to you. “Don’eed that; jus’ need you,” you grumble against his neck. Johnny huffs in amusement, but underneath the surface, his heart is swelling with affection. When he feels you shiver against him, he knows he won’t get anywhere if he tries to get up to grab another blanket for you. Instead, he just holds you closer and pulls the duvet further up. He runs his hands through your sweaty hair, unbothered.

“Alright, honey, try to get some rest now, alright?” he says and kisses your forehead. You don’t need to be told twice; within minutes, you’re out like a light. A smile tugs at the corner of Johnny’s mouth while he gazes down at you. It truly didn’t matter whether you were all dressed up and confidently strutting about, or if you were sweating bullets through a baggy t-shirt and whining for him to hold you—Johnny always saw you as nothing short of amazing, and he’d take care of you for as long as you needed, any time you needed.

~~~

Barely a week had passed since you had first fallen ill. You had nearly made a full recovery by this point and you were feeling like a brand new person. It was in no small thanks to your boyfriend, Johnny, who tended to you every step of the way. Nothing was too big of an ask for him, though you tried not to be a bother if you could help it. He insisted that you weren’t, though, which made you feel a bit better about it.

The only times he left your side were when you really needed something. Otherwise, he was just as glued to you as you were to him, calling into work and everything to ensure that he could be there for you around the clock.

You sighed and smiled at his sleeping figure—his hair was sticking out this way and that, and the bedhead alone was enough to make you giggle. This slightly roused him from his sleep, causing him to mumble something incoherent as he pulled you against him. Your smile only grew; he was so goddamn cute. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” you whispered.

Johnny shakes his head and mumbles, “Nah, you’re good.” He pulls you even closer and releases a long, tired exhale. Unable to help yourself, you reach out to scratch at his scalp which elicits a pleased hum from your boyfriend. “Y’know, I think I might be getting sick,” he suddenly claims. You frown and immediately move the hand in his hair to his forehead, which causes him to grouse in disappointment. Your brow furrowed in confusion; he was slightly warmer than usual, but you wouldn’t call it a fever.

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking at him quizzically. He lazily grabs your hand and drags it back to his scalp. You take the hint and continue the task of brushing your fingers soothingly through his sandy locks.

Johnny practically purred at the sensation. The pleasurable feeling of your nails lightly dragging across his skull caused him to slur his words a bit. “Hmm, yeah,” he spoke through the haze, “real sick, but I heard a kiss c’n make you feel a lot better…”

Understanding his game now, you asked him in a tone dripping with suspicion, “Oh, really? That so?” Johnny just answered with an unconvincing ‘mmmmm-hm’ as he continued to revel in your touch. “Alright,” you acquiesced, and pressed your lips to his forehead. “Feel any better?”

“Hmm, I think I need another one for the effects to kick in,” he idly insisted. You could hear the smile in his voice, though, a clear indication that he was obviously bullshitting. You continued to entertain him anyway by giving him another kiss, this time on his cheek.

“How about now?” you pressed, though you already knew the answer.

“One more should do the trick,” he lilted, the cheeky bastard. You outright laughed this time before moving in for the final kiss. Johnny lifted his head at the last moment, surprising you a bit as he captured your mouth with his own this time. The two of you became entangled in an impromptu makeout session as you lost yourselves to each other. That is until Johnny suddenly pushed you away so he could cough into his elbow. He sounded like he was hacking up a lung. The heat that was beginning to gather in your body immediately fizzled out as worry swiftly took its place.

“Hey, are you alright?” you asked with genuine concern. He held up his index finger as if to say ‘one moment’ while he finished his coughing fit. At the end, he took a deep breath and pressed his palm to his forehead as his face twisted into a grimace.

“Ah, fuck…” Johnny sighed before he flopped back onto the mattress. “Okay, nevermind—I think I might actually be sick.”

You shook your head fondly. “Well, it’s a good thing you have me then, huh?”

Johnny smiles up at you in earnest and reaches for the hand that had long since stopped its ministrations, but he just holds it in his own this time. “I couldn’t be luckier.”

[team-chaotix-week]

I know in the guidelines it said make sure our contributions are safe for work, but I’m curious as to where that line is drawn? I can tag trigger warnings ofc but is blood or violence still fair game? And how about swearing? I’m ok with whatever I just don’t want to accidentally overstep. Also super excited for this week it’s coming up so fast!

I'd say no violence above a 16 rating. So blood and violence are fair game, as long a it's properly tagged and not too gory.

Swearing is also allowed, but i'd ask that you tag it as well, just to be safe.

And yeah, April really flew by! SOON!

[neonwizardheehee]

Soo I'm finally back from my family and can now properly answer and think <3

first of all tysm for tagging me in your 2024 reviews @mapofyourstars and @cherikdogfood I've not had that happend before and sometimes have a hard time making friends for a longer time bc i'm so prone to fandom switiching

RIP mcyt fandom i still ove u so much, i wish i knew what happened with me but .. i've seen the treebark zine and it made me cry so much bc I'm so prouf of us but also i was so detached it makes me so scary (1 con to ruin in apparantly i used to not be that weak UGH BUT i digress!!)

Being SO back into the x-men fandom was so not on my bingo card but I couldn't be happier: the amount of nice and insane people in here? all the amazing fanfics and ideas on here?? (srsly I've read 400 alone on ao3.... PLEASE cherik only came bc of deadpool & Wolverine 6 months ago and 257/446 are about them KSKSKKSKS <3<3)

so yeha you two had a lot to do with that (bc i also actually talked to you guys KSKSKSK) but yes much thanks and love and all the best wishes for your new year and i hope i can enjoy your company again :33

@the3rddenialist happy new year to you here too and i hope you had a good time - i love seeing your current drift and vibe so pls imagine me cheering on you even tho i have no idea what is going on /pos

@funky-lady still can't believe we actually met !!! sry it had to be the con where stuff happened unfortunately and i wasn't the best friend to you for SURE but i still wanna say this and appreciate what u did and tbh you're so badass for flying out and doing that fr fr (also happy new year ofc!!!)

@evil-mop-eating-sponge you're the goat for reaching out to me and that's so cool of u and i hope i could kinda do that justice even tho i barely contribute stuff but i still wnated to let u know i think about u a lot and your little notif bubble makes me smile and i just wish u esp all the best braincells for your exams soon <3<3

tagging also my secret favs on here bc i love what you're doing and i SO so appreciate you for that and i can't believe the amazing things u guys do and write <3<3<3: @lordansketil @star-lights-up @stinkrat-aleks

also huge mention to my twelfth doctor bloggers out there I LOVE YOU and it's so insane that the love suddently is spreading hahahah

ANYWAYS: super thankful to be welcomed with open arms into the cherik fandom (I'd NEVER thought i'd finally get comics i am SO fucking happy about that, krakoa i owe u big time!!)

big hug for everyone and ty for reading ik i'm not a writer or an artist and don't have much time anymore but i still love you and this site that brings me peace like nothing else <3

[uriekukistan]

ur one of the only ppl i follow that i know likes tokyo ghoul, and i just started reading it for the first time! (friends tried 2 get me into it when i was younger via the anime but i did Not Wanna so this is actually my first real read of it) i just started tg:re, so i have been Dying to talk abt it with somebody.. if u dont mind, who are ur faves? :3

omg im glad you did not watch the anime actually. the manga is infinitely better 🙏 okay this is not the place for me to rant against the anime let me move on before i get carried away

my number one fav and ofc the namesake of my url is urie <3 idk how far into :re you've gotten but i think he's like. the first to get introduced if im remembering correctly? but you might not get the vision Yet depending on how far you've read, but i just love an angry lil guy w daddy issues who cant express his emotions properly <3 no personal reasons for that at all.............his growth ends up being really nice too you'll see you'll see

another brand of character i like is the guy who can't stand coming in second in anything but always does, and has a one sided beef with the person who beats them every single time, so i also love takizawa. i don't wanna say too much abt him bc i don't wanna spoil the fun for you but he ends up having a really cool arc too

im realizing as i type this out most of my favs are either from :re alone, or get the majority of their development in :re im really trying to hold my tongue so bad rn,,,,,,,

idk if you've met saiko yet? she spends the entire first volume of :re asleep lmaoooo but she's great. i love how she's a character that stands for kindness in a world full of hate and different groups trying to kill each other all the time

recently i've come to appreciate eto more as well, i dont think i liked her much at first, but one of my tg mutuals is a big eto fan and i think that's helped me appreciate her more. also bc said mutual rbs all the posts i rb thinking "oh this post is so me" and adds the eto tag......okay maybe i am like her. also again with the daddy issues characters good lord pls pay that no mind,,,,,,,

cutting myself off after this one but i love both of the kirishima siblings :3 touka is so cool, and i love how her rough exterior hides how gentle and emotional she really is. i love characters like that. and ayato, he's so snarky and fun, but again, his roughness hides how much he cares. i don't think this qualifies as a spoiler (i mean it gets confirmed in :re, but i feel like it was implied in the first half of the series), but after touka kills those doves in retaliation for killing hinami's mom, ayato starts killing doves too, because he also has a rabbit mask, to detract attention from his sister.....so it ties that first incident to him rather than her :')

UGHIDGF i love tokyo ghoul so much, but i barely talk abt it anymore sorry to my tg mutuals :') pls come ask abt it anytime im happy to discuss !! glad you're liking it so far tho ! do u have any favs yet? i'd love to hear more of your thoughts :3

[exhaustedpirate]

10 People I'd Like to Get to Know More

Thank you for tagging me @therealstacyfakename! I love your posts!

Last song: "Smalltown Boy" by Orville Peck (my newest obsession and giving me cowboy!bucktommy ideas!)

Favorite Color: Blue, Yellow, Purple - i'm a rainbow girlie (gn) iykwim

Last Book: i started reading graphic novels as a way to get back to reading after being only consuming fanfics and last one i read was "bloom" by kevin panetta in the summer and then immediately went back to fanfics!

Last Movie: "Scream" on Christmas Day cause we ball like that! First time properly watching it, it was fun!

Last TV Show: Swat for obvious reasons haha (even if a certain someone is criminally underused!)

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Sweet!

Relationship Status: Single

Last Thing Googled: pictures of american firetrucks and ambulances for a fic probably, attention to detail and all that

Looking Forward To: March to see if I can take off my clown makeup or not iykyk!

Current Obsession(s): 911 and bucktommy ofc, they are never far from my brain! and lou ferrigno jr! oh and Orville Peck but that's also very closely connected to bucktommy!

tagging (no pressure) @perfectlysunny02 @alchemistc @leashybebes @xtarmanderx @icestar663 @hazeystar @just-barrow @donovankinard

[naavispider]

Spider Music

A couple of people have asked so I figured I'd just post my Spider playlists, if anyone is interested ✨ I've got three main ones for my fics and they all have a few similar songs ofc.

Generic Spider playlist, founded off a variety of early users' other suggestions! I didn't tag properly back then so I can't find the post but lots of these songs were suggested by others and I don't want to take 100% credit 💞

Caught AU playlist. This playlist was my bread and butter while writing that fic. Extreme angst ahead.

My modern AU playlist, based on the fic The Cat's in the Cradle (which I just recently updated). Spider's song is Heatwaves by Glass Animals and he's listening to it in his airpods while skateboarding down the street. Also, Quaritch pulling up in his Bugatti.