#and nearly broke his arm while sparring

[unlikelysaintdelele]

I don't often read stories where sibling relationships are accurate. They either hate each other or would never even think to raise a hand against each other. I've punched my brother in the face and he's attempted to drown me, but we become a team the moment we have a common enemy. I would use my body as a shield to protect him in a life or death situation, but I know in my heart I would never be friends with or even tolerate him if we weren't related. Y'know? I wanna read more sibling relationships like that.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Sabotage

Summary: Aemond scares off another one of his daughter’s suitors… yet again.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff. Protective dad Aemond.

Word count: 700

“Lord Lannister isn’t pleased at all,” one maid whispered.

The other one nodded. “I think Prince Aemond might have gone too far… sending the dragon after the lordling…”

Cold sweat prickled through your skin as you watched the two girls stride off along the hall before disappearing around the corner.

Usually, you’d interrupt and demand clarification as to what could your husband possibility have done that would warrant such reaction.

But you didn’t need to be told.

You knew.

Inwardly cursing, you paced hurriedly in the direction of the training grounds, already preparing yourself for what was to come.

The piercing sound of metal hitting metal rang in your ears and you looked down from the balcony as Aemond sparred with his daughter of ten.

“Move your feet.”

She clumsily tried to keep up with her vastly more experienced and agile father, only to trip and nearly lose balance.

“Cole told me I don’t move my feet enough,” she huffed in annoyance, her patience running thin.

Aemond’s steps came to a halt, sheathing his sword. “Cole taught me everything I know about swordsmanship. You’d do well to consider his advice.”

She twirled her sword lazily before nodding and approaching her father.

“Yes, kepa…” her voice filled with resignation as she bumped into his side in sheer affection after sheathing her own sword.

Aemond ruffled her hair with a mischievous smile curling his lips, earning a complaint from the younger Targaryen.

You were tempted to let the matter at hands slide, but logic urged you to pace down the staircases to meet them.

“Aemond… we need to talk.”

He turned to you and welcomed the kiss you planted on his cheek, lacing one arm around your waist and pulling you into him.

Your daughter glared at you with wide eyes. “What is it, mother?”

“Let me speak to your father.”

The fiercest scowl twisted her face. “This is about me, isn’t it?”

“Let us have a word,” Aemond interjected, giving her shoulder a faint squeeze. “Kesi ȳdragon tolī.”

But she didn’t want to talk later and a dragon should not be easily crossed. Aemond, best of all, should know this. She was perceptive enough to know that you only request her absence when the issue concerned her. While it used to be no issue a few years ago, she wasn’t as easily dissuaded now.

Her lilac eyes narrowed defiantly. “If it’s about me, then I want to know.”

Aemond heaved a deep sigh before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Clearing your throat, you locked eyes with him. “You cannot keep chasing away potential suitors.”

“Oh? Who was it this time?” she giggled, smile wide on her lips.

She was still a child at heart, finding amusement in her father’s antics. But you didn’t share the sentiment. Otto Hightower had been insistent that an adequate suitor would be found, strengthening the bonds between houses.

But you cared not for the wants and needs of lords, especially when it came to your daughter. What you did care about was how Aemond kept on finding more and more creative — and dangerous — ways to postpone the inevitable, even if that meant…

“Vhagar,” you said in a serious tone. “Your father is resorting to Vhagar now.”

Aemond’s face remained as impassive as ever. “No harm came to him. She was merely hovering.”

Your daughter broke into a laughter instead. “The Lannister boy?”

“Lord Lannister is furious,” you said, furrowing your brows at him, hoping he’d take you seriously.

He merely shrugged, eye on yours with a faint smile. “Vhagar is protective of her.”

You rolled your eyes as he tightened his grip on you playfully.

“She is protective, because you are protective.”

“Tell me something, lady wife,” Aemond said, his other arm resting protectively on his daughter’s shoulder. “He did flee, didn’t he?”

“He’s four-and-ten, Aemond!”

He scoffed. “I am sure we can agree he’s bound to face much more dangerous things than a protective father,” he said nonchalantly as his daughter cheered him on. “If he ran away, then he’s not worthy.”

“You sent the biggest dragon in the world after him… you would have run, too.”

As soon as your words left your mouth, you realised how ridiculous your statement was, especially when he rose an eyebrow.

“Father bonded with Vhagar when he was my age,” your daughter chimed in, not able to hide the pride in her voice.

He gave her a tender smile, running his fingers teasingly through her silver hair once more.

You sighed heavily, fully realising this to be a lost cause. He was set on having the matters of her courtship on his hands and no one across the seven kingdoms would have his mind changed.

“He’s the third one in two months,” you tried to reason with him again. “One day you’ll have to cave in.”

This time, your daughter spoke, “We have an agreement. Father will let me choose my suitor.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are far too young.”

Aemond nodded. “That is why I shall act on her interests until she is of age.”

You were completely dumbfounded. The bond the two of them shared had evolved into something you had never witnessed before. The level of complicity and union had allowed you to see sides of Aemond Targaryen you had never thought existed.

“But father… I think there is someone I like,” you daughter said all of a sudden.

In an instant, you watched Aemond’s face drop and his fingers duh into your waist. “Who?”

You had to hold back a chuckle. “The Baratheon boy?”

Her face lit up as she nodded, looking expectantly at her father.

“Well, I’m sure your father will have no problem with that,” you said, patting his chest lightly. “Since he’s of your choosing.”

The look Aemond exchanged with you might have frightened the bravest Westerosi men, but you didn’t waver, bringing your lips to his.

“Hmm.”

[its-jaytothemee]

A Burden Shared - Part II: Confessions

Pairings: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav, Astarion x Tav x Halsin

Word count: 3,971; Tav and Halsin POVs

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Read on AO3

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Summary: A group sparring session turns sour, and Astarion becomes very protective of Tav. Halsin goes to comfort Tav afterwards and ends up confessing some feelings he's had for a while now.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Feelings Confessions, Spoilers for Act 3, Sparring, Protective Astarion, Soft Halsin, Tav needs a fucking hug.

Author's Note: Part 2 of 3! Part 3 will probably take a little more time, but enjoy some sweet Halsin moments in the meantime.

It took all of Tav’s willpower to keep the tears in her eyes until she was out of sight of the camp. As soon as she was confident that no one else could see her, she started to run. She let the tears flow down her cheeks, drying quickly as the air rushed past her face. She ran until she hit the river, stopping to catch her breath. She placed her hands on her knees, her lungs burning as they tried to bring in more air, the blood from the cut on her hand seeping into the leg of her pants. Her nose felt like it had been lit on fire as she tried to inhale. Lae’zel’s words echoed in her ears.

Your weakness will be the ruin of us all. I will have no part of it.

Tav couldn’t hold it in anymore. She picked up a nearby rock and with a scream that took the rest of the air out of her lungs, threw it as far as she could into the river. Picking up rock after rock, she launched each of them into the water in front of her. She yelled into the sky, screaming until her throat was sore. The pain in her nose ripped through her head from the effort. Tears were falling freely from her eyes as she stood on the edge of the chasm that was her crippling self-doubt. There was a truth to Lae’zel’s words. They did stop often to help others, and it did possibly delay them arriving at Baldur’s Gate. She had asked them to use their precious time to help others in need, even though not everyone had agreed. Tav was constantly torn between her desperate desire to help others that were hurting and her obligation to the group of tadpoled adventurers following her. The pain in her head returned, she could feel a small knot forming on the back of her head where Lae’zel had hit her. Finally for a moment, she let her despair consume her. She let herself doubt every decision she had made since the nautiloid. Falling to her knees, cradling her injured arm against her torso, she told herself that she wasn’t the leader her companions needed. She bowed her head down to her chest and just simply let the tears run freely down her face.

***

Halsin stepped carefully through the trees, trying to keep track of where Tav went. By the looks of the ground and bushes around him, she broke into a run shortly after leaving the camp. He had noticed a change in her demeanor over the past few days. She talked less with the others around the fire, she seemed overall less sure of herself. Halsin knew those signs of fatigue well, for he had been battling them for nearly one hundred years until he joined this group. He did what he could to help her without undermining her authority. Providing potions and elixirs to help with stress related maladies, trying to keep her spirits up when they talked. During one of their conversations, he found out that she had a mortal fear of krakens. Although as he assured her, this fear wouldn’t be a problem so long as she didn’t partake in high seas voyages.

He wanted to give her something to lift her spirits though. In his pocket was a small wooden pendant that he carved for her that represented Deep Sashelas, a Seldarine god of the seas. Tav wasn’t particularly religious, but Sashelas was a god who concerned himself with creatures of the deep sea and he thought the gesture would at least make her laugh. The other reason Sashelas came to mind is because he was known to occasionally help those lost at sea. And right now, he felt that Tav could use some help finding her way back to them. As he thought about the small charm he carried, he started to feel slightly anxious. He hoped the gift wouldn’t come off as too forward.

From the moment they freed Thaniel from the grips of the shadow curse, it was as if he saw the entire world in a different light, a light that radiated from Tav. However, she was with Astarion now, and he couldn’t deny that they were good together. He had seen a difference in Astarion lately, no doubt he was also basking in her glow. But Halsin worried that her light was fading after being absorbed into so many others grateful for her help.

Tav had shown an interest in him the first night he stayed at their camp. His entire being at the time was still consumed with grief and guilt. As captivated as he was by her confidence and inviting smile, he denied himself the joy of being with her. At the time, he thought if he wasn’t completely concentrated on only lifting the shadow curse that the solution would be lost to him forever. Now, with Silvanus’ blessing and no small amount of help from his new friends, he was free at last to follow his desires.

The sound of angry screams startled him out of his thoughts. He heard cry after cry mixed with the sounds of something splashing into the water. Once he was closer to the riverbank, he was able to see Tav kneeling on the damp ground, her arm still bloodied from the fight. His chest ached at the sight of her. He wanted so badly to run to her and hold her in his arms, but he had no intention of crossing her boundaries. For now, he would have to contain himself and hope that her feelings for him had not fully faded away. He took a deep breath and called out to her from the bushes.

***

“Tav?” A soft, low voice called out behind her. She jumped straight up in the air and turned around.

“Oh. Halsin. You startled me.” Reaching up to quickly wipe the tears from her face, she grimaced when she brushed her likely broken nose. She desperately tried to regain some composure before asking, “Is everything alright?”

“No, Tav. Everything is not alright.” He responded softly.

Her stomach dropped, unable to hide the panic from her face. What else happened? Was someone else hurt? Was it Astarion? Did the fighting continue after she left? Oh Gods, she thought, a thousand scenarios racing through her head.

“You’re hurting. Is it so hard to believe that someone might be concerned for you?” Halsin’s voice remained soft and level.

His response caught her off guard. She pressed her lips into a hard line. Halsin meant well, but she was in the middle of a complete and total meltdown, she didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

“I’m perfectly fine, Halsin.” Her tone coming off much harsher than she meant it to.

“Forgive me, I meant no offense. Would you rather be alone?” He asked, seemingly unaffected by her cold response.

She stood for a moment looking into his concerned face. He’s only trying to help, she told herself. Looking at the dirt at her feet, she could see the small pools of her blood that had formed during her outburst. A couple more tears escaped from her eyes, quickly absorbed into the ground.

“No.” She croaked, her throat still aching from her screams. He smiled at her and walked over to a nearby log, taking a seat. Tav shuffled awkwardly in place before turning back to look over the water.

“So, what are you doing out here?” His voice was light and friendly.

“Skipping rocks.” She grumbled as she hurled another stone into the river. The ripples that spread out from its impact helped soothe her temper.

“Interesting technique.” He chuckled in response. Standing up from his perch, he grabbed a smooth, flat rock and tossed it across the water with a side armed throw. The rock skipped gracefully along the water at least 6 times before splashing below the surface.

“Show off.” Tav mumbled but she was fighting a smile.

“I used to do this quite often, back at the Grove. I find that watching the ripples along the water can calm one’s emotions better than any spell. There was little reprieve from my duties as Archdruid, but standing out in the water, skipping rocks, gave me at least a few precious moments of solace. To have so many looking to you for answers, even when you have none can be a great burden. Even more so for us elves. Others often see our longer lives as a reason to hold more knowledge but that is not always the case.” He paused for a moment, bending down to pick up another stone. “Something tells me that you are starting to feel that burden yourself.”

Tav said nothing in response. He was right of course, the last few days weighed heavily on her shoulders. From learning of the Elder Brain, to defeating Ketheric, to discovering the Dead Three’s involvement, to lifting the shadow curse, to arriving at Baldur’s Gate only to find that they owed their continued survival to a Mind Flayer. She barely had time to process one revelation before another one slapped her across the face. Yet everyone still expected her to recalculate their plans with a moment’s notice. It was exhausting. The sound of another stone bouncing across the river brought her attention back to Halsin.

They stood there at the water’s edge, watching the small waves slowly smooth back out into calm water. Tav looked down at the blood caked along her hand and arm. Now that she had calmed down the cut stung, badly. She tried to close her hand into a fist but drew in a sharp breath at the pain.

“Let me see your hand.” He offered his out to her. She eyed him, suspiciously.

“Humor me, Tav. I don’t like seeing you injured like this. Please.”

She held her injured hand out and placed it in his outstretched palm. He covered it with his other hand, healing the deep wound with a simple spell. Tav took her hand back and wiggled her fingers around, her range of motion restored. She noticed that the cut on her arm had also healed.

“Thank you.” She said quietly.

“It’s no trouble at all, my friend.” He held his hand close to her face. “May I?” She nodded.

Halsin gently placed one hand on her cheek and another on the back of her head. The warmth from his hands slowly faded into the warmth of his healing spell. Tav closed her eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling very tired. The pain slowly dissipated from her nose, and the fog in her mind started to clear with the pain. He slowly pulled away and Tav didn’t realize she had involuntarily leaned into him so heavily. She fell forward, but he caught her with one arm. Standing back up, she blushed slightly.

“Come and sit, let us talk for a while.” He held his other arm out towards the log where he was sitting earlier. She sat down on one edge, stretching her legs out in front of her, suddenly feeling stiff. Halsin took a seat beside her.

“I meant what I said, Tav. Back when I agreed to join your fight. I’m here to help shoulder your burdens and offer my counsel.” His voice was soft and gentle. “You don’t have to do all of this alone.”

Tav placed her hands in her lap and picked lazily at the flakes of dried blood on her healed hand. She felt tears coming back into her eyes.

“They all look to me, Halsin. Everyone here, yourself included.” Her breaths were shaking between words.

“Lae’zel was right. I have no right to call myself a leader, and I didn’t. Everyone just decided that it was me. I don’t want this responsibility.”

“Those who are suited for such roles rarely do. Please believe me when I say that I do not wish to add to your suffering. I trust you, and I trust your judgement. I had no intentions of joining you only to question your leadership.” He smiled at her.

“You and Jaheira have so much more experience than me. I thought maybe with the two of you joining us, the others would seek out other advice rather than just my own. But for some reason they still come to me. Saying it out loud sounds somewhat selfish I guess.” Tav wrung her hands in her lap.

“Your companions come to you because they trust you. As much as Jaheira and I are here to help, we can never fully understand what you are all going through. You do understand. You’re living it alongside them. They’ve watched you selflessly help them all from the moment you met them. I may not be able relieve it entirely, but you know what they say about a burden shared…”

Tav sniffled, more tears running down her cheeks.

“I have no idea what to do next.” She admitted. “I keep hearing Lae’zel’s words over and over in my head. She said my weakness would be the ruin of us all, and what if she’s right? Perhaps I did waste time and resources that could have been spent getting us close to the Absolute on so many others that we’ve met along the way.”

“Lae’zel’s words were harsh, yes. Like every one of our companions, her life has been upended by this Absolute plot. But she was forsaken by her queen, she’s found out that she has been lied to her entire life. All of her teachings, all of her dedication was a deception. Learning of all of this in such a short time has no doubt strained her mind. But I know that she realizes that without you, she would still be living that lie. In truth, I think she respects you a great deal but perhaps doesn’t know how to show it.” Halsin paused, studying her face for a moment before continuing.

“I won’t make excuses for her actions, but when you have known little kindness in your life, it is easier to assume that it is a weakness rather than a strength. Rather than a gift. Regardless of her behavior, you have continued to show her kindness, it will just take time for her to realize exactly what that means.”

Tav suddenly felt embarrassed about her behavior earlier. She shouldn’t have provoked Lae’zel further, her frustration had just gotten the better of her.

“As for your detours, allow me to speak on behalf of everyone who you ‘wasted’ time on. We are eternally grateful for it and would never consider it a waste.” He said softly.

Shame hit her like a punch to the gut.

“Halsin…I didn’t mean…” She stammered. “Of course, I don’t regret helping you I just…” Tears were starting to escape from her eyes again.

“I’m not cut out for this Halsin. I…I was no one before I met all of you. I’m not special I’m just…Tav. I don’t even have a family name anymore. I don’t belong anywhere.” She buried her face in her hands in one last attempt to hide her tears.

Halsin placed his arm around her shoulders. She let herself lean into him.

“Just Tav…” He started with a soft laugh. “'Just Tav’ has saved the lives of everyone in this camp dozens of times over. ‘Just Tav’ saved the entire Grove, full of druids and refugees alike, from Absolute cultists. ‘Just Tav’ swayed Khaga from the Shadow Druids’ influence, something not even I, her teacher, could do. ‘Just Tav’ banished a one hundred year long evil, something thousands of seasoned warriors could not manage. ‘Just Tav’ has brought together the most unlikely group of adventurers to form a true team, dare I say a family. ‘Just Tav’ has given hope to those who have had none for decades.”

Tav looked back up at him, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“‘Just Tav’ has seen more good deeds done in the short time I’ve known her than in a hundred years before. Do not sell yourself short, my friend. You may think you do not belong anywhere, but I believe you are exactly where you are meant to be. And as for your family name, I’d happily share mine with you if that’s what it took to make you feel that sense of belonging.” It took him a moment to register what he had said, but then his face suddenly turned a very bright shade of red.

“I…I only meant you’ve come to feel like family to me. Erm…I didn’t mean to…it’s just that I don’t have any left family either…” He took his hand off her shoulder and rubbed the back of his head anxiously. Tav couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the blushing display, shocked to see such rapid-fire embarrassment in him.

“It was a sweet gesture, really, but maybe we should hold off on any wedding plans until after we’ve destroyed the Elder Brain.” Tav teased, wiping her eyes. When she looked back at him, she could have sworn that she saw a small hint of sadness in his eyes. Oh. Her smile faded slightly.

Halsin suddenly seemed nervous, pulling lightly at some of the straps on his shirt. He ran his hand over his head and looked at the ground.

“I uh, I realize this might not be the best time to talk about it, but I would like to get something off of my chest, if you don’t mind.” He said softly.

“It’s the least I can do.” She replied with a smile, but her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.

“I never properly thanked you for all of your help. Sitting here with you now, I realize that I owe so much to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Halsin. And you’ve thanked me constantly.”

“Perhaps, but I would still like to thank you again, earnestly.” He looked back into her eyes, causing her breath to catch.

“Thank you, for helping selflessly, for giving me hope again. Thank you for lifting the veil that covered my life for so long. No matter the circumstances that led to it, no matter what the future holds, I am grateful to have met you Tav.” He continued holding her gaze, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Think nothing of it, Halsin. I was happy to help, I wanted to help.” She smiled back at him.

“You are too modest, by far. You have no idea how extraordinary you truly are.” He reached over and took her hand in both of his. “But I do.” He paused, taking a deep breath.

“I have lived a long time and taken many lovers. My heart does not stir easily, yet it does now.”

Tav stared at him, unable to move, unable to even blink.

“What are you saying?” She asked quietly.

“I’m saying…I want more than fight at your side. I want to lay with you beneath the stars, I want to feel your skin against mine.”

Tav immediately blushed at his words. Staring into his beautiful face, she found it hard to string together a coherent thought. All of her not so innocent fantasies came rushing back to the front of her mind.

“I think you might feel the same,” he started again, “why else would you have been so concerned with whether or not I had a lover before? The party with the tieflings, I wanted nothing more than to accept your offer for companionship but…I wouldn’t allow myself at the time.”

“I…” Tav forced herself to let go of the breath she was holding.

“But more than anything, I do not wish to sour our friendship. If I have misjudged you, just say the word and I will let the matter drop. I just needed to know if there was a chance of us being something more.” He held her gaze the entire time he was speaking.

Halsin hadn’t misjudged her, not in the slightest. The truth is she had flirted with him shamelessly when he first joined their camp. He was handsome, kind, and loving, and Tav had come to really enjoy his company. She started to smile, but then Astarion came into her thoughts. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him. As much as she had come to like Halsin, she had fallen hard for Astarion.

“I’d be lying if I said I never thought of this Halsin but…” her guilt was eating away at her insides, “You know there’s someone else now.” He nodded solemnly.

“Astarion, yes. You have both bonded body and soul.” Halsin released her hand slowly. “There cannot be anything between us unless it is with his blessing as well. And I hope one day, his participation.” He gave her a playful grin. She finally realized what Halsin was asking.

 “That is of course assuming you would want that.” He continued.

“I…” Her head was spinning again. Halsin was still holding her gaze, his eyes an earnest green sea threatening to swallow her whole.

“I will speak with Astarion.” She responded softly, her smile growing.

“Good…good.” Halsin breathed out a sigh of relief. He sat back up straight, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms.

They sat for a moment in slightly awkward silence, neither sure what else they could say.

“So…” Tav started, “About your family name.” Halsin blushed slightly at the mention.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Excuse me?” He still seemed a bit flustered.

“What’s your full name?” She asked.

“Silverbough. It’s Halsin Silverbough.” He replied.

“Well, nice to meet your acquaintance Halsin Silverbough.” She nudged him with her elbow.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He flashed a dazzling smile at her.

“We should probably head back.” Tav suggested after a moment. Halsin stood up in front of her and held out his hand to help her up. Her legs were still so stiff that even standing with his help was difficult. He started to walk back towards camp but stopped suddenly.

“I almost forgot – I made you something.” He said, reaching into one of his pockets. It was a small, circular wooden pendant with what looked like a dolphin in its center. He gingerly placed the trinket in her hand.

“This is the symbol of Deep Sashelas, an Elven god of the sea. It is said he has dealings with the great monsters of the deep.” He smiled as he closed her fingers around it. “I thought it could protect you from those pesky krakens that haunt your dreams.”

Tav felt a huge smile spread across her face and couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Krakens…the only thing she could think to share with him after he had told her so much about himself.

“It is also said that he can help those lost at sea find their way home.” His voice was much softer now. He gave her hand a light squeeze before turning to head back to camp. Tav turned the pendant over in her hand, it was beautifully carved. Truth be told, she had felt as if she was lost at sea, drifting aimlessly, but now it seemed like she might have a light to guide her back.

“Halsin, wait.” She called after him. He turned around and gave her a puzzled look. She caught up with him and wrapped her arms around his waist, giving him a quick hug.

“Thank you…for talking with me.” She said quietly as one of his arms came around her shoulders.

“Anytime.” He replied.

Tav let him lead her back to camp, taking time to consider their conversation, as well as the conversation she promised to have with Astarion.

[eldritcmor]

TRAINING (rewritten)

Decided to rewrite training to be a little more of a weird punch. I wanted to show how storm's leaving affected 141 and how storm trained with Safe house company.

Warning: Mentions of blood, Violence, fighting, harm of character.

You dodged the punch aimed for your face, slapping it down and away with a solid thwack. “Good.” Bes smirked as he circled you. You two had been at this for roughly an hour. The reflex game. It was familiar motion to you. Watching your opponent for the barest twitch of an attack, defending and countering just as swiftly. You kept yourself loose and ready, arms raised to block your chest and shoulders loose for fast punches. “All that time within the system certainly didn’t dull your reaction time. Though your punches are lacking their usual spark.” You hummed as you warily watched Bes twitch and You had to dodge a sweeping leg. “Forgive me, Non-voluntary heart surgery certainly didn’t do my bee any favors.”

Gaz grunted as Soap threw him to the mat again. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back. They had been at this for nearly an hour now. A friendly spar turning harsh and desperate as they worked themselves into exhaustion. The week’s event kept running through Gaz’s head on repeat. Your cleaned out room. Price’s drawn look as he announced that you had requested to be let go. Ghost’s scowl and Soap’s shouts behind Price’s closed door as they demanded answers. And now, here they were, fighting like dogs during training.

You gasped as Fen twisted your arm harshly behind your back. “You’ve gotten soft, Lynch.” You jerked as Fen hissed in your ear. Anger pooling in you throat. You twisted, hearing the crunch of cartilage and bone as you slammed a foot into Fen’s rib at an unnatural angle. “It’s Scott!” Fen was thrown across the mat as you shoved yourself to your feet. Your leg was twisted horribly. The muscles painful as they twitched and spasm from the effort of that kick. You ground your teeth as the affected area grew uncomfortably hot while twisting back into place. You barely had enough time to block Fen’s next attack. You heard more than felt your bones break under the man’s punch. Fen didn’t relent. Your ribs cracked. Your legs strained and broke. Your pretty sure you had a concussion when you next met the mat. Fen stood above you, barely out of breathe. “You certainly know how to put up a fight at least.” You felt fingers gently card through your hair before your head was harshly yanked up. Your vision was spotty and slowly tunneling. “We’ll work on making sure you can survive.” You smiled through bloody teeth. Good. Your vision went black.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Ghost sighed as the final knife sunk into the wood with ease. He was frustrated. You weren’t dead. Everyone knew that, but the team was certainly acting like you were. Johnny was growing ever angrier. Snapping and Snarling with a harsh edge of laser focus on every mistake. Where Johnny was a flaming ball of anger, Kyle was an ice storm. There was no snarky comebacks over coms. Just cold focus and pure professionalism. Not that he was doing any better. Simon could at least admit that. He ignored the bloodstains on the mat from Johnny and Kyle going at each other like wild dogs. Ignored his captain hiding away in his office for days at a time, only to be seen heading to the nearest bar. Ignored the ache in his chest as he checked his phone for the seventeenth time. Still no Messages.

You coughed as you were hauled out of the water. Salt burned your tongue as you continued to hack up your lungs. “You’re getting faster.” You glared at Merc as your coughing finally subsided. This exercise was new. Rescue victims from actively burning or sinking craft. Today’s wreck was a helicopter with a time limit of thirty minutes. You glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes. You swallowed the hollow burn of anger in your throat. It wasn’t good enough, but then again all your previous work never really had an actual time limit. You dragged yourself further up the shore, before laying face down in the sand by Merc’s side. “Fuck you, Nowak.” Merc just chuckled. “This is easy mode and you know it, storm cloud.” You twisted your head to glare at Merc. “The point still stands.”

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[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XXXI

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 7.3K

19 Kelona

A wave crashed against the rocks, a fracas of white froth leaping for the cliff before collapsing back into the ocean below. 

From where Kazi sat—her feet dangling over the rocky outcrop, the sheer cliff a ten-meter drop—the ocean pressed against the horizon, an inimitable expanse of power. Foam and water droplets soddened her boots; the thundering waves dampened her socks. But she didn’t feel the cold water. She didn’t feel the mushiness of her socks and the chill settling in her toes.

Running a finger along the dragon carving’s wings, Kazi stared at the sea-glass creature. It was reared back, wings splayed wide, its maw open in a mighty roar.

Sea. The dragon who had embraced a helpless people, shielded them from an oceanic storm, sacrificed his life for humans. So they could live another day. 

All these years and Kazi never made the connection. Never wondered which myth determined Daria’s carving. Never asked about her little sister’s experience with the Carver. 

Now, it would forever remain a story untold. 

An intentional crunch sounded behind her. Her shoulders stiffened; her hands flexed around the dragon carving. She continued to watch the horizon as her companion neared. A military haircut past its monthly cut; cheeks and jaw bearing a shadow of bristles. Cody took a seat beside her. His legs hung over the edge. He didn’t seem to mind the water splashing his black boots, either.

They sat in silence. For a long time.

They hadn’t spoken since Kazi and Neyti met the men at the Naboo spaceport. 

The flight from Eluca to Naboo took 23 hours. Kazi didn’t sleep; she hardly ate. At one point, she was convinced it was all a nightmare. She would awake to Wolffe kissing her, Daria and Cody cooking breakfast in the kitchen, Neyti sparring with Fox and Nova outside while Fluffy prowled the perimeter of the yard. They would eat, they would laugh, they would leave for Ceaia. She and Daria would return home, together, and they would go sailing in two months.   

But the nightmare persisted until she was forced to reckon with reality: Daria was gone. 

Kazi and Neyti arrived to a bustling spaceport crowded with numerous species and a cacophony of unrecognizable languages. Kazi clutched Neyti’s hand as they deboarded. They didn’t wander long before an imposing figure found them, a mask belonging to an unfamiliar species hiding his face. Wolffe scooped Neyti into his arms; the little girl laughed her glee, clinging to his neck, but she quickly sobered.

“We have to go back,” Neyti said to Wolffe. A serious look unbefitting a youngling her age solemnized her countenance. “We left Daria. She’s waiting for us.”

Kazi grew rigid, wilting; the bustling spaceport faded beyond her unseeing stare. Grief, a shadow haunting, threatened to drag her into its dark, bottomless pit. Distantly, she was aware of Wolffe’s hand on her arm, his quiet “What happened?”  

There was an incessant ticking in the back of her skull. Each human that walked past reminded her of the magistrate; they were here to kill her, like they killed her sister—

She forced herself to blink, to breathe. She balled her fists so tightly the skin of her palms broke beneath her fingernails. 

“Daria’s not coming back,” Kazi said thickly. Neyti frowned her confusion. “We’re not…” Her voice turned brittle. “We’re not going to see her again.”

“Oh.” Neyti dropped her gaze to the floor. “Okay.”

The fingers around Kazi’s arm flexed. Wolffe lowered his masked face. “Ennari…”

“We need to go,” she said. “Please.”

Wolffe gave a short nod, adjusted Neyti in his arm, and then shifted his hand to her spine. They were boarding the men’s ship a few minutes later. 

All of it—the reunion, the eight-hour flight to Ceaia—passed in a tenebrific haze. Easy smiles turned grave; an inflectionless, objective recount of last night; a little girl sleeping soundly; a tail-wagging anooba nudging her hand when she dug her fingernails into her palms; Wolffe applying bacta spray to her twinging ankle, cleaning her hands of caked blood; an arm fortressing her as he guided her head to his shoulder. She managed to sleep the remaining two hours of the flight.

When they landed on Ceaia, Kazi resolved herself to their work: transferring boxes to the sylvan house, removing protectant sheets from furniture, establishing rooms. She even took Neyti grocery shopping. They wandered for some time. 

Outlook Harbor looked the same. Colorful buildings lining the docks, fishermen unloading their hauls, dragon statues guarding the shops. And yet Kazi hardly recognized it—the people, the ocean, the western mountains in the distance. 

It took her far too long to realize the difference: her sister. Without Daria, the colorful exteriors were pedestrian; the docks’ mazelike routes underwhelmed; the dragon statues were bereft of prowess, the snow dusting them in a doleful repose.

Kazi could feel her control slipping, a ball of yarn unspooling too fast. Too much.

The urge to cry constricted her throat. Her eyes burned from the combination of sleep deprivation and grief. She wanted to hide from the damning glares of the dragons. She wanted to flee these familiar streets and the memories they brought forth. She wanted to go back in time and convince Daria to take Neyti. To leave her behind, instead. 

Her breaths grew loud and shallow; her hands shook at her sides. The grief swarmed within, thick and suffocating. It started in her chest, a swollen mass pressing against her ribcage and lungs, spreading throughout, numbing fingers and toes, pounding in her mind—

“Who’s that?” 

The question yanked Kazi into the physical: the chilly street, the bright yellow storefront, the ocean’s waves churning. She frowned at Neyti. The youngling was observing a dragon statue outside the closest shop—a dragon sitting primly, its head raised alertly, its spine curved with regal disposition.

“That’s”—Kazi cleared her throat—“Erud. She guarded the Library of Xand where all of our historical accounts are preserved.” She managed a faint smile. “Some of the oldest scrolls in the galaxy are stored there.” 

Neyti considered Erud for several seconds and then blinked at Kazi. “Can we get shaved ice?”

A laugh broke free. The noise was a little sore, a little rusty, but it was a laugh, nonetheless. 

“Of course,” Kazi said. Taking Neyti’s hand in her own, she started down the snow-covered path. Muscle memory—developed over the years exploring these streets with Daria—guided her forward. “I know the perfect place.”

Another wave slammed against the rocky outcrop where Kazi and Cody sat. Seaweed-scented spray doused their boots and the cuffs of their trousers. The water was cold, bone-wearying.

“Daria would have loved today,” Kazi said. Her thumb plucked the spires of Sea’s spine, as a musician would the strings of her instrument. “She always preferred these quieter storms.”

“I know.” Cody scanned the horizon. “She…was excited to show me this view.”

“There’s nothing like it,” Kazi murmured. Breaths as white as unblemished snow condensed the air; the skin of her legs wept at the chill burrowing deep. She swallowed and whispered, “I’m sorry.” 

A low sigh fell from the man beside her. He rubbed a hand across his bristled jaw. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m the one who killed him—”

“Stop,” Cody ordered. The sharp command made her wince. Sorrow dulled the usual warmth of his gaze. “Reliving that moment won’t bring her back.”

Kazi pressed her lips together; her eyes roved across his face. He looked older, somehow. A deep line was scored between his brows, and his creased mouth was downturned. Exhaustion cricked his posture. “Did you love her?” she asked.   

Cody mustered a thin smile. “We didn’t have what you and Wolffe have. I wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship. After the War…after the things I did…” He rolled his shoulders back. “I had my objectives. And she wasn’t one of them. But…”

“She wasn’t someone you could ignore,” Kazi suggested. 

His nod was pensive. “We got along well. I tried to hold back but I liked spending time with her. We agreed we could help each other. Give one another…comfort. We knew it wouldn’t go far—not with her disease and my focus elsewhere. But I did care for her. I know she cared for me, too.”

She studied his side profile. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

He angled his head back, breathing in the salty air. “In a different lifetime…different circumstances…I would have.”

“For what it’s worth,” Kazi said, “she loved you.”

“Daria only loved one person,” Cody said with a small chuckle. He pushed himself to his feet; he nudged her with the toe of his boot. “That person wasn’t me.”

The morning sun peeked through the opaque clouds, a curious pup nosing its way out of the safety of its birthing den. Snow flurries pearled her loose hair; the wind nipped at her cheeks and nose. Far away, storm clouds brewed. They escaped her notice, however, her attention drawn to the shoreline, to the rocks in the distance where a single lighthouse stood.

Since Kazi had last seen the lighthouse, its permanently dimmed light and weathered appearance hadn’t changed. But it still beckoned to her, as it had when she was a girl. Luring, a siren’s song of formative memories, ancient myths, blessings bestowed by a long-extinct species. 

The booted crunch of fresh snow interrupted her reverie, and Kazi peered over her shoulder. The woods beyond—white-barked sequoia trees interspersed among dark evergreens—created a contrasting backdrop to the black of Wolffe’s appearance: black overcoat, black boots, black hair, one eye nearly black beneath the feeble sunlight. He surveyed their surroundings, rubbed his gloved hands together, and then settled beside her.

“Here.” He passed her a citrus-star from the bunch she and Neyti purchased yesterday. “Breakfast is waiting but I thought you’d like this for now.”

Kazi hummed her thanks, setting aside Daria’s dragon. The fuzz of the citrus-star tickled her thumb. “Neyti?”

“We made breakfast,” Wolffe said with a small smile. “She spilled the eggs so we concentrated our efforts on fruit carving. She wanted to make butterflies out of the melon.”

She lifted a brow. “How did they turn out?”

“Fucking awful.” 

Wolffe broke into a grin at her laugh, his shoulder knocking against hers. 

But their rapport soon faded beneath his assessment. His blatant search of her face: a disgruntled frown at the citrus-star she refused to peel; a flexed jaw at the snow she hadn’t bothered to brush away. He considered her for several seconds; she knew what he saw, for she had seen it in the mirror, too—the haunted gauntness she couldn’t entirely hide. Not from him at least. But she didn’t shy from his calculated silence, expecting this conversation—

“That the lighthouse Neyti painted?”

The question caught Kazi off guard but she hastily recovered. 

“That was so long ago,” she said, surprised. “I can’t believe you remember it.”

Wolffe shrugged. “It was one of the first paintings Neyti showed us. She was proud of it.”

“She was.” Kazi breathed a chuckle, studying the lighthouse’s gashed paint. “Daria and I…that was our favorite place.” 

Wolffe pressed his thigh against hers. “You wanna visit it?”

“No.” Her fingernails pierced the citrus-star’s peel; orange juice stickied her palm. “I can’t. Not…” 

With a blasé shrug, Kazi pushed herself to her feet. The citrus-star and dragon carving found temporary homes within her gray coat’s pockets, her citrus-bloodied hands forced to brave the cold temperature for a few more minutes. 

Slowly, Wolffe followed. He brushed snow from his thighs—a casual gesture that belied his tension—and then, in a serious, calm tone, he said, “How are you?” 

The gentle probing of his question, the slight hunch in his posture as he regarded her—Wolffe’s care splintered the last thread of her control. The spool of yarn unraveled completely.

“I’m trying—” Her face crumpled. Her voice cracked, broke, shattered as she whispered, “I’m—I’m trying to keep it together. But it’s hard. It’s so hard, Wolffe.”

“Hey.” He gripped her shoulders. “Ennari—”

“I left her. I fucking left her.” Dizzily, she stared at the top button of his coat. Her eyes were burning; her chest was clenched tightly. “It was supposed to be me. It should’ve been me—” 

“Kazi.” Large hands held her face, forcing her head back to stare Wolffe in the eye. “Don’t fucking say that.”

She met his gaze with a vacant look. “Daria gave herself up because of what I  did. And now she’s dead, and I miss her—” She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breath. “Fuck, I miss her so much. I thought we had more time—I should’ve given her more time—”

“Don’t fucking say that.” Wolffe shook her slightly. “Daria made her decision. And you owe it to her to live your life. Do you understand?” 

He stared at her, harsh breaths angry, desperate eyes wide. She stared back, a tear heating her skin, wetting her lips. 

Exhaustion sunk into the very marrow of her bones; she hardly noticed the pale sunlight embracing her body or the snowflakes twinkling like stars. She could only stare at Wolffe. The flurries curling his hair. The glint of his scar against the snow-laden landscape. The strain in his expression at her emptiness. 

It was his concern—the slight fear he was trying so hard to hide—that convinced her to close her eyes. To lean into him. 

Then, he was holding her, running his hand down her spine, guiding her face to his chest.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Wolffe pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I know.”

22 Kelona

“It’s a sand dollar,” Kazi explained. 

The sand, wet with a bone-gnawing chill, squished beneath her burrowing as she carefully uncovered the sea urchin. Bristly spines protruded from the purple exoskeleton; the five pores undulated. She shared a grin with Neyti. 

“You know, sand dollars are rare.” She paused. “Daria and I used to spend hours out here trying to find one.”

Neyti studied the creature with her usual shrewdness and then whispered, “I miss her.” Dejectedly, she curled inwards on herself, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “I wish she was here.”

“I…” Kazi stared at Neyti, motionless. Anguish flared behind her ribcage. A cruel, burning fist constricting her heart and lungs; its roaring flames dulled the mellow waves—

“I miss her, too,” she whispered. “But she did something brave.” She smoothed a stray strand of hair from Neyti’s face; the little girl closed her eyes and turned her cheek into Kazi’s palm. “Just like your mom.” 

While the waves splashed and the thud of paws against wet sand surrounded them, Kazi squeezed Neyti’s hand. The little girl squeezed back. A poked nose, a shy grin in response, and Kazi motioned to their small friend.

“Long ago, sand dollars were once used as Ceaian currency,” she said. “Their rarity made them equivalent to thousands of modern-day credits.”

Gingerly, Neyti poked the creature’s rounded exterior. “But they’re living things.”

“They are.” Kazi leaned back on her haunches. Ocean water soaked her trousers; her knees shifted with the sand. “That’s why the currency was outlawed. The sand dollars were going extinct, and we Ceaians believe in protecting the earth and its inhabitants. Today, you’re not allowed to collect sand dollars.”

Neyti approved this news with a satisfied nod and straightening, she scanned the dark brown shore with its receding waves. Bunches of seaweed—as dark as the evergreens secluding their house—sparsely forested the beach. An abundance of seashells embellished the sand, as a jeweler would adorn a necklace with diamonds, rare yet eye-catching. Neyti skipped toward the next creature that caught her attention—a crab’s shell. 

With a small smile, Kazi started to push herself to her feet when a gloved hand entered her periphery. She accepted its assistance.

“Don’t understand how you’re not cold,” Wolffe said gruffly. The flaps of his long coat’s collar were raised, shielding his neck and jaw from the wind. He cast her damp trousers a reproving scowl. “You’re gonna get pneumonia, Ennari.”

Kazi scoffed, interlacing their arms. “I used to swim in this every morning. I’m immune.”

“I’m immune to most human diseases.” Wolffe hunched his shoulders against a biting breeze. “Not you.”

“Then it’s a good thing you like to take care of me.” 

His wry scoff confirmed her remark.

“Should she be that close to the water?”

Kazi glanced over her shoulder to see Fox approaching, hands tucked into his coat’s pockets. Behind him, the impluvious sand bore the scars of his presence: booted prints leading from the cliff’s path. Similar to Wolffe, he wore a heavy coat, though he’d opted to don the hood.

“Neyti’s fine,” Kazi said. 

An eager yip from Fluffy preceded the delighted squeal of the little girl. The three adults watched as Neyti crouched low, dusted sand from a bubbling hole, and then lifted an opulently blushing seashell. Fluffy nosed the shell with self-importance; the flick of his ears displayed his approval. Together, youngling and anooba continued their wandering. 

Fox cracked his neck. “A rogue wave can—”

“Do you see any rogue waves?” A disdainful sniff was his only response, and Kazi threw him a pointed look. “Let her have her fun. She’s been through enough.”

He winced but fell into step beside her and Wolffe. After an awkward moment of silence, he said, “I have news.”

Wolffe tensed. “What?”

“I looked into Neyti’s family.”

Kazi froze mid-step and cast her gaze toward Neyti. “What did you learn?” 

“Neyti’s grandmother was a senator in your capital,” Fox said. He spoke with a grim tone neatly folded into his otherwise characteristic apathy. “She was one of the proponents of the Security Bill.”

Kazi’s fingers spasmed on Wolffe’s arm; he frowned at her reaction. 

“That was the bill that provided funding to the National Bureau of Security and Intelligence,” she explained to him. “It gave us funding and legal approval to spy on the Empire. Obviously, the bill didn’t outright declare the government’s intent. The language was murky. But, if you know what you’re looking for…Ceaia’s declaration of rebellion was right there.”

“And Neyti’s grandmother advocated for it,” Wolffe muttered in understanding. “That’s why her family was targeted.”

“Both grandparents were killed in the Purge,” Fox said. “Along with Neyti’s mother. Official records claim that Neyti was also killed.”

Farther along the shore, Neyti experimentally toed a bunch of seaweed. She waited. The seaweed did not react. Still, a toothy grin brightened the girl’s face. She leapt over the bunch, tucked the pink seashell into a pocket, and continued along her way. Fluffy pranced after her. 

“I should’ve realized it,” Kazi murmured. “Her accent is so similar to—"

A low growl cut her off. Teeth bared, hackles raised, Fluffy scrutinized the steep cliffs behind the gathered adults. At his warning bark, Kazi whirled around. Two figures were approaching.

Instinctively, she staggered backwards, reaching for Wolffe, fear pulsing through her. But Wolffe and Fox were already reacting. They closed ranks, armed with their blasters which they kept lowered and hidden, and ordered Fluffy to take point. 

“Neyti,” Kazi said urgently, gesturing to the little girl. “Come here.”

Neyti hurried over. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were wide with alarm. The alarm quickly subsided, however, replaced with shock and then elation. 

“Steiner!” 

Glee sang in the shout as Neyti pushed herself between Wolffe and Fox and darted forward. Kazi lunged for the back of her coat but the youngling escaped.

“Neyti!” Kazi reprimanded.

Intrepid, the little girl kept running. Wet sand splattered beneath her shoes. Her twin braids streamed through the wind. She was laughing and smiling and pumping her arms harder, and only then did Kazi see what she’d previously overlooked: a third, smaller figure. This small figure was sprinting, too, and met Neyti halfway. 

Both girls skidded to a halt. They regarded one another for a pent breath and then they were hugging, beaming, regaling. Their hands danced with zealous gesticulations. Their grins shone with dimpled merriness. 

“That’s Heracli,” Kazi informed Wolffe and Fox, her attention focused on the girl’s reunion. A smile tugged on her mouth at their jubilance; her amusement didn’t last long, though, interrupted by the nearing adults. “And the man is her husband, Quin.” 

Heracli and Quin Obisany halted several meters away. Kazi hardly blamed them for their wariness. The minacious demeanor displayed by Wolffe and Fox—expressed in harsh calculation and apathetic belligerence—created an unfriendly atmosphere. Their palmed blasters did little to defuse the situation, either. 

“Fehr told me that you left Eluca,” Heracli said. Shivering in her long coat, she offered a half-hearted smile. “Steiner has been pestering us to see Neyti.”

Kazi eyed the dark-haired couple. “What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t have much of a choice.” Heracli shifted between her feet, weariness dimming her usually perceptive gaze. “We were tracking the doonium shipments from Quin’s mine but the Empire learned of this and, to protect Steiner, we had to flee.”

“But why here?” Kazi motioned to the tumbling ocean and the rain-sodden cliffs. “Why Ceaia?”

Heracli pursed her lips. “The Empire abandoned this planet two months ago, and the network, too. We’re safe from possible repercussions from both sides.”

Kazi exchanged a glance with Wolffe and Fox. “Why would the network go after you?”

“We know too much,” Heracli said simply. Her eyes wandered from Kazi to the two little girls and, hoarsely, she said, “We all know too much.”

A stilted silence settled across the beach; only the lapping waves disrupted it. Neyti and Steiner set off along the shore, heads bent together, breaths puffed, coats bundled. Fluffy followed at a cautious pace. 

“Do you know”— Kazi scrutinized Heracli and Quin—“what the network was planning to do on Ceaia?” 

“They wanted to build a base,” Quin answered. Black eyes, as dark as his skin, pierced her with astute cunning. “To fight the Empire, the Rebellion needs a base to host troops and ships. Command thought that Ceaia could be a potential host once the Empire left.”

A swift, silent look passed between Wolffe and Fox. The look of two commanders assessing military information. 

“They decided against it,” Kazi said. 

The report she’d read so long ago replayed in her mind: complaints of Ceaia’s unideal location and its underdeveloped technology. Like the Imps, the rebel network had abandoned Ceaia. They were…gone. 

Dazedly, she surveyed her environment—the gray mountains spired among the thick clouds, the indomitable expanse of the dark blue ocean, the lightless lighthouse still standing after decades of neglect. She was home, and she was safe.

After everything they had endured, it didn’t seem possible. Real.

“Neyti’s missed Steiner,” Kazi said. 

The statement—a tentative gesture of reconciliation—earned her acknowledging nods from Heracli and Quin. She didn’t trust them. Based on Wolffe and Fox’s persistent silences, they retained their mistrust, too. But, for Neyti, she would try.   

So Kazi reached for Wolffe; he holstered his blaster, bringing her hand to his mouth as they observed the scene before them. Neyti was showing Steiner the pink seashell; both girls regarded it with awe. 

Quietly, Kazi added, “She’ll be happy to have her friend back.”

26 Kelona

The warm light of the crescent moon fractured among bare skin and tangled sheets. It shadowed strained muscles; highlighted scars, tattoos, bruises. 

Kazi stared at the pool of stars above as she fisted the sheets. Her moans were breathy; her eyelashes fluttered at another slow lick to her labia.

Between her legs, dappled in streams of amber, Wolffe was a sculpture carved by a god: the breadth of his shoulders distinct; the curls of his hair defined; the long fingers on the flesh of her thighs firm, possessive. 

Tonight, he took his time. He’d undressed her with patient kisses to her neck and breasts. He’d skimmed a hand along her back, tracing each knob of her spine, sucking on her breasts; she’d clung to his shoulders to steady herself, wetness pooling between her legs. Only the trembling of his hands betrayed his anticipation. 

Soon, he was kneeling before her and removing her underwear. Warm lips scattered kisses along her calves, her inner thighs. Large hands palmed her ass, pressed her into their bed. 

Wolffe pleasured her with an experience developed from months of learning her body. From months of eager practice and single-minded determination to know her. All of her. 

Each swipe of his tongue was unhurried, teasing enough to have her cunt throbbing with need, but casual enough to prevent her orgasm. Each pause was intentional; he watched her through hooded eyes, dipping two fingers inside of her, grinning lazily at the arch of her hips and the shudders in her legs. Each rasped praise renewed the flush in her cheeks; he smiled against her cunt, sucking on her clit as he stretched his fingers inside of her. 

Eventually he lost himself to her pleasure, the restraints on his patience snapped. 

The teasing licks turned into relentless sucking, and the smug grins gave way to guttural moans as he massaged the inside of her cunt harder, deeper. She was writhing, her head thrown back and sweaty hands clutching the sheets. Then, her legs were stiffening, her cunt clamping down hard, and she was coming. 

Aftershocks of pleasure shivered through her body, and while her erratic breaths evened, she was reaching for the lube. 

From where he knelt on the bed, Wolffe trembled as she smoothed lube onto his cock, as she stroked his inner thighs, skimmed a knuckle along his balls, traced the tip of his cock with her finger. 

“Kazi.” 

The strain in his voice brought a lazy smile to her mouth. A smile he sought with his lips, kissing her while he flattened her back into the mattress. 

Forearms bracketing her head, he ground himself against her, lifted one of her legs as he pushed the tip of his cock into her. She squeezed her eyes shut at the stretch of him; she exhaled a shallow breath as he sank into her deeper; she bit his shoulder, gasping, once he was settled fully inside of her.

As always, he waited. Low breaths panted against her neck, and once she brought his mouth to hers, he started to thrust. Deep, slow thrusts that made her feel each centimeter of him.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said roughly. He nuzzled his nose to her throat, murmured, “You’re mine to take care of.”

She was kissing him, and he was hitting a spot deep inside of her—a spot that had her clinging to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. She gasped. Everything grew tight. Her cunt clenched around his cock, and with a strangled cry, she came. He lasted only a few more thrusts and then he was coming, biting her shoulder, shuddering through his pleasure. 

Afterwards, they laid together, his body atop hers, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Gentle fingers circled the lines of her ribcage, the muscles of her inner arms, the planes of her hips. Her own fingers smoothed the scars on his back and painted the tattoos of his left arm. 

Half-asleep, she heard him whispering, hushed words breathed against her skin, barely audible. For a moment, she listened intently—

“I love you,” he whispered thickly. Something small and warm tickled her shoulder; it sank into her skin. “I love you.”

Gingerly, she lifted his face to hers. He didn’t resist, though he did angle his face into the nightly shadows; the moonlight caressed his wet eyelashes. 

“I knew there was something more that day you checked on me at the lake,” she said with a sad smile. 

Silently, he regarded her with an intensity unwavering: intrigued, hungry. 

“You made me feel seen, and that terrified me. The thought of trusting you—relying on you…” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t know when it truly started, maybe it was that day, or maybe it was when you stood up for Neyti and me at the Marketplace, I don’t know but”—she cupped his jaw—“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” 

He swallowed. The fingers brushing her jawline, her ear, were trembling. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For waiting for me.”

A tear splashed onto her chest. Hoarsely, he said, “Thank you. For loving me.”

3 Selona

A ragged blanket, its dark blue wan and edges frayed, beckoned to Kazi. Similar to how an elderly dog would wag its tail upon seeing its owner after years apart. 

Neatly folded atop a wood carton—the handiwork of Daria, she assumed—the blanket seemed to deflate with each cautious step she took toward it. As if it knew its time was nearing and, after so long protecting its charges, it could finally rest. She knelt before it. The soggy floor of the lighthouse’s lantern room drooped beneath her weight. With trembling fingers, she removed the blanket, its threadbare material exhaling its final breath.

Old, faded drawings greeted her: fragile, and with a somber disposition born from years of neglect. 

Carefully, Kazi lifted the flimsisheets from the carton. The drawings—expressions of dragons, once adoring parents, dancing sisters—were distorted and water-stained. Still, she could distinguish the difference between hers and Daria’s. 

Her sister’s drawings displayed the practiced elegance and focused approach Daria had exuded even as a young girl. Kazi, on the other hand, had lacked artistic inclinations. Her drawings were crude, blobby rather than refined, disarrayed blending rather than composed shading.

Kazi held up two pieces. A mutual attempt by both sisters—when they were seven and five, if she were to hazard a guess—to draw Goch, the first dragon to befriend the Ceaian people. The comparison was unfair. Even at such a young age, Daria outmatched her in every artistic distinction. She couldn’t help but laugh. 

She laughed at the ridiculous state of her drawing, and she laughed as she remembered how jealous she used to be of Daria’s talents, and she laughed as she shuffled through more mediocre drawings. 

She laughed until she started to cry. 

And she cried until her cheeks were caked with tears, and her eyes were puffy, and her chest hurt from the hollowness carving it open. 

The dead blanket wiped her tears; the faded drawings held her hands.

Smiling wetly, Kazi brushed a finger along Daria’s imagination of their family, caressed the pale-skinned depiction of her sister, and then tucked the flimsisheets back into their carton. She folded the blanket; she nestled it atop its former charges. As she pushed herself to her feet, her knees aching from however long she had cried, she looked outside the broken window. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her. The man below. Most likely, he’d returned from his run, noticed her absence, and then tracked her footsteps through last night’s downy snow. She braced her forearms on the windowsill and poked her head out.

Leaning against the lighthouse sat Wolffe. The early morning breeze ruffled his curls; his gaze was drawn to the clear, gray horizon. 

“You can come up,” Kazi called to him. Wolffe tipped his chin back. He arched a brow in question. She grinned. “I think the stairs will hold your weight.”

His huff of exasperation preceded the amused shake of his head. Regaining his feet, he started for the door, and moments later, they stood together in the lantern room. He appraised their surroundings with his usual calculation: a finger skimming the wobbly railing, a bent study of the floor’s gaping holes, a boot nudging broken glass.

With its decayed walls, haphazard stairs, and smashed windows, the lighthouse didn’t seem like much. A relic of a bygone era. 

But there was something in the air. It lingered. A strange mixture of rotting wood, old seawater, and crisp snowfall mixed and homogenized into the unmistakable scent of childhood. Of birdsong early on a summer morn, of frolicking among fields of waving wildflowers, of roasted nuts over a winter’s fire. 

“I want to rebuild it,” Kazi said. Wolffe turned toward her, and she tucked her hands into her coat’s pockets. “No one owns it. The locals don’t bother to visit. And thanks to modern technology, lighthouses aren’t even necessary. But…” She thought about the dream she and Daria once shared. A dream to rebuild the lighthouse and open the most lauded inn across all of Ceaia. She offered Wolffe a hesitant shrug. “I want to rebuild it.”

His eyes narrowed as he assessed the room. “The foundation is solid. So is the structure. I checked them. But we’ll have to gut—” 

“Wait.” Kazi frowned. “Why did you check the foundation?”

“I knew this was coming,” Wolffe said bluntly. He searched her face with characteristic patience. “Daria…told me a lot of things the last few months.”

Her frown deepened. “Like what?”

“That you don’t belong anywhere but Ceaia.” Wolffe took a step toward her. “That you would return. One day. And that I’d have to decide if I wanted to follow you.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “She told me about this place”—he motioned toward the stairs—“and she asked me to help you rebuild it. Hell, she made me promise, Ennari.” He tapped the underside of her chin, murmured, “And I did.”

Kazi swallowed. “She told you?”

A small nod was Wolffe’s sole response. He extended his hand, his half-smile affectionate; her palm slid into his. A callused, scarred warmth embraced her. At his gentle squeeze, she traced the rounded edge of his jawline, wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, brought his forehead to hers. 

They remained like that for a long time.   

As winter reached the culmination of its peregrination, softened soil welcomed citrus-star seedlings, and faint pink blossoms graced the white-barked sequoia trees of their haven, they whiled away long hours at the lighthouse.   

It started with gutting the interior. 

Early mornings Kazi spent with Cody. Other than the radio sharing news updates from across the galaxy, they worked in silence. Sweat dampening their shirts, faces flushed, equally dedicated to their task. 

After their conversation on the cliff, they never talked about Daria again. Kazi suspected they never would. The relationship they developed the last year—hours spent in the kitchen teaching and learning unique recipes, borrowed books about painting techniques and subsequent conversations—had cracked. It was irreparable. They both knew it. And they both knew his days on Ceaia were numbered.

So those moments in the lighthouse, when it was just them, the morning tide, and the chilly breeze, provided them a reprieve. A reprieve from the grief, the longing, the blame. 

Small smiles, hoarse chuckles, reassuring pats ensued. Kazi made her request for a painting and, during their breaks, Cody questioned her on descriptions, encouraged critique of his most recent sketches, explained the techniques he thought worked best. 

The day Cody finished the portrait of Neyti’s mother was the last day he and Kazi spent time alone.

Gutting the lighthouse and rebuilding its interior took more than a month. Floor plans, sanctioned by the local construction company, provided clear instructions for the reconstruction of the staircase and the four floors; weekly site checks by a project manager approved the lighthouse’s structural additions and confirmed its compliance with safety measures.

Soon, the reconstruction concluded and the interior design process began. Neyti’s favorite part: painting. 

An abundance of paint brushes, rollers, cans, and trays littered the various floors of the lighthouse. Throughout the painting weeks, the newly replaced windows remained open, the scent of springtime blossoms and salty ocean purifying the air of malodorous fumes. The floors’ ceilings and the lantern room’s domed roof required ladders; sore arms and shoulder muscles persisted. 

One afternoon, wiping sweat from her forehead, Kazi stepped away from her section of the third floor’s wall. The warm sunlight dappled the light blue paint—a blue as pale as a melting glacier. 

Downstairs, Fox, Nova, and Neyti were snacking on a basket of freshly baked bread, slices of cheese, and clusters of grapes. Kazi joined them. A grape popped into her mouth, a swig of the cool water. She took the time to stretch her aching fingers. 

When they finished the reconstruction two weeks ago, she returned to her nightly quilting sessions with Nova. Last night, with a yellow thread reminiscent of autumnal leaves, he tied the last stitch. They unfolded the completed quilt, admired its threaded story, and then carried it downstairs to his bedroom, hanging it on a rod. A plethora of yellow and gray panels softened by stitches of greens and purples cascaded to the floor; the white border spanned the entirety of the wall. 

Kazi smoothed a wrinkle. “Why didn’t you hang the other quilt in here?” 

The first quilt Nova had completed—the quilt displaying the war memorial on Coruscant—blanketed the couch on the main level. Neyti used it often when she watched a holofilm.

“The memorial’s for my brothers. Not just me,” Nova said. He studied the quilt with a small smile. “This…is a reminder. That my vode are still with me. And that I can still do some good.”

“I like that,” she murmured.

For some time, while she perused the quilt’s intricate stitching, Nova studied her. 

“Daria’s dragon,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You should consider moving it to your bedroom. It could be a good thing.”

She thought about Sea currently guarding the blue-stemmed, purple-blossomed plant in a window of the kitchen. “You might be right,” she said hoarsely.   

A giggle interrupted last night’s memory and Kazi watched as Neyti tossed Nova another grape. He caught it midair, swallowed, and delivered a humble bow. Chuckling at their theatrics, Kazi grabbed a slice of bread and made the trek back to the quiet third floor. 

Fingers dusted free of crumbs, a paint roller dunked into the tray of blue paint, she eyed her progress—

“I think you should hit me.”

Kazi stiffened, and she shot an unimpressed look over her shoulder. “I’m not hitting you.”

“You’re still angry with me,” Fox said with a casual taunt. He strolled into the room. A streak of blue paint bruised his cheek. “Releasing your anger can be a good thing. I know it. Wolffe knows it. Let’s get it over with and then we can move on.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not angry—” 

“I was an asshole, Kazi.” He took the paint roller from her hand and tossed it onto the plastic-sheeted floor. A cocky grin failed to hide the guilt rounding his eyes. “It would make me feel better if you hit me. 

“Hitting you doesn’t bring Daria back,” she said quietly.

“No.” His face slackened in resignation. “It doesn’t.”

The spring breeze rustled the canvas on the floor; its airy warmth fluttered through Fox’s curls and caressed Kazi’s face. 

“You were an asshole, Fox,” she said, sighing. A muscle clenched in his jaw. “I hated you in that moment. I still hate what you said. But…” She hugged her arms around her stomach. “I’ve already lost Daria. I’m not interested in losing someone else.”

“I cared for a lot of men,” Fox said after a moment of contemplative silence. “And they all ended up dead. Pushing others away…it was easier than dealing with their deaths.” He swallowed. “But…I don’t want to live the rest of my life like that.”

Kazi retrieved her paint roller and placed it in his hand. A clean roller dipped into the paint tray greeted her own. They worked in silence. 

An hour later, returned from the harbor with groceries, Wolffe joined their painting endeavors. The questioning tilt of his head earned a reassuring pat from her in response. He hefted his roller with a contented smirk. 

Renovations to the lighthouse concluded on the 33rd of Telona—what would have been Daria’s 25th life day—with the hanging of a painting in the lantern room. 

Perched on Wolffe’s shoulders, her tiny arms trembling beneath the weight of the frame, Neyti hung her artwork. At Wolffe’s suggestion, she repositioned it. Humming her satisfaction, she shimmied down his back and retreated. An admiration of her work commenced. 

The charcoal sketch from so long ago had developed into a colorful painting. Two little girls, hands clasped together, stomped through rain puddles. The pinks of their dresses contrasted the blues of the puddles and the grays of the ocean. Behind them, the lighthouse blazed brightly. The sole detail unique to the painting. 

(The reference photo—one of the many taken from Kazi’s adventure book—now decorated a wall in her and Wolffe’s bedroom. It was his request: to personalize their room with photos and artwork. Often, she caught him staring at the wall, his observation silently pensive. Once, she saw him touching a photo of his men, a tear sliding down his cheek.)

“Mum?” Neyti bounced on her tiptoes. “Do you like it?” 

Kazi studied the painting, its meticulous strokes, its sedulous color choices.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. A genuine smile bolstered the sincerity of her words, and Neyti ducked her head with a bashful grin. “But”—she frowned at the frame—“it’s crooked.”

Wolffe scoffed. “It’s not crooked.”

“The right side is higher than the left.”

He scrutinized the painting through narrowed eyes. Another scoff, equally arrogant as his first, succeeded. “It’s not.”

Neyti looked from one adult to the next. Her perceptive gaze returned to the frame, a critique elapsed, and then, clapping her hands, she declared, “That’s okay. I like it as it is.”

“It’s perfect,” Kazi agreed. She took in the entire room: vines of green ivy vivified the railing, the windows provided a clear view of the stelliferous night, a low couch offered comfort for visitors. “All of it—it’s perfect.”

Eventually, Neyti returned to the house with Fox, and Kazi and Wolffe found themselves alone. 

Staring out a window with his arms wrapped around her front, Wolffe rested his chin atop her head and asked about an unfamiliar constellation. Kazi told him the story of the dragon Pandora and the medicinal practices she taught the Ceaians; as she spoke, she mapped the constellation in the sky. He followed her finger’s path. Curious, studious.

A contented silence fell between them once she finished the story. The cool temperature of early night bathed them in fresh air; the high-pitched whistle of an unseen whale pierced the quiet. With an amused chuckle, Wolffe brought a finger to her chin and tilted her face back. 

“You think Daria would like it?” he asked quietly. His eyes were bright with mirth yet also hesitant. “What we did here?”

“Yes,” Kazi said with a wistful laugh. “I think she’d love it.”

“Good.” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. His smile was soft. “She’d be proud of you, Ennari. For returning. For building this. For living. She’d be real fucking proud of you.” 

Kazi twisted her face into his palm. “And she would be so grateful for you. For everything you’ve done for us. For me.”

Wolffe swallowed. The starlight glowed within the darkness of his regular eye; it twinkled among his cybernetic. Both were watery with affection. She smiled softly. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he murmured roughly. Warm lips sought her forehead. “Take your time.”

Kazi waited for his footsteps to retreat before she reached into her trousers’ pocket. Seating herself on the couch, she placed the locket with her family’s photo on the window’s sill and then unfolded her letter to Daria. 

The black ink twinkled beneath the light of the Dancing Dragons, the brightest star in their embrace gleaming. Beneath her perch, waves rolled against the cliffs. Calm and encouraging, like they were listening. A cool breeze tickled her face. Scents of sea salt and honeysuckle invigorated the lantern room.  

With a deep breath, Kazi started to read: “Hi, Dee.”

Masterlist | A Muse | Epilogue

A/N: Kazi would never again visit the lighthouse with her sister. – Line I, Chapter I

[mychlapci]

If you think that TFA Prowl is anything but a slut and a freak with a massive pain kink then you are wrong

I just like to imagine that one day while he’s fighting Lockdown, the bounty hunter hits him hard on his arm and then Prowl lets out the filthiest, most sensual and panel-popping moan Lockdown will ever hear. It sounded like it came straight from a buymech.

Immediately they both freeze, Lockdown in shock, Prowl in embarrassment. And then Prowl just turns around and bolts out of there as fast as he can, completely ignoring his team’s calls for him to come back because he would rather die than face Lockdown like this.

Lockdown has the craziest fap of his life that night.

Prowl gets drilled on what happened and why did he just leave like that and he answers none of them because how do you explain to your team that when your arch nemesis hit you so hard it nearly broke your fucking arm you moaned like a slut?

Prowl stays up late at night fingering himself while he imagines what it would be like for Lockdown to just take him. Pounding into him so fast and hard he bleeds, gripping his frame so hard it bends under his unrelenting force, he even wonders what it would be like to have that hook of his inside of his valve and damn if that doesn’t make him so horny. Prowl hasn’t had spike in nearly a century and like hell he isn’t going to take advantage of the new and unexpected situation so against his better judgment, he sneaks out to find Lockdown.

oh man, it’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? Prowl with a massive masochism kink, so massive he’d even let someone as despicable as Lockdown completely ruin him if he could get away with it… Well, if his stealth skills are to be used for something, he might as well use them for getting away with it, right? He tracks Lockdown down and after some general sparring it happens again. Lockdown hurts him and Prowl genuinely can’t hold in his moan. Lockdown gets even more curious, and it clicks when he steps on Prowl’s groin and feels the heat… he’s here for this.

Cut to reckless, violent fucking. You know Lockdown’s not holding back and Prowl doesn’t want him to. Lockdown’s got a wildly modded spike and Prowl is begging him to keep upping the size on those barbs, until the lining of his valve being torn apart and Lockdown is honestly surprised that the mod he uses for torture is managing to get such a pretty, collected autobot off just like that. 

Lockdown punches him and Prowl just falls apart, abused valve cycling down around his spike in intense overload. Lockdown pulling out and he sees so much energon dripping out of Prowl’s tender valve… he decides to make it “better” by pressing his cold hook against the inflamed, aching lips, and Prowl arches into the touch. Lockdown presses the sharp tip against Prowl’s plush valve and presses down, leaving a small, shallow stab wound in the mesh while Prowl gushes and moans under him. 

hgrhhh Prowl sneaking back into the base, his plating scratched up and dented and bruised, there are visible handprints on his thighs and every step is agony the way his valve throbs in the confinement of his energon filled panels…

[laceyjane44]

GaaSaku 2023 FanFest Day4

Prompt: Medic

(AU)

“Come on, Gaara,” she groaned. “Not tonight.”

“Just give me ten minutes?” he pleaded; his hands, hot and sweaty as they were, grasped at her own. He held her fingers gingerly and brought them to his lips, speaking against them, “I promise it won’t take long.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, pulling her hand from his and wiping the sweat from them. “I know it won’t,” she agreed. “You remember what happened last time? I do.”

Gaara chuckled. “You know I’ve been practicing, I’ve gotten better,” he countered, stating his case for the umpteenth time that day.

Sakura couldn’t help but glance back to the open mat behind him where Lee could be seen shadow boxing in the studio mirror, checking his form. “So? The whole team has been practicing for nationals. He’s gotten better, too,” Sakura stated back, a tempered warning in her words. She learned very early in their relationship that no one in the dojo was going to keep that bloated ego of his in check if she didn’t. Being top players in the division and instructors at the dojo, he and his colleagues were often left uncontested unless against one another. Gaara though, no matter how much she loved him and admired his proficiency in weapons specialties, just wasn’t a match for Lee in point sparing. “You were nearly concussed last time, and,” she emphasized by pulling him a little closer by the sleeve of his gi. “He had you down after three rounds.”

Gaara thinned his lips trying to hold back his smirk, but as usual he failed. “Ten more minutes,” he said as he stepped closer, slipping around the subject while slipping his hands around her waist. He pulled her against him. “And then whatever you want tonight is yours.”

Sakura turned her face when he bent down to kiss her, though it didn’t deter him from pressing his nose against her hair and breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It was a promise she had heard before and one that he was all too eager to uphold. Usually, it paid off to go along with it; another hour for practice here, another spar with Naruto there, and the rest of her evening was filled with his undivided attention. Gaara loved giving her said attention, and he was more than equipped to do so.

Having been in taekwondo since he was a young boy, Gaara had earned his blackbelt by the age of twelve and had known nothing outside the world of competitions, perfection of form, and intense physical training. He’d been making a living by winning weapons competitions across the country before he went up against the top competitor from Uzumaki Dojo and quickly found himself with a shiny new medal and recruitment to a full-time gig at the best studio in town. The Uzumaki’s had made a name for themselves and they fared no less when their son took over the business. They had a large facility that hosted anything from beginner level classes in Tai Chi and kick boxing, to expert level martial arts specialization fit for competitions at national levels, even global some years. Given the intensity of some of their programs, Sakura had been hired a few years back as an onsite RN that also had a license in physical therapy and massage therapy. She was an invaluable asset to the dojo and played a key role in keeping their fighters in shape for competition.

That was how Gaara found his way into her life; a series of overblown sprains and pulled muscles that had him seeking her out once or twice a week until she finally broke down and accused him of purposely monopolizing her time, to which he responded by stating that he wouldn’t have to if she would just go out with him, and he’d been showering her with his attention ever since.

But a tussle with Lee would leave him in no condition to do so, she was absolutely sure of it, and she preferred they start their weekend without a care regiment. Sakura wasn’t a fan of bringing her work home with her, but with Gaara moved in, it followed her home more often than not these days.

So, she tried a different approach.

Looking back up, she pushed her weight forward and leaned against him, those green doe eyes of hers blinking at him as she pouted. “You promised we would spend the night together,” she mumbled with a half-hearted whine, reminding him that with nationals coming up, their free time together at home was dwindling. Gaara ran his fingers through her hair, openly enjoying her methods. “You were going to take me to dinner.”

“My love, you know I will,” Gaara practically purred in response as he bent down and kissed her forehead. “Just be patient.”

She huffed and broke away from him to sit down on the benches beside the mats. He gave her a wink and readjusted his gi before joining Lee. They both seemed too eager for an honest rematch with each other as far as Sakura was concerned, as were some of the seasoned students and other senseis that gathered at the edges of the mat to watch.

Naruto and Hinata, their employers and the owners of Uzumaki Dojo, joined her at the bench. They had dismissed the last class of the day and came over to see what the excitement was all about. Being the procurers of the talent employed by the dojo, as well as one of their competing specialists in form, Naruto stepped over to referee their match.

All the onlookers, Sakura and Hinata included, were watching quietly for the first round. It lasted less than thirty seconds before Lee landed enough strikes to end it and get his first point, no shocker there, and Gaara quickly called for the start of the next round, already returning to stance.  

“Is Gaara looking to compete in point sparring at nationals this year?” Hinata asked, her sentence punctuated by the sharp Si-jak called out by her husband.

Sakura shook her head, bobbing her heel on the ground as the air filled with the sounds of sliding feet and deflected strikes. “No, sticking to his usual,” she said with a sigh. “He’s just trying to fix that sore pride Lee gave him.”

“Point, Lee!” Naruto called out. Gaara cursed and his opponent was all too eager to encourage him to try again, to try harder. “Bah ro!”

“I don’t know,” Hinata mused thoughtfully, tilting her head to throw Sakura a side-glance.

“Si-jak!” The next round started, Gaara was certainly putting greater force behind his strikes, and he’d gotten faster at deflecting Lee’s blows, but Lee had been busy keeping everyone in his dust.

“It has been a while,” Hinata continued. “I have a feeling he just wants to relive the nostalgia.”

Another point to Lee, another call for return to start. Round four; they certainly weren’t wasting any time, and she had to at least give him credit for the new personal record against Lee.

Sakura looked over to her and couldn’t help but laugh. “Of getting kicked in the head?”

Shaking her head, Hinata explained, “You know he wasn’t even aware we had an onsite medic until you needed to monitor him for symptoms of concussion?”

Sakura nodded; oh yes, she definitely remembered. She had been late to work that day with car troubles and received a call while at the mechanics; Lee overdid it with the new guy and they were wondering what the warning signs of a head injury were. She left her car at the shop and immediately called for a taxi, all the while running through some questions with Naruto over the phone. Arriving as soon as she could, she walked into work only to hear Gaara barking from the back rooms that he didn’t need to be looked at and he was fine. He obviously hadn’t dealt with defeat much, he was also visibly surprised when she was introduced to him as his coworker, and she’d certainly had her hands full with him after that.  

“Hurt pride or not; I think that was his favorite day at work to date.” She smiled over to her friend, a rare and mischievous expression crossing her face. “It’s not often you get a girlfriend as a consolation prize.”

Sakura looked away from the teasing in Hinata’s eyes only to see her lover take a swift elbow strike to the side of the face followed by a side kick to the ribs. Failing to counter the kick left him open for another set of blows to the ribs and that finished off the points needed for the fourth round to be Lee’s win.

Gaara’s back found the mats soon after and Lee laughed as he collided with the ground. “I’m sorry, man! I thought you’d keep up.”

Gaara groaned for him to shut up as he leaned up on an elbow and clutched his side. He looked over to his girlfriend from his spot on the floor, eagerly looking for her sympathy while feigning more pain than he was likely actually in. She became convinced that Hinata had been right; if losing against Lee meant reliving the first day they met, he’d be happy to taste that defeat again.

Somewhat apologetically, Lee looked across the mat to where Hinata could be seen grabbing the first-aid bag from beside the bench and jokingly handing it over to Sakura, and he called out, “Medic!”

Thanks for reading!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501

[sulky-valkyrie]

Hello Val! How about a Carver/Nate prompt from the angst list? I feel like you could do a lot with this one. “What do you mean you’re done?” Have fun!

Hallo Ocean, happy Friday!! The lid came off of the angst when I was sprinkling and uh.... here we are for @dadrunkwriting

Ferelden wasn’t home anymore.  Maybe it never had been.  Certainly not since Ostagar.  Kirkwall had felt like it could be, but he certainly couldn’t go back now, could he?

He’d finally felt like he’d belonged with the Wardens, but nothing had felt right after reading the letter than Leandra was dead.  Not even Nate.  They were still together, but Carver was in pieces, shattered and spread all over the world, and burned on too many pyres and scattered on too many winds.  No matter how gentle Nate was, or how nimble his fingers, he couldn’t stop Carver from slipping through them like sand.

He saw the concern in his eyes every day, and that weighed on him nearly as heavily as Leandra’s death.  He couldn’t just go back to normal, couldn’t fix himself enough to make Nate stop worrying.  Instead, he avoided him.  Gone was the camaraderie  in the dining hall, replaced by simple meals in the kitchen and furtive snacks in the middle of the night.  He avoided all the one-on-one sparring he could, and stuck with team drills.  Being a faceless piece of a whole was the only time he felt like he wasn’t falling apart.  

The facade worked, and too well.  He made distance his best defense, laughing and joking with everyone, but only on the surface.  It threw everything Hawke had done into perspective in that first year after Bethy died, and it made him hate himself and Ferelden all the more.  He returned to the common rooms, and fell back into Nate’s relieved arms at night.  Not even that felt like home anymore, but he hoped if he pretended long enough, he’d believe it again.

Then Nate was sent on an assignment.  He’d argued with Aedan about it vehemently, insisting there had to be someone else that could go instead while holding Carver’s hand, squeezing it as if to say I won’t leave you. 

Aedan had listened politely, all the while watching Carver’s face, then told Nate to be ready to leave at dawn.

It took only two days after Nate’s departure for Carver to decide to leave.  He’d been the only reason he’d wanted to stay, but it was for all the wrong reasons.  When he told Aedan, he’d pulled reassignment papers out of his desk, already prepared and ready for his signature.  He felt like a coward to be arranging it with Nate gone, but he knew he’d never follow through on it if he talked to him about it first.  

Nate was back now and reporting all the news from Denerim over dinner while sitting in his usual spot next to him.  Carver nodded along, barely hearing him, just running through everything he needed to say tonight before he left for good.

“Carver?”

Nate’s hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped, surprised to find that they were alone.  His meal sat in front of him, barely touched and cold as the guilt of what he was about to do twisted his guts in knots.  “Sorry.”  

“Aedan said we needed to talk.”  His voice was soft and worried.

Rip the bandage off quick.  “I’m being - I’ve been reassigned.”  He picked up his fork again, just for something to do with his hands.  “I requested it.  I - I’m done.”

Nate blinked a few times, then looked up at the ceiling.  “What do you mean, you’re done?”  The quiet defeated way he asked, like he’d somehow been expecting it, nearly broke Carver’s heart, and he wanted to take it back immediately and that, of course, was exactly why he’d already asked Aedan to arrange it.

“It’s not you,” he whispered, dropping the fork and grabbing Nate’s hand before he could pull away.  “It’s …” he trailed off and waved an arm around vaguely.  “It’s everything else.  It’s Ferelden.  It killed my father and my sister, and now the Marches killed my mother, and they’ll probably kill Hawke too, and I, I can’t get another letter like that.  I know it’s selfish, but I - I’m going to Weisshaupt.”

“Oh.”    Nate rubbed his thumb over their joined fingers.  “Could I have done anything different?”

“No,” Carver whispered as he turned to face him.  “Nate, you did everything right, but I’m - I hoped if I pretended long enough, everything would go back to normal, but it didn’t.  You’re the only thing I think I’ll miss, and if I could take you with me, I -” he bit his lip and shook his head.  “I know you can’t, though.”

He leaned in, probably to hug him.  “Carver, I -”

He cut him off with a kiss and pulled him into his lap.   Nate shifted to straddle him, one hand sliding under his shirt and the other digging into his hair.  It was messy and brutal and tasted of ale and unshed tears and it wasn’t fair.  It was how they’d met, and it was only fitting it that it would be how they’d end.  

When they finally broke to take a few ragged breaths, Nate sat back and stroked his cheek with a thumb.  “Can we pretend for one more night?”

[shoto-brainrot]

Request:

Tallf!reader x Shoto

(part 1)

The first time Shoto saw her, it nearly took his breath away.

And it would've if it weren't for the well-placed strike to his abdomen from his sparring partner. He grunts, taking a moment before getting up. The lovely distraction had slipped behind a door.

"We'll pick up training later." Shoto said, huffing from the wind being knocked out of him. He wondered vaguely if this was how it felt for fallen sngels. Did they use their wings to cushion them? Did they too land on their backs, gasping for air? He wasn't sure, he's only ever read about them in books, Endeavor only allowed educational/classic literature. He was sure you could've been one, not based on your looks but... something more.

He quickly followed, hoping to catch you.

You seem to be a guest and he wasn't sure why you were here. He glances at the event schedule, there seems to be a speaker and you were part of their entourage of sorts.

He was glad you were easy to spot, he is following you surreptitiously, trying to maintain a low profile. He wasn't sure what your role is and saw that you seem to be a general helper, directing equipment and walking back and forth to keep things running smoothly, your long legs made it look damn near effortless. He felt entranced. Who was she?

He watched her tilt her head lower at times to talk to people. Sometimes he wondered if she was self-conscious, but she would straighten her shoulders and it made him smile. Someone with your frame shouldn't have to stoop when they were made to stand tall and.. uh... um.. oh so lovely...

Shoto realized he's been staring and looks around. He saw a few girls from class 1A. A few inquiries later he now knows that the speaker was here for the female heroes-in-training. He thought about it and as the speaker walked into the stage, he decides to sit.

The presentation was actually very interesting, it talked about social differences for female heroes in different countries for those who'd planned on doing international work.

He keeps an eye out for you and his heart stutters when he sees you with an armful of flowers. They were obviously gifts from the school. Your face half hidden by the ridiculous amount of flowers held in your arms made him lose control of his body for a few seconds. Both sides of his body broke out in uneven temperature before he consciously wills his body to regulate, bringing the two sides to normal body temperature. You give the flowers to speaker and stand off to the side as they wrap up, announcing that there will be a meet-and-greet. His classmates enthusiastically agree to head there.

He waits and follows them, nodding and offering a few words to contribute to the conversation. They were used to him being quiet and happily accepted his company anyway. As they make their way to the snack table, Shoto sees you tapping quickly at your phone. He thought about how to approach, he's not used to this, whatever this is. But he knew he had to talk to you, it felt like a need.

He wondered how to approach, planning out a proper introduction before Ochaco approached her.

"I love your outfit!" She exclaims.

You give a small smile, "Thank you, it took a while for the designers to perfect but I love it."

"Gosh I bet! My name is Ochacho Uraraka. These are my classmates, we're in the hero course."

You eyes scanned the group felt what felt like an electric shock as you take in Shoto. Your eyebrows raise, and you do your best to continue the conversation. They invite you to dinner as you enlighten them on how differently things work on your end.

"Yeah, if you ever find yourselves in the area, I'd be happy to show you guys around." You say.

Shoto couldn't take his eyes off of you, conversing was harder than normal and he found himself saying what felt like the bare minimum. However, to you, everything he said seemed to carry weight to it, every response well thought out and it made you feel flustered when he looked into your eyes when you two happened to converse. He seemed so cool and collected.

Meanwhile, he could hear Midoriya's voice in his head, coaching him on social etiquette but an imagined Midoriya giving him advice could only do so much.

As dinner came to a close, you depart, and as the group walks back towards the dorms, he decides to approach you.

"Hey, I.. was wondering if you would like for me to walk you back," He nearly stuttered, "for safety?"

You were surprised, he hadn't exactly come as friendly all throughout dinner.

"Oh, I would certainly appreciate it. Especially from a hero in training." You remembered watching the Sports Festival. He's basically a pro comparatively. Hot heat creeps up your cheeks. He nods, seeming a bit more sure of himself.

"Great, where are you headed? I assume you're staying at the nearby hotel?"

"Yes, just a few blocks from here."

You both walk to the hotel, he keeps glancing up, entranced by you, your neck.. the curve of your collarbone and.. he looked away, trying to keep up the conversation.

"I heard it's one of the nicer hotels on this side of Japan." He says, fumbling for any sort of commentary.

"It's definitely been a treat." You laugh softly. "I feel very safe, by the way."

He nods, swallowing. "it's nothing."

You two exchange a few more pleasantries before arriving at the hotel. You turn to face him.

"Thank you, I appreciate you escorting me. I'll be back tomorrow for another presentation."

"I hope to see you around, then." He replies immediately.

"Same here," you pause, "do you happen to know any good places to eat?" You hedge, testing the waters.

And sweet Shoto, his eyes light up a little. "My sister makes the best food, you can come over, I don't live very far." He doesn't realize how forward he's being, growing up isolated and all. He seems to realize this when he sees you blink in surprise, realizing how he must've sounded.

You felt a shock go through you. To his relief you reply, "That sounds lovely. Should we exchange numbers?" Did you really just say that? It's appropriate for the situation, you try to calm yourself. It's perfectly appropriate after his proposal, you rationalize.

"Sure." He pulls out his phone and you both exchange numbers. You give him a shy smile.

Shoto, mimicking what little he knew about romance, carefully takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles. He straightens, his face neutral as ever except for the slight flush on his cheeks.

"Goodnight." He murmurs softly.

"Good night." You whisper, heart beating unbelievably fast.

Shoto gives you his best smile, it's strained but sincere. You can tell it's rare for him. He bids you goodnight before quickly departing.

(Part 2 coming soon)

[spectresbase]

Spectre's Advent Calendar, Days 7 & 8

Back to doubles days because fuck work.

These OCs come courtesy of @NsfwSaia and @Lastman505

“By the gods!” Down on all fours, the priestess started as Umi guided himself inside. At barely over 150cm, not a lot of people expected him to be as well hung as he was. He enjoyed their surprise immensely. Giving her maybe a second to realize what she was in for, he drove forward hard but not roughly. She’d thought seducing him would be a way to gain favor with his father, so a little mischief was fine, but he didn’t actually want to hurt her.

Suddenly more full than she’d expected to be, the priestess fought to reorient herself around the new reality. He didn’t give her the chance, dropping immediately into a fast paced rhythm that left her no room to steady herself. The slap of his hips on hers echoed around the temple’s grand hall, the watching attendants growing hushed as the undersized demigod proved their mistress had greatly misjudged the situation. Catching the eye of one particularly pretty attendant, Umi winked and blew them a kiss just as the priestess finally gave in to the sensations crashing over her and moaned. The sound filled the temple, a little demigod magic making it linger longer than it should have. 

And just like that, the damn broke, and the priestess who’d thought to use him as a weapon against his father found herself throwing her hips back against his, suddenly completely and totally devoted to a new goal: milking every last drop from his balls. Umi actually found himself hard pressed to keep up. Grabbing her hips, he tried to reassert control, but it was too late for that. She’d gotten a taste of what he could do, and she wanted so much more. Her pussy clutched at him, squeezing harder than ever and her next moan held a feral heat that told him he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

Oh well!

*****

“Harder! You can do better than that!” Balancing on one leg, her other knee pressed to her chest, Talah Moon moaned shamelessly as Prelan’s cock slammed into her. Sweat clung to them both, a reminder of the sparring match that’d turned into this wild, close quarters fucking. He gave her what she wanted and the impact threatened to do what fifteen minutes of fighting hadn’t and knock her off her feet. Throwing one hand out behind her herself to brace against the wall, she looped the other one behind Prelan’s neck, counter balancing herself. 

He grinned at her. “Too hard? Gotta watch the footwork.”

She grinned back and rammed her own hips forward, catching him on the withdrawal, and nearly unbalancing them both. “You were saying?”

He recovered and drove back into her, forcing her up onto her tiptoes. “Fair enough.” Still holding one of her legs in place between them, he looped his other arm around her hips from behind, pulling her in close. “Let’s see how you handle close work.” His hand slipped lower, fingers running down between her cheeks before hooking upwards to press against her ass. Leaning back, using her hand on him as an anchor, she pressed her hips forward, taking even more of him before rolling them back so his fingers on her ass were suddenly doing more than just teasing. Lifting an eyebrow, she drawled. “Honey, up close is where I do my best work. You won’t last a minute.”

He gave her his best smile. “We’ll see.”

[stop-pressing-e]

Home Sweet Haven - Part 2

Part 1

/Here's Part 2 and this is basically shows what happens if Krauser continues to breaking into her place. Part 3 will be posted up in the next day.

Enjoy reading!/

Four months

The sound of the front door opening halted his nightly pushups before going to bed. It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. 

Krauser rushed for the lamp stand by her bed and quickly switched it off before Dullahan caught sight of the light illuminating part of her bedroom. He pressed his bare back against the wall, listening to the sounds of her boots tapping against the polished wooden floor and the tune of her whistling while she set her stuff down. His breath stilled when he heard that particular confused tone in her voice. 

She pressed the button to deactivate the alarm only to not hear the familiar pitch to turn the traps off before she could enter further. “What the bloody hell?”

Shit. He needed to get out of here before she caught him trespassing. His bag is already upstairs with him, always packed up and placed by the bed for easy grab if he needed to make a quick getaway. All he needed to do was wear his shirt, grab his boots, and take out a flash bang from his bag to use on the hitman to make his exit via the glass door. Thank god he did the clean up and threw away his evidence today.

The plan in his head was easy. Slowly he inched towards the balcony and peered over from above, catching a glimpse of Dullahan removing her head and set it on the table underneath the flat screen tv. Her body meanwhile went to the kitchen to grab a large kitchen knife from the knife stand. 

‘Not good.’ He thought. He knew when the head came off, it served as her own watch post while the body was on high alert until the head commanded them the first attack. He has seen it before and the body does not go down easily until you wound them enough and he can’t do that to her. Change of plans in order to escape out of her apartment.

Dullahan’s single eye slowly scanned for anything unusual in the darkness of her loft and with the light from the hallway and from the street lights from the glass windows serving to illuminate part of the surroundings. She watched her body making their way to the spiral staircase and as they climbed to the top, a dark form appeared from the balcony to throw something towards the head. 

A sharp cry was made as she toppled back, rolled off the table, and found herself staring at the ceiling. Her torso immediately turned a full 180 by the sound of their head’s cry right as Krauser kicked the body down, wincing softly to himself upon watching them tumble down the stairs. The knife they were holding fell from their grasp and through the steps, nearly hitting the fallen body.

Climbing down the stairs will delay his escape so he took his chance by jumping down from the balcony. The door was so close yet so far from where he stood. He broke into a sprint, his arm outstretched to grab the handle, and a cold metal hand grabbed his wrist. The body has shot out the hand to stop him from leaving and pulled it back to drag him away from his exit. She was strong, he admitted, having sparred with her in the past and due to the genetic experimentation done upon her. However, she wasn’t the only one with super strength in this room and he knew some secrets about her body. Her robotic arm was one of them. He grabbed the cuff that helps connect her hand back together to her wrist and gave it a hard twist to disconnect the part off, thus freeing him before the body could take a swing at him with the knife they picked back up.

The body slashed in his direction while throwing kicks to strike him down but Krauser continued to dodge them with ease and even blocked the later attacks when they changed moves. When they did manage to slash him by the shoulder after kneeing him hard in the stomach, he accidentally let out a loud grunt. A grunt so familiar Dullahan had to process the sound right as her body threw themself down to stab the knife into his chest. Krauser held the wrist back with both hands right as he yelled, “Trish! It’s me!” and quickly Trish ordered the body to stop before they could push the hand down and come back to her to be reunited.

Both body parts were connected again, she made her way to one of the light stands by the art studio to illuminate the living room better and see the man clearly right before her eye.

“Krauser!” She almost yelled his name had it not been her quick reminder that it’s late and she has neighbours asleep downstairs. She glanced at his duffel bag that had fallen from his grasp by the glass door and back at the man on the floor whose wound was quickly closing up since it was a quick slash. He almost looked like a kicked dog after being caught by her. Her jaw shook when she tried to find the right words to say without allowing her anger to overtake her thoughts. Anger is one of the emotions she still needs control of and she lets it out by destroying anything to let out steam. She instead took one deep inhale, held her breath, and exhaled through her mouth very slowly.

“Stay.” That was the first word she said in a low and firm tone with the intention for him to obey. “But you sleep on the couch. We’re not done here and I’m very tired so we will have this conversation tomorrow morning. Do you understand me, Major Jack Krauser?”

Krauser copied her from the deep inhale to the slow exhale, having accepted his loss tonight. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good…” Now her voice went soft either from the fatigue she’s currently experiencing from returning home or from what she had to learn after connecting the dots. “I’ll go get a spare blanket for you from the closet.” Despite what has happened tonight, Krauser was surprised, but secretly glad, that she allowed him to stay for the night and not kick him out. He admittedly felt a bit guilty that he allowed himself to continue to use her home like some kind of pit stop to rest and recuperate. It wasn’t meant to happen like that. One or two months is fine but he was starting to enjoy her loft, not simply because she has the things he needed to use. He found her home comforting and felt like a safe haven for him, and all it was missing was the owner herself that he knew he fucked up badly after tonight and it will surely lead to never allowed here again and worse; he won’t see her as often as before or she’ll avoid him for as long as she choose to do.

Krauser didn’t sleep the whole time Trish was still awake and instead chose to listen to any noise she made upstairs. Her footsteps were soft, guessing that she’s keeping herself as quiet as she believed that he’s asleep downstairs. He had to close his eyes and feign slumber when he saw her shadow approaching the balcony, carefully opening a small slit with one eye to see her looking down at him. Making out as much as he could see her, he saw her wearing a pink crop top that exposed her midriff he had often kissed and licked after leaving those fine cuts on her skin, and he couldn’t tell if she was wearing really short shorts or if that was her underwear. Her hair was hastily done up in a messy updo. It was hard to tell the expression she was making but he was certain she was disappointed in him. After tonight, he managed to catch the last of her words she uttered out, something asshole, before she stepped away and switched off her light, ready to head to bed. Krauser waited for another good hour to ensure that she was fully asleep before getting up, folded up the loan blanket, wore his boots again, picked up his bag, and left the loft through the glass doors after taking one last look at the bedroom above. Hot salty tears silently ran down his cheeks before the cold air outside kissed them away as he silently and carefully climbed down the fire escape.

It was right at noon when Trish finally woke up. She was groggy and hungry and her bearings were foggy. At the kitchen to get herself a glass of water first, she slowly started to remember that she has a guest currently in the living room and she made her way towards the couch after preparing a pot of tea. She was greeted by the empty space on the couch and a folded blanket. His bag and boots were missing too. A curse was made in French with a half frown formed on her face by his disappearance. 

It’s been a few days since what happened. Trish had to get herself a week off from her contracts to focus on her civilian life for the time being, mostly to stay at home and wait for Krauser to return, hoping he’ll explain himself for breaking into her home constantly. She felt like an idiot for not guessing it was him the whole time when she learnt something felt off when she returned home a couple of months ago. Nothing important was missing or stolen and the neighbours she sometimes interacted never saw anyone at the front door or the elevator. She once went around her area to see if he could be around, watching her from afar or from any of the buildings he was in. Nothing. 

She thought about what he’s been doing in her home whenever she’s away at work. Of how much he could learn about her based on her art studio to possibly the clothes in her closet. How he slept in her bed but she smelled nothing of him on her sheets or in her pillows but the smell of her softener and the fresh feeling from the dryer. If he has a preference in a specific genre from the books she has from her bookcases? What does he like to eat based on some of the spices and ingredients he used to make his food? Does he have a favourite mug he chose from her collection when he drinks coffee? When she caught him that night he was wearing his shirt backwards, she immediately deduced him preferring to sleep shirtless and possibly only in his sweatpants or perhaps in boxers. Does he touch himself in the shower and if he thinks of her at the same time too. What about in bed?

It was time for her break and she chose to head at the back to have a smoke. There were two things she didn’t expect when she fished out her lighter; one was that her lighter is empty and two was that someone was kind enough to light it for her and it was none other than Jack Krauser. He was dressed like a normal civilian in the dark brown jacket she had seen him wore before, a tight grey T-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of dark aviators. It was only the combat boots that were recognizable. 

Krauser waited as Trish smoked. For the past week or so he’s been residing at one of her safe houses where one of his missions was held and he happened to complete it yesterday. How he chose to spend today was to travel all the way here to see her at her workplace. Everytime he comes to the establishment for a drink he always takes a good look at Trish’s appearance. From her makeup that concealed the scars such as her wide side grin he occasionally brushed his thumb against, the blush she applied to her cheeks, to the soft winged look in her eyeliner, and the cherry pink lips from the lipgloss he chose to inspect from her vanity table one day that gave her a cheerful appearance of a happy worker. The way she does her hair into a low bun with her bangs clipped behind so it won’t get over her face, the uniform she wore, the glass eye for her left eye, and finally to the wooden arm she’s wearing. It was quite a contrast from how Trish can become Dullahan from the way she dressed and wore dark makeup when her visor was down. It is as if the hitman had become a completely different person working undercover for a contract. Except, this was really her during her civilian life. He doesn’t have one.

Trish blew out a long trail of smoke after her second drag. “You left when I told you to stay so we can talk.” She said, tapping the ashes off. “Are you ready to talk?” “If it’s not playing 20 questions thrown one at a time at me.” He replied as he crossed his arms against his chest. “Where do you want to start?”

The cigarette was done and she dropped it by her foot and put it out with her heel. “The important questions then. First off, how the bloody hell did you manage to know where I live and how long has it been going on whenever I’m away? Please be truthful with me right here and now.” “Fine.” He said. “I decided to follow you one day after you closed up the place on that night itself. It’s been four months.” 

“Four months…” She repeated and he nodded his head to confirm what he had just said. Her real hand over her face and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Fucking hell, love.” When she looked at her watch she cursed to herself. “Shit I better get back to work. Oh no no no.” She halted him from leaving if that was what he’s thinking to do. “We’re not done yet so you are gonna stay inside while I work. Got it?” There was that tone again. He nodded his head once again. “Yes ma’am.””Good, now go sit in my area. There’s not a lot of people right now. Your favourite is back in stock.” Trish waved him off before he could say anything else and headed back inside for the locker room to spray some perfume on herself to get rid of the cigarette smell.

Krauser stayed there for a couple of hours at the bar area while Trish worked. Whenever she had a chance to breathe, she asked him more questions and he answered them truthfully as she told him to. When he answers her all he got was her nodding her head in return, her sign of processing her thoughts from new information. Once the fifth question was asked in the second hour, it was deemed the final question. He was free to leave.

As he got up after paying for his drinks, Trish stopped him quickly by placing her hand over his. He looked at her, staring at her face.

“I get why you did it.” She told him, almost confusing the mercenary. “To not have a home because of what we are currently and I know I’m a secretive woman, but I trust you enough with some information I can give you.” Those three particular words rang in his ears. I trust you. Krauser almost looked stunned, forcing himself to mask the expression quickly as Trish continued. “Once this week is over I have to return to work. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away to make up for it, so you’re free to stay at my place until I come home. Or better yet, come back home with me tonight.”

Those offers almost made his heart stop beating for a moment. It was also how she addressed her place as ‘home’ to him. A safe haven for him.

He pulled his hand away, curling his fingers in against his side. “The first offer is better. Better not get in your way while you’re around.” In all honesty, he wanted to be around her. While he enjoyed the blissful silence and not needing to look over his shoulder and reach for his knife, he wanted to know what it is like to have someone to enjoy it with him. Someone he trusted. Someone such as her.

Hearing that Krauser chose to crash at her place while she’s away almost brought an ache to her heart. On her end, she too wanted to know what it's like to have someone in her home, to know what it is like living with another person, to keep the solitude away. She kept lips from dropping and faked a smile. She was still working and she couldn't let anyone see why her frown was strange. “Of course.” She let out a whisper for him to hear. “I’ll contact you when I’m leaving so you can prepare your stuff. When you want to leave…leave me a message, you have my number anyway.” He nodded his head once and left without another word and without looking back this time. 

Dullahan was away as she told him when Krauser got the text the night she had left her loft. This time, the final sentence of the text said, the lock to the glass door is left unlocked so he doesn’t need to break in like a common criminal. He was glad that she did that for him.

He arrived at her place like usual and upon stepping inside, Krauser could see something was quite off. In fact, he saw new additions to the loft. There was a grey wingback chair similar to the red one positioned across it. The design however was a bit different, it included a stool to rest their feet on and the size was bigger than the other chair. Big enough for someone like Krauser to sit on and relax. In the kitchen, he found a mug and a variety of snacks he enjoyed sitting on the counter with a folded note propped against it and his name was written on it. It was Trish’s writing. 

‘I took the liberty of getting you some things so you can be extra comfortable here. Check upstairs too. Fridge has enough food for you to take so go ahead. Don’t worry about restocking it before I come back unless you suddenly finish them off then please do. The only thing to restock is the coffee. If you finish it, buy a new one. Enjoy it with your new mug. I also bought some snacks you like along with your favourite drink. I’m also giving you a keycard so you can enter the place like an actual normal person for once. Here’s the passcode. See you then.

-Trish’

The mug was big for his liking and the handle was large enough for his fingers to hold properly. It's black with gold lettering in western fonts that simply reads ‘Major Krauser’ and on top of the writing is a metallic red beret. To have his own mug to drink from and that she remembered what he liked brought a smile on his face. True to her word, his favourite drink was in the fridge with the fresh produce. There’s even meat, a perfect chance for what he has in mind to make tonight. The note mentioned checking upstairs too, so he obeyed it.

Nothing was out of the ordinary in the bedroom. There is however another note stuck at the wardrobe with an arrow pointing across and the word ‘Open it’ was written. He did that and saw clothes for him. T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweatpants, jeans, and even some tactical gear like the cargo pants were hung up or folded neatly. There was also underwear included, both briefs and boxers. All of them were the correct size when he inspected the tags. She must have inspected the clothes he wore as reference and she certainly has quite an eye to know what he would wear everyday and especially for comfort. Krauser couldn’t help but inspect the other side of the wardrobe and he soon realised that she rearranged her whole wardrobe to accommodate space for his new clothes. 

The bathroom was the final place to check and the first thing that he saw was a toothbrush resting next to Trish’s. It was taller and bigger and it’s for him. It seems she also bought him shower products and body products too. The bodywash and shampoo smelled something he would use and he couldn’t help but imagine her going through the men’s section to find the exact kind of smell that reminded her of him and it brought a chuckle deep from his chest. The body products included were shaving cream, aftershave oil, and deodorant. The cologne among them was a new one. The bottle design doesn’t look like it belonged at the woman’s section and when he opened it to smell it, it gave off a spicy yet citrusy scent. It wasn’t strong but it gave a pleasant smell he would get around to use but not something he would wear everyday. A thought came to mind if she actually bought this for him to wear too. She really did think of him well enough if he’s going to use any of the products. Possibly for the fact that she’ll enjoy his new scents on him. When he opened the cabinet mirror in case there was anything else she got for him, he almost let out a laugh when he found a box of condoms at the bottom of the shelf. She came well prepared when the time for sex would happen someday. He’ll reward her with it when the time comes. 

Looking back on the things she bought for him, he was honestly happy she did all of this for him despite his excessive break-in. She wasn’t treating him as a guest in her home, she was making it feel like home for him too whenever he could return to the loft. He examined the keycard that was stuck on the note. It was blank and white but certainly showed its wear from the usage with a gold border and there’s a small hole punctured at the top corner. The keycard wasn’t necessary yet she chose to make sure he can enter the loft without sneaking in all the time. All he hoped was that he doesn’t meet any of her neighbours when he does use the front entrance of the complex for once.

Six months

Two months after what happened, Krauser was starting to get used to Trish coming back home when he’s around. It took some time for him as if he was intruding her loft while he was still here and minding his own business. Sometimes he leaves when she informs him that she is returning home from her mission and resides at her safe house until she leaves for her next mission. What took him to finally give in was one night when he thought the place was empty as he entered from the glass door and had a gun pointed at him right in front of him by none other than a one armed Trish in a robe. Since she was one arm short, Krauser could catch a view of her cream silk chemise and shorts and he avoided staring at her chest as she took long one breath.

She was irked that he was still sneaking around and still treating her home as a R&R after what she had provided for him, she’s making him do a trial run to stay while she’s around. Starting with joining her to bed after he showers. He persisted that he’ll sleep on the couch, and he won’t leave this time, but she managed to get the upper hand by telling him that she wanted him to feel like he has a home and with her even if he’s not around often and because she wanted him around.

“No more hookups at cramp motels.” She told him, almost sighing heavily while she ran her hand through her hair. “No more random meet ups during our jobs, and no more sneaking in through that bloody door. I trust you when I gave you my name, when I knew you wouldn't snitch me to your employers at times, and when you had to deal with me in general. Trust me to care for you. Stay,” the gun was set on the kitchen island, her hand curled around his, tugging him closer, “Please.”

So he did. He entrusted himself to her to be cared for under her roof. 

Trish stayed up and read a book to wait for him to be done with his shower and get himself ready for bed. As soon as Krauser slid under the sheets in only shorts, her book was set away and she switched off the lights. They have slept together in the same bed before for reasons but for comfort, it was a rarity for him but Trish didn’t care. She had managed to get his arm around her waist, pressed her back against his chest, and adjusted herself better and she soon fell asleep. Krauser remained awake and staring off into the semi-darkness of the loft, tuning in to any noises made around them. The faint ticking of a clock, the low whirr of the ceiling fan above them, the shifts of either one of them in bed, and soon Trish’s soft breathing as she slept. He realised that he held his breath the whole time he’s been in bed. While he slowly regulate his breathing under his breath, as if afraid he’ll wake up the woman, he buried his face against the crook of her neck, the tip of his nose brushed against her decapitation scar, and soon he was inhaling the smell he been craving for months since his pondering question that very day. 

The floral scent wasn’t as strong as he smelled from the bottle itself. It smelled pleasant and calming, allowing his body to slowly relax against her form and finally adjust his position better while his arm remained around her waist. He swore he could hear the faint beat of her pulse when he decided to caress his lips against her bare shoulder, grazing his sharp canine against her skin, earning him a soft noise emitted from the sleeping hitman.

He can’t recall when he finally fell asleep but when he woke up, he had to slowly process his whole surroundings from the comforts of sleep, the warm sheets, and the lingering smell of lavender. Soft noises were heard but he wasn’t sure where it was coming from, forcing himself out of bed and head downstairs. Trish would be found dressed in her waitress uniform, making breakfast with a radio playing a song that wasn’t in English. It sounded to be French.

When she turned around, she almost jerked back with the pan and spatula in both hands from the sight of a shirtless Krauser standing by the kitchen counter. “Oh! You’re awake.” She said with a hint of surprise. “I mean that’s good. Breakfast is ready. Sit.” She told him to, transferring the scrambled eggs onto a plate containing bacon, pancakes, and sausages. He noticed the plate he was given was bigger from the usual size he has often used and the portion he has was a lot more compared to hers. 

“You eat more than me.” She pointed out while she filled his mug with coffee and set it next to his plate. “Did you manage to sleep well last night?” As she sat down across from him, he casually shrugged his shoulders. “I had worse.” Krauser had eaten her food before but they were leftovers and sometimes the taste wasn't right when he microwaved them. Smelling the rich scent of breakfast right under his nose was practically heaven and taking the first bite of it almost brought a moan out of him. A soft chuckle was made from her making those icy blue eyes flickered at her hiding her small grin behind her mug.

“What?”

“Nothing, love.” Her eyes looked away to focus on her own breakfast and together they ate in silence until Trish was done and making a move for the front door. “I’m heading off now.” Her slippers were switched to a pair of black ankle boots, a leather jacket zipped up, and a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “You’re free to drop by if you want to have dinner, but,” she shrugged her shoulders in his view as she picked up her bike helmet, “up to you. There’s some good places to eat around here. Bye Jack.” 

The loft became quiet without her and Krasuer was all alone again. It’ll take some time to get used to it. A new change in his system but something he would get used to soon.

The first week was awkward, not being used around Trish’s presence constantly compared when on the job. When she’s working as a waitress, he would spend his hours keeping himself occupied as usual like from the previous months until she returns home from work tired. Sometimes she had forgotten that he was here and her attack mode went off quickly in a blink of an eye. One time when Krauser was upstairs leaving the showers right as Trish came back, he went over the balcony to greet her only to quickly catch a throwing knife thrown at his face and then a shocked look on her face by what she had done. Wherever she had kept them they were confiscated for as long as he deemed it so until both of them were not high on alert around each other.

It took some time during the whole month for them and bit by bit progress has been made. Eventually it had fallen into a system they had become comfortable with.

[mlmxreader]

So Cold | William Guarnere x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: "Aren't you lovely and warm?" guarnere x m!reader

summary: it's cold, and nobody is feeling it quite as much as Guarnere.

tws: swearing, smoking, mentions of physical fighting

It was freezing outside, fog so thick that nothing could be seen without the use of torches, and even then, they only allowed things to be seen a few feet away; the RAF had to halt everything, planes weren't allowed to fly, and training exercises for hand to hand combat were put on hold, too, which Perveen and Mohinder weren't happy about, as every Friday they would always spar with their kirpans. It was tradition, had been for years. Nobody was happy about it, really, but while the RAF made do with what you were all given, Easy Company weren't exactly finding it easy. They were shivering and shaking as they sat around fires they had made, complaining of the frost on the ground that made their backsides wet when they sat down, complaining that their fingers were cold; but none complained quite as much as Guarnere.

It got to the point where, when he entered Mohinder's office, his voice was nearly hoarse; the tip of his nose turning a slight pink as he sniffled and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his rough coat. It wasn't much warmer in the office, but with a pot of freshly brewed coffee on the side, he made his way to it, and put his hands on it as he sighed; it was boiling, making his fingers sting as he winced and sniffled. Mohinder was nowhere to be seen, probably off with Perveen somewhere, maybe even discussing plans with Abdul or helping him to find where the fuck the East was so that he could pray; so Guarnere made himself as home as he sat with the coffee pot on his lap, hugging it close.

"Fuck, he's such a cunt!" You exclaimed, dusting your hands off as you stamped your boots on the mat and huffed. "If that fucking cunt has a go about us not fucking-"

"Hi, baby," Guarnere smiled, lifting one hand off of the pot so that he could wave to you.

You looked at him for a second, then smiled. "Hi."

Daring to sit beside him, you reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out his cigarettes; with shaky hands, you lit two up, and passed him one. Guarnere took a long drag, then grumbled as he hugged the pot a little closer. "Hard day?"

"Your fucking Sobel," you growled. "Fucking had a go at us for fucking talking in Punjabi, again."

It was commonplace for the pilots of squadron number forty three to talk in Punjabi when they were alone; with Mohinder and Perveen both being raised speaking it, and you and Abdul learning it from them, it came more than naturally when you were all alone together. It was nothing. But Sobel didn't like it, and would always be venomous towards you when you dared to speak it. Both Guarnere and Winters had told him to shut his mouth about it, but he never listened.

"So I broke his fucking nose," you continued, "if he's not gonna shut his fucking trap, I'll knock his lights out so it stays fucking shut."

Guarnere dared to laugh softly as he nodded, someone had to put Sobel in his place, and if it that happened to be his own boyfriend... he wasn't going to feel anything except pride, if the truth were to be told. So he put the coffee pot back on the side, and he put his arm around you, grumbling softly.

"Aren't you lovely and warm?"

"You do work up a sweat when you've got some fucking cunt under you and you're just fucking hitting him with all you got," you laughed softly, leaning into him as you winced a little. "Fuck, you're cold... is this why you were hugging the coffee pot?"

Guarnere nodded. "Yeah... it's fine, I didn't touch the actual coffee."

"I dunno," you hummed. "Kinda don't want an American touching my coffee."

"Fuck off," he laughed, shaking his head. Soon enough though, he moved to sit on your lap, getting himself more than comfortable as he did his best to steal every single scrap of warmth that he could. "How are you not cold?"

"I'm normal," you laughed, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face against his neck, trying to help him to warm up a little bit. "Do you want my jacket?"

"Nah," he shook his head again, shuddering as he felt a gust of wind at his back. The door had been opened.

"Hey (y/n)," Abdul waved. "Guarnere alright?"

"He's cold," your voice was muffled, only just loud enough to be heard. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Abdul replied, taking a look around the office, "you seen my prayer mat?"

"In the back," you gestured over. "Should be next to mine... is it time already?"

Abdul checked his watch, then shook his head. "Not quite, few hours, but I can't remember where I put mine."

"I can't have five goddamn minutes with my boyfriend," Guarnere complained as he pulled back, moving so that his back was against your chest as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Not even five fuckin' minutes."

"I'll ask Allah if we can get more time," you joked softly, kissing his cheek. "No more than five minutes, though, just in case I've got a dogfight."

"In this fog?" Abdul scoffed as he started to look for his prayer mat. "(y/n), it's taken me and Mohinder all morning to find where East is pointing - we're not engaging in any fights."

"You never know," you hummed. "Fog might clear."

"It better not," Guarnere growled. "It's too cold, and I want my fuckin' boyfriend for once."

Abdul laughed softly, searching for his prayer mat amongst the other things that were crammed into the back of the office; it was the only place that wasn't impacted by the weather, and was also safe from rats and spiders and everything else that could be found on base. Beside his, yours was propped up against an old motorcycle engine.

"Found it!"

"Alhamdulillah!" You called. "Is it alright?"

"Yeah," Abdul nodded, tucking it under his arm. "Should be alright... I'll give you and Guarnere them five minutes now, don't worry."

"Thank fuck," Guarnere huffed, waiting for Abdul to leave before he moved himself back around and started to pepper your neck in little kisses. "You. Are. So. Fucking. Warm."

"You got five minutes," you pointed out with a soft laugh.

"Five hours," Guarnere bartered.

"An hour."

"Five hours."

You checked your watch. "I have prayer in three hours. You got until then."

"I can deal with that."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[arcxnumvitae]

“Do not worry,” a playfulness filled her voice as she leaned on the edge of the sill. “Morning has not missed you yet.” Though leave it to her to glimpse across the items of his room, fingers unable to help but reach for one of what she assumed to be a collection of weapons for the sparring partner of Seelie. A decent weight, she must admit. Unique in the metal used for the blade, even as she leaves it to rest on a single digit, manages to hold its own.

Now if only she could maintain a guilt free expression when the inquiry reached her ears. A pause followed alongside a tuck of a stray lock. “In regard to that …” Returning his weapon back to its place, Anna crossed her arms with a small laugh. “I might have … uh … bypassed them, if you will.” Well it was one way of putting it.

“Though I wonder if they would have knocked on your door to fetch you, Lord Mèinnearach. Particularly after an eventful evening, hmm?” A brow rose, her tone indicative of curiosity and implication he may have enjoyed more than just a drink. (Anna-Iomhar)

@lunarxdaydream || Continuation of the excited corgi

While chagrin entered his guest's face, Iomhar himself burst into laughter.

"You snuck by them! How amusing! They would not have forbade you from entering if you simply knocked at the front door. They are used to their lord's..." He chuckled, falling back onto his mussed sheets, "tendencies." Shame rarely existed in Seelie, and his servants in particular had long since grown used to his ways. "If they were to shy away from my door whenever I had a lover over, why, they would likely never enter my rooms!"

Speaking of which, did the people of Anna's land have the same cavalier attitude regarding nudity as Seelie? He had nearly pushed himself from the bed to stand without thinking about it, but it was that realization at the last second that had the man reaching for an elaborately embroidered dressing gown tossed nearby. Pulling it around his frame and securing the belt, Iomhar rose with another languid stretch and a teasing wink.

"Am I to take it that you broke into my estate solely to catch a glimpse of me undressed? Also," he thought to add, "have you eaten yet? I can have some food sent up to us. Did you travel here from Calore?"

'Trespasser' or not, the hilarious woman was now his guest in his residence. He would be remiss not to at least feed her a little!

[kanisema-blog]

Adopted by the Absom's

Chapter 13

The auditorium was packed, the atmosphere electric with the intensity of the debate. I sat beside Ynah, my eyes fixed on the stage where the debaters sparred with words. Ynah leaned closer and whispered, "I can't wait to meet Touzhen after this. His art is incredible."

"I know, right?" I whispered back, my excitement mingled with a hint of anxiety. "I've heard so much about his work. This exhibition is going to be amazing if we can get him on board."

Ynah nodded enthusiastically. "Do you think he'll agree? I mean, he's pretty famous in both the art and debate circles."

"I'm hopeful," I replied, trying to keep my voice low. "We have a good lineup already, and his presence would just elevate the whole event."

Ynah turned her attention back to the stage. "They’re really going at it. It's intense."

I glanced at the debaters, their passion and conviction evident in every word. "It's impressive. It reminds me of the debates we used to have in school. Remember?"

Ynah chuckled. "How could I forget? You were always so good at them. You had this way of turning every argument around."

"Those were the days," I said with a smile. "Now it's all about curating art and dealing with logistics."

"And running into old flames," Ynah added, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed. "Yeah, that too."

The debate ended with a flurry of applause, and Ynah and I made our way through the crowd in search of Touzhen, whose real name was Jomar Addiman. He was also a well-known debater, and we hoped to convince him to be part of our exhibition.

We found Jomar surrounded by a group of admirers. When he saw us, he smiled warmly. "Jhenny, Ynah, it's great to see you. I hope you enjoyed the debate."

"It was fantastic," Ynah replied enthusiastically. "We're actually here to talk to you about the upcoming exhibition at Musée Venia. We think your work would be a perfect fit."

Jomar's eyes lit up. "I'd be honored. Let's discuss the details."

We talked for a while, ironing out plans and discussing his pieces. I excused myself to the restroom, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. When I emerged, I nearly collided with Aaron.

"Not you again," I muttered, my annoyance bubbling up.

Aaron's expression was serious. "We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you," I replied, trying to move past him.

Aaron grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful. "What did your family do to my father?"

I yanked my arm away. "I'm not the right person to ask about this."

"Jhenny, please," Aaron's voice broke slightly. "Tell your father to not kill my father…he is a good man."

I scoffed, unable to hide my disdain. "A good man? Your father abuses his power as a police officer."

"And you think your father is any better?" Aaron shot back, his eyes dark with frustration.

I didn't respond, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Ynah approached us, breaking the tension. "Mr. Ackehurst, it's nice to see you."

"Likewise, Ynah," Aaron replied, his eyes not leaving mine.

"Jhenny," Ynah said gently, "we should go."

I took the opportunity to call Thomas, our chauffeur. When he arrived, I quickly got into the car, wanting to escape the confrontation. Thomas drove me back to the Absom family mansion in silence.

At home, the maids greeted me as usual, and I ate dinner alone. The chef had outdone himself, but I barely tasted the food. My mind was preoccupied with Aaron's words and the troubling reality of our families' dark history.

After dinner, I lingered near the kitchen, listening to the maids' whispered conversations about what Father had done to Mr. Ackehurst. Their hushed voices painted a grim picture, and my stomach churned with unease.

"Did you hear what Mr. Absom did to Mr. Ackehurst?" one maid, Clara, whispered to another, Marta.

"I heard bits and pieces," Marta replied. "Something about a business deal gone wrong. Mr. Absom can be quite ruthless when he wants to be."

Clara nodded. "Apparently, Mr. Ackehurst tried to go against him, and Mr. Absom made sure he regretted it. Some say Mr. Ackehurst's health has been declining ever since."

Marta shook her head. "It's a dangerous game they're playing. And poor Jhenny, caught in the middle of it all."

"She doesn't deserve this," Clara said softly. "She's such a sweet girl. I hope she stays strong."

I went up the grand staircase to my bedroom, the familiar steps feeling heavier than usual. I took a bath, brushed my teeth, and did my skincare routine mechanically, my thoughts far away.

As I lay in bed, the events of the day played over and over in my mind. Aaron's plea, my father's actions, and the tangled web of our pasts weighed heavily on me. Sleep came fitfully, haunted by the shadows of our intertwined lives and the secrets that threatened to tear us apart.

[sleepingpillscosmos]

hi i’d like to request “can i hold your hand? is that weird to ask?” with teen nanami specifically please thank you!

HOLD MY HAND — kento nanami

pairing: teen!kento nanami x fem!reader.

warnings/content: gojō is a pain in the ass. maybe ooc nanami but I imagine him like this. reader is a third year with shoko, getō and gojō. nanami is a second year. all that happened after toji's didn't happen because I need some delusion in my life.

wc: 1.4k.

requested: yes, by anon.

a/n: finally restarted to write again after a long time. I'll start again to write the event fics and I'll try to finish them by the end of the month. hope you enjoy this <3

prompt: "can i hold your hand? is that weird to ask?"

"Are you guys even listening?" Gojō said, exasperated by your behaviour. You were currently sitting on the stairs that led to the training field with Shoko, Getō and Gojō. It was a relaxing friday afternoon, you didn't have any lessons, as they were finished for this week, and nobody had to go abroad for any kind of mission.

This week was exhausting. Yaga decided to make you all do extra training because of the exchange event coming up and nobody liked that. While sparring Getō accidentally broke Haibara's finger, you and shoko nearly broke each other's neck while practicing martial arts and Nanami sprained his ankle. All of that in one day.

Yaga wasn't happy about that, so he doubled your training sessions. But after seeing you all so tired yesterday, he chose to give you all an extra free day, which was going wonderfully, if you don't take into account Satoru's whining about who knows what. Honestly nobody was listening to him, you were all too tired to do so.

"You don't even know how to pretend. You guys are awful." Satoru dramatically pointed out as he sat back on the stairs.

As Shoko lit another sigarette, you all restarted to talk about nonsense, just like always.

"uhm.. Hi.." a voice said behind you all, making you and your friends turn in confusion.

"Hello Nanami" Shoko waved at him, with her cigarette between her lips.

"Need somethin'?" Getō asked him.

"I just wanted to ask y/n a thing.." He said, looking at you, smiling slightly. You could see a faint blush on his cheeks. You all looked at him, waiting for his question, "In private.."

"What? You want to ask her to be your girlfriend?" Gojō immediately teased him as usual, which earned him a smack on his head from you, who already got up to go and talk to Nanami.

"So.. What do you want to ask me?" you questioned once you were far from the others.

"I.. Uhm.." Nanami stuttered, not being able to form a decent thought in his mind because of his nervousness. He looked everywhere but at you, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Kento, you know you can ask me anything, do you?" you tried to reassure him, putting your hand on his arm.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You were starting to worry about what he was going to ask you since he was this nervous.

"I wanted to ask you," he took another deep breath, "Would you like to go out with me tomorrow?"

"For a moment you got me really worried," you said chuckling. "I'd love to"

Nanami's lips twitched upwards, he couldn't believe he was finally going out on a date with the girl he had a crush on for the past months. Honestly, he was prepared for a rejection, even if Haibara spent days telling him that it wouldn't happen. After all, you were perfect. You were beautiful, smart, funny, always ready to help anyone and always kind with everyone. And him.. Well, he was just Nanami. He didn't really think highly of himself.

"Alright so, it's okay for you if we meet at the front door at 5 pm?" Kento asked, no longer nervous but excited.

"Sounds perfect to me" you smiled kindly. He nodded, then you both got back, you went to your friends who couldn't wait to know what Nanami just asked you, and he went to tell the news to Haibara.

"So?" Gojō questioned immediately when you came back.

"Nothing that concerns you" you responded, just wishing to go back to your previous topic.

"Oh come on, that's unfair!" Gojō said dramatically while the others watched you two. They were silent, but they wanted to know as bad as Gojō.

"I don't see how that's unfair. It's between me and Kento" you claimed, hoping that it would end the little argument.

"So now it's Kento?" Gojō teased grinning, trying to push your buttons to get you to confess.

"I've always called him that, don't make up things" you were starting to get really annoyed, it was none of his business.

"Weren't you saying to us what Yaga told you the other day? I think you should tell y/n the story, I know she'll like it" thank god Getō changed the topic of your conversation, making Gojō completely forget about you and Nanami in an instant. He loved being the center of attention.

[...]

"Shoko!" you nearly screamed from your room calling for your best friend's help, where you were in your bathrobe in front of your wardrobe, not having a clue on what to wear.

You told yourself that you shouldn't worry this much, you were just going to hang out with Nanami, who already saw you all rusty and bloody after missions. But somehow you wanted to look prettier, more beautiful than ever, just for him.

You always liked Kento, even with his quiet personality, and anyone could tell so. You always spent a lot of time together, mainly because of your compatibility during missions and training and because you kind of forced him to. Not that he was mad or annoyed about it. Actually, he really liked when you literally barged in his room to watch a movie or to read a manga together.

"Yes?" she asked, emerging from the door, making a beeline for your bed.

"I don't know what to wear" you cried out, rubbing your face with your hands in frustration.

"I don't get why you're so pressed about it. You could literally wear a garbage bag and he would still think you look good" she said, looking at you in confusion.

"You're not helping" you mumbled. Shoko could see the way you were nervously tapping your foot on the floor, so, after taking a deep breath, she got up and walked till she met you in front of your wardrobe. After about two minutes of contemplating, she reached for an outfit and gave it to you.

You glanced at what she put in your hands, then you smiled and hugged your friend, who just saved you.

"You're the best Shoko!"

"Yeah yeah, I know" she responded laughing, "But now go and get ready, it's almost time"

She remained with you while you dressed and got ready, listening to all your rumblings and your worries while she assured you that this date would go well.

Once you were ready Shoko walked with you to the front door of the school, where Nanami was already waiting for you.

You gave one last hug to Shoko as you thanked her for what probably was the hundredth time and finally went to meet with your date.

[...]

The date went perfectly.

You both were a bit nervous at first, especially Kento, but it wore off not after long.

He decided to lead you to one of his favourites spots to read or just relax while watching the view from there. It was truly beautiful.

You sat down under a tree and enjoyed the sunset as you softly talked to each other, giggling and sharing shy smiles.

When it was time to go back, you were both a bit sad, but, unfortunately, you couldn't remain under that tree forever, so you started to walk back to the school in a comfortable silence.

"Can I hold your hand?" Kento asked without even thinking, his eyes widened and as realised what he just said, he became redder than ever. "Is that weird to ask?"

You were about to shake your head and reach for his hand yourself, but another voice, which wasn't Kento's, interrupted you.

"Yes it is! You dumba-" he got cut off, but you knew that annoying voice too well. One day you were going to suffocate him while he was sleeping.

"Gojō. I swear that I'm going to kill you and that your infinity will be completely useless.”

network: @enchantedforest-network.

[badnikbreaker]

“Alright.”  The pink hedgehog’s hand raises, and Ava stops in her tracks, hands still curled, eyes going confused.  “We’re done sparring for today.”  The rabbit’s expression goes offended, and Amy cuts her off as her hands start to raise to protest.  “You’ve pushed far enough.  You’re going to hurt yourself if we go any farther.”

The rabbit takes a step nearer, but her legs nearly give out from under her when barely one step in, and she’s forced to stop.  The both of them are injured, though Ava far more —— bruised, skin broken, exhausted, and dripping with sweat.  Amy is comparably healthier; fewer bruises, no broken skin, not breathing nearly so hard.  Her posture is loose; almost relaxed.  Like this fight’s taken so little out of her.  It frustrates Ava, sickened with her own weakness — that there’s still such an enormous gap between her and her friends.  HOW LONG DOES SHE HAVE TO FIGHT BEFORE SHE STOPS BEING THE WEAK LINK?  THE BURDEN?

<  i can keep going,  > she insists, hands trembling.  Amy doesn’t look convinced, a brow raising.

< no, > they sign back.  <  you can’t.  >

Ava’s teeth grit, fist pulling back as she starts a charge at the hedgehog, but she only manages two steps before her legs give out; she falls with a quiet sound of pain.  Amy barely catches her, supporting the smaller fighter against their body.  There’s no smart remark from her worn hands, hanging loose at her sides.

“Did you pass out...?”  There’s no response, the girl limp in their arms.  Amy sighs as she checks her pulse and finds that it’s fine, if fast.  Just exhaustion, then.  “Told you you were pushing too hard...”

“You bullying rookies again?”  Knuckle’s voice is playful from the now - open door as Amy shifts Ava into their arms.  Amy laughs, head shaking, as they start towards the medbay.

“Ava’s hardly a rookie anymore.  She better every time we train.”

Knuckles joins them at their side when they pass him.  “She gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.”  They reach the medbay; Amy sets the unconscious rabbit down in a bed and gently arranges her so that she won’t wake up aching.  “She’ll be sore for a while, but she’ll be fine.  She’s better now.  Way stronger than she was during the war.”

“You should go easier on her.”

That gets a loud laugh out of the hedgehog; Knuckles has to chuckle, too.  Neither of them are any good at that.

“Big words from you!  Do you remember the first time we sparred?”

Knuckles leans against the wall behind him and feigns thoughtfulness.  “Hm...not really.  Must not have been very impressive.”

They deadpan, “You broke two of my fingers and almost my leg.”

His laugh, this time, is sheepish.  “Sorry.  Might’ve been a little much.”

“Don’t be sorry.”  She takes a seat on Ava’s bed, brushing some hair from her face.  “Injuries are a part of training.  And I was grateful, honestly.  You were the first person to take me seriously...not to treat me with kid gloves.”  Her eyes roll and then lower.  The first person who treated her like she was strong enough to take damage — and to dish it back out.  “I hated the way everybody else acted like I was weak.”

“Yeah, well...I knew you had real potential.  I could already tell you were strong.”

Amy smiles, eyes lowering back to Ava.  Her hands tremble and she feels her smile goes watery — she doesn’t WANT to cry.  Not about this.  Not about being told she’s strong by her friend.  By her family.  It’s just...

“People say that Ava and I were a lot alike.  I don’t really think it’s true anymore.”  Ava’s so much angrier; so much more erratic.  Amy understands and doesn’t fault her.  But they’re vastly different people past the sweetness.  “But I get why she wants to push so hard.  That’s why I can’t hold back with her.  I know what it’s like to...to be the weak link.  The tagalong kid.  Just feeling so desperate to get stronger so you’re not weighing everybody down anymore.”

“Hey —”  Knuckle’s voice is concerned, and her eyes raise to meet his.  They’re more sincere than they were a moment ago.  “You were never weighing us down.  Even before you could beat me in a fight, you were strong in your own way, too.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“—— You remember the first time you won a spar with me?”  Amy nods; of course they do.  They’d been elated.  “You ran to tell Sonic and Tails — didn’t let me live it down for weeks.”  Knuckles looks towards the ceiling, smirking at the memory.  “I remember thinking, well, shit.  I’ve created a monster.  Now the person with the strongest heart I know can ALSO beat me in a fight.”

Amy inhales deeply, lips pressing together.

“And I remember feeling so glad that I never held back with you.”

When he looks back down to them, Amy’s eyes are welling.  They smile shakily, eyes closing, tears tracking down their cheeks.  They wipe them away with a quiet laugh.

“Y - Yeah.  Thanks, Knuckles.”  Amy pushes themselves off the bed; inhales deeply to stop the tears.  Another glance at Ava assures her that the girl is still fine; she’s woken up in this bed enough that Amy doesn’t feel like they need to stick around and wait.  “I’ve gotta get back to work...unless you wanna have a quick spar, too?”

“Oh!  The illustrious Restoration leader, taking a break from paperwork?”

Amy strikes his shoulder with a laugh.  “What?  Scared you’ll lose?  I’m still a little winded from that fight with Ava — you might actually have a shot for once.”

He grabs them around the shoulder and they push him off with a laugh.  “If that was all it took to wear you out, I won’t have any trouble at all.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it!  C’mon!”  They grab his hand with a bright laugh, tears forgotten, and drag him towards the door.  “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you!”

He can only laugh, challenging and familiar, and follow.