#half pace staircase

[upinteriors]

Concrete half-pace staircase next tolightwell garden.

Project: Verdi House Design: Arquitectura-G Location: Barcelona, Spain Photography: Maxime Delvaux

[cece693]

I wanted to begin writing for twilight again, but didn't have any ideas for who. So this fic is mostly be just going with the flow.

Sparkling Awkwardness

pairing: jasper whitlock x male reader x edward cullen tags: you are a newborn, but even then you can't catch a break, tug of war between two vampires, comedic elements, pre-relationship, reader is not that old, newborn vampire

In Forks, Washington, the perpetual gray skies had always been your friend—before and after you became a vampire. But not even the cozy gloom of the Pacific Northwest could hide the shimmering tension stirring between Jasper and Edward over you, of all people.

You never asked to be so desirable; you certainly hadn’t been in your human life. But now, you were a shiny new vampire with a perfect complexion and a magnetic personality—at least, so you’d been told. You still felt like the same slightly clumsy, socially awkward guy, except you no longer tripped over your own feet unless you were actively trying to blend in. It was weird. Oh, and apparently, both Jasper and Edward thought you might be their “mate.” That word alone was enough to give you hives if your skin could still do that. It made everything feel predetermined—a cosmic real-estate deal on your afterlife.

No, thank you.

You plopped down on the gleaming white couch, adopting what you hoped was a casual position. Edward sat at the piano bench, absentmindedly letting his fingers hover over the keys, while Jasper paced near the staircase. They were doing that silent eye-contact thing—what you liked to call “vampire telepathy” (you knew it was actually Edward reading thoughts and Jasper sensing emotions, but still). Either way, you were definitely the topic, if the frequent side-eye glances were any indication.

You cleared your throat, forcing a grin. “So, are we going to continue the silent stare-off, or do I need to crack a few jokes to break this tension?”

Edward turned to you, lips curving into a tight, apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he murmured softly. “Old habits.”

“You guys have old habits? You’re basically the definition of ancient habits,” you teased. “I’m the new kid on the block. Cut me some slack. I’ve only been a vampire for—what—three months?”

Jasper stopped mid-pace, sending you a faint smirk. “If it helps, you’re doing a fine job adjusting. No unintentional biting incidents this week.”

“I appreciate the recognition. We can add it to my vampire résumé,” you said, only half-joking. “Next up: perfecting the sparkle. Do you think if I rub my cheek up against a disco ball, I’ll blind everyone within a two-mile radius?”

Edward’s eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. “Might be a bit dramatic, even for us.”

Jasper shrugged. “No more dramatic than having two vampires fight over you, I reckon.”

You grimaced, nose scrunching. “Yeah, about that.” You cast them both a meaningful look. “Are you two really fighting over me? Because I’m not exactly used to…you know, this.”

“Yes,” Edward said at the exact same time Jasper said, “Of course.” Then they flicked irritated glances at each other, as if each wished the other had said anything else.

When Carlisle brought you home after that near-fatal accident, you had been delirious and bleeding out. Edward, in typical heroic fashion, had insisted on saving you. Next thing you knew, there you were: newly turned, hungry for blood, and fitted with a brand-new wardrobe courtesy of Alice.

You’d spent the early days stumbling through the house, flinching whenever someone shut a door too loudly. But from the get-go, you noticed two sets of molten gold eyes on you more than the others: Jasper’s and Edward’s.

You didn’t think much of it at first—maybe they were just protective. But it quickly escalated from polite overprotectiveness to…whatever this was. Tense stands in the living room. Soft arguments at midnight. That time Jasper accidentally crushed a chair arm because Edward “invaded your personal space.” Or the time Edward snarled under his breath for no apparent reason when you innocently asked Jasper for some sparring tips.

Needless to say, that’s when you began to suspect something was afoot. And apparently, that something was the so-called mate bond. You still didn’t buy it.

A creak on the polished floor made you realize you’d been tapping your foot anxiously—only to discover it was Jasper edging closer to you. He had that concerned older-brother-turned-smitten-face again. Meanwhile, Edward looked up from the piano, watching you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to (besides maybe the antique piano itself).

You sighed, addressing them both. “So, as fun as it is being the center of your undead soap opera, can we talk about the whole ‘mate’ thing? I still don’t buy into it.”

Edward studied you, a hint of a frown creasing his perfect forehead. “I’ve heard your thoughts,” he began, “and I understand why you’re—”

“You heard my thoughts?” you cut in, eyes narrowing. “Hey, man, that’s private property up there. At least charge admission.”

A sheepish smile briefly pulled at his lips. “I try to respect your privacy, but strong emotions tend to overflow.”

Your cheeks heated (which was impossible, physically, but you felt it). You cleared your throat. “Well, guess I should keep my strong emotions dialed down—like that’s even possible. I’m brand-new at this vamp thing. I can’t walk across the room without rearranging furniture accidentally.”

Jasper let out a low laugh. It instantly relaxed some of the tension in the room—he couldn’t help broadcasting some of that relaxation to you, as was his empathetic gift. “I’ve got no intention of forcing you into anything,” he said gently. “It’s just…I feel how your emotions waver between us. It’s intense.”

You threw up your hands. “I can’t help it! You two are like walking advertisement campaigns for impossibly cool vampires. I mean, Edward, you’ve got that brooding poet vibe, and sometimes your hair looks like you walked off a shampoo commercial—”

He seemed surprised. “I—thank you?”

You went on. “Jasper, you’re the calm center in a raging storm, and plus, that Southern drawl is kinda hot. Sorry, is that weird to say out loud?”

Jasper blinked. “It’s— it’s not unwelcome.”

Edward’s lips twitched in a smile. “So, you do admit you feel…something?”

“Well, yeah!” you exclaimed. “But does that mean I have to pick and stamp a romantic label on it right now? Because that’s a lot of pressure.” You flopped back against the couch dramatically. “Especially when I’m trying to figure out why my sparkles look more like glitter glue than fancy vampire confetti in the sunlight.”

You heard a snicker and glanced to the side. Emmett was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, thoroughly entertained. Alice stood behind him, grinning like this was the funniest show on earth.

“You’re both about one push away from a territorial meltdown,” Emmett teased his brothers. “And I, for one, can’t wait to see who’s gonna punch whom first.”

Jasper shot him a warning look. “Not helpful, Emmett.”

Edward winced. “I’d prefer if we avoided violence.”

You rubbed your temples. “Yes, please, let’s not have that. It’s already complicated enough without fistfights.”

“Aw, come on,” Emmett drawled, “vampire fights are the best. It’ll be over in about two seconds and destroy half the house. Great entertainment, if you ask me.”

Alice laughed behind her hand. “I saw a vision of that once. Rosalie was not happy about the furniture repairs.”

In an effort to shift the mood, you sat up straight, cleared your throat, and pointed at Edward and Jasper in turn. “First, you.” You locked eyes with Edward. “Stop reading my cringe-worthy daydreams—I can’t handle that level of exposure.”

He pressed his lips together in a teasing way, then nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Second,” you said, turning to Jasper, “no more flooding me with calm vibes to manipulate me into hugging you for, like, five minutes at a time.”

Jasper put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I don’t do that on purpose. Usually,” he added under his breath.

“And third,” you said, scanning between them, “I don’t want either of you jumping to assumptions about being my ‘mate.’ I don’t even know what that truly means aside from it being the vampire version of destiny. Maybe I’m too new to see the big picture, but…” You shrugged, folding your arms. “I’m not ready to commit. I like you both. Deal with it.”

Edward’s eyes flickered with relief and a shade of disappointment simultaneously, as though he’d half-expected you to declare an immediate eternal bond. Jasper gave you a solemn nod, managing a small, humble smile.

“So you want to, what, keep this casual?” Edward asked.

“I want to keep living—uh, un-living—my new existence,” you corrected, “without strapping myself into an epic love saga just yet. Let me be a baby vampire who can’t even do a normal grocery run without wanting to pass out from the smell of raw hamburger.” Your voice dropped into a mock superhero tone: “Time to buy more steak sauce, but oh wait, I can’t eat human food anymore.”

A strained silence passed, then Edward sighed, letting the corners of his mouth lift. “Fair enough.”

Jasper stepped closer, just enough that he could have touched your arm, but he hesitated. “And if we…I don’t know, slip up? If one of us tries to edge the other one out?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You both have about a century of experience on me. I promise, if you slip up, I will find some comedic way to remind you. Maybe I’ll laminate a scoreboard.”

At that, Jasper chuckled quietly. Edward dipped his head, biting back a grin. It seemed the cold war between them was cooling off—somewhat.

Emmett broke into a broad smile. “Aw, man, a scoreboard. Please put me in charge of that. I’ll keep track of who gets the most time with you. Strictly for comedic purposes, of course.”

From across the house, Rosalie’s voice rang out, “Don’t encourage them!”

As the sun sank below Forks’ ever-present clouds, you rose from the couch, nearly tripping over the rug on your way to the door—reflexively, Jasper grabbed your elbow, steadying you. Edward hovered just behind you, poised to catch you if you stumbled further.

“Thanks,” you murmured to both of them, awkwardly aware of their closeness. Being flanked by two protective vampires had once seemed terrifying, but now it felt…comforting. Still weird, though.

“We’re not going to solve everything tonight,” you said, taking a purposeful step back so you could see them both—and so you didn’t spontaneously lean into someone’s chest. “Let’s just agree not to tear each other apart, yeah?”

Edward extended a hand toward Jasper, as if to form a truce. Jasper eyed it warily for a moment before accepting the gesture in a calm, if reluctant, handshake. “Alright,” Edward said. “No tearing each other apart.”

Jasper nodded. “Can do.”

Feeling a spark of mischief, you clapped your hands. “Great. That’s one less lawsuit for Dr. Cullen to worry about. In the meantime, Emmett—please start designing that scoreboard.”

“On it!” Emmett crowed from the doorway.

“Have a good night, you two,” you said to Jasper and Edward. Then, with a flash of a grin, you headed for the stairs, half-dreading, half-anticipating the comedic fiascos tomorrow was sure to bring. Behind you, you heard their faint conversation:

(Edward) “He’s definitely going to drive us insane, isn’t he?”

(Jasper) “Yep.”

(Edward) “… And you’re okay with that?”

(Jasper) “I think I am.”

Your lips quirked into a smile. Even if you didn’t believe in mates, you had to admit—it felt pretty good having not just one, but two admirers who thought you were worth fighting for. Sure, you still sparkled like a glitter bomb gone awry, and your vampiric existence remained confusing at best. But if that’s the price of comedic immortality… well, you could live—er, un-live—with that.

[cobaltperun]

Darkest Part - Gives You Hell

Astrid Deetz x female Reader

Summary: You will never, in life or afterlife, if such a thing exists, meet anyone as infuriating, rage inducing, entitled, or frankly awful, as Astrid fucking Deetz. There isn’t a single thing you’d like more than to never be around her, but as your luck would have it, you just can’t stay away from her.

Masterlist / Next Part

Word count: 4.3k

-If you find a man that's worth a damn and treats you well, then he's a fool, you're just as well, hope it gives you hell-

Four minutes left.

You rushed through the park, cursing that the tiled path wasn’t straight. More than anything you cursed your own refusal to run over the grass just to save half a minute. Damn Miss Harrington for keeping everyone after class.

“I dismiss you, my ass,” you wasted precious air to complain and knowing you’d have to go back if you went for the gate, you just jumped over the fence, wincing as it shook behind you. Someone yelled at you to be more careful, but you just began running again, just barely crossing the street before the light turned red.

You spared a moment to look at your watch, two minutes left, and the library was finally in sight. You picked up the pace, luckily avoiding the crowd. Your lungs were burning, tempting you to stop and take a break. So what if you were a minute or two late for work? The world wouldn’t end if you failed to get there on time.

As if. The world might not end, but you were too proud of your perfect record to accept that. You would be there on time and then catch your breath.

“Watch out!” a cyclist yelled a warning, and you looked to the side and just narrowly avoided colliding with him.

“Sorry!” you yelled back as he cursed after you. Well, you did cross his path, so he had the right to do it. Not that you had the time to contemplate on your reckless running as you skidded to a stop in front of the library and went up the stairs as fast as you could. “Right on time,” you went through the door with less than twenty seconds to spare and were met with the annoyance of the people in the library trying to read.

You chuckled sheepishly and then sighed, hanging your head low as you walked through the library as if it was your personal walk of shame. You could just feel the disapproving glares following you, and though you knew it wasn’t exactly everyone in the library judging you it still felt like that. In reality it was more like three people out of about a dozen currently in the library.

“Maybe next time ruin your perfect record instead of barging in and disturbing everyone,” your co-worker and best friend Alex whispered as you went into the break room to leave your things.

“Leave her be, I think it’s cute,” one of the regulars at the library, a pretty, tall girl whose name you somehow kept forgetting whispered and winked at you.

You just shrugged, nodding thanks out of politeness. You were still not sure if she was trying to flirt with you or if she just so happened to always pick the table closest to the counter you and Alex were sitting behind.

~X~

A bit over six and a half hours later, with your backpack on your back and a small paper bag in hand, you opened the doors of the apartment on the seventh floor. You glanced back at the staircase and then at the elevator that worked once in a blue moon. ‘Guess I’m lucky I’m in shape,’ it was a thought that often crossed your mind. Well, childhood spent playing different sports helped.

You locked the doors behind you. “I’m home!” you exclaimed, yelling over the sound of the TV, some animal documentary from what you could hear. Whales? Probably whales. Your mom liked whales a lot. You looked around, the fading scent of cleaning products grabbed your attention, and you noticed it immediately. The lack of any dust, the clean mirror in the hall, tiled floor being so clean you could probably apply the three-second rule to the food if any was dropped on it. The apartment was too clean for your liking, she was cleaning again. Desperately trying to at least take that off your back. “Mom, don’t push yourself,” you sighed as you stepped into the living room and saw her lying on the sofa.

She looked… fragile… in pain, and you swallowed hard, remembering how healthy she was just a year ago. How did things change so quickly?

“Y/N,” she sat up, wincing and holding her back as she did so. “Hey, Sweetheart, how was your day?” she still gave you a gentle, loving smile as you set your bag next to the table and leaned in to kiss her cheek and hug her.

“Great, don’t worry about it,” you whispered and pulled out the medicine from the paper bag, pain killers, for her. Her back’s been killing her, so much so that she could no longer work.

She still went and cleaned the apartment because you just had no time to do it these past few days. The guilt gnawed at you, even if deep down you knew you physically couldn’t do everything.

You felt her hugging you tighter. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized to you on a daily basis, her voice quivering with regret. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt, seeing you work two jobs to take care of her and try and ensure you could continue your education.

“It’s going to be okay, everything will be okay,” and like always you reassured her, fearing something would break if you didn’t. You let go of her and went into the bathroom to freshen up and then heat the dinner up. You weren’t doing bad financially, with just the two of you and owning the two-bedroom apartment instead of paying the rent you had a comfortable life. The issue was saving money for the future, primarily for your college education, and there was no telling if your mom’s health would deteriorate further.

“Alex said hi, by the way. His parents invited us to come over for dinner if you’d like,” you said as you got the lasagna out of the fridge and set the table.

“He’s a good kid,” your mom commented, and he was. Alex was about a year older than you and working at the library, where you met him. You hit it off fairly quickly, he was easy to be around, easy to talk to, cheerful and always willing to encourage those around him.

“So, will you go with me?” you asked, and she nodded, while leaving the apartment would be a bit of a struggle you knew it would be good for her to go outside and be around other people.

~X~

Astrid Deetz was many things, but here, in the library, she was just another girl. No one but the people that worked here needed to know who she was, so, at least here, she wasn’t a freak. She was just another girl reading books. The library allowed coffee to be brought in, as long as the one bringing it was responsible for any potential damages and wasn’t borrowing one of the more valuable books that couldn’t easily be replaced, which was why she preferred reading here instead of going home.

Summer vacations forced her to spend time at home, with her mother, so, the more of that time she could spend away from home the better. Especially since Rory was often at her mother’s house. She was actually surprised he didn’t move in yet, but maybe her mother wasn’t completely blind after all. Who was she kidding? It was only the matter of time before he manipulated her mother into moving in.

Eventually she felt the need to go and grab a bite, so she got up and went to return the book only to see a rather annoying sight and freeze on the spot. There you were, the one flaw of the library she was currently in.

You were currently talking to a tall, blonde girl that looked ridiculously smitten with you, listening to every word you spoke as if you were solving all of life’s mysteries for her. How naïve did the girl have to be to get fooled by the soft, easy smile on your face and patience as you helped her find a new book. And you? Leading the poor girl on, knowing she didn’t really need help and being completely aware that she was just trying to flirt with you. Cruel pain in her ass, that’s what you were.

Luckily, she noticed Alex, your co-worker there as well and went toward him to return her book.

“Miss Deetz, hope everything was to your liking,” he greeted her politely, though Astrid noticed your mood immediately souring the moment her name was said. There it was, your true face. You hid it well though, and the girl blindly in love with you didn’t even notice the shift in your mood.

“Other than certain someone being here, absolutely,” Astrid didn’t even bother hiding her disdain for you.

Alex brushed it off and took the book back. “Good thing I’m here as well,” he said and Astrid wholeheartedly agreed.

“Chihuahua,” you faked a cough to hide the insult, and Astrid felt a vein pop on her forehead.

“Ignoramus,” she spat back and walked by you as you straightened your back, and she didn’t need to look back to know your eyes widened as you stared after her.

And she smiled, knowing she got a more genuine reaction than the girl a head taller than her ever could, no matter how much she flirted.

~X~

You were running on coffee and spite and simple need for money, otherwise you were sure you could fall asleep on your feet while you were washing the chisels and other tools Delia used. Tomorrow you could sleep in, relax just for a bit and recover from the grueling week. Morning job at Delia’s place, four hours, then summer art classes, preparing you for college. You were going to study architecture, hopefully to pursue your passion and design green and sustainable buildings.

And while working with Delia was helping you with your financial circumstances, it was also slowly letting you meet people, make connections and your life at least a bit easier in the future. Still, between working for Delia, the classes, and then the library you were away from home for roughly thirteen hours, which wasn’t exactly ideal for someone who just recently turned eighteen.

“Y/N, could you go and fetch new carving set I ordered?” Delia asked, well, it was more of an order, rather than a request.

“Now?” you asked as you glanced at the clock. You’d have to run again, and you’d probably still be ten minutes late, but work was work.

Delia must have followed your line of sight because she hummed. “No, pick it up on Monday,” she genuinely surprised you with that, she was usually a lot more absorbed in her own work to notice things like that.

“Thank you,” you smiled slightly.

“Architecture, right?” and she surprised you again, you didn’t think she’d remember a conversation you had several months ago.

You nodded and began drying the tools. “Green architecture, I hope,” you knew your eyes shone brightly as you said that. You loved talking about it, about how that was the future, the way to reach a compromise and protect the environment.

Delia looked lost in her thoughts for a moment and then she abruptly began laughing. “Hilarious,” she commented and shook her head.

You were confused, and frankly a bit annoyed, she didn’t strike you as someone who’d find it funny. Hell, she sounded a bit impressed when you first told her, so this reaction genuinely puzzled you. “What is?” you asked slowly, hoping your voice didn’t give away how you felt.

“Just how similar your views and goals are, yet you bicker all the time,” Delia pointed out and walked back to her sculpture, still chuckling every now and then.

You scowled, knowing exactly who she was talking about. The chihuahua that consumed the thesaurus and forced you to Google several words, ignoramus included. You should have guessed it basically meant someone ignorant. The damn infuriating pain in your ass. And Delia’s granddaughter, well, step-granddaughter.

And now Delia said you and Astrid had something in common.

Your day was ruined.

Beyond saving.

Well, maybe making Astrid Deetz lose her composure or force her to Google something would salvage your day, but how the hell were you supposed to make the walking thesaurus Google anything?

~X~

Work sweet work, well, compared to working for Delia. Sure, working for Delia was closer to your artistic side, but the library just had a charm to it that not a lot of places could compete with. The smell of old paper, layers of dust hidden from passing glances since the place was rarely properly cleaned. Not that you blamed anyone working here, you helped with the cleaning three times since starting to work here in the library, and your muscles ached at the mere thought of those times. Moving shelves upon shelves worth of books was not a fun activity. Still, the next one was still far off and perhaps you’d even be away from this city by then. Going off to study somewhere else, somewhere other than your hometown.

It was a slow day, and you leaned back, relaxing with one earbud in so you weren’t completely mentally absent from your workplace. You could just read, you likely will, in a bit, but you had a long sleepless night last night, studying and catching up on your art projects as well.

Eventually you cracked open a book about Renaissance architecture you meant to get your hands on for a long, long time, and now it was finally available at your workplace. Perks of working in the library, you guessed. Just as you were about to start reading the doors opening and a rather annoying girl walking in made your mood drop instantly. She didn't even look at you, just began looking through the shelves, clearly looking for something you could easily help her with if she wasn't so damn proud. You took a deep breath and walked over to the girl, at least you could get it over with quickly. "Deetz, what are you looking for?"

And she ignored you, completely, she didn't even go around you and instead moved with such certainty that you actually had to step back so she wouldn't walk into you.

So, she chose this approach today. It was either insults or pretending you didn’t even exist.

Infuriating entitled brat.

"This would be so much easier if someone worked here," she had the nerve to complain as your jaw dropped and you simply looked at her, flabbergasted by the girl's behavior yet again.

"Unbelievable," you shook your head as Alex came up to the two of you and you couldn’t be happier to see him jumping to your rescue.

"Hey, could you help me find a book?" she immediately asked him, and he looked between you and her with a raised eyebrow, as if he couldn’t already tell what was going on.

You just shrugged. "You're not invisible, good for you," you didn't leave yet, mostly out of spite. Astrid Deetz would not have the satisfaction of knowing she got under your skin, and she especially would not have the satisfaction of you backing away.

"What the- oh, you two are just playing another one of your games," he decided, completely ignoring the absolute dislike bordering on hatred between you and Astrid Deetz.

"I am not playing any games," you both said at the same time and huffed when you realized that.

"Would you look at that, you're in sync as well," he whistled as if he was trying to tease you.

"Bullshit!" you both denied it, once more at the same time and you just waved him off, though you were really tempted to flip him off, and went back to your desk. Pride and the damn Deetz gloating over her ability to indirectly annoy you be damned, you couldn’t stand being anywhere near her.

Eventually, your teasing, traitorous co-worker joined you. “She really likes reading, doesn’t she? And you’d think she’d be some rich kid who scoffs at the very idea of borrowing books instead of buying them, or even hate having the actual book in her hands instead of reading an e-book,” Alex commented, sounding actually impressed by the short annoyance.

You just grunted as a response, after all, you’d never admit you did notice what he just now pointed out. You noticed that from the moment you saw her, months ago, studiously going through several books seeking something rather specific. The unbreakable concentration impressed you back then, but back then you were blind to her actual personality. Still, if there were two things one could count on as far as Astrid Deetz was involved was that she hated her mother and loved reading. That being said Alex did not need to know you had any positive thought about the girl in question. You’d rather die than admit anything nice about the girl, even if deep down you did admire her love for books and reading.

“You’re not going to answer?” he probed for answers, though he should know better by now.

“I’ve got nothing to say,” you muttered and leaned onto your hand, if you could just avoid Astrid for the rest of your life, you’d be the happiest person alive, but no, you just needed to bump into her almost on a daily basis. Either in the library, or at your other work. Granted, it was mostly at the library, but sometimes she would drop by and visit her step-grandmother. That was, beside Delia sometimes getting ridiculous ideas, the only actual downside of your other work. Imagine your surprise when you went to work one day and saw Astrid there, you nearly quit right then and there.

“Yeah, cause she makes you Google new insult she hurls at you every other day,” Alex snickered, trying not to disturb anyone.

You groaned, facepalming as you leaned back in your chair. She really did make you Google things she said a lot. You still remembered Googling barnacle, her favorite word for you. Leave it to Astrid Deetz to declare you as something difficult to get rid of, when you’d do anything in your power to never see her again.

~X~

Astrid did not enjoy making trips to the parts of the town where her family might be, she seldom wanted anything to do with them, especially her mother, but it also began including her step-grandmother after she went and hired the worst possible candidate. You.

But, she had to go and visit a store a few floors above her grandmother so, here she was, in the elevator and certain she would not run into you the very next morning after your encounter at the library. She wasn’t that unlucky, was she? How she almost always ended up visiting during your shift was beyond her grasp. Maybe there was something in all the bullshit her mother talked about, and she was actually cursed with how often she encountered the one person she despised the most.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, and she nearly didn’t look up to see who was coming in. She should have ignored it, should have stared at the wall or something, but no, no, she just had to look!

Astrid could not believe her misfortune as you, carrying a fairly big box, walked into the elevator one floor above her and so far down from her own floor so she would need to actually be in a closed space with you. And she despised the very idea of that. So, just as the doors were about to close she bolted outside.

"What the- that was reckless Deetz!" she heard you yelling. And if there was even a hint of worry in your voice it was absolutely because her grandmother would rope you into whatever funeral arrangement she would choose for her if Astrid happened to tragically pass away.

"Shut it!" she yelled back.

"Fucking chihuahua!" you cursed, and she could feel her blood pressure skyrocketing as the elevator went up. You and your awful nickname for her.

"Damn barnacle!" she yelled back loud enough for you to possibly hear her. She would have the last word no matter what! Insufferable thorn in her side that she couldn’t get out of her life no matter how hard she tried. And to make things even Delia occasionally mentioned you just to get a rise out of her.

Not that anyone needed to tell her anything, she knew you worked two jobs, for whatever reason. Barely any difference in age, yet such different circumstances. While Astrid could do nothing for the rest of her life and still be fine you apparently didn’t have that luxury.

And in those rare moments Astrid would actually notice you despite trying her best not to, she never once heard or saw you complaining about anything. She was actually the only reason for complaining you ever had as far as she could tell. So, while she could find it in herself to admit your work ethic was somewhat admirable, you still could go right back to whatever hell you came out of.

Because that is exactly what you deserved.

Hell.

Okay, maybe not hell.

But definitely not much better than hell!

~X~

You weren’t just annoyed, you were beyond pissed off. How reckless was that girl? “Yeah, I really need that on my consciousness,” you bit out, knowing you’d blame yourself if she ended up getting hurt just because you happened to get into the elevator when she was already inside it.

How were you even supposed to guess she’d be there?!

You opened the doors to Delia’s studio with your elbow and went inside, closing the doors behind you with your foot. You really should have just taken the stairs, but the box you were carrying would have been a pain in your ass if you went with that. Sore muscles might still be a better alternative to having this encounter with Astrid. “Chihuahua,” you gritted out through your teeth as you set the box down.

“Astrid?” you jumped when Delia suddenly spoke up.

You stared at her blankly, as if she needed to ask. She’s seen several of your and Astrid’s hateful clashes.

“She takes after her mother,” the older woman commented as you began pulling out different art supplies from the box.

You had no idea why Delia would even tell you anything about Astrid. You did not need to know, didn’t care about knowing. “I find it hard to imagine anyone could be as infuriating as her,” you frowned, causing Delia to laugh, almost delighted by the comment. Lydia seemed okay, a bit paranoid and utterly blind to her boyfriend’s true intentions, but otherwise she was nice. You couldn’t imagine Lydia being anything like Astrid when she was younger.

“Oh, you have no idea. I reckon Astrid’s attitude is karma finally paying a visit to Lydia,” she sure sounded certain of that claim and you just hummed, internally feeling sorry for whoever had to deal with Astrid being their karma. That seemed like a rather cruel and unjust punishment.

“Mr. Deetz won’t be joining us today?” you asked, noticing the absence of Delia’s husband, though you asked the question mostly to avoid talking about Astrid.

“No, no, he went bird-watching,” she dismissed and you nodded, knowing just how much the man loved doing so, even if it meant traveling the great distances. It was admirable, really, to see someone as old as he was still being passionate about something to that extent. You could only hope you’d have as much energy as him and Delia when you reach their age.

~X~

That night you stood in front of the canvas, a bit of paint smeared on your cheek, an old white shirt you were wearing and your hand. You held your paintbrush as you observed a fairly accurate painting of the Durham Cathedral. It’s been about a month since you started working on the painting, using what little free time you had to work on it, and here it was, finally complete. You set the brush and colors down on your table and sat down, just looking at it with a smile on your face.

You really wished you could go and visit it. You actually had a lot of places you wanted to visit, to study, to touch the old buildings, feel their history and the flow of time coursing through them. The flyer on your table caught your attention and you reluctantly picked it up. It was an ad, seeking volunteers for planting trees. You sighed, massaging your shoulder and wincing at the dull pain in your muscles. You had two days off, you should rest, but you already knew you’d go, you couldn’t help it, that was how you were.

So, knowing you’d go there early in the morning you went and got ready for bed, hoping the shower would relax your aching body.

~X~

“What the fuck?” Astrid halted in the middle of the park, hoping it was just the summer heat. Yeah, that had to be it. The heat was making her see things. It was your damn day off, wasn’t it? Why were you in the park digging a hole for a tree?

Astrid narrowed her eyes, furious at everything. At your shirt clinging to your arms. At the drop of sweat you just brushed off your forehead. At the concentrated look in your eyes and the focus and the way you still had the energy to come and volunteer despite working two jobs.

“Barnacle,” she hissed under her breath and went to the other part of the park, as far from you as she possibly could go while still doing her part as one of the volunteers.

A/N: So, tell me what you think and if you’d like to be on the taglist?

Masterlist / Next Part

[simplydozing]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥

Stanley Pines x Reader Multiple rounds through the shack, one being a little more harsh (and memorable) than the others. Word Count: 1959 || Ao3

⚠️❗ Contains 18+ Content ❗⚠️

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

You don’t know how it happened, but god, what a miracle it was.

 The whole Mystery Shack was empty. Everyone was out except for you and your darling Stanley.

Which led to you being fucked and thrown around like the rag doll you were.

 There’s already a huge mess trailing from your shared room. The day started off strong with some lazy morning lovemaking that then quickly escalated into a primal hunger for more.

And Stanley’s stamina could not be further from over.

 He had you on the rails of the staircase displaying yourself for him to go down on you. You were on your hands and knees in the bathroom taking his length after you said you’d “freshen up.” Both of you ran up the hot water in the shower while he pinned you against the wall, and even then, you’d warm him back up with your hands alone.

 It took a lot of convincing, willpower, and blowing to get him to finally take a break.

 You needed some time to recover, so you decided to make breakfast while he was getting dressed in his iconic suit.

 Which led you to now.

 You finished cooking by the skin of your teeth when he waltzed in and saw your figure leaning against the counter. Your oversized sleep shirt was slipping off your shoulder as you poured coffee in both your mugs. He shares a moment of sincerity, gladly taking his cup and kissing you on the top of your head. It wasn’t until he started to get a better look at you when he started getting hard again.

 Your shirt barely covered your shorts, exposing your perfect legs. They were crossed over each other, and following them up brought attention to the way you were in your relaxed state. You held your cute little mug in both hands, and as you brought it up to sip on, your eyes would close so you could savor it. Your hair was messy, but it only added to how effortlessly gorgeous you looked. And when you would look back up at him, your eyes would shimmer, like they were pleading.

 He had to take you yet again.

“…And I think the Shack- Stanley are you listening to m-“

 He attacks you, yanking you by the shoulders and plunging his tongue down your throat. Your mug drops to the floor, the sound of the shattering ceramic making you jump, but you’re not going to do anything about that. Not right now.

 Your hands flew through his hair. Your eyes were glued shut as you tried to focus on his pace and match it.

 But Stan, being the man of many surprises, asserts his dominance by lifting you and propping you on the counter, earning him a squeal from you.

 He never slowed down, even when slipping his fingers in the hem of your shorts and trying to pull them off. But you chewed his bottom lip, signaling him to stop. And he does, but with a slightly disappointed look on his face.

“Come on, love. Breakfast is getting cold.”

  You caress his face and give a half-lidded smile.

  That’s not enough to stop him though.

 He looks over his shoulder at the stove that’s covered in pans of his favorites. He then turns his attention to the table that you cutely set up.

 A part of him feels bad for what he’s about to do to you. He leans in.

“I’m not hungry for that right now, doll.”

 Before you know it, you’re being lifted yet again and are being taken to that little table, which you are then slammed onto. You are bent almost all the way over it, your ribs press into the wood.

“S-Stanley!” You exclaim.

 He’s not listening though. Not until he hears your pleasurable screams and moans for the fifth time today.

 Your shorts are torn off and thrown behind him. You hear the fateful zip of his pants.

 He grabs the back of your neck to hold you down when he rams himself in you. You gas and shudder, feeling his whole length inside you all at once.

 He starts to thrust at an already fast speed.

 The table and everything on it rocks intensely. Some of the silverware falls. You’re gripping the tablecloth like your life depended on it.

 He keeps going, pounding harder and harder into you. His winded breathing grows more into rough growling as his grip on you gets stronger. You can feel his fingernails seep into your tender flesh.

 Tears prick at the corner of your eyes but it’s not from pain. Your own breathing- gasping- sounds more like wheezing. You can’t lift your head up to gulp in air, and his whole hand just about engulfs your throat. You tried calling out to him, but he’s so caught up in pleasure that you fear he’s tuned you out.

 It’s not until you slam your hands on the table to get his attention. Even then, it takes him a minute to slow down.

“St… P-Pines,” you rasp.

 He sees what he’s doing, and he removes his hand from its position at your nape. You take this opportunity to fill your lungs as much as you can before he can move on.

 You can’t see it, but he’s wearing a bastardly smirk on his face.

“If you needed help breathing you coulda just asked!”

 He bunches his fingers through the tangles of your hair, snatching your head upwards. He resumes his aggressive prodding. You didn’t know it was possible, but he was going deeper in you.

 Your eyes roll to the back of your head and saliva pools out your pretty little mouth. Your nails dig into the wood of the table, leaving small streaks engraved in it.

 You’re choking on your own spit. Stan can’t help but go wild at the sound of your gagging, so he pulls back your hair one last time. The strength he does it with makes you think he’s going to rip your head clean off before he lets go. You falter.

“Let me give ya somethin’ to gag on again.”

He pulls you in and reaches around to find your mouth. Your jaw is clenched, but he can feel where you’ve been salivating.

“Another wet hole just waiting for me,” his gruff voice warms your bare shoulder.

“Open up.”

 You follow his command and shakily part your lips for him. He decides you aren’t quick enough and jams his fingers in anyway. His middle and ring fingers are enough to make you struggle.

 He then matches his hand to the thrust of his hips. But it’s not enough.

He recalls the way you often use your teeth… need I say more?

“Shit. Teeth, doll, teeth.”

 You obey, not because you want to, but because that’s all you can do.

 You lower jaw stutters, bottom teeth grazing them.

“Come on.” His guttural voice fills your ears.

“You can handle much more than this.”

 Your eyes squeeze shut, your mouth does the opposite.

“There we go.”

You’re getting fucked in both ends  and there’s nothing you can do about it.

 He regains that same pace as before. He groans out of ecstasy yet again, but you don’t want it to stop. If it were up to you, it would never stop.

  He thinks the same of you, hearing you once again choking him down.

 You’re his plaything to have his way with.

 You’re his-

“Doll,” he hisses.

 You softly clamp down on his girthy calloused fingers, answering him.

“I’m- hnf. Oh, I’m ‘boutta c-“

 You already know, being the good little toy you are. So you act out, hearing down on his hand and moaning the loudest you ever had so far.

 You were well aware of the magic you worked on him. That was his favorite thing about you.

 Stan groaned out again, upping his hostility with you.

 And the more rough he was, the louder you moaned.

 He enjoyed your borderline screams a little too much. But how could he not? His precious angel was singing just for him.

 He was just about balls deep when you finally felt warm on the inside once more. One last thrust, and you suddenly feel the relief of him finishing.

 You then feel him letting up. Unsteady movements and heavy panting let you know he was done. He retracts his fingers, a thick string of saliva stretches out from your lips. He wipes it off on his suit jacket.

 Cum dribbles out your gaping hole when he agonizingly pulls out.

 He tucks it back in his pants and zips them back up. You’re left convulsing on the table as you try to recuperate.

 You brace yourself against it, palms pressing into the grain, and make an attempt to hoist yourself up.

 Seeing this, he’s right by your side, snaking an arm around your waist and gently picking you up.

 Your knees buckle and you stumble forward, but before you can fall, Stan pulls you to lean on him. You clench the lapels of his blazer. The scent of sweat and cigars flood your nose.

“Easy, now. Easy. Are you okay?”

 He reaches for the tablecloth, of all things, to wrap you in. He then finds a chair, and eases you in it. You wince on contact with the hard surface, but you wave it off when you see a twinge of him fretting.

“I’m okay, dear. Just a little sore,” you half-laughed.

“I-I’m sorry, doll. You were just- And I…”

“Stanley Pines.”

 You reach out and nab him by his string tie and tug him in, his blushing face now centimeters away from yours.

“I can handle much more than that,” you sneer.

 You cup his face and initiate another kiss.

 But before anything else could happen, you hear the screeching halt of that beat up golf cart.

 He pulls away.

“Shit. We gotta get you cleaned up. You okay to walk?”

 He offers you a hand, and you stand. Albeit wobbly, you use him for support to help guide you back upstairs to the bedroom. From there, you don’t lift a finger. He carefully wipes away any fluids with a damp washcloth and helps you get dressed.

 You both were halfway down the staircase again when the front door flew open.

 The twins, Soos, and Wendy looked around in shock.

“What happened here?!” Dipper started.

“Yeah, you both look bleggh,” Mable stuck her tongue out, mocking the undead.

 You and Stan glance at each other. You both should have straightened the place up in between rounds.

“Uhh, we were-”

“Attacked!”

“By were-”

“Spiders!”

 Damn it, Stanley.

“Were-spiders! We were attacked by giant were-spiders, yeah,” it took all the strength in you not to smack him upside the head.

Thankfully, the group bought it. At least the kids did. Dipper was flipping out and Mabel darted to their room screaming. Her brother right behind her. All Soos and Wendy cared about was finding somewhere to knock out for possibly the rest of the day, too exhausted to care about anything else. They drag each other another few steps before passing out on the floor in front of you.

 You and Stanley just stand there.

“Giant were-spiders, really?”

 You break the silence and cross your arms.

“It’s better than ‘We were struck by a tornado,’”

 He shrugs. You shake your head.

 Back to silence. You both look around.

“We really need to clean this place up before anyone gets suspicious. I’m pretty sure I left my shorts in the kitchen.”

“Yeah…”

Needless to say, the rest of the day was spent putting the shack back together, and perhaps there were a few more rounds when no one was paying attention.

[oceansblvds]

tunnel vision — seven ; coriolanus snow

MASTERLIST

pairing ; king!coriolanus snow x debutante!reader

words ; 3.2k

about ; in the glittering world of panem high society, you were raised to be perfect — the prized daughter of a powerful family. your family was prepared to make the match of the season. but when king coriolanus snow arrives unexpectedly, announcing his intention to marry, everything changes.

warning(s) ; eventual smut, angst, courting (bridgerton style), eventual fluff.

chapter specifics: century specific misogyny, smut, fingering (fem receiving), p in v sex, lewd conversations, flirting, teasing, confessions.

authors note ; :3 lol

Although not a written custom, it was typical of a wife of high society to hold a ball for the season to showcase their new marriage and in turn, offer a beacon for the other unwed ladies to show them that marriage can be a happy, achievable thing. It was not mandatory, but as a lady, especially the new Queen, it was expected. The palace staff began making arrangements before you gave your assent, gowns commissioned, invitations dispatched.

You were to be the star of the evening, no one would know the truth that you lay awake at night with his hands still ghosting over your skin. You smiled, chose the flowers, practiced your curtsies. The grand ballroom was alight with gold chandeliers glittering like constellations overhead. A string quartet played in the corner. You peered into the giant ballroom through the cracks of the door, making sure that everything looked to be in order. It was customary for guests to arrive first and for the couple to make their debut once everyone was present. It seemed as though everyone was present except your husband, who seemed to be dealing with some last minute business. 

You exhaled slowly and stepped back from the door, smoothing your gloved hands down the front of your dark ivory colored gown. The fabric shimmered with touches of silver thorns and pale pearls, all in the shape of white roses. Your hair had been swept up in a twist, half-up half-down, pinned with diamond stars. A crown sat atop your head, a whisper of monarchy in its golden gleam. 

You resisted the urge to pace, to fidget. You weren’t a desperate bride. But just as the thought solidified in your spine, the door behind you opened. 

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” his voice drawled from behind you. 

Coriolanus stood just inside the doorway, dressed in a deep, blood red maroon coat. The color was brushed in black accents, a white rose pinned to his lapel. His curls stood strong against the crown on top of his head's urge to tame them. His gloves were still in his hands. And his eyes dragged over you, saying nothing for a long moment, only looked. 

“You are staring,” you said. 

“I am,” he agreed. 

He didn’t look away. Didn’t even blink. 

“You look like a man about to give a toast at a funeral,” you said carefully, lips curving in a light smirk. 

His mouth twitched. “Fitting. It is the death of your maidenhood season, after all. The Capitol must mourn.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.” 

Coriolanus drew back, sliding your arm through his with the ease of ownership or of ceremony. “Shall we?” He asked. You nodded once, holding onto his arm as you walked to the entrance of the ballroom, where you could hear all of your guests chattering away. Just beyond the gilded doors, two guards stood at attention. The herald stood between them, giving a small, respectful bow. 

Then his voice rang out across the ballroom: 

“Their Majesties, King Coriolanus Snow and his new bride, the Queen.” 

The grand doors opened and the room felt utterly silent. 

At the top of the marble staircase, you stood poised at the Coriolanus’ side. You were the picture that they had all waited for. Royal and glorious. Your gown shimmed like starlight, his hand rested lightly over yours. Together, you looked unstoppable. A single nod from Coriolanus and the two of you descended the stairs. The second your slipper fell against the next stair, the applause began. When you looked out against the crowd, you could see all the girls that you had grown up with, all of them fawning over you and your match to the King. Looking even farther, you could see your family at the edge of the room. Your mother gave you a smile, your father whispering to some other men. You reached the bottom of the staircase and the crowd parted like silk. 

A pathway opened before you, the orchestra swelled. Coriolanus turned to you with a practiced smile, refined and hollow in the way that only he could manage. He bowed, leading you to the empty dance floor as you could hear multiple women fawn. You dipped into a curtsy, your lashes lowered, your face serene. And then he pulled you into him, his gloved hand pressed at your waist, the other clasping yours. 

You began to waltz. One step. Another. 

“You almost look like you are enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low against your ear as he pulled you closer. “You only ever look this happy when I’m in between your legs.”

Your heel nearly slipped. He felt it, of course he did. The arm that was wrapped around your waist tightened with dark satisfaction, drawing you in until there was barely an inch between you. Your nails dug just slightly into the fine material of his coat. “Careful,” you whispered. “People may think you’re obsessed with me.” 

“They’d be right.” 

He spun you again, more slower and indulgent, as if giving the crowd time to watch every movement. It had been a while of watching, and soon enough, more couples started to enter the floor and start dancing beside you. A few more minutes passed and the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, the applause swelling through the room. Some couples left the floor to go and get refreshments or engage in conversation, while others went back to dancing to the next song. 

Coriolanus and you made it to the edge of the dancefloor, pressing a faint kiss to your gloved knuckles. Your arm rested lightly in his, the picture of new wedded bliss. 

“Darling.” 

Your mother. 

She emerged from the edge of the floor like a ghost from your old life, her gown a soft lilac color. Her eyes swept over you. She stepped close and kissed your cheek, her gloved hand lingering at your arm. You smiled with more grace. 

Your mother’s gaze flicked over to Coriolanus. “Your Majesty.” 

“Call me Coriolanus,” he offered. “After all, we’re family now.” 

Your father turned from his conversation, nodding to you and grabbing your mothers arm the way that he always did. “It was a lovely dance, you two move together beautifully.” 

“I find that partnership is forged in repetition, we’ve had practice,” Coriolanus said without missing a beat. His hand grazed yours, still holding you close. 

“I imagine that’s true,” your father said. “Though I can’t imagine how you find such time to rehearse with matters of state. Or is the queen involved in the affairs of our government too?” 

There it was. A subtle jab. 

You felt Coriolanus smile. It wasn’t warm. “She has access to anything she wants,” he said. “There are no closed doors between us. I enjoy hearing what she has to say. Your daughter is a very smart, capable woman.” 

A dozen hands kissed yours before the hour turned. Men bowed, women curtsied. You smiled and thanked them for their compliments and for their well wishes. Coriolanus stood beside you all night, never leaving your side for anyone. At last, the crowd began to thin, and Coriolanus was watching you say your goodbyes. 

“Ready to retire?” He asked. You nodded, exhausted from all the pleasing people. 

The doors to your chambers shut with a soft click and you sighed. Gone was the music, the perfume soaked air, the endless conversations you were forced to be in. You peeled off your gloves with ease, dropping them onto the vanity without a word to your husband. Behind you, you could hear the soft hiss of his coat sliding off, the faint metallic clink of his lapel pin. 

“You didn’t stab anyone tonight,” Coriolanus said casually. “I’m rather proud of you.” 

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Thank you. I definitely thought about it with Lord Hugo.” 

“That’s awfully confident for someone who nearly tripped during our final turn,” he spoke, beginning to unfasten the hooks at the back of your gown. You didn’t stop him, instead pushing your back closer. His breath brushed against the nape of your neck. “But it was fine. I was distracted. Your hips in that dress should be illegal.” 

He pushed the fabric lower, baring your back to him. His hands lingered at your spine. 

“You should’ve been knighted instead of crowned,” you said. “You’re very good at undressing damsels in distress with their complicated dresses.” 

“Only you,” he whispered. “Only ever you.” 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes over your own shoulder, your breath brushing against his mouth. His hands moved again, finally sliding your gown down your hips, it pooled at your feet in a whisper of silk. You stepped out of it, standing in nothing but your corset and underthings. One of his hands slid around your waist, then up until his fingers curled around the laces at your back. “This,” he said, tugging at the corset strings. “Is where I lose my patience.” 

You smiled, your head tilting against his shoulder. “Careful, Your Majesty, that sounds dangerously close to greed.” 

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Greed is a sin, my dear wife.” 

“So is lust,” you added. 

Coriolanus tugged again at your corset, this time with more urgency. “And gluttony,” he murmured. “For wanting to taste the same thing over and over again.” You felt the tension in the corset strings give away, the fabric slipping down your torso. Your breath caught, reaching back without thinking and catching his wrist. It wasn’t to stop him, just feel him. You turned around to face Coriolanus, his other hand paused just above your ribs. For a moment, you both looked into each other's eyes and neither of you moved. 

Then his hand slid higher. Fingers grazing against the bare skin between your breasts, up until they curled loosely around your throat. Like he was trying to find your pulse. “You’re shaking,” he said softly. 

“So are you,” you whispered. 

He leaned in, brushing his mouth along your jaw. His nose nudged against yours. 

“Apologies, I just never imagined a wife I would adore as much as I do you.” 

His mouth claimed yours with a bruising pressure, one hand fisting in your hair, the other pushing against your hips to walk you to the bed. You walked backward until the backs of your knees met the edge of the bed, and you sank down, pulling him with you. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you breathed between kisses. “Not unless you mean them.” 

He pulled back, pupils blown wide. He looked unhinged in the most beautiful way. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. Especially not to you.” 

You hated the way your chest tightened. His hands slid up your thighs, parting them. His hand brushed against your heat and you opened your legs to beckon him further. One of his fingers slid inside, then two, curling up into that spot that he knew all too well with maddening ease. “I think about you constantly,” he murmured, mouth brushing the corner of yours. “When I wake. When I’m working. When I leave your bed.” 

You gasped at his ministrations, hips bucking up against his hand. Your head fell back against the pillows, lips parted. He curled his fingers again, harder now, slower. “You pretend it’s just the schedule,” he whispered, lips now dragging along the column of your throat. “You pretend it doesn’t mean anything.” 

You whimpered, not from the words, not just from the pleasure, but from the truth. He was right. “I’m not pretending,” you whispered. “Maybe I did once, but not anymore. I don’t know what it means now.” His fingers stilled inside you, you could feel him trembling. His chest rose and fell like he’d been struck. 

He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean without breaking your gaze. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. You wanted to reach out to him, to pull him near, but he was already moving. You tried to help undress him in any way you could, unbuttoning his shirt with urgency while he pushed down his trousers. 

“You don’t have to know,” Coriolanus confessed. 

And then he pushed inside you. The stretch stole the breath from your lungs. Your hands flew to his back, your nails raking down his skin. All you could do was hold him as he finally began to move. It was slow and deep, unforgiving in its tenderness. Each thrust felt like a confession. Your legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to you like he may disappear. 

Coriolanus groaned against your neck. “You feel like home,” he whispered. And then, as if he hated himself for saying such a thing, bit gently at your shoulder, as if he needed to turn the softness into control. You took that moment to push him off onto the bed, flipping your position so that you were sat on top. He let out a breath of surprise, your hands on his chest, your thighs straddling his hips. 

You sat up, your chest heaving. Coriolanus stared up at you, as if in a daze. You rolled your hips, almost experimentally, against him, slow and punishing. His head tipped back against the sheets, hands coming to your thighs and gripping them hard. He didn’t try to take control, he let you move, let you use him. Your nails dug into his chest for balance, going deeper, fuller, until both of you were panting. You watched every twitch, every shiver. 

Coriolanus’ eyes fluttered shut, but you leaned forward, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “Look at me,” you said, low and breathless. His eyes opened and he looked at you like he’d never stop ever again. You rocked against him, every thrust dragged a noise out of the both of you. 

You moved faster now, your moans rising in tandem with his, your forehead brushing against. You breathed in every breath that he let out, too intimate. It was too much. 

“I can’t —” he gasped. “I’m close —” 

“Give it to me, with me,” you whispered. 

And that was it. 

The tension snapped. Your body clenched around him as you came, trembling hard, falling into his chest. He followed with a low, guttural sound. His hands came to the small of your back and his hips thrust up into you. You collapsed, both of you shaking. When you finally came back, he helped settle you next to him, climbing under the sheets. 

You lay there, chest heaving, the sheets a mess around your tangled bodies. Sweat was beginning to cool against your skin, your heart still pounding against your throat. You should’ve detached, started the process of pretending it was nothing. But you didn’t, and neither did he. Instead his arm slid around your waist, his hand brushing softly against the curve of your spine. As if he needed to remind himself that you were real and that he hadn’t lost you. 

“You drive me mad,” he said again, softer this time. 

A confession against your skin. 

You closed your eyes, breathing him in. 

And maybe it was the darkness, the way he held you, or the simple, terrifying truth you had been carrying inside you for just too long. But you spoke, quietly and steadily. “I should hate you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You felt his body go stiff underneath you. 

“I should hate you for what you did,” you said, tracing the scar on his ribs with the tip of your finger. “For the way that you took my life and tore it apart without asking. For the way you didn’t care about what my family thought was a proper betrothal. For the way you made me yours before I even knew what it meant.” 

You swallowed and he pulled you tighter. 

“I should hate you,” you said again, voice breaking slightly. “For the way you looked at me that first night in those gardens. Like I had lost the battle before we even began.” 

You pressed your palm flat against his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart. 

“But I don’t. I never really did.” 

You lifted your head to look at him, really look at him. Coriolanus’ pale blue eyes were open, watching you with an intensity that stole air from your very being. There was no crown between the two of you now. No throne, no Capital. Just him, just you. Just the terrible, beautiful truth stretching raw and exposed between you. 

“I understand you,” you said. “I understand why you do the things you do. Why you destroy things before they can destroy you. Why you fight so hard for what you want, so that you don’t have any ability to lose them. You think that it makes you a monster. But it doesn’t, Coriolanus, it just makes you human.” 

You felt his hands tighten against your body. “And I love you for it. I love you for every single broken, ruthless, desperate part of you.” 

Silence stretched between you, thick as blood. You waited for him to say something, to say anything. But Coriolanus didn’t speak, he didn’t move. But his eyes were burning into yours. You’d never seen him like this, he looked like you’d struck him, like your words had murdered him. You didn’t look away, didn’t soften or apologize. You meant every single word that you said. And he knew. 

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Your throat tightened, eyes stinging. “That’s not your decision to make.” 

“I took you away from your family. I was too careless with your virtue, with your honor. Everything that makes you, you. I forced you into this life because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and kissed you in that garden. You could’ve had someone good. You could’ve had someone . . . not me.” 

“I didn’t want someone good. I wanted you,” you said softly, reaching up and putting your hands on his cheeks, fingertips brushing along his jaw. 

Coriolanus closed his eyes. “I never gave you a choice.” 

“But I chose you anyway,” you said. “I could’ve fought harder, I could have stayed cold. I could have hated you. I tried, believe me, I tried. But you saw me, from the beginning. You looked at me like I was already yours. You looked at me because you saw something in me, something powerful, that I was more than just a simpering lady on the ton looking for a husband.” 

“You were never meant to fade into the background,” he rasped, opening his eyes to look at you again. Coriolanus let out a shuddering breath, half a sob, half a laugh. And then he kissed you, a kiss that said thank you and I’m sorry all at once. When he finally pulled back, his hands cradled your face. “You’re the only thing in this world that scares me,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” 

And somehow, hearing that made your chest ache worse than any type of declaration of love ever would. It was so entirely him, entirely real. You pressed his hand against your lips in a silent vow that you wouldn’t ever leave. Not ever, definitely not now. You simply curled into him closer, letting him pull you against his chest. His hand slid through your hair in slow, absent strokes. 

For the first time — you let yourself fall asleep in his arms. 

taglist : : @ib525 @m-ichelles-world @coryosnows @ryomensgirll @mixedfandxms @feyres-fireheart @sxftiebee @c1garette-nightmares @mer-rey

[zablife]

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ screeching in here now that my coffee has kicked in and I can type sentences again. Very excited that your requests are open again!

Please could I have something based around ‘Are you jealous?’ with Tommy?

Sorry I know you’ll get a million Tommy requests but I’m just a girl 🙈 I am not immune. Ideally the filthier the better 🤭 but just wherever the muse takes you babe! xxx

Thanks for the request, Alex! I've combined your ask for smut with another lovely anon's request for a Cillian character w/ breeding kink. I hope this is ok! (Slight warning for hints of dark, possessive Tommy, but not to worry bc it turns to fluff at the end.)

All Mine 🔞

Tommy x gf reader

Tommy's nails dug into your forearm as he dragged you away from the party you were hosting. "Where are we going?" you whispered, stumbling slightly to keep pace with his strides. Taking one last glance over your shoulder, you flashed an apologetic smile to your guests, realizing they were as confused as you were.

Once out of earshot, Tommy's composure shattered, rage melting his icy blue eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you'd fucked my new business partner?" he seethed.

You shook free of his hold with an indignant look. "Jesus, Tommy! That was five years ago!" You rolled your eyes as he began pacing the long corridor. In his haste to leave the table, he'd forgotten his cigarette case and without the distraction, his agitation grew.

Throwing your hands up, you exclaimed, "Yes, I have a past! But I didn't think someone like you would hold that against me."

He stalked toward you, narrowing his eyes as he came close enough for you to smell the whisky on his breath. "But I do, especially when you spend half the fucking night whispering in his ear!"

You gathered your long skirt over your arm in preparation to leave, shaking your head at him in disbelief. Every conversation you'd had that evening was in promotion of Shelby Company Limited. Frankly, you were fed up with all the business talk and ready to scream at him for his ungrateful attitude. However something stirred inside when you glimpsed the tortured look in his eye. Your shoulders relaxed, backing down from the fight when you realized he was nothing more than a hurt little boy lashing out.

"Are you jealous?" you asked incredulously, an irrepressible giggle bubbling up from your chest at the idea of him pouting like a child.

"You're the one making a fool of yourself," he grumbled, not in the mood for teasing.

Caressing his face with your hand, you attempted to bring back the confident man you knew. In these moments he needed you to quiet his inner voice of inadequacy. "Where do you get these ridiculous notions and when will you give them up?" you scolded with a peck to his lips. You only intended a brief moment of affection before returning to your guests, but Tommy had other ideas.

Leaning down to hook a strong arm beneath your knees, he lifted you off the ground. Yelping in surprise, you threw your arms around his neck to brace yourself. You couldn't be sure, but you thought you detected a hint of a smirk tug at Tommy's lips as he carried you toward the staircase and away from the noise of the first floor.

Alone in the quiet of the bedroom, Tommy's intentions were clear. Hands roving your body, he hitched up your skirt, squeezing the flesh of your ass appreciatively. His body pressed into yours insistently, slamming your back against the vanity mirror with enough force to break it.

"Tommy, slow down," you begged, unable to keep up with his feverish kisses. However, his ministrations did not stop, his large hand encircling your throat possessively as the other dipped between your legs. He unexpectedly forced your underwear aside to push two fingers into your sopping heat.

"Is this for him or me?" he demanded in a low voice, pumping his digits into you the way he knew drove you wild. You could scarcely think as he worked you into a frenzy matching his own, but you knew he expected an answer.

"You...always you, Tom," you huffed out in uneven breaths, gripping his shoulder for support when he began biting and sucking near your collarbone. With that declaration Tommy abruptly stopped, staring into your eyes to determine the truth. Finding them glossy with unshed tears and feeling the flutter of your desire around his fingers, he was satisfied you were being honest with him. He rewarded you by hooking his fingers against the achingly delicious spot within you that set stars dancing behind your eyelids.

"So perfect," he praised, pressing his forehead to yours. "And loyal?"

"Yes," you whimpered as his thumb grazed your clit, sending sparks shooting through you.

"Then there's one more thing you need to do to prove it," he pronounced, withdrawing his hand and denying your pleasure so as to have your undivided attention. You whined at the sudden loss of stimulation, tears nearly spilling onto your flushed cheeks in protest.

The hand at your throat stroked your delicate skin gently as he fed you his soaked fingers. You sucked wantonly on your own juices while he nuzzled his nose against yours and whispered to you softly. "If you give me a child, there won't be any more doubts."

Your eyes went wide at his request, but he scarcely noticed, rubbing himself against your thigh to show how eager he was to begin. "Take off your dress," he commanded in a low voice.

"Now? We have guests," you reminded him, but he wouldn't hear any arguments.

A growl of frustration rumbled in his chest as he answered, "I don't give a fuck. Take it off now or I'll do it for you."

Apparently you didn't make your decision quickly enough because you heard the snag of fabric before catching the rapid motion of his hands out of the corner of your eye. Within moments the slit at your thigh was torn to your waist, exposing your lower half and sending shivers through your entire body.

With a harsh gulp, you removed the damaged garments as Tommy watched with lust filled eyes, stroking himself before you shamelessly. "That's better," he hummed in satisfaction, palming the globe of your breast. You nodded, biting your lip. You'd learned long ago you were powerless against Tommy's will, his desires becoming your own.

"Have to show that bastard who you belong to," he said through gritted teeth as he pushed you onto the mattress. You could only nod in agreement as he entered you swiftly, setting a brutal pace from the start. It was unlike anything you'd experienced before with Tommy rutting into you with reckless abandon. His hips slammed into yours with punishing force, fingers at your hips wrapped tightly enough to leave crescent shaped bruises.

Your cries soon echoed through the room and he did nothing to quiet you. In fact he spurred you on, demanding to hear how much you wanted his seed. You had no trouble complying, cries falling from your lips with each deep stroke. "Please, Tommy," you pleaded in a high pitched whine you barely recognized as your own, needing his comforting warmth within you instead of spurting across your chest or stomach.

The sight of you with half lidded eyes, begging for his cum was all Tommy needed to tumble over the edge. Quickly losing rhythm, he clutched your waist mumbling, "Going to fill you up." Suddenly his hips stuttered to a halt as he seated himself deep within you. You moaned at the intoxicating feeling of rope after rope of hot cum coating your insides, his release triggering your own. While you rubbed your clit to prolong the waves of pleasure, you heard Tommy moan at the way your cunt continued to milk him. "Such a good girl, taking every last drop," he praised.

He took a moment to admire you, watching your ample chest heaving and plump lips parted in ecstasy. He'd never felt so satisfied, but he soon collapsed upon you in contented exhaustion.

The enormity of what you'd just done came rushing toward you, but you were calmed by the weight of his body holding you down. Running your fingertips through the soft, shorn sides of his hair you mused, "Tommy, what is it you really want?" You could still feel the way his heart beat against his ribcage, transferring vibration through your body. It felt as though you could share anything with each other in this moment, while you were still joined as one.

He raised his face from the crook of your neck to place a tender kiss to your lips. "You," he stated simply. Running a hand down your body to rest over your stomach, he added, "Can you blame me? You're the most incredible woman I've ever met. Of course I want you to have my children."

You beamed at him, heart swelling with pride at his admission. He wasn't normally so effusive. Leaning in to kiss him, he withdrew from you and you let out a whimper at the aching emptiness. As sticky white rivulets of his spend ran down your inner thighs, Tommy scooped it up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you.

You sighed contentedly as he placed a kiss to your temple, aftershocks from your orgasm causing you to clench onto his fingers, drawing his cum further inside you. "Good girl, keep it in," he instructed, peppering your face with kisses as you grew sleepy.

However, one thought lingered in the back of your mind. "How could you have thought I wanted anyone else? You know I'm all yours," you declared, hoping to dispel any lingering worry he might have. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt Tommy's cock stir against your thigh.

Removing his fingers from you, he replaced them with his cock and began slow, gentle thrusts against your opening until he was hard enough to bury himself into you once more. He groaned at the sight of your tightness split around him, looking as though you were made just for him. Leaning down to cradle your neck and shoulders under his arms, he held you close. Hot breath fanning over your ear, he murmured, "When I see your beautiful body swollen with my child, then I'll know you're all mine."

A needy cry escaped your throat as his cock dragged against your oversensitive walls, your nails clawing at his back to urge him back inside. "S'alright," he hushed, "I'm going to keep you full," he promised with a snap of his hips. You wrapped your legs around him, heels eagerly pressing into his back to accept everything he could give.

------------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

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@allie131313

[moonyeyedstar]

War is Over- Regulus Black x f!reader (smut)

*18+*

December 24th, 1981

Regulus had disappeared years ago.  Some have mourned him, while others cursed his name.  You had a feeling buried deep inside that he was still out there.  The scent of him lingered on the tip of your nose, when you closed your eyes your last moments with him replayed.  The way you sobbed, begging him to stay and not hunt for Voldemort’s Horcruxes.  The way he consoled you when he knew he was the one who was about to face death on his journey.  You were filled with a fit of anger so pure it made you hate him, hate him for leaving you.  You pleaded for Regulus to take you with him, aid him, be by his side, and die next to him.  Regulus’s last wish was for you to hide until the war ended.  He purchased a chateau in France for you to reside in and you have not left since.  Every day for years you paced the same lonely halls and dreamed of what could have been.

Another Christmas had come, the elves decked the halls and prepared a feast for one.  The hope for any visitors was grim after the failed attack set at the Potters on Halloween.  They had survived by a stroke of luck.  According to the Prophet they had relocated outside of England.  The paper hadn’t arrived yet.  You had sat by the bay window in your study and read yesterdays over again as snow dusted the Earth around you, a cold crystalline veil.  The fresh canvas warning you of the winter left to come as we long for nature’s rebirth each spring.  You lit a freshly rolled cigarette and let it hang delicately from your lips as you searched for your matchbook.

As you stood, there was a crack that echoed from the main entryway.  You rushed out of your study and looked down the staircase to find him.  Regulus.  Oh, Regulus.  He looked horrid, paler, and thinner than ever.  His clothes were practically rags and his frame shrunken.  You stood frozen, this must have been a dream or a hallucination.  Or maybe you were finally passing and being reunited.  Whatever it was, it was miraculous.

“My darling,” his voice cracked.  It was real.  You gasped, tears streaming down your face before you even had the chance to wrap your mind around everything that was happening.

“Regulus!”  You bolted down the stairs, skipping half the stairs before you flung yourself into his arms.

“Oh, my darling,” he used the last of his remaining strength to grasp you tightly against his chest.  Regulus was sobbing into the top of your head as you clutched his shirt.  It felt as if the two of you were the only ones inhabiting the entire planet.  As if the world had stopped spinning and time itself froze for you.

“H-How,” you choked out between sobs, “I mean I-I knew you- I knew you were not- I knew you could not- I knew you were out there.”

“Do not worry yourself with that right now my darling, I have waited for this moment since I left,” Regulus cupped your face, sniffling back his own tears as his thumbs gently swept across your tear-streaked cheeks.  You focused on his glistening icy eyes.  He was so beautiful.  Without wasting another second you crashed your lips onto his.  Regulus’s hand slid down your cheek and to your waist.  His grip was gentle at first but as the kiss you shared grew hungry so did his grip.  He dug his fingertips into your side while his other hand continued to hold your face.

“Oh Regulus,” you moaned desperately into the kiss, your body instantly craving more, your entire body heated as a slickness grew between your thighs.  A sensation you had not felt in what seemed like a lifetime.  Regulus picked you up and laid you uncomfortably on the staircase, his lips not leaving yours.  Your hands grasped the raggedy cloth that separated you from his frail chest.

Regulus ground his hips down against yours, aching to bury himself deep inside you, needing to be as close to you as possible, wishing he could crawl under your skin.  He gasped desperately against your skin before trailing wet sloppy kisses along your jawline and then down your decolletage.  You let out a moan as you shuddered under his touch.  Goosebumps covered every inch of your skin.  Much to Regulus’s relief, he was twitching in his pants, his body agreeing with his mind and readying itself to fill your aching desire.

“Merlin, you don’t know how I've longed to feel your skin against mine,” his hands worked frantically to rid you of your clothing.

“Please Regulus, I need you,” you kissed his jaw, sitting up and nipping at his earlobe as he undressed you, your eyes glistening up at him, begging him.

“Fucking hell, you’re so perfect,” he stared down at you as he undressed himself.  Your eyes flickered down to his cock as he bobbed against his stomach after being freed from the restraint of his trousers.  He was perfect.  “I love you,” he spoke breathlessly as he lined himself up and slowly pressed himself into your tight cunt.

“Oh, Regulus,” you moaned out gaspily.  Feeling yourself stretched around him after all these years was the closest to heaven you might ever get.

“I love it when you say my name,” he moaned and moved his hips slowly, his stomach doing flips, he knew he was lucky enough that his body still worked for him, and thinking he would last long was pushing his own luck.

“Oh fuck Regulus,” you moaned out as he began to pick up his thrusts, he moved slow but hard keeping his thrusts short.

“You feel so good around me,” he whined as his hips spasmed from the way your cunt throbbed around him, grasping his cock desperately.

“Merlin,” you moaned, “I love your cock,” you cried out as your clit began to ache, in need of his attention.  You slipped your hand down between your bodies and rubbed circles on your clit.  Regulus quickly took over for you and rubbed eager circles on your clit making a knot grow in your stomach.  “Oh fuck, I am so close,” you whined and tensed up.

“Cum for me, my darling,” he whimpered and kissed you again, your bodies pressed flushed against one another as his hips stuttered and he shot hot laces of himself into your tired cunt.  The feeling of him filling you up sent you over the edge, your hips bucked and every muscle in your body tensed.

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as he went limp on top of you.  The both of you lay in silence as you focused on catching your breath.

“I love you so much,” Regulus cupped your face.

“I love you too, I love you more than anything,” you blinked back tears.

“Let’s take a bath, darling, and get ready for dinner.”

***

The elves rid the table of the dinner plates and prepared to bring out dessert.  You smiled at Regulus, your heart warmed by his return.  The warm lights on the tree shone around him.  He was like an angel.  You could never manage to lose him again.  Regulus stood and moved closer to the tree, nodding towards you to join him and you did, rushing to his side.  Regulus took your hands and kissed your nose before dropping down on one knee and taking a velvet box out of his pocket.  You felt your heart get caught in your throat.  Oh my god.

“My darling, I can never imagine another second spent away from you. Will you please marry me?”  Regulus opened the box, revealing a gorgeous diamond glittered in the light under the tree.

“Oh god, yes! " you cried, eagerly pushing your hand towards him. He effortlessly slipped the ring on and pulled you into his warm embrace.

You spent the rest of the evening glued to each other. Regulus played the piano, and you listened. He danced with you and spun you around. You ate dessert by the fire and watched the snow pile around you. It was perfect.

//Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!  I hope you enjoyed it! 

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt. 1

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: Wednesday transfers to Nevermore Academy and is your new roommate

a/n: I have decided that for a majority of the spells I'm just gonna take them from Harry Potter because I have a majority of those spells memorized lol (less work for me)

I'm sat at my desk, studying a book about healing charms, while Enid is pacing back and forth through the center of the room.

My dorm room was interesting. It is shaped like a short T, the entrance being where the lines cross. Each section has a big circular window that opens to a patio.

My section, the section in the middle, is decorated with fake vines and string lights. My night stand has a lantern on it next to my phone charger.

Enid's section matches her personality, bright and cheerful. She has tinted film over her window that illuminates her already colorful room.

The center of the room has a circular sunroof which Enid also managed to get the tint on.

"Enid, you're gonna burn a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that." I say without lifting my eyes away from the book.

"You heard what they say about her!" She stops pacing, looking at me with worry written on her face. "I really don't want to die in this school."

I look up from my book, making eye contact with Enid. "I don't think Principal Weems would allow a murderer into the school."

I stand to go comfort Enid, interrupted by the sound of people talking behind our dorm room door.

As if they were waiting for the perfect moment to enter the room, the door opens, revealing a gothic family and Principal Weems. A girl with black hair braided on both sides of her head down past her shoulders stands between what you assume are her parents.

That must be our new roommate.

Enid turns around with a smile plastered on her face while you stand there idly.

Enid approaches Wednesday with new found excitement over the fact of getting a new roommate.

"Howdy roomie!" Enid exclaims, Wednesday stunned by her energy.

"Wednesday, this is Enid Sinclair." Principal Weems gestures her hand towards Enid before moving it to you. "And this is Y/n Y/l/n."

I stand where I am awkwardly, raising my hand in a wave.

Wednesday's eyesight lingers on me a little too long before she's interrupted.

"Are you okay? you look a little, pale." Enid says, her face shifting from excitement to worry.

"Wednesday always looks half dead." The man I assume to be Wednesday's dad answers for her.

Enid let's out a noise of acknowledgement.

"Welcome to Ophelia Hall!" Enid announces before opening her arms to embrace Wednesday.

Wednesday takes a step back to avoid her touch.

"Not a hugger, got it."

"Wednesday is allergic to color." The tall woman with dark hair says, her voice naturally seductive.

I watch on, fidgeting with my feet. I assume it's exaggeration.

"Oh gosh, what happens to you?"

"I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones." She has a very monotone voice, it's suits her dark aesthetic.

"Luckily, we've special ordered you a uniform." My eyes slightly widen, focusing on Weems. She was serious?

I feel Wednesday's eyes on me for a moment. Did I do something?

"Enid, Y/n, take Wednesday to the registers office to pick it up along with a copy of her schedule." Principal Weems says while looking at both of us. "And give her a tour along the way."

Wednesday turns around, scowling at her parents before leaving the room. Enid skips, following Wednesday while I take a quick couple of steps to catch up.

"Nevermore was founded in 1791 to educate people like us. Outcasts, freaks, monsters. Fill in your favorite marginalized group here."

I'm following along while Enid carries the tour, descending down a staircase.

"You can save the sanitized sales pitch, I don't plan on staying here long."

Enid stops walking, causing Wednesday to stop and turn to her. "Why not?"

"This was my parents idea." Wednesday looks towards a trophy case as she stares at an old picture of the fencing team.

"Oh look, there's my mother smirking at me. They've been looking for any excuse to send me here. Its all apart of their nefarious yet completely obvious plan."

"What plan?" Enid says with a smirk, trying to pry out any information she can out of her new roommate.

Wednesday's eyes break from the trophy case to meet Enid's. "To turn me into a version of themselves."

"How would that turn you into a version of them? everyone's high school experience is different." I say, instantly regret sets in as I meet Wednesday's intimidating stare.

Enid elbows me, coughing to interrupt the awkward lul in the conversation. My face flushed with embarrassment.

"Perhaps you could clear something up." Enid says while she continues the tour. I'm just happy the attention is off me again.

"Rumor's been swirling around that you killed a student at your old school, and your parents pulled strings to get you off." Enid looks at me for a moment before meeting Wednesdays gaze again.

Wednesday starts to walk past both of us. "Actually it was two kids but who's counting?" Enid and I stop simultaneously, looking at each with wide eyes before we catch up to Wednesday.

We walk through some double doors to an open area. "Welcome to the Quad." Enid states putting her arms out to the side.

"It's a pentagon." Wednesday states flatly. Enid and I share a glance for a moment.

Xavier and I meet eye contact as he beckons me with his hand. We've been friends for awhile, first bonding over silly conversation and his art after being assigned together for a group project.

"I'll be right back guys." I say before walking around on the cobblestone path, eventually meeting up to Xavier who is painting something on the wall.

"You looked like you were suffering, so I thought I'd drag you away for a second." Xavier smirks before continuing his painting.

"Wow you're such a life safer, my knight in shining armor." I say teasingly, putting the back of my hand on my forehead to act faint.

He has a slight smile at my performance before looking back to Wednesday.

"She's gorgeous." He says before meeting my eyes again.

"I know right!" I was about to push him, but I didn't want to mess up his painting.

Something Xavier and I bonded over was both of us finding woman attractive. Like we would both agree, or argue, about celebrities and how pretty some of them are.

I see Ajax talking to Enid. "I should probably get back before Wednesday hates me and, I don't know, kills me in my sleep or something."

"Good luck." Xavier says, still distracted by his painting.

"Thanks, I hope I don't need it." I say before making my way back to Enid and Wednesday.

"I find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation." Is the last thing I hear Wednesday say, making eye contact with me as I finally catch back up. She turns around and walks away.

"Was I gone for too long?" Enid turns to look at me before shaking her head and walking away.

The sun has set past the horizon, It's just Wednesday and I in the dorm. Wednesday just finished unpacking.

Enid is in Yoko's dorm, doing whatever they do.

Wednesday looks up from the center of the room, staring at the tinted sunroof.

I see Wednesday with her head angled upwards, contemplating her options.

"Do you want help?" I ask, standing from my desk.

Wednesday lowers her eyes to me. "No, I can do just fine on my own."

I watch Wednesday scheme a few seconds longer until I pull out my wand.

I point it towards the sun roof, The sound of film being taking off glass filling the dorm as one of the tints slips off and falls gently towards my wand.

"You're a witch." Wednesday says bluntly.

I keep taking the tint off the different sections of the sun roof.

"Yeah, luckily. I've always really enjoyed magic so if you need something that can be solved with a spell just let me know." I give Wednesday a patient smile, she has a look on her face like she's considering what I said.

Enid opens the door, seeing the scene and proceeding to stomp into to the center of the dorm.

"What did you do to my room!"

We turn our attention to Enid, annoyance in her eyes.

"Enid, she has an aller-"

"Making myself comfortable." I was cut off by Wednesday.

I instantly see where this is going. deciding to not be in the crossfire, I decide to be in the safety of my section of the room.

I open my book back to where I left off studying with the sound of Wednesday and Enid bickering as my white noise.

Soon Enid starts blasting music.

"Turn it off." I hear Wednesday approaching the center of the room, her boots stomping on the floor. I can no longer focus on reading so I watch instead.

Enid shakes her head while dancing.

"This is your final warning." I grab my wand out of fear for my roommate, I keep it concealed unless needed.

"Rah!" Enid holds her hands up to Wednesday's face, claws extended from her fingernails.

"Don't mess with me! This kitty has claws and I'm not afraid to use them."

The door to the dorm suddenly opens, our carnivorous plants teacher and dorm mom, Marilyn Thornhill, on the other side carrying a black flower.

"Sorry for the interruption." Marilyn notices the tint all over the floor and the energy between Enid and Wednesday.

"Is this a bad time?" I go back to reading, every student has gone through this. I didn't need to live it again.

I'm walking back from the bathroom to head back to class when I notice Wednesday walking by, there is a cut on her forehead.

"Hey Wednesday, heading to the nurses office?"

"Are you a mind reader as well?" Wednesday asks with what I assume is her version of sarcasm.

"Want me to heal it for you? your forehead I mean."

Wednesday stands there quietly, deciding her options.

"I'm not gonna make you owe me or anything I just, I don't know, I like helping." I look into Wednesday's eyes, she glances to the side before making her final decision.

"Okay, only if you don't demand anything in return." I smile towards Wednesday while pulling out my wand.

"Of course not."

I point my wand towards the nic on Wednesday's forehead.

"Episkey."

The wound on Wednesday's forehead closes itself, the blood leaving with it.

Wednesday is quiet for a moment.

"Thank you." Wednesday says in a slightly different tone than usual.

I hide the slight shock on my face. I never expected to hear her say words of gratitude, especially to me, her roommate.

"It's not a problem, honest. Do you want me to show you to where the nurses office is just in case I'm not there next time?" I smirk as Wednesday nods.

Wednesday tries to feel where the cut was on her forehead before we hear a scrapping sound from above.

A gargoyle is falling off the roof. It's spinning forwards, flipping over.

I take a step back, pointing my wand up.

"Reducto!"

There's a flash of light from my wand, the projectile hitting the falling gargoyle. The statue turning to dust before falling onto Wednesday.

When I look back down to see Wednesday, Xavier is behind her.

"Wednesday get down!" He shouts, tackling her to the ground. I take a big step back to avoid the tackle.

I look to make sure they're both okay.

Wednesday is unconscious.

Xavier looks up to me. "Cast a spell or something to heal her!"

"What? I just started learning healing charms there is no way I'm experienced enough to mess with head injuries."

I go to pick up Wednesday. "I'll take her to the nurses office."

I'm about to start walking until Xavier takes her out of my hands.

"I'm the one that tackled her, I'll take her."

I'm left standing there, grasping my wand in both of my hands as Xavier leaves before I can argue back.

Part 2.

Past Lives Masterlist

a/n: I'm so happy part 1 is over. this was kinda annoying at times to write I'm just excited to get to the cooler parts B)

[realcube]

dilf december

day twenty-one ⭑ doppo kunikida ⭑ naughty list ?!

tw: nsfw minors dni, sexting, heavy implact play and degradation

everything is so boring when you are home alone.

workload at the ADA suprisingly seems to surge around the holiday season, meaning kunikida has to stick around at the office for longer, leaving you in the house all alone, with nothing to do. the place was spotless, since you had already done every chore conceivable. as for preparing dinner, it made more sense to begin once kunikida messaged you saying that he was on his way home, that way it will be nice and hot upon his arrival.

hence that left you with an hour, in which you had nothing to do but mope around. of course you had sources of entertainment in your home, like a tv and a console, but neither really called to you.

however, the messenger app on your phone did.

you rushed to your shared bedroom and spent the an hour throwing on different sets of lignerie and negligees you owned, posing for all sorts of seductive photos in the full length mirror. each position you took was even more raunchy and revealing than the prior. some were silly and light-hearted, while others were intense and could believably be found on the cover of a porn mag.

and you recklessly sent image after image after image, not thinking much of it. you assumed that his phone would be on silent during office hours, then he would be in for a little treat when he clocked out, but you couldn't have been more wrong.

you realise your mistake when your husband comes storming in to the house. while leaning against the bannister of the staircase in the foyer, you attempt to welcome him home in a seductive manner — dressed in a see-through gossamer negligee — but he is entirely dismissive of you; focussed on the removal of his jacket and neatly hanging it up on the coat rack, not paying your lewd antics any mind.

once he has completed all his routine duties upon entering the house — such as taking off his shoes and placing his work bag aside — the air in the room turns cold as his piercing stare finally lands upon your scantily clad form.

he storms towards you with an unwaveringly cruel glint in his eye, and before you have a moment to react, he scoops you up in his arm and hauls you upstairs to your shared bedroom.

"kunikida! what're you doing?" you yelp, not bothering to struggle against his strong grasp. he's quite strong so he is able to pick you up with a single arm, carrying you under his arm and hauling you to the bedroom in a similar fashion to the way a farmer would carry a chicken.

"what are you doing, is the better question." he corrects sternly, in the displeased and aggravated tone that you know all too well, "sending me all those lewd photographs while you knew i was at work."

clearly you have sent him on a tirade, so once you finally arrive at the bedroom and he carelessly throws you onto the bed, you know better than to argue and simply listen, innocently gazing up at him through your lashes to hopefully soften the blow.

"i see you are messaging me so i open my phone — thinking it was an emergency — but no, your entire nude body is now covering my screen! you're lucky i was in my office, what if i was in a meeting and other people saw that?" he huffs, pacing back and forth across the length of the bedroom, yelling out into the emptiness of the room opposed to directly at you. though he would shoot you the occassional pointed glare. "not only that, but know that i've seen the images, i have to conceal my, uh, feelings towards them. i couldn't get up out of my office chair for half an hour, (y/n)!"

you fail to quell a snicker at the thought of kunikida being chair-bound due to a boner, which causes him to halt in his tracks and stare at you with a dumbfounded expression. "is this funny to you?" he asks, deadpan.

before you can even open your mouth to croak out a response, kunikida hastily approaches you on the bed, harshly grabbing at your thigh, "because it's not. you should know better than to send me such depraved images during work hours, but you clearly you need a reminder." he tells you through gritted teeth. then, he uses his grip on your thigh to flip you over, so you are lay on your stomach, and pull you down so you are bent over the edge of bed; with your stomach flat against the sheets and your legs hanging off the side.

he runs his big hand over the flesh off your ass, which is stuck out all pretty for him and is partially veiled under the gossamer of your negligee, but mostly on display, especially once kunikida has pushed the fabric aside as he caressed your ass.

his fingers then begin to explore between your folds, barely inhibited by the embarrassingly thin string of your thong. the rough pads of his fingers rub lazy circles over your soaked labia and clit. "so wet already.." a precise balance of fast and slow to make you squirm yet desperate for more stimulation, which he would happily deny as he pull his hand away from your cunt, licking his fingers clean.

"when did you become such a slut?" he spits, his palm making firm with your ass he does so. the loud 'slap' noise resonating throughout the room, shortly followed by your incoherent whimpers and sobs that you feebly try to choke back.

"please.." you whine, knuckles paling as you grip the cotton covers, "i won't do it again."

"yes, you will." he says defnitively, "because you're just a little attention whore." his sentence is puntuated with another hard slap on the ass, provoking a guttural gasp from you as a reaction to the painful impact.

"you'll do anything for me to play with this needy pussy, huh?" he asks while using the heel of his hand to carelessly rub your folds for a moment, then immediately slap your cunt afterwards, sending electric jolts of pleasure and pain up your spine and through your stomach.

"so here is all the attention you so desperately need." another spank hits your ass; the sting causes you to wince and moan in response.

"that feel good, princess?" he asks, mostly sardonically, his relentless hand spanking your ass repeatedly, each time more brutual than the last, surely searing a burning handprint into your skin. it hurt more each time, hinted at by your quiet whimpers and mewls. but also your pussy would spit out more arousal with each intense impact, which gave mixed signals.

you had lost count of the amount of spanks before he eventually paused, stroking your aching cheeks as he idled, "i asked you a question."

previously you were unable to answer the question because you were preoccupied with choking out faint pleas and cries, but now that he has halted his ruthless attack on your ass, you are able to stutter, "it felt good, sweetie." your face is consumed by the heat of the covers which you bury yourself into.

"good.." he muses, continuing to gently caress your sore skin, "you know i only do this because i care. so much. i could never ignore a message that you send me; i worry far too much about you to do that, so i have to view it. and if i open it in front of my co-workers, i would hate it if they saw something meant for my eyes only. understand, sweetheart?"

"mhm.." you hum. pleased with the kind and relaxed way he was speaking to you, but his change in tone was so sudden that it could've gave you whiplash. not that you were complaining.

"i enjoyed the photos. you are so gorgeous, (y/n). don't stop taking them." he softly squeezes the fat of your thigh and asks, "does it hurt badly?"

"kinda." you reply timidly.

he bends over and plants a kiss your ass, peppering them over your warm skin before straightening himself. "i'll be gentler next time." his hand wanders from your ass, down between your thighs to carefully poke at your clit, "now, let's take care of my needy girl.."

[thoughtsafterdark]

Hospitals and Airports are the closest modernity can come to reaching the Divine

Have you noticed how some places seem immune to time and social conventions. Like airports, those monoliths of now. Harsh lights burning and souls criss-crossing, tongues melting together into a writhing throng of humanity, a steaming cesspit of consciousness. Steeped in camaraderie yet drenched in isolation. The electric blue arrivals sign glares with neon brightness at 3am, a beacon that signals the end of the road.

Here comes a family of 4 on their way home, crossing through automatic doors into the balmy drizzle of a British night, carrying their loot of straw hats and cheap pendants, tan lines and peeling red lobster skin. A girl no older than 5 limps after her parents and older brother. She lugs her bright pink unicorn behind her and hugs the hood of lilac pyjamas close, rubs the sleep out of her eyes whilst her mother shouts at her to hurry. Soon she’ll tuck herself into bed, in the attic of their ordinary red brick London row house, and she’ll watch the sun peak over the trees in the back garden for the first time in her life. It will become a core memory she will think fondly back on for years to come.

By the first class lounge they hurried past, a man in an impeccable suit (Sheep’s wool, the finest money can buy. The grey colour of the Thames on an early morning) paces back and forth restlessly, briefcase in hand, phone in another. Gold amber eyes like a hawk, close cropped black hair and neatly trimmed beard, square pocket matching the deep tan of his shoes (authentic leather). He is barking orders to someone in Arabic, closing deals, building empires. A bloodied napkin he used to stop a nosebleed earlier falls out of his pocket and winks up at the scaffolding exposed ceiling, high and arching like the dome of a cathedral. He’ll make the sale, then visit the airport bathroom again before hailing a cab to the closest 5 star. In the morning, the maid who took the job to send money to her ailing mother in the Philippines will find his cold stiff body and scream. She’ll call the police and be taken in for questioning. She never signed up for this.

At the hospital coffee shop – two streets and half a lifetime away - a 4th year med students sips on a cortado like her life depends on it. Caffeine surges through her veins, bracing her for the day ahead. Unbelievable how exhausting trying to take up as little space as possible can be. She hates the spiel, it’s the same every time. A new dawn, a new face, a new team. The introductions, the smiling, the grovelling, the headache. She’s 5ft flat with bright orange hair, aspirations for Neurosurgery and a bright pink notebook, so why would they take her seriously.

It’s 8:30, and she’s scheduled for 9am clinic, so she has time for a hurried breakfast today. (Eating any earlier makes her gag). Small mercies. The off-red stained scrubs she nicked from the theatre changing rooms cling to her like a second skin preparing to moult. She squirms in them, the comfort undeniable. They make her feel like she belongs. They make her feel like an imposter.

Her table – she comes here so often; she thinks of it as hers - sits right by large windows overlooking the main entrance and staircase. She sees it all from here, her quiet unassuming throne. The doctors and nurses, physios and pharmacists. Rushing rushing, running, stressing. Wishing, hoping, waiting, waiting, waiting. For the shift to end, for the time for bed. For this rotation to change, for the exam to pass. We’ll go on that holiday next month, next year. When money isn’t tight, when things are more settled.  Before they know it they’ve wished their lives away.

Their patients understand, all too well and all too late. The same father with the IV drip and the metal stand comes down here every morning to see his daughters. They run up to him, he holds them close and beams. But his grip is getting weaker, smile is getting thinner. He doesn’t answer when they ask when he’s coming home. It’s funny what we can’t hear when we’re too busy wearing stethoscopes. Next month she (I) will be stationed on the Psych ward. We’ll have to do it all again, but maybe they’ll hear me this time. Maybe it’ll get easier.

Between them all and among them, if you squint and unfocus your eyes during one of those ungodly hours at the Starbacks across from Boots and WHSmith, leaning against a grey white pillar you might see him.

He is the spectre that haunts airport lounges and waiting rooms alike, the handsome stranger with the black snapback and the beats headphones and the khaki shorts. The one who lives out of a rucksack and wears a travel pillow like a crown. With the kind eyes and crows feet, and honey chestnut curls. He is that boy from your high school everyone liked, with a kind word for everyone; the one with a charmers smile and the charisma to bullshit his way through anything. The one who – when pressed for future plans, would laugh and shake his head, looking down bashfully. “I just want to travel for now, see where it takes me. I want to see the world”, he’d say, eyes twinkling with the possibilities. On someone else, the words would likely merit a telling off, they’d be seen as the paper thin excuse to fuck around and get high. But he seemed so genuine, and his teeth were such a dazzling shade of brilliant white when he smiled, even the strictest careers advisers couldn’t resist.

He lives in those moments, the liminal fabric between worlds that’s so hard to put your finger on. Blink and you’ll miss him in the old alleys of Rome, the spark of his cigarette lighter blending amongst the city lights.

You’ll find him among the most remote hiking trails of the Peloponnese, laughing with local shepherds and German tourists alike, sitting on jutting rocky cliffs and admiring the blue Mediterranean below. If you really pay attention, you’ll see his staff isn’t like the others. Something suspiciously like a pair of snake slithers up and down. You could swear you heard them whispering just now, but when you look again it’s just a wooden stick.

He is the patron of us wanderers and travellers, those of us with movement in our blood and restlessness in our hearts. The ones who beget the will of changing winds and shifting tides. The ones who can’t allow themselves to sit still, lest the dust settle and the coffee get cold. The mortifying ordeal of being seen and known. Or the ones that carry a hearth with them, in the bottom of a suitcase, in the heart of a trailer. The ones who move and weave through the Earth not because they are running but because they are coming home. He dances and jokes with the kids amongst campfires, always welcome, always a pleasure. And if he helps them pick the odd lock, swearing solemnly to secrecy, who are we to judge.

His bronze skin smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, vanilla and cedar and a thousand other spices. He reeks of incense and market stalls, moles and freckles tell the story of trading routes and old silk roads, of cotton shawls from Alexandria and silk from Pekking. His fingers and eyes twinkle with the good-natured mischief of petty thieves and sleight-of-hand magicians, tricksters and circus performers. He picks apples from behind ears, presents jewel necklaces to his lovers.

She sees him now, amongst the patients. He helps an old lady up the steps, pulls a balloon out of his back pocket to the delight of a sick child. She locks eyes with him and they nod at one another She has been seen now, and known. Perhaps she’ll find him again one day, if either stop running.

[tommyshelbysgoodgirl]

Bath time with Tommy

Summary: you decide to join Tommy while he takes a bath

Warning: handjob, riding, pussy play? Idk. Cream pie. MDI 18+‼️

Requested by: @honeywhim

This is my first Thomas Shelby smut be nice😭😩

I sighed as I kept zoning out while reading my book, my eyes kept rereading the same lines trying to keep track of what was happening in the story. I finally sighed heavily again as I closed the book and set it down on the small table. I looked around the living room and then I stood up and stretched I decided to go upstairs and see what my lover was doing. I slowly walked up the large staircase, the house was deathly silent and felt unsettling for some reason. As I walked all the way down the long hallway to Tommy’s master bedroom I entered through the door and closed it, I looked around and noticed the bathroom door connecting to Tommy’s room was half way open. As I approached the door I peeked in and looked inside the luxurious bathroom. Tommy was faced away from the door and smoking a cigarette, he looked like he was deep in thought most likely about business as he sighed and took a deep drag of his cigarette I let my eyes travel to his legs. They were dangling off the edge of the tub, I blushed deeply admiring his muscular thighs that glistened with water, I was breathing heavily as I reached down into my skirt and started to slowly rub my clit through my silk panties I whimpered softly and quickly covered my mouth.

Tommy slightly turned his head and grinned, “come on love, don’t be shy and come join me..” I breathed in deeply as I opened the door more and walked towards the bathroom, Tommy glanced at me and looked me up and down with an emotionless expression. “Go on love, undress yourself.” I blushed deeply as I slowly unbuttoned my blouse and let it fall to the floor. As I stripped myself naked Tommy kept his cold blue eyes on me as he smoked his cigarette. Once I took my skirt off and panties I slowly slipped into the warm water, settling between his muscular legs that were still hanging over the tub. I glanced down at his obvious erection in the water, he flicked the nub of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray on a table, I slowly reached out and stroked his hard cock, I looked up at him innocently and smiled sweetly. Tommy raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly as his eyes grew with desire, “my sweet angel.. always there to make me feel good huh?” I nodded as I kept stroking his throbbing cock with a steady firm grip. Tommy rested his head back and groaned lowly as his eyes closed shut, I started to quicken my pace but only slightly I leaned over and placed soft kisses along his inner thigh, I felt my pussy throb in the water when his thigh muscles flexed beneath my lips. Tommy moaned softly and reached down to stroke my hair gently, I kept stroking his length as I increased the speed of my strokes. Stroking him faster, than I would slow down my hand to tease him, Tommy thrusted his hips gently getting irritated by my teasing. “Babydoll don’t test my patience now… I’ve had a stressful week.” He growled through his teeth as I tightened my grip on his cock tightly his tip leaking with precum I smiled innocently as I leaned down making direct eye contact with him as I licked his red tip feeling his cock throb in my hands. I felt his hands grip my hair and I lifted my head up and leaned over to press my lips firmly against his Tommy groaned as I rubbed my wet pussy against his cock beneath the warm water. Tommy reached down and gripped my ass as he forced me to grind against his aching cock. “Fuck darling I need your sweet pussy, come on now love, this week’s been killing me and I need my baby to make me feel better, eh?” I smiled softly as I reached out and caressed his cheek I felt my heart melt as he sighed and closed his eyes, melting into my touch. He looked exhausted, his eyes were tired and wrinkled under. “I’m sorry you’re always so stressed Tommy.. I wish I could do something to help you?” Tommy opened his eyes and gripped my hips as he aligned his cock with my core. “Sweetheart you already do help me enough just by being here by my side, especially when I’m stressed out.. I can just come home and shove my cock deep in your warm cunt..yeah?” I nodded and moaned softly as he sank his cock deep in my warmth.

He groaned loudly as his eyes closed shut and he let his head drop down to my chest, he slowly started to thrust his hips up and down as he buried his face deep into my chest and he groaned loudly as he thrust faster, then buried his face deeper into my breasts. I frowned though as his groaning and moaning began to sound desperate and needy I slowly wrapped my arms around him and placed my hand on his soft dark hair that was damp with water. I kissed the top of his head and closed my eyes, he kept thrusting his cock into my dripping wetness and I leaned my head back and moaned. Tommy leaned up and kissed my neck gently, “thank you for making me forget about this fucked up world for a little bit love.” I moaned softly and closed my eyes as I listened to him, “anything to make you feel better Tommy.. fuck, I love you.” Tommy angled his hips up slightly and started thrusting deep into my pussy, I gasped loudly in surprise. “Fuck fuck fuck, you’re so beautiful and this pussy is so nice and tight for me..oh baby girl!” I whimpered softly at his words as my pussy clenched around him. Tommy leaned his head back as he thrust deep inside me faster and faster “Tommy I’m gonna cum!” He closed his eyes tightly as his body shook and he thrust deep inside and stilled as he filled me with his warm seed. My whole body was shaking and Tommy’s legs were trembling I whined softly as I fell against him, Tommy wrapped his arms around me. He kissed the top of my head as his cock softened in my pussy, he gently pulled out and reached down to rub my clit with a quick pace his rough fingers rubbed my tiny nub with a intense force and I whimpered and shook as I came quickly Tommy smiled and then reached out to grab out another cigarette as he held me close by my waist. He rubbed the cigarette against his plump lips, and placed it between them as he grabbed his lighter and lit the cigarette. I look up at him with soft eyes. He inhaled some smoke and blew it out into a cloud, he glanced down at me with a blank look. Then his cold ice blue eyes softened and he smiled gently, “thanks for helping me release some stress off, my sweet girl, now let’s get cleaned up and into bed.” He frowned slightly, “I have another fucking meeting in the morning..god damn it” he took another long drag from his cigarette and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the next day and enjoy the moment of peace.

[hollow-writing-place]

The Ghost King and The Firecracker

Chapter 5: Home sweet... huh?

Word Count: 4163 (woah)

Masterlist for this work/info about the fic

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Chapter Summary:

Meeting Danny's home (Yes, I said what I said), A hard talk, Red Yarn, and Revelations.

---

Jason lunges forward with Soul Shredder just as Danny rips a rift into the ground at their feet. The blade never makes contact with Batman, because both Danny and Jason are tumbling haphazardly down into the Ghost Zone too quickly for them to do anything but hold on."

---

Jason blinks his eyes open to a startling sight. Twice in such a short time, Jason is shocked out of words.

He’s on some sort of rocky outcropping in a dark green-gray void. Different shades of green swirl and dance in the darkness around him, shifting and spiking like the aurora borealis.

Danny, still in his ghostly form, hovers at Jason’s side. He sighs in relief when Jason shakily sits up.

“Oh thank the Ancients. You passed out again and i should’ve expected that-”

“Danny?”

“-but I just had to get us out of there before you did something you regretted! And you don’t know anything about Soul Shredder yet and i had NO idea you-”

“Danny…”

“-were a Knight! I mean, how could I have known? But still! If I had just explained more then maybe we could’ve been more prepa-”

“DANNY!” Jason finally snaps, a bit louder than he meant. Danny flinches back and his cheeks glow green as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Slow down. I know you don’t need to breathe when you’re like this, but just… calm, yeah? This is a lot for me.”

Danny nods, and floats back from Jason a pace, closing his eyes and shaking his hands out. “Yeah.” He hums. “Yeah, okay.”

Jason watches Danny carefully, trying to give him a moment despite all the burning questions inside Jason. He doesn't get a chance to ask them.

“We should move. I can take you to my keep.” Jason cocks an eyebrow, not quite recognizing the word, but Danny just smiles and waves him off. "Sorry. My house. I should take you to my house." He grabs Jason’s arm and hauls him to his feet.

Jason forgets just how strong Danny can be until he pulls a move like that. He doesn’t even fight the blush that covers his cheeks.

Danny doesn’t even seem to notice, just holding tight to Jason’s wrist and floating forward so Jason has to walk with him.

When they reach the edge of the rock formation, it drops off into a roiling emerald and forest green abyss. 

Jason stares at it, utterly confused. I mean, he's lived in some interesting places, but this tops all of those places combined because at least those shitty apartments were corporeal. He kind of feels bad for Danny. 

Except, the abyss doesn’t stay an abyss. No, it begins to morph .

Rising, at first a monolithic tower of stone before more and more of the structure reveals itself. It pulls itself from the depths of the void as if the swirling colors of the empty space were a sea of water, and this… this castle was cutting through it effortlessly. Chunks of the stone crack and splinter off, but are just as quickly repaired by something unseen, spiderwebs forming and closing.

It's almost mesmerizing, and Jason knows his jaw is dropped, but he can’t look away.

It continues its ascent, and Jason's eyes catch on a dozen spiraling staircases, stained glass windows that shift and dance like the void around them, bricks stacked in impossible ways forming towers and ramparts and bridges interconnecting towers and buildings and God.

The gates are in front of them now.

God .

The iron twists and curves into intricate shapes, and those shapes sit in bigger, more intricate shapes. The gate is massive, easily one and half stories, and grander than anything Jason could have ever thought up. The castle itself is too much to look at, but he can’t look away. There’s so much happening, so much changing and moving that it is legitimately giving Jason a headache. There are colors in those panes of glass there he couldn’t even name, and the way the glass shatters and comes back in new images captivates.

He gets glimpses of figures he's only seen in the dusk between wakefulness and sleep, of horrible futures and twisted deep pasts. He sees people and places and events in a flashing sequence of foreshadow, and the terror is acute and heavy in his ribcage. He doesn't recognize any of the faces, but the weight of knowledge threatens to choke him.

A hand comes up to cover his face, coated in a white glove, blocking his view and snapping him from his trance. Danny holds it there for a long moment until Jason’s breathing returns to normal.

When Danny pulls away, Jason’s view still spins and fluctuates, morphing Danny’s face. He blinks a few times to clear the glowing afterimages of something around Danny. Danny just looks concerned.

“Yeah… I should’a prepared you for that. It can be a lot.” Danny laughs apologetically.

“A lot??” Jason chokes out, thumping at his chest with a fist as if he could restart his heart. “You live in a cosmic horror. ” Danny laughs again.

“You get used to it. It... mostly behaves when I’m around.” Danny shrugs. “Might’ve been trying to impress you.”

Jason gapes, but seeing Danny look over at his freaky house with a fond smile, he decides to shut up. Sure, why not? Semi-sentient castle house, potentially omnipotent. Okay.

“Now come on! I’ve got so much to explain.” With that, Danny snatches his hand, and ignoring the, totally manly , sound Jason makes, pulls him towards the castle. As they approach, the gates begin to swing open with a sound that, again, Jason could not begin to describe. Chunks of rock, slabs of slate, and more of those sheets of colored glass pour from the entrance of the castle, dripping and flowing from the mouth of the open gate like liquid to form a bridge over the yawning gap between them and the castle doors.

None of those materials should be able to do what they’re doing, but Jason can’t dwell on that because Danny is still tugging him forward. Danny does pause at the display by the castle, however. “Wow, yeah. It’s totally trying to impress you. It hardly ever puts on such a show.”

Jason nods almost deliriously. He feels drunk. “I’m glad your eldritch abode likes me.” He murmurs, trying not to trip but also deliberately not looking down. That gets a chuckle from Danny, at least.

They head up through the gates, through the properly massive doors behind that, and into the most incomprehensible front room he’s ever seen. His head spins again, and he tastes metal in the back of his throat.

Danny's hand swipes at his nose and comes away coated in thick green blood. When had his nose started bleeding? Danny murmurs something about "adverse side effects," and his hand covers Jason's eyes again. 

“Uhm… how about you just let me lead you, yeah? Can you trust me?” Jason nods near instantly.

“‘Course.” He chimes up, voice a bit too quiet for his liking, but he is utterly overwhelmed and can’t do anything about it.

With a hand over his eyes and another on his back, under his cape and threaded into the plating, Danny guides him forward.

At least it’s still mostly warm here. That awful chill that had chased him, plagued him in Crime Alley mostly dissipated with his shift.

In ghost form, Danny gives off more of a chill, so Jason’s torn between welcoming Danny’s touch and shying away. He stumbles a bit, but with Danny to catch him, he feels safe enough.

Finally, there’s a sound like a door creaking open and the temperature rises ever so slightly. Jason has no idea how he knows that when the degree shift was so small, but he notices.

The pressure of Danny’s hand leaves his face, but the one on his back remains. “You can open your eyes now!”

Jason does and looks over the finest library he’s ever seen. The stacks reach up, up, up into a starry ceiling that moves as if with the rotation of earth, and those towering shelves of books stretch out so far Jason has to squint to see the end of the room. The carpet is a rich, comforting red and the furniture looks plush and gold lined. There are tables about, some with piles of books on them, open or not. On the far side of the room, a massive fireplace crackles happily away, and Jason’s stepping closer to it near instinctually.

He pauses, unsure of himself before he feels Danny nudge him forward. “Sit somewhere comfortable. What I'm about to tell you… Well, I don't know how you’ll take it.”

Well, that's not ominous at all.

Jason walks closer and the heat of the fireplace floods through him. He sits on the brick wall in front of the fire, letting the flames lick over his back. Danny sits a bit further away in a worn spinny chair, ghostly tail splitting into legs.

“Well.” Danny jumps right into it. “I said there’s some things to explain, yeah?”

Jason nods. Danny mimics him, nodding as well.

“Okay.”

It's quiet for a long moment while Danny does everything except make eye contact with Jason. “I don’t know where to start.” He says, finally, after tracing the path of stars in motion across the ceiling.

The words are familiar to Jason and bring him a sense of deja vu. He shakes it off and thinks. Finally, he remembers something and snaps his fingers.

“King. I remember that. I was in the fire, and I needed to leave because the King was hurt, and it was you in the crown.” Jason tries not to sound like he’s accusing Danny of anything, but he really doesn’t know what to think. Danny hadn’t explained much of anything about the inner workings of the Ghost realm, stating he’d tell Jason everything once Jason could see for himself.

Danny curls into the seat, looking smaller and more nervous. “Oh. yeah, that’d be a start.” He breathes deep, and Jason watches him compose himself, sees gears click and turn in his head. He still doesn’t look at Jason, but he does begin to speak. “Ghosts can be… a bit off the rails. They’re generally predictable because of their obsessions and patterns, but that doesn’t make them easy to corral.”

Danny looks so tired all of a sudden. “That’s part of the reason the Ghost Zone has a King. Someone to facilitate disputes, settle real fights, not play fights, and overall, someone to keep ghosts in check. But with some access to the alive world, a whole new bunch of problems arise. Ghosts also need protecting now. They need to be kept out of human affairs and away from eyes. It isn't safe for them, especially with the increase in organizations dedicated to hunting ghost’s down.”

Danny looks at Jason, finally, and he looks sad. “I’m sure I don't need to go in depth. You know what happens when people get too curious.” Jason winces, and scoots back on the bricks to take more comfort from the flames. “Anyway. The last King… Well-” Danny sighs. “Yeah, this is going to be a long, rough story. You can get in the fireplace if you want.” He notes offhandedly, casually.

“Oh, thank God.” Jason murmurs, swinging a leg over the bricks, then the other, flopping his torso and legs into the ashes. He sighs in relief and props his elbows up on the bricks to rest his head in his hands. The heat is heavenly, and he sinks into it gratefully.

“Yeah I figured you didn’t spend enough time in your first fire. I’ll get to that after.” Danny says, smiling for the first time since they got into the room. It quickly drops as he launches into his story.

And… wow.

---

Tim is not freaking out.

Dick and Bruce are yelling back and forth while Tim paces a hole into the stone floor of the Batcave. It’s not unusual, the two of them fighting.

They have their peaceful moments, and they have their arguments. Sure, this one is worse than some of the last ones, but Tim’s not freaking out about that.

Some glowing green, levitating, halfway see through man kidnapped Jason. There had to be mind control involved, but Tim can’t find traces of anything. That glowy man left nothing behind. No DNA, no trace particulate, nothing.

And, for Jason to have come from that firepit changed like he was, it had to have some importance, right?? Except, Tim has analyzed ashes and chunks of wood and he hasn’t found anything. He’s even tested lighting some of the pieces on fire, but nothing happens. For all intents and purposes, it’s literally just wood on fire. But no, there has to be something more.

There has to be.

Every avenue turns up more and more nothingness, and Tim may be losing it. Hence the continuous circle walking.

He wasn’t too close to Jason. Sure, the boy was his Robin, but after the Tower, things were just always different.

Jason had made an effort to come back, and showed signs of changing from whatever happened, but still. He snapped often, mostly at Bruce, left from any gathering after an hour and would be seen demolishing muggers after, and generally was more hostile than not. At least he never snapped at Tim.

He was always careful, avoiding Tim like the plague. It was like whatever took hold of him when he looked at Bruce dissipated when he laid eyes on Tim. Tim once saw Jason walk into the same room Tim was in and, upon seeing only Tim was in the room, turned and left immediately.

A million apologies were great, and Tim wanted so badly to accept them, but until he stopped flinching at seeing glints of metal in the darkness of a room, he kept a distance too.

A few months back, Jason really started changing. He patrolled with the rest of the family more than when it was strictly necessary and was outright friendly toward them. He exchanged words with Tim. Tim was so sleep-deprived, he didn’t fully believe it till he watched back the footage of being called by name and subsequently coughing up coffee.

It was surreal. It was nearly overnight.

Almost… supernatural.

Tim’s eyes light up, and he darts over to his main corkboard. It’s quick work to pluck all the photos, pins, and red string off, and he discards them to the side.

Yes… This was something.

Jason’s change coincides with him meeting that Nightingale boy. Oh, that file Tim put together would come in handy after all! Daniel was the last to be seen with Jason before Jason’s odd territory patrol.

That man in the hazmat suit… Jason’s strangeness… His shift into that flaming thing… and Daniel Nightingale. How does it tie together?

Tim fishes out a brand new skein of red string and gets to work.

---

Jason’s heard so many things from Danny that have shocked him to his core, no pun intended, but this . This has to outrank any of that. Jason thinks he was honestly less shocked and horrified when finding out he was still half dead.

“God, Danny.” His mouth is suddenly dry, thinking about everything Danny had had to do as a teenager. Single combat with the Tyrant King of the entire Ghost Zone, constantly defending a town where he was attacked by his own family, and way, way too much more.

“And you’re King now? Just like that? What about your life? How do you manage it?” Jason knows it’s too many questions all at once, but he has the strangest urge to crawl from the fire and wrap Danny up in the biggest hug, and he’s really holding himself back.

Danny waves his hand dismissively. “Technically, I'm the Ghost King. I won’t actually take the throne until I… well, until I fully die.” He suddenly looks anxious. “And I need to talk to you about that. About how you fit in now.”

“I… don’t understand.” Jason’s brow furrows.

“I know.” Danny says sadly. And man, he just looks so small and sad on that chair, Jason is forcing himself not to clamber from the fireplace and scoop him up. “You aren’t a regular ghost, Jason. Your form… It’s special.”

Jason doesn’t know if he should feel flattered, so he’s glad the fire flickering around his body hides his blush. “That’s… nice.” He chimes in, a question in his voice.

Danny huffs frustratedly, and Jason can see just how much he’s struggling over word choice.

“Kings of the Realm have always had Knights.” He forges on determinately. “I am no different. I just always assumed I wouldn't find my Knight until after death when I took up the crown. But now there’s you.”

Jason sits up straighter, feeling like the next few words are going to be important, and he doesn’t want to miss any of them.

“I knew from the second I laid eyes on you after you went ghost. You are my Knight. The next Fright Knight. And Jason, I’m so, so sorry.” Danny’s voice cracks on his last sentence. “You know hardly anything about this world and now you’re being thrown headfirst into it. And you’ve been stuck with a title you know nothing about and new responsibilities you couldn’t have prepared for. You’ve got to be upset.”

Jason is taken aback by the word vomit pouring from Danny’s mouth and the tears, green in color, pooling in his eyes. “Danny, no, hold on.”

He gives in to his urges and climbs from the fireplace, shaking ash off his armor and cape. Danny chokes out something teary, but Jason’s already crossed the distance between them and is crouching in front of the seat. He doesn’t want to cross a line, so his hands twitch uselessly at his side.

It’s so reminiscent of Jason’s Lazarus purge, just switched around, that Jason's got that sense of deja vu again. “I’m not upset. Sure, it’s unexpected, and this is...” Jason exhales in a whoosh. “It's a lot.” He laughs softly despite himself. “But I'm not going anywhere. I’ve still got you, haven't I?”

“You don’t get it!” Danny bursts out, startling Jason back a bit. “You don’t get it. You can’t go anywhere. You are stuck. With. Me.”

When he finally looks up from where he’s buried his head into the couch, Jason sees the tears are flowing now and his fangs are bared. He looks well and truly angry, but Jason somehow still doesn’t feel threatened.

“For the rest of your life, and for the rest of your after-life you will be tethered to me. You’ll have to put yourself at risk for me. You will get hurt because of me.” Danny’s up in Jason’s face now, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You’ve just barely escaped the torment of Lazarus, and now I’ve put you under control again!”

It is a bit of a scary thought, being controlled again, trapped again. Jason feels sick whenever he thinks about it, but at the same time… He feels like he knows Danny. He feels like Danny would never make him do something if he really didn’t want to. King and Knight or not. He's always figured things out. Always.

The grief that leaks into Danny’s voice is what makes Jason realize that this isn’t really anger at Jason. Danny’s angry at himself. He’s angry at himself for something neither of them had control over.

“Did you pick me? Did you specifically select me for your Knight?” Jason turns the tables.

“No!” Danny blurts incredulously.

“Then I would've been your Knight no matter what?” Jason sits back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I- I mean, yeah, but-”

“Then what’s wrong? This was going to happen no matter what and Danny-” He grabs Danny’s hands and, remembering the last time they were this close, he tugs Danny’s hands to his own chest, looking up into Danny’s eyes. “Danny, listen to me closely. You’ve done so much for me. I... with the Lazarus Pits… You-”

Normally so eloquent, Jason stumbles, face heating. “You are nothing like that sickness, okay? I'm actually offended on your behalf that you think you share any resemblance. You have been nothing but kind, and good, and- and sweet and-” God, why is Jason getting emotional?? “And I care about you. A lot. So even if I’m stuck with you for the rest of forever, I don’t care. Even if I serve you till the end of time, it’d be a drop in the bucket compared to what you did for me. So- so just-”

Danny surges forward and presses his lips to Jason’s. Chaste, but firm.

Jason, stunned, doesn’t react for a moment too long, and feels Danny panic and begin to pull away. In a split second, Jason moves, cupping a hand around the back of Danny’s head and bringing him back.

Their teeth clink painfully in Jason’s desperation and one of Danny’s sharp teeth catches on Jason's lip, splitting it deep.

Jason has to jerk back to spit up blood and Danny is apologizing profusely and it's all so chaotic that Jason can’t help but choke out a laugh, trying to paw the blood off his tongue.

“Noooo…” Danny groans. “No laughing!” He barks, brow furrowed. The image is ruined by his wide smile and the smear of Jason’s blood on his lip. Jason laughs harder until some blood gets into his mouth and he coughs instead.

Danny laughs then, high cackling laughter backed by the sound of ice shattering and something like the playful crunch of snow under running feet as Jason’s face scrunches up at the metallic taste on his tongue. The fire behind them jumps as Jason looks up at Danny.

“Oh, you’re laughing?” Jason says, wiping his face with the back of his hand, standing up to his full height and grinning down at Danny.

Danny, seeing the mischievous intent written plainly on Jason’s face, waves his hands frantically and back-tracks, his own smile growing. “No! Noooo, totally not!”

Jason wiggles his fingers at Danny. "We'll see who's laughing once I get my hands on you." Jason reaches for him, teeth bared playfully, and Danny flails and flops over the back of the couch, shrieking and struggling to get away from Jason's tickling grip.

It turns into a bit of a game of chase through the stacks, Danny playing along and not flying out of range. They laugh and tackle each other, slipping from each other's grip turn after turn until they tire of it.

It ends with Danny cuddled up to Jason, laying on his chest while Jason runs his hands through Danny’s ghostly, gravity defying locks. He’s hit with a sudden wave of nerves.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about a relationship with Danny, but there’s so many questions now, and, if Jason’s being honest, he’s incredibly new to this type of closeness. He’s got to ask. He needs to be sure that this is real for both of them.

He shakes Danny’s shoulder gently, getting his attention. Danny looks up and blinks slowly like a pleased cat. “Hmm?”

Jason steels himself. He just needs to be clear.

“Is this... okay? Like, us being together? Because I want this, believe me, but I’m new to dating and this isn’t, can’t be casual.”

Danny sits up a bit, catching and holding Jason's gaze. Jason tries not to let Danny’s gorgeous eyes distract him. Come on, Jason, get it together.

“If- if you’re serious, and you want a relationship with me, then we’re in it. For better or worse, I need you to be serious. I- I can’t- I don’t want to lose you as a friend and now that we’re kinda tied together for forever, so if this makes things weird or awkward I guess I just-” Danny stops him mid ramble with a soft kiss to the forehead. He pulls back to stare deep into Jason’s eyes, and wow, Jason could look at him forever and never get tired.

Danny's face is honest and open. “I’m serious. I want this too, really, Jason.” A kiss pressed against his cheek.

“And I promise to talk to you about everything, and I'll answer all your questions. I still have so much to tell you about this whole thing.” A kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Already, you’ve become such an integral piece of my life. I want to figure it all out together. I want nothing more than to be your boyfriend.” Jason doesn't wait for Danny to move back in, he kisses Danny square on the mouth himself.

"Thank god." He mumbles against Danny's lips, relief in every syllable. 

"What, were you worried I wouldn't want you? You're stuck with me now, Firecracker. Package deal, me and you." 

Jason chuckles and kisses Danny again, like he can't get enough. "Good."

---

Let's be honest. Jason was totally scared for a second that cuz he's now got a professional/royal duty to Danny he couldn't pursue Danny romantically. You know Jason had a moment of: “Wait… King? And I’m his Knight?? Does… Does that mean no boyfriend cuz Royal Duty???" Sad puppy dog face.

[bradleysass]

wand - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 558

The safehouse was cold. Drafty. Probably full of ghoul droppings and disappointment. But it had four walls and a roof, and the wards still held, so Evan Rosier had little room to complain—though that didn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

Wrapped in one of the ancient tartan throws he'd found stuffed in a cupboard, he paced the narrow kitchen, barefoot and annoyed.

“Have you seen my wand?” he called.

There was a thump from upstairs—something between a body hitting a mattress and a tantrum.

“No,” came the muffled reply, “but I’ve seen mine, and she’s prettier.”

“Your wand has a gender?”

“She listens better than you do. Might as well be a woman.”

Evan rolled his eyes and checked under the sink, which was honestly the last place his wand should be. He knew he’d had it last night. He remembered flicking it at the kettle with a lazy Incendio and nearly setting the damn curtains alight. And then—nothing. Blank. It had disappeared somewhere between tea and Barty dragging him to bed with promises of sleep and threats of biting if he resisted.

He padded into the living room. “Barty.”

“What?” Another thump. A floorboard creaked.

“If you’re lying on it again, I’m hexing you into next week.”

A beat of silence.

Then, defensively: “It’s not my fault you toss it around like a half-drunk duelist at a pub brawl.”

Evan kicked open the door to the staircase. “You hid it, didn’t you?”

“I relocated it for the sake of our mutual safety,” Barty said, appearing at the top of the stairs like a demon summoned by sarcasm. His hair was a disaster, his shirt was on backwards, and his smile was that particular kind of feral that meant Evan would be throwing hexes in under five minutes—out of passion, frustration, or both.

“I need it,” Evan said simply.

“Oh, now you need it.” Barty descended one slow step at a time, hands in his pockets, voice low. “What’s the emergency? Want to stir your tea without risk of elbow strain?”

Evan met him at the bottom of the stairs, breath shallow with the nearness. “I was going to fix the ward you tripped last night, genius. Or would you rather the Aurors send an owl first before they storm the place?”

Barty hummed. “I like to live dangerously.”

“You like to sleep through danger. There’s a difference.”

“Fair,” Barty said, and reached into his trouser pocket.

With a dramatic flourish, he produced Evan’s wand. “Voilà.”

Evan snatched it, muttering something obscene in French. Then, after a moment, he added, “Thanks.”

Barty leaned in, head tilted. “Say it again. With feeling.”

Evan kissed him instead—part irritation, part gratitude, and just a dash of ‘if you do that again I’m turning you into a toad.’ Barty tasted like sleep and mischief.

When they broke apart, Barty whispered against his lips, “You only love me when I steal your stuff.”

Evan pressed his wand to Barty’s sternum. “And I only let you live because I love you.”

“That’s almost romantic,” Barty said, eyes bright. “Almost.”

Evan turned on his heel, cloak flaring behind him. “Next time you ‘relocate’ anything of mine,” he called over his shoulder, “you’re sleeping outside with the ghoul.”

“Promises, promises,” Barty sing-songed, following him into the kitchen like a stray.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-Nine

You finally break free.

Silco x fem!reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,000

Warnings: Warnings for themes of nonconsensual bondage, kidnapping, feeling trapped, intense themes, and multiple references to accidental death throughout.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

If you usually skip the author's note, please read this one. It's important.

---

You woke up from your fitful sleep when Silco rose from the bed. With half-closed eyes, you watched him get dressed and cross the room. You soaked in as much of him as you could from beneath your heavy lids. If all went well enough, you would never see Silco again. 

Hell, if everything went badly enough, you would never see anyone again. 

With that cheerful thought, you rolled quietly out of the bed. 

Silco had provided you with some clothes, but nothing that would work for a long-term escape attempt. You would have to make at least one stop. You probably would have even if you’d had the right clothes, but that just cemented it in your mind. 

You dressed as carefully as you could, silently breaking the chain where you had earlier. Unfortunately, that left you with a length of chain still dangling from your ankle, but you dealt with it by snaking the length back up the inside of your pant leg and wrapping it around the waistband of your underwear. 

It was far from elegant, but it helped you be silent as you slipped through the door. You placed Jinx’s device on the table beside the ugly vase and descended the staircase as quickly as you could. 

It was a heart-pounding trip. You got to the bottom of the stairs without incident, but there were people on the ground floor of The Last Drop. The Drop was getting ready to open for the night, which meant increased staff wandering around, and more chance that you were going to be caught. 

You only had shadowy half-memories of the way Jinx had led you before taking you up the staircase, but it turned out not to matter. It seemed as though she had taken you in a winding pattern that led you through every room without ever revealing that the path to the staircase was fairly simple to find. At least, it was going in this direction. You had to pass through several unremarkable doors that didn’t look like they would lead anywhere, and a few hallways that seemed to match the previous and following ones. 

But just when you were losing any hope of getting out, you stepped through a door and found yourself standing in the watery light of the setting sun and the vivid multi-colored lights of the Lanes’s neons warming up for the approaching evening.

It took a you a long moment to catch your bearings, until a passerby gave you an odd look and you realized that time was running out. Silco would eventually realize that you were gone, and your only chance was to be far away when that happened. 

You staggered against the wall as you pulled on the shoes you had been too nervous to wear on your way down the stairs. It would have been smart to grab a cloak or jacket, some way to disguise your face, but there was no use. Anything Silco might have had around would be extravagant enough to draw attention instead of avoid it.

The hardest part was trying not to run. Running in the Undercity drew attention, and that was something you couldn’t afford. You managed to stay calm enough that your pace never increased to anything more than a brisk walk, and you made good time to the docks. 

The bridge to Piltover was out of the question, of course. Beside being manned by Piltover guards - and you were lacking the proper paperwork for them to let you pass - Silco had people watching the bridge at all hours of the day and night. You couldn’t let yourself be seen there. 

The docks were far easier to reach unobserved. You were pretty sure you had managed to avoid being seen, and you found one of the half-wrecked boats that had been discarded at the edge of the water. 

The docks along the river Pilt were a popular method of bringing drugs into the city - anything other than Shimmer, of course. The only way to avoid paying the exorbitant docking fees for tying a boat at one of the berths was to abandon it. Piltover didn’t necessarily care about who left a boat there, just that the people using the docks on a permanent basis were the ‘right kind’ of people. Which, of course, meant that they could pay the docking fees. 

You snorted, thinking about how easily Silco wrote a check or paid off officials. Maybe someday, Piltover would learn that ‘rich’ did not always equal ‘moral’. Clearly, it would not be any day soon. 

You had chosen the boat that seemed least likely to sink halfway across the Pilt, and searched the area until you found two paddles. The river’s current was strong in some places, and you would need as much power and maneuverability as possible if you were going to reach Piltover without being pushed dangerously downstream. 

To your surprise, you made it across without drifting too far off-course. The Pilt’s currents were gentle, and you were willing to bet it had something to do with the time of the day it was. You could see the distant ocean as you passed through the middle of the Pilt, and the waves looked small enough to be low tide. 

When you reached the other side, you secured the boat as best you could. It helped that the boat was weighed down by the water that had steadily leaked in as you paddled across. 

Now that you had finally made it to Piltover, there was only one place you could go.

—

“Here you go,” Jayce said gently, handing you a cup of steaming tea. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can get some more blankets.” 

You blinked at him, thoroughly swaddled in the first four blankets he had offered you. 

Viktor huffed at his business partner. “Any more and I won’t be able to find her ankle. I still have to finish with this cuff.” 

“I thought you were good at picking locks?” Jayce teased, a smile on his handsome face. 

Viktor snorted at that, apparently choosing not to dignify the barb with an answer.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said at last. 

Jayce nodded, looking down at his own cup. “Good. That’s good. I still think we should call in the Enforcers-” 

“We cannot,” Viktor told him, narrowly beating you to it. 

“She was kidnapped!” Jayce reminded him, outraged. “I understand that the Undercity has a different scale of morality, but there has to be something they can do about Silco. This could be the thing that finally gets him put in prison.” 

You and Viktor exchanged careful glances. You cleared your throat as Viktor turned his focus back to the cuff. “Jayce, I understand what you mean, but… that’s not how things work. Not for Silco. He owns half the Enforcers in the city, and he has some control over the ones he doesn’t. He’ll never see the inside of a prison cell.” 

Jayce started to protest, but Viktor cut him off again. “The only thing we would accomplish by calling the Enforcers is to make sure that she’s taken back to him before we have the chance to get her away from here.” 

“Away?” Jayce’s face was aghast. “That can’t be our only option.” 

You felt the same way, but you were pragmatic enough to know that Viktor was probably right. It had always been a possibility that the only way to escape Silco would be to leave the country entirely. You had just been waiting for confirmation from someone else who understood how things really worked in Piltover.

“No, Viktor is right,” you admitted heavily. “I barely got out of there once. He wouldn’t let me escape a second time. We can’t call the Enforcers and I can’t stay in Piltover. The only problem is that Silco will follow me.” 

“Only if he believes you are alive,” Viktor muttered. You glanced down at him, surprised, and were treated to the sight of the ankle cuff clicking open. Viktor set aside his lockpicks with a sighed, “Finally.” 

You rotated your ankle, the joint feeling incredibly light and free after being locked up for so long. With every motion, you half-expected to hear the chain still dragging behind you. 

“So, what?” Jayce asked. “You want to fake her death?” 

Viktor shrugged. “I think it is an option. Perhaps the best of our very limited options.”

“And how would we fake a death?” Jayce asked, exasperated. 

Viktor glanced pointedly at the room around you all. The bulletin boards around the room were covered in blueprints and schematics. There were worktables against every wall, each one weighed down with prototypes and the assortment of tools that had been used to create them. More than one table bore the singed marks of unsuccessful experiments past. 

“Incidents happen all the time, particularly during the development of a new technology,” Viktor said casually. “Perhaps she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Now it was Jayce’s turn to share a look with you. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We can’t do that, Viktor. People won’t trust HexTech if there are deaths associated with it. Especially civilian deaths.”

“There will be deaths associated with it, civilian or no,” Viktor told him dispassionately. “It is unavoidable.” 

“Then there can be one fewer death!” Jayce said, half-laughing with his disbelief. “Besides, people know we’re partners. If she dies in a HexTech accident and we can’t provide proof, no one will believe she’s actually dead.”

“What if we get a cadaver from the University’s biomedical studies lab?” Viktor countered. 

“We both know that won’t work,” Jayce said, frustratedly raking his hand through his hair. “HexTech would leave chemical traces that we couldn’t fake. Not without a lot of effort and a risk that we’ll actually make the gate malfunction.”

“True.” Viktor sighed. “But I think we could still get a cadaver. I think I’ve seen some with similar skin tone and proportions come in lately. Faking her death seems like the best option.” 

“Not through any connection with HexTech,” Jayce said firmly. 

You shook yourself from your half-asleep torpor. “Agreed.”

“Fine, unconnected to HexTech,” Viktor agreed, waving his hand irritatedly. “But somehow. Maybe pretend she was pulled out of the Pilt.” 

“Silco will find a way to examine the body himself,” you said. You didn’t enjoy poking holes in the work they were doing to help you out of your mess, but honesty could only help. “He’ll recognize that it isn’t me.” 

“What if we… disfigure the face?” Jayce asked. He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but you had to give him credit for ingenuity. “We could change or remove the hair, make it so he can’t see any distinguishing characteristics-?”

Various moments with Silco flashed through your memory. All the times he had watched your reactions, touched you with care, studied every part of your body… 

As if on cue, the imprint of his teeth - marked in blood and bruises on the inside of your thigh - throbbed. 

You sighed and shook your head heavily. “He would still recognize that it isn’t me.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by another. The air hung tense and heavy as both men processed the implications of what you had just told them. Then both expressions smoothed - not into judgment or even simple realization, but into a sudden and terrible grimness. For the first time, they understood just what kind of connection with Silco you were trying to outrun. 

You waited for the inevitable. Surely, they would refuse to help now that they knew. And you couldn’t blame them. Helping someone under Silco’s thumb flee the city when he expressly didn’t want them to was undeniably dangerous. Helping his lover flee would be near-suicidal.

“Perhaps we do not allow there to be a body at all,” Viktor suggested. 

Jayce nodded. “I think that’s the only way. But we need to make him believe that she died, or he’ll just follow her and we’re back to square one.”

The relief consumed you just as completely as the fear had a moment before. You wouldn't have blamed either of the HexTech founders if they had decided to walk away, but you weren't sure what you would have done instead. Your options were so limited that it would have been laughable, if only it had been amusing in the slightest. 

“What if I fell into the river?” you suggested. 

“The Pilt is quite polluted,” Viktor said doubtfully. 

Jayce nodded. “And if you catch it at the wrong time of day, the currents can be strong.” 

“I was hoping we could make it look like I had fallen in.”

The amended statement made Jayce and Viktor go quiet for a moment as they thought it through. 

“Maybe if we staged it in darkness-”

“And it was during the changing of the bridge guard-” 

“And we had some kind of proof-” 

“A witness,” you interrupted. “You guys could tell the Enforcers that you saw me fall into the Pilt. Silco has enough of them on his payroll - he would find out about it.” 

“We could not be the witnesses,” Viktor said, though it was filled with contemplation rather than outright refusal. “You are too publicly connected to us. Silco is well aware that we contribute to the Haven’s operations.”

Jayce nodded slowly. “It would need to be someone who doesn’t have any connection to you and no public connection to us.” 

“But they can have a private connection to you guys?” you asked, half-joking in an effort to lighten the mood.

“That would be the best way to ensure that they have no ties to Silco,” Viktor agreed dryly. 

Jayce, however, looked thoughtful. “Maybe Mel Medarda.”

Viktor glanced at him sharply. “And why would Councilwoman Medarda be willing to lie on our behalf?”

“She's done it before,” Jayce said with a shrug.

“When she had the chance for material gain,” Viktor reminded. Jayce opened his mouth and Viktor made an impatient sound. “Not yet - I am well aware. But she has invested heavily in HexTech and helped us build infrastructure that would support everything we have planned. You would be a fool to assume that she is simply passionate about the science.” 

You had watched the exchange with lifted brows. You were familiar with Councilwoman Mel Medarda, of course, but by name only. The task force had been canceled before you had the chance to meet most of Piltover’s council.

Rather than be offended, Jayce clapped Viktor on the shoulder. “Think of it this way, Viktor: what other choice do we have?”

“That is hardly an argument,” Viktor said, frowning at his business partner. 

“But it seems like it might be the best option.” You shook your head slowly when they both looked curiously at you. “Maybe we could think of something better, but we don’t have much time. I covered my tracks as well as I could, but Silco is going to start looking for me soon, if he hasn’t already. I’d take a less-than-perfect plan over delaying this for another night.” 

Viktor sighed. “Since you are so certain that she will help us, Jayce, you can speak with the Councilwoman. Keep as many details hidden as you can.” 

“How will we prove that she was actually at the bridge?” Jayce asked, glancing from Viktor to you. “Silco isn’t going to believe us without some kind of proof. Something more than a witness.” 

You grabbed the cuff from the ground, the chain still partially coiled on the floor even when you held it up. “How about this? We’ll set it up like it snagged on something as I was crossing the bridge to get to Piltover during the shift change. I fell, but the cuff couldn’t support my full weight.”

“It would have broken,” Viktor observed. 

Jayce took the cuff from you and latched the lock closed once more. He reached up, attaching the end of the chain to something you couldn’t see in the beams overhead, gripped the chain with both hands and dangled his full weight from the cuff itself. It broke almost immediately, leaving the opened cuff and the shattered remains of the lock to hang, twisting, in the air. 

“I’ll take this with me to Mel,” Jayce suggested, unhooking it from the ceiling. “When I convince her, I’ll go to the bridge with her to set it up.” 

Viktor gently touched your shoulder, drawing your attention from the retreating form of Jayce leaving the main HexTech laboratory. “We have tasks to accomplish while he’s gone. Come.”

As it turned out, Viktor’s ‘tasks’ included taking a shower, packing some clean clothes from what he had hastily collected (honestly, you weren’t sure where they came from and you were hardly going to ask), and writing a letter. 

You had been focused on the Haven from the moment you realized that you weren’t going back. You had worked to make sure the outreach could survive without you, but there was no one on staff who was ready for the responsibility of taking over it completely. 

In fact, there was only one person who you could comfortably leave the Haven to: Arunn. 

You sat down to write him a letter, taking care to word it as though you had written it in the past - sometime between him finding out that you had accepted donations from Silco and the time when you were supposed to have disappeared. It was difficult to leave out references to your current situation, but you did manage to include an apology for hurting him, as well as a sincere hope that he would take over the Haven on your behalf. The instructions you left in case he did step in were highly specific, but you wouldn’t want to leave any loose ends after you ‘died’. 

Or in case you really did die in the escape attempt. If you couldn’t convince him that you had died, Silco wasn’t likely to let you go without a fight.

At the end of the letter, you apologized again and assured Arunn that he was under no obligation to take over running the Haven. You did ask that he send the letter back to the Haven for whoever may end up in control eventually, then you copied the instructions and asked Viktor to do the same if Arunn ended up taking the news poorly. Viktor gravely accepted the additional responsibility. 

When they had designed the HexTech headquarters, Viktor and Jayce had clearly taken late nights into account. Viktor ushered you into a small bedroom with an en suite bathroom tucked around the corner from the lab. It was sparse, almost stark, but after the stress of the day, you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the thin pillow. 

It seemed like only a handful of minutes had passed when there was a light knock on the door. “We have some news when you’re ready. Meet us back in the lab.” 

You had risen from the bed as soon as you heard Jayce’s voice through the door, so you were in the lab mere moments after Jayce himself. 

“Oh, you’re already here,” Jayce said, turning and trying to disguise the surprise in his voice. “Mel - Councilwoman Medarda - agreed to be our witness. The shift change for the overnight bridge guards happens in about an hour, so she’s going to leave soon. I already placed the cuff on the bridge.” 

“Where?” Viktor asked, adding, “And how?” 

“It’s a Piltover tradition to use the underside of the bridge to get as close to the Undercity as possible without getting caught,” Jayce told you both with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t born here, but I was a teenager in Piltover. I know a few things about the layout of the bridge that helped me. I tangled the chain around some bolts roughly halfway across.” 

You nodded. “Should I leave now? I think I could make it out of the city before the shift change happens.”

“No.” Viktor held up a small scrap of paper. “Some of my Undercity contacts reached out to me. Silco knows that you have left and has sent people to observe all routes in and out of the greater Piltover area. We must wait until the Councilwoman has made her report and the chain is located.” 

“Even if he doesn’t believe the story, Silco will expect you to have left by way of the river,” Jayce mused. “We’ll have to transport you out of here in a different way.” 

“We do have a number of airships delivering HexTech supplies that need to travel back to their respective countries.” Viktor tapped the paper idly against his chin. “Do you have any idea where you might wish to move?” 

You had been thinking about that extensively for most of the time you had spent trapped in Silco’s bedroom. “I think going west would be the best choice. Freljord is too cold and I have no interest in being conscripted, so Noxus is out.” 

“So Demacia,” Jayce concluded. “That would work. We get some of the magic-dampening stones for the test areas sent in from Demacia. We’ll have an airship returning to the petracite mines in High Silvermere in two days.”

“And once you’re in Demacia?” Viktor asked. “We would like to keep in contact, to warn you if we hear that Silco is going to keep looking for you.” 

“Fossbarrow was my first thought.” 

Viktor scowled. “The demon town?”

“Not anymore,” you explained. “It was killed. But there are a lot of people who need help recovering, and their families and town need help by extension. Besides, Fossbarrow is next to the Serpentrion River. If Silco does end up finding me, that will make an easy escape to the Conqueror’s Sea.”

“I think it’s a good plan,” Jayce admitted. “And we can get you there quickly. The two days before the airship leaves give us time to monitor Silco’s response to the story about you falling from the bridge. We can get you as set up as possible before you leave.” 

And you abruptly lost the battle with the tears you had been holding back all night. Jayce rubbed your back, soothing you with murmured nonsense while Viktor disappeared for a moment and returned with a fresh cup of tea. 

Through hiccups and sniffles, you asked, “How can I ever thank you for all of the help? You’re both doing all of this for me, someone you hardly know. I can never repay you, and now I won’t even be in the same city to try.” 

Viktor shushed you gently. “When we first met, we told you that we were working to improve the lives of the people of Piltover, both Upper Piltover and the Undercity. You’ve done more work to help the Undercity than anyone else in recent memory, and you’ve done so at great personal cost. How could we refuse to help someone who shares our goal?”

You sniffled again, but a long sip of tea helped soothe you enough to help you avoid starting to cry a second time.

“You should get some sleep,” Jayce announced, standing up. “We’ll start getting everything ready tomorrow morning.” 

“I packed a bag earlier-” you started. 

“And we’ll keep it nearby in case we need to smuggle you out sooner,” Viktor told you. “But with more time to prepare, we can find you clothes suitable for meetings with potential sponsors in Demacia. Their royal family can be outreach-minded, so there is a possibility you could secure funding from them.” 

The idea of a meeting with royalty made you a little dizzy with the potential, so you excused yourself and went back to the small bedroom. Despite the thoughts, fears, and half-plans swirling around your mind, you couldn’t keep your eyes open a moment longer.

---

Author's Note - She's finally free! Bittersweet, I suppose.

Here's the important part of this note: I am going to be Petty. I still haven't watched S2 of Arcane, but I plan to by the end of the month. I'm ready to be pulled back into this world and this story. I want to write some chapters from Silco's POV, but I'm not sure which chapters. That's where the pettiness comes in.

I will take suggestions about which chapters to rewrite (possibly to be compiled into a poll later for open voting), but I will ONLY accept suggestions from people who have commented on or reblogged chapters of this work.

I feel really weird about doing this and I've asked several people irl if it's too much, but realistically, this fic represents almost three years of work. The last chapter got 88 likes, but only one reblog and two (lovely) comments. Those stats are rough, even for a labor of love. I write for myself, but I share to hear what people think!

Thank you for reading and I'll see you soon with the final chapter!

The good news is that it's not too late! Comment on or reblog any of the chapters (or the GI page of my masterlist) and you can suggest which chapter you want me to rewrite in Silco's POV.

Plus you'll absolutely make my day!

[lizzy019]

hiii, i was wondering if u could do a dallas winston oneshot about how him and fem reader got into a huge fight and now he’s ignoring her no matter how much she tries to call him. then about a week later, her parents kick her out for bad grades or sum and she has no where to stay so she calls him again and he FINALLY answers!!

i hope thats not too much😭but❤️

OOOO!! I'm gonna write this as a drabble just because I have so many ideas and I don't want to lose them 🤭

~~~~~~~~ 🖤-> ~~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~~~ 💚! ~~~~~~~~~

The cars were practically buzzing at the speed they were going, and the frigid breeze of the evening had your limbs trembling. It didn't help that there was this unsettled feeling within your chest, something that nagged and clawed at you to turn back to Buck's place just to get Dally again.

But you knew it would be of no use, Dallas was stubborn and the argument that had ensued between you would have to simmer down before you two talked again. After all, Dally did have a poor habit of holding major grudges.

The sidewalks were finally being lit up by the street lights, and you found yourself looking at them as they illuminated a yellow light all through the neighbourhood. Maybe you should hurry home, the last thing you needed was a creep coming and touching your ass without consent.

Your pace increased, trekking back to your home. Once you arrived, you sighed lethargically from all the stupid feelings swirling and clouding your mind. You opened the side door of your house, sliding into it quietly before you climbed up the short staircase to see your mother angrily holding the test you wrote last week.

"What is this? Why is there a bold D on this paper? I raised you better than this!" Your mother vociferated, expression contorted into disbelief and fury.

You didn't quite know how to answer, just looking at her pathetically while you shivered from the lingering cold. Maybe this wasn't such a smart idea, coming home when you knew something would happen here too.

"I dunno, ma... I studied, swear I did." You mumbled, truly too tired to really defend yourself as you usually did. Your fingers were a bit too pink, your body just a tad too shaky.

This didn't go unnoticed by your mother, but she couldn't find it in her to show you much mercy. But regardless, she sighed and shooed you off with a swat of her hand, taking the failed paper and sitting it right near the garbage.

You trembled sheepishly, walking your way to your bedroom to change out of these thin clothes causing you such frigid temperature.

And right after you changed, you found yourself calling Dallas like the idiot you were. Trying to go back to him would definitely be your downfall, like someone had given you a shovel to dig your own grave, but you couldn't stop yourself.

The phone rang loudly in your ear, the sound echoing and it made your heart race. Maybe he would answer? This lulled you into false hope, but you kept yourself on the line until you heard the call get sent to voicemail.

You sighed, putting the phone back onto the wall while you found yourself walking to your room for some much needed sleep. At this point, your eyes were tired and your body ached. Who knows? Maybe this was all Dally needed to cool down.

• ~~~~~ 🌿 ~~~~~ •

It had been a solid week and a half since the fight with Dallas and the not so big argument with your mother about your grades.

Nothing was going well, you had called him so many times, and you were starting to lose hope. Was the argument even that bad? You knew very well that Dally could be an unforgiving guy, but wasn't this a bit extreme?

You found yourself staring at the new test paper labelled with a new blue coloured "D" and a frown crossed over your expression. But you studied! How was this grade so low? Oh, your mother was sure to smack sense into you!

Walking into your home's front door would surely be the death of you, and as you opened the front door all sluggish and lethargic, your mother just so happened to peep her head out of the kitchen to glare at you.

"Your test, where is it?" She didn't even make time for a greeting, straightforward and right to the point. You had to admire her for that, but that was about it.

So with great nervousness that you hid within a façade of serenity, your mother snatched the test from you and glared at the poor grade. You winced almost immediately when she did this, and you knew what was coming next.

"Seriously? You got another D? What are you doin'? Didn't I raise you better than this?!" She vociferated, hollering at you and scolding you for trying your best. Your honest best.

"I'm sorry, I studied this time..." You could only mutter with some attitude, keeping your head low as your mom tears up your test.

"Get out! Don't come back, you sleaze! What use are you here? Just another silly mouth to feed." Your mother's words had practically made you curl inward.

So without putting up much of a fight, you scampered off to your room to hide for a bit, rustling fabrics to make it seem like you were packing up. Maybe now Dallas would answer your call? Pfft, you were getting your hopes up again.

But maybe... maybe just one more try.

So off you went, feet pitter-pattering against the cold of the wood beneath your feet until you made it to the old telephone seated in the living room. Your fingers swiftly dialled his number, and that same sound of it ringing echoed through.

One ring... two rings... three...

Until finally, the sound of the ringing finished and a familiar tone of gruff sleepiness was to be heard on the other line.

"What? Who is it?" There he was! Dallas!

"Dally! Dal, it's me, don't hang up yet! My mom is kickin' me out, what do I do?" You pleaded over the phone, trembling in fear that your mother would catch you and berate you out of the house.

A sigh, and then a few words. "Sweetheart, what did you do now?"

Your heart thumped in your chest at his pet name, you hadn't heard it in weeks! But enough of that, you had to explain yourself well enough for his half asleep brain.

"Bad grades in school, she thinks I'm a sleaze or whatever... please? Can I come over and stay there for a bit? Promise I won't take up much space." You begged, awaiting an answer that you knew was like flipping a coin. Either a yes or a no.

Dallas was silent for a while, and your fingers twitched in anticipation as your mind silently chanted for a yes. He didn't have to like it, but he had to have had some pity on you since his dad did the same to him, right? Right?

"Fine, but bring some clothes. I'm not giving you a shirt for you to stink up with perfume. I'll park at the lot, be there in 15."

You beamed, nodding vigorously to yourself before he hung up the phone.

Not much later, Dallas had his little cigarette in his mouth, leaning against a tree as he awaited your arrival. It wasn't until you popped out from around the corner that Dally smiled a bit. Just a bit though.

"Fuckin' dumbass, come on." He teased, taking your bag from you just as a kind gesture before leading you to the stolen car of his.

Maybe failing wouldn't be so bad.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Six: Restless

Chapter WC: 10,464

Chapter Tags/Warnings: fluff, but this is VERY hurt/comfort heavy and i did make myself cry multiple times writing it so beware

A/N: These two will do literally everything but tell each other they love each other smh (i say as if this isn't my fault). Btw I changed the Lieutenant's name bc I decided I'm keeping him.

Have to plug this art of Goldie @ghostymarni made for me today too. LOOK AT HER!!!

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Duro, 20 BBY

Dawn breaks, and Dash and the engineers are no closer to fortifying the shield generator than they were when you arrived. It's been hours since the power to the main generator came back online, and there's still no sign of an attack. And while you're grateful for the time to prepare, it's hard not to be suspicious, and more than a little wary. The shield only allows so many dropships in per hour, but the longer you wait for the droids to attack, the larger the force must be.

It's not as if you've done nothing with your time, however. You and Snap had spent the last few hours crawling the city with Screwball, noting choke points and potential weak spots and doing a little sightseeing.

Screwball had found evidence of tunnels below the city, and while you hadn't found any access points yet, they would provide an excellent secondary route should the droids break through the main gate and flood the city from above. Your only concern is whether they're stable, and how extensive they are. There could be a dozen access points, or none. You simply have no way of knowing.

The streets are filled with clones as your squads move from block to block, each passing minute bringing more troopers and more supplies into the city. The footprint of Urdur is chaotic, a maze of streets and alleyways that weave through the ancient buildings making navigating the city difficult, even with a map. It didn't help that the structures were crumbling, with half-collapsed floors and missing staircases, leaving you to take detours and double back often. 

But as difficult as it was to navigate for you, it will be worse for the droids. And that's exactly what you're counting on. The narrow roads and sharp corners make for perfect ambush locations, and with the help of the 882nd, who had arrived a short while ago, the entire city will be a deathtrap.

And though you're sure it'll all go to hell the moment the fighting starts, you also have a plan.

After hours of searching, the three of you returned to the generator and joined the others, sharing the information and brainstorming strategy. There was some debate about how to deploy the men, and you and Rex ended up butting heads a bit over how best to defend the city, with the Captain advocating for a centralized position and you suggesting a more distributed approach.

In the end, you had won the battle. The 882nd as the 419th's heavy infantry regiment would be posted up outside the walls, while the 501st would man the walls, keeping the enemy from entering the city. The 103rd regiment, which were comprised of the 419th's scouting, demolitions, and recon regiments, would be spread out throughout the city, covering the key points of access and providing a flexible response should the droids break through the wall. Malestrom Company, led by Snap, would stay at the shield generator site as a last line of defense.

And you? Well, you were going to do what you did best. Hunt down the enemy and take them apart.

With the plan in place, there wasn't much else to do but wait.

And wait you have.

You've been pacing the perimeter of the generator for hours, a nervous energy driving you forward. It's not the waiting that bothers you. It's the lack of information. You have no idea where the droids are or how big their forces could be, and every minute that passes brings with it the fear that you're unprepared for the coming fight.

You know you should be patient. That this is the right decision. The only option. But the longer the silence stretches, the more on exhausted and on edge you become, and you know you're not the only one.

You'd commanded Dash to take a break and let Fuse and the others take over for a bit, and though he had protested, he hadn't argued for very much longer. He'd collapsed onto the nearest cot and was out like a light within minutes, several of the other members of Maelstrom spread out around him. The rest were scattered throughout the room, most asleep or close to it, a quiet murmur of voices the only sign that they were awake at all.

You, on the other hand, are too keyed up to sleep, the adrenaline in your system refusing to allow it. You watch them from above on a catwalk overlooking the generator, leaning against the railing and scanning the space for anything out of place. But all you see is a group of soldiers who have worked themselves to the bone in order to make this mission a success.

It's been months since your men were able to truly rest, months since they'd stepped foot on a planet not actively trying to kill them, and the reality of the war is wearing on them all, not just you. You've always known the toll the conflict would take, but the constant fighting has made it easier to ignore, to push away the thoughts and emotions and focus on the mission. But seeing your troops like this, so tired and worn, has reminded you of just how bad things are, and how far you've all come in such a short time.

More than anything, you wish they were all back on Coruscant. Back home. Safe.

But they're not. And the war won't end anytime soon.

You sigh and push the guilt away, letting go of the anger and resentment that comes with it. The only thing you can do is resolve to speak to the Council when this is over, and stand your ground until they agree to let the 419th take a vacation, a proper break from the war and the violence and the death. It's the least you can do for your men. For your brothers.

Your hands tap a restless rhythm on the railing, and your gaze drifts around the room, watching the steady rise and fall of the troopers' chests and the subtle twitches and shifts of their bodies. It's almost mesmerizing, and you find yourself zoning out, letting the world drift away and your mind wander.

You know you should sleep. You promised Snap you would, and you don't intend to draw his ire again. But you also know that the echoes of your vision will come if you do. 

You can already feel them waiting, the faintest whisper like an itch at the back of your mind, one that will come to the fore if you dare close your eyes. A city burning, Rex holding a blaster to your chest, his eyes filled with grief and pain, and the two of you pulling the trigger together, your fingers entwined. The feeling is visceral and painful, and no matter how hard you try, you can't shake the memory.

It's not a new sensation, nor is it the first time it's plagued you, but the visions are stronger now, and more frequent. It's a premonition, and you know it. A glimpse of the future.  One shrouded in a heavy layer of some meaning you've failed to yet grasp. 

Or maybe you're just being stubborn, refusing to believe it will come true despite everything telling you otherwise. You don't know. All you know is that the thought of losing your friends—of being the cause of their deaths—is too much.

Your hand drifts up to your neck, slipping inside your robes to grab hold of Yaddle's pendant. The feeling of it between your fingers is soothing, a small comfort that helps keep the shadows at bay. You're not sure how much time passes, the seconds bleeding into minutes and beyond, but the pendant remains firmly clasped in your hand, the familiar weight grounding you in the present.

"Hey."

You look over your shoulder to see Rex approaching, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cup of caf in his free hand. He offers the mug to you with a raised brow, and you feel a flutter in your chest at the sight. It's a small thing, a kind gesture, but the thoughtfulness of the act isn't lost on you.

"You're my hero," you murmur as you accept the mug, your fingers brushing his in the process. He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

"Don't speak so soon. I couldn't find you any sugar rations."

The corners of his mouth lift as you take your first sip, and your nose wrinkles as the bitter liquid hits your tongue. You force yourself to swallow, a shiver running through your body at the acrid taste, and Rex chuckles at your expression, his eyes twinkling.

"It's not that bad," he teases.

"You're right. It's worse."

Rex snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well, if you don't want it..."

"I didn't say that," you grumble, clutching the mug protectively and holding it to your chest. Rex shakes his head in mock exasperation and leans against the railing next to you. "Thanks. Really. I can use the energy."

"You could use sleep," he corrects, giving you a pointed look. You shrug and take another sip, grimacing again. "You know I'm right. When was the last time you slept? A real night of sleep?"

"I don't know. When was the last time you did?" you retort, and Rex sighs. You both know the answer. Neither of you have had a decent night's rest in weeks. But you can't resist the urge to poke at him anyway. It's a habit at this point.

"That's not fair, and you know it," he scolds, giving you a disapproving frown. You raise an eyebrow and take a drink of caf, ignoring the way the caffeine twists your stomach into knots. "This isn't a joke."

"I didn't say it was."

"You're acting like it," he mutters.

"How's the perimeter?" you ask, changing the subject. 

Rex stares at you for a beat, clearly not impressed by your tactic. His jaw works as he debates whether to press the issue or not, before he finally sighs and shakes his head, his shoulders dropping.

"We've got sentries posted every five hundred meters, and we've set up motion sensors and mines around the perimeter," he explains. "I've got the rest of the boys doing the same at the choke points we identified earlier."

"Good," you nod. "Any word from Ahsoka or Anakin?"

"Nothing," Rex replies with a frown. "Long range comms are still down."

"Damn," you mutter, your hand tightening around the mug. Ahsoka should've been able to locate the signal jammer by now, and the fact that she hasn't is a bad sign. It could mean anything, and none of it good. "We're on our own, huh?"

"For the time being," Rex confirms, a note of unease in his voice. You glance at him and see a flash of worry cross his face before he schools his expression back into a neutral mask.

"And the scouts?" you ask. "Have they found anything?"

"Nothing to report yet. They've been moving in a grid pattern and haven't seen anything unusual," he replies as he leans against the railing next to you. He braces his elbows on the metal bar and lets out a heavy breath, his gaze fixed on the ground far below. "And the general in charge of this operation is dead on her feet, despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise."

"You're a pain in the ass," you mutter into your cup, and Rex smirks, his gaze darting to you and back.

"And you're avoiding my question."

"Which was?"

"When was the last time you slept more than a few hours?" he asks again, and you groan, shaking your head and taking another drink. Rex sighs and gives you a look. "C'mon. We're stuck here until the Seps decide to attack. No point in pretending."

"Rex..."

"Please." 

The pleading note in his voice is your undoing, and you deflate, the fight going out of you. You sigh and turn to face him, leaning your hip against the railing.

"I don't know. Probably..." You trail off and sigh again, running a hand through your hair, your fingers tangling in the messy strands. You don't have the energy to be coy or avoid his question. "Probably after that night at 79s. Maybe. It's hard to remember."

"That was months ago," Rex says softly. You shrug and give him a small smile, but he doesn't return it. Instead, his frown deepens, his brows furrowing as he studies your face. "Are you kidding me?"

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, the words coming out sharper than intended, and the cup hits the railing, a splash of caf sloshing over the edge. "It's not like I have much choice, Rex. I sleep when I can, but the visions, they...I just can't seem to get any rest. So I try to meditate instead."

"And how's that going for you?" he asks dryly.

"It's going great," you growl. Rex snorts, and you scowl at him. "Why are you even asking me these questions if you're just going to mock me?“

"I'm not mocking you," he insists, his expression softening as his voice drops low. He shifts closer to you, and his hand drifts down to the railing, his fingers finding yours and gently prying them from the mug. You relax slightly, your body responding to his touch despite the frustration, and he sighs. "I'm sorry."

You watch him for a second before you release the breath you've been holding, your shoulders sagging as the anger drains away. You can't stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he continues, his voice low. "I'm just worried."

"You're always worried," you point out, and he smiles, nodding.

"I am," he agrees. He lets go of your hand and lifts his fingers to your cheek, brushing the hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch is warm, his fingers lingering against your skin, and you lean into the contact, his thumb stroking the line of your jaw. "But can you blame me?"

"I guess not," you admit reluctantly. He gives you a knowing look and drops his hand, and you bite back a sigh of disappointment. "But it's not like I can just...sleep. I've tried. It doesn't work."

"I know," he murmurs, his expression softening. "But if you can't sleep, at least try to rest."

"I am resting."

"Yeah, sure you are," he snorts. He reaches out and grabs the cup, setting it on the railing behind him. He takes a step forward, his hand finding yours again, and he gives your fingers a light squeeze. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Where are we going?"

"Just outside," he replies with a shrug. "Away from all of this. For a minute."

"Is that an order?" you tease. Rex rolls his eyes and pulls you towards the stairs. You follow without protest, your fingers laced through his.

The two of you move quickly and quietly, your boots barely whispering against the metal grates as you descend the staircase, careful not to wake the others. Most of the troopers are already asleep, sprawled out across the cots and the floor, their armor piled neatly nearby. The only ones awake are those manning the generator itself, and their attention is too focused on the controls and machinery to notice you and Rex slipping through the room and out the door.

Urdur is less gloomy in the daytime, the shadows cast by the towering buildings not nearly as ominous as they had been in the dark. Rex doesn't let go of your hand as he pulls you down the street, and you let him, too caught up in the feeling of his fingers wrapped around yours and the soft glow of the sunrise to care.

He leads you through the city, empty and silent save for the occasional squad of clones patrolling. Rex takes a winding path, avoiding the major thoroughfares and sticking to the smaller streets and alleys. It's almost peaceful, the two of you wandering through the ruins, and the further the two of you get from the generator, the lighter the burden on your shoulders becomes, the weight of the mission and the war fading away, if only for a while.

"Rex, where are we going?" you ask again, breaking the silence that has settled between you, and he shrugs.

"Does it matter?" he replies as he lets go of your hand and drops back to walk next to you. You give him a wry smile and shake your head.

"No," you chuckle. "But you have to admit, this is a bit strange."

"What is?"

"Us, taking a leisurely stroll through a ghost town." You gesture at the empty streets and cracked pavement. "I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but it feels like we should be doing something. Like we should be preparing."

"We've done everything we can," Rex points out. "There's nothing left to do but wait.”

You hum reluctantly in agreement, and he shoots you a small smile.

“Besides, it’s not much different than the time you showed me around Coruscant,” he says as he looks away.

Your cheeks heat at the reminder. He'd said the words lightly, casually, but there's a hint of something else in his tone, a note of fondness that catches your attention. And you can’t help but smile at the memory of the two of you walking through the city and talking for hours, the war and your stations forgotten in favor of each other's company. 

He'd been so nervous then, so unsure, and the sight of him fidgeting and shuffling his feet had been a welcome distraction from the turmoil raging inside your own mind. That day had changed something between you, a fundamental shift in the relationship that had grown so slowly over the past nine months, and the thought of it is almost overwhelming.

You never would've guessed when you sat across from him and told him about your past, about Yaddle and what you'd gone through, that it would lead to the two of you here, side by side. Perhaps you knew then that you were attracted to him, but the depth of the connection, the bond that's formed between you, has come as a surprise. And while you've both fought it, the two of you have only managed to dig yourselves deeper, until the feelings have become too big, too strong, to deny any longer.

Yet, you're still dancing around the subject, neither of you ready to take that final step and acknowledge the feelings aloud, or risk the consequences of a confession. But it's there, a constant presence between the two of you, a connection that grows stronger each time you're together, even if neither of you are willing to say it out loud.

And in the silence, the truth remains unsaid, though the feelings remain.

"It's a little different," you tease, and Rex rolls his eyes. You bite back a grin and bump your shoulder against his, earning a huff and a sideways glance. "Sadly, no Dex's waiting for us this time."

"Shame," he quips. "I've been looking forward to that nerf burger for months."

A quiet, breathless chuckle slips from your lips before you can stop it, and Rex looks over at you with a soft smile.

"I missed that."

"What?"

He looks away again, his cheeks coloring, and he clears his throat.

"Your laugh,” he says quietly. “I haven't heard it in a while."

Your heart swells in your chest, the words washing over you and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You want to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat, and all you can manage is a soft, "Oh."

He nods, his eyes flicking over to meet yours for a second before dropping away again. He's still blushing, and a foreign giddiness wells up in your chest. It's a strange sensation, the sudden urge to laugh and cry at the same time, and you take a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on the ground.

Rex’s words are sweet, but they also remind you of how long it's been since the two of you had a day off, a moment to just sit and relax and enjoy each other's company, without the threat of death hanging over your heads.

All the promises you’ve made to meet up on Coruscant when you both have downtime seem to be getting further and further away. There's never time. Never an opportunity to actually act on them. The war seems like it's only getting worse, and the distance has been wearing on the both of you, more than either of you would care to admit.

You've always been a solitary person, a loner by nature with only Obi-Wan and occasionally Anakin for company, but since Rex, Ahsoka, and the rest of the men have entered your life, you've found yourself craving the closeness, the comfort, the love that comes from having others around who care for you. 

It's a weakness, and the Jedi are taught to resist the pull of attachment, but it's impossible to deny the truth of the matter: you're lonely, and you need them. You need Rex. 

And not just because of the visions or the darkness that haunts you. You need him because of him. Because he's kind and brave and smart, and he has a dry humor and wit that never fails to amuse you. Because he's always there for you, no matter what, and because he loves you. All of you, every piece and part, no matter how broken or flawed. And because you love him too. So much it hurts.

The thought is sobering, and the giddiness dies, a melancholy sadness taking its place. You feel Rex's gaze on you, but you can't look at him, the emotion too raw, too close to the surface.

"I hope we'll get the chance to have another day like that again someday," you finally say. It's not what you want to say, not the words that burn in your throat, but it's the closest thing you can manage right now. It's the truth, as painful as it is.

"I do too," Rex murmurs. You glance up at him, and his expression is so achingly gentle that your breath catches. "More than anything."

You smile despite the ache in your heart, and you reach out to take his hand, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and the two of you continue on in silence, lost in your own thoughts, each wrapped up in the memory of that day and the promise of more to come.

Eventually, Rex stops walking. The main gate of the city stretches above you, the massive metal doors closed tight and covered with thick layers of dust and rust, and the sight is oddly familiar, a nagging sense of deja vu tugging at the edges of your consciousness. Before you can think too much on it, he tugs on your hand and leads you toward the steps lining the wall, nodding at the guards stationed nearby as he passes.

The two of you take the stone stairs two at a time until you reach the top of the battlements. He doesn’t stop, guiding you to the base of one of the guard towers, and he lets go of your hand as he steps up to the door, pulling it open and gesturing for you to follow him inside and up the ladder.

Rex reaches the top first and offers you his hand as you reach the last rung, and you take it, letting him pull you up and into the room above. It’s small, no larger than your quarters on the Oracle, cramped and filled with crates stacked haphazardly against the walls and corners. A series of small windows line the far wall, the glass clouded with age and neglect, but you can see the barren landscape beyond.

You walk over to the window and lean against the frame, resting your elbows on the rough stone. The white and gold figures of the 882nd regiment are spread out below, and you can see their speeders parked in neat rows near the city gates as they move through the abandoned factories and warehouses outside. Beyond the walls, the ground stretches away, flat and empty for miles, dotted with the occasional spires and domes of half-buried structures. It's desolate and bleak, but beautiful, in a tragic sort of way.

"It's quite the view," you murmur, and Rex hums in agreement as he joins you, his hands resting on the sill beside yours.

His shoulder brushes yours as he leans forward, his gaze sweeping over the horizon, and you steal a glance at him. The light plays across his features, his dark skin glowing golden in the dawn's rays, and you find yourself mesmerized by the sight, the shadows and scars and the worry lines all fading away, leaving only the man beneath the armor.

He turns and catches you staring, a crooked grin tugging at his lips, and he raises an eyebrow.

"So," he drawls, "how do you feel about sleeping now?"

It takes you a moment to register the question, and once it does, you groan and drop your forehead onto your folded arms, shaking your head in exasperation. Rex chuckles, and you peek up at him, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"You can't be serious," you grumble, lifting your head. "This is your master plan? To drag me to an abandoned guard tower and hope I fall asleep?"

"No," he says innocently, and he crosses his arms and leans his hip against the sill. "It's my plan to keep an eye on you and make sure you actually rest."

"Rex..."

"You know I'm right," he interrupts, his tone firm. "And I'm not letting you leave until you at least try."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me," you challenge, and Rex raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching as he bites back a grin. "You know you wouldn't stand a chance."

"If this is your way of goading me into sparring with you, it's not going to work this time," he replies dryly. You pout, and Rex shakes his head, a fond smile playing across his lips. "We're not fighting today. That's not what this is about."

"What is it about?"

"You. And the fact that you're barely holding it together," he answers softly. You blink at him in surprise, a cold chill settling over you and seizing your heart, and he continues before you can respond, "You can't keep going like this. I can't. Not if...if you're not okay."

He pauses, and the two of you stare at each other, a tense silence filling the space between you. You want to deny his words, to insist that he's wrong, but the concern in his eyes and Snap’s earlier words about taking care of yourself stops you. Instead, you sigh and dip your head, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"I know," you finally admit. "I'm not trying to be stubborn. I just don't know what else to do."

"That's why I'm here," he says gently. "I'm not asking you to sleep, just try."

You nod, a flush creeping up your neck and staining your cheeks. You feel exposed, vulnerable, the confession pulling at the cracks in your facade. It's been so hard lately to hide the darkness, the fear and the uncertainty that lingers beneath the surface. So hard to ignore the nightmares and the visions and the memories of the pain. It's almost overwhelming, the constant pressure, the weight of it all, and the urge to break is nearly too much to bear.

You know he's right. You know you need to rest. But the thought of sleep, of slipping back into the depths of your mind and finding nothing but torment and anguish and death, is more than you can handle. 

But Rex is patient, his eyes never leaving you as he waits for you to gather your thoughts. And you love him even more for it.

"It's not easy," you say as you meet his gaze, the words coming out strained, your voice rough. "Sleeping."

He nods, and you continue, "It's not like the visions are new, but they're different now, more frequent, and it's harder to keep them at bay. When I sleep, I'm...lost. And alone. And I'm afraid that I won't find my way back."

Your eyes sting as the truth slips past your lips, the emotions rushing forward like a dam breaking, and you press your palms into the sill to keep them steady.

Rex doesn't speak, doesn't offer empty words of comfort or false promises of safety, and for that, you're grateful. Instead, he steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder, the weight and warmth of it grounding and soothing. You lean into the touch as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and the two of you stand there for a while, his chin resting on the top of your head and his breath tickling your hair.

"What if I stayed with you?" he suggests quietly. "If you were...not alone."

You freeze, your mind racing at the implications, and you turn to face him.

"What are you saying?" you ask, though the answer is already there, the idea taking root and blossoming.

Rex blushes and shrugs, but he doesn't step back or release his hold on you, his body a solid line against yours. "I could stay. If you wanted. I could sit with you, or...hold you, or...or whatever you need. Whatever would help."

His face is burning red now, his gaze fixed on the ground, and your chest floods with affection. It takes everything you have not to reach up and cup his cheek, to brush your thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. Instead, you slide a hand down his chest, stopping just above his heart.

"You would do that? For me?"

"Of course," he murmurs, finally looking at you, and his expression is so soft, so sincere, that you feel like you might melt. "Anything."

The words are a balm to the ache inside you, soothing the pain and easing the weight of the darkness. You smile and press your forehead against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

"Okay," you murmur, your voice barely audible. He gives you a soft squeeze, and the two of you stand there for a minute, simply breathing each other in. Eventually, you pull away, and Rex releases his hold on you, his hand lingering on the small of your back. "I guess we should get comfortable."

Rex nods, and the two of you spend the next several minutes moving the crates around and creating a space comfortable enough for the two of you, large tarps spread across the wooden slats to pad the hard floor. You sit down and scoot back until your shoulders hit the wall opposite the windows, and you wait for him to join you.

It's awkward, the two of you sitting side by side, the air filled with a strange sense of anticipation. It's far from the first time you've slept next to someone, platonic or otherwise, but it's the first time you've done so with Rex.

He's not just anyone. He's not a random fling or a drunken night with a stranger. He's your closest friend, and the man you love. He's the one who holds your heart, and the only person who truly knows and understands you. You trust him with your life. And more. So much more.

The thought is exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and you feel a wave of trepidation wash over you. You can't lose him, and you don't know what you'd do if this somehow went wrong. If it somehow drove a wedge between the two of you. But at the same time, you can't deny that you want him. All of him.

As if sensing your nerves, he turns to you, his face serious.

"You sure?" he asks quietly, and you chuckle, the anxiety fading away at the sincerity in his eyes.

"Are you?"

"I'm asking you," he counters, his lips quirking. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and Rex's expression softens, a hint of vulnerability flashing across his features. "It's just...I don't want to pressure you."

"You're not," you assure him, and the truth of the words settles between the two of you. He's never pushed you, never forced anything, always giving you space and time, and the realization fills you with a deep sense of gratitude. "I wouldn't have said yes if I wasn't sure."

Rex nods and looks away, a hint of color returning to his cheeks as he shifts closer and leans back against the wall next to you. There's still some distance between the two of you, a gap neither of you is quite willing to cross, and you sigh as the silence stretches on.

"This is stupid," you mutter. "I'm too old for this."

Rex glances at you in surprise, a question on his lips. Before he can say anything, you sigh and undo the clasp on your belt, tossing it to the side before you work on removing your outer robe. The motion is quick, and you try not to notice the way his eyes widen as you move.

Once the heavy fabric is off, you fold it into a pillow and lay down, scooting until your head is in his lap. Rex tenses under you, and you turn onto your side, facing away from him and tucking your legs close to your body. You can feel his gaze on the back of your head, and his breath comes out in a slow, shaky exhale, but he doesn't move.

"Is this okay?" you ask after a beat, looking up at him. His eyes are wide, the blush from earlier spreading down his neck and across his ears. "Are you alright, Rex?"

"Yeah," he chokes out, nodding his head vigorously, his hands twitching where they're pressed against his thighs. He clears his throat, his voice still hoarse as he continues, "I'm good. I'm great. This is fine."

"Just fine?"

"More than fine," he replies, a nervous edge to his tone, and his gaze drifts down to your face, his expression softening. "How are you? Is this...are you comfortable?"

"Yes," you murmur, and Rex relaxes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you. For doing this. For staying with me."

"It's nothing," he insists. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers gentle against your skin, and the feeling is soothing. You nuzzle his thigh, and his breath catches, his hand stilling before he continues stroking your cheek, the touch light and careful. "It's the least I can do."

"It's not nothing," you say, looking up at him. His gaze meets yours, and you take a deep breath before speaking again. "It means a lot to me. And...it means a lot to me that it's you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Rex nods, his expression thoughtful, and the two of you settle back into silence. His hand doesn't stop, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear, down your neck to the collar of your tunic, and back up again. It's a gentle caress, an intimate touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. You close your eyes and hum contentedly, relaxing into the sensation and savoring the feeling of his hands on your skin.

After a while, his touch moves down your arm, his fingertips dancing over your shoulder, and his palm rests on your hip. His thumb rubs circles across the bone, and you squirm at the tickling sensation, a giggle bubbling up in your throat. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his hand lifting away, but you reach back and grab his wrist, keeping it there. He hesitates, and you open your eyes, turning to look up at him.

"It's fine," you assure him, smiling softly. "I was enjoying it."

His brow furrows, his gaze darting down to his hand on your hip and back up to meet yours. There's a question in his eyes, and you nod, giving his hand a light squeeze before releasing him.

Rex exhales slowly, and his hand returns to your waist, his touch tentative and gentle. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort, but when he finds none, his hand molds to the curve of your hip again, resting there. You smile and close your eyes again.

"Do you remember that day in the city?" Rex asks, his voice low.

"Of course," you murmur, turning your head so your cheek rests against his thigh. The plastoid of his leg plating is hard and unforgiving underneath the pillow of your robes, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing on the heat radiating from his body and the weight of his hand against your side. "How could I forget? That was the day you finally realized I wasn't just a crazy Jedi."

"You're not crazy," he retorts, giving your hip a light pinch. You yelp in surprise, and Rex chuckles, the rich, throaty noise filling the room and warming your heart. "Just a bit unhinged, is all."

"Unhinged?" you protest as you roll onto your back and open your eyes to glare up at him. His expression is teasing, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, and you narrow your eyes. "How is that any better?”

"You're right," he laughs. "Not unhinged. A little eccentric, maybe."

"Eccentric?" you repeat indignantly.

"What? I think it suits you," he says, grinning down at you, and you groan, burying your face in his thigh. He snorts a laugh and nudges you with his leg. "It's not a bad thing. I like it."

You don’t move, trying to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your face. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that to you, and it’s not the first time you’ve gotten the feeling that he genuinely likes the less conventional aspects of your personality, even the ones you've spent most of your life trying to hide from everyone else. But it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing, and it doesn't stop the flush that spreads up your neck and stains your cheeks pink.

After a second, Rex sighs, his hand rubbing your hip soothingly. "I meant what I said. You're not crazy, and anyone who says you are isn't worth your time. And the men will agree with me."

"Yeah?" you ask, peering up at him. He nods, his expression sincere, and you bite back a smile, your gaze falling away from his face. "I'm glad I have their support."

"They'd follow you anywhere," he says softly, his fingers trailing down your side, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. "And so would I."

You close your eyes, a lump rising in your throat as his words wash over you, and you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His words are like a balm to the ache inside you, and you squeeze his hand, holding onto him like a lifeline.

It's a simple thing, the two of you sitting together, talking quietly, his hand holding yours, and yet, it feels like everything. Like more than either of you can say, but also like everything you need. A safe place. A sanctuary. A refuge from the chaos of the war and the darkness of the visions. A home.

You bite your lip, a sudden swell of emotion rising inside you, and you take a deep breath, forcing the tears back before they can spill over. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed, and Rex's hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently.

"What is it?" he asks quietly, his voice breaking the silence. You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. How to put your feelings into words. "Hey. Talk to me."

"I just..." 

You trail off, the words catching in your throat. He waits, his eyes never leaving your face, and you take a deep breath before continuing, the truth tumbling out of you.

"I had a dream, when I was healing that boy on Nadiem," you confess quietly. Rex’s brow furrows, but he nods, encouraging you to continue. "The Force showed me what could be, the future I could have, and..."

Your breath catches, and you swallow hard, trying to regain your composure. The emotions welling up inside you are overwhelming, and you squeeze his hand again, drawing strength from the warmth of his touch. He doesn't push you, just watches you, his gaze fixed on yours, and you find the courage to keep going.

"It wasn't the first time I'd had a vision like that," you explain softly, your voice trembling. “It's become something like a haven for me, I think. I thought it was a manifestation of the Light side of the Force. Something my mind latches onto in the darkness. But now, I'm not so sure. I think...it's real. Or it could be."

"What was it about?" he asks, his voice low, the words barely more than a whisper. You blink away the tears and give him a small smile.

"A field," you murmur, and you look away, trying to remember the details. "A field of golden grass and flowers, and the sun was shining. I could hear kids playing, and birds, and insects, and...I felt safe. And happy."

You pause, the memory flooding back to you, the sensations so vivid that you can almost taste the sweetness in the air, and your smile widens, a single tear rolling down your cheek. You wipe it with the heel of your hand, and Rex's grip tightens, his fingers entwined with yours.

"Sounds nice," he whispers.

"It was," you reply, your voice wavering. "I've had similar visions before, but this was the clearest, the most real. I felt like I was home."

The two of you fall silent as Rex watches you intently, his expression unreadable. He’s waiting for you to continue, but you can't bring yourself to speak, the weight of the confession threatening to break the dam, and so the two of you sit there, neither saying a word.

“What else?” he finally prompts gently.

Your eyes meet his, and you take a shaky breath. You look away and focus on the feeling of his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, and the words slip out, a quiet confession that lingers in the air between you.

“You were there too. With me."

Rex doesn’t respond. Doesn't move.

He simply stares at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief, and you let out a soft, breathless chuckle that breaks the silence. His lips twitch, and he looks away, the blush creeping across his cheeks and ears again. You nudge his leg with your head, earning a quiet grunt.

"I'm serious," you insist.

Rex huffs a laugh, still not meeting your eyes.

"You're…you’re sure it was me?" he asks after a beat. You nod, and he gives you a half-smile, the corner of his mouth curving up. "What was I doing?"

You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You can feel him watching you, his gaze burning a hole into your forehead, but you don't look at him, trying to figure out how to describe what you saw. What you felt.

"We were just standing there. Talking," you start slowly, your voice low, almost a whisper. You close your eyes, the image filling your mind. "We hugged. You said you were looking for me. That I'd run off."

"Run off?"

"You seemed worried, but not surprised," you say with a small smile.

"Of course I wasn't," he murmurs. You turn your head and open your eyes, meeting his gaze. His expression is thoughtful, a hint of sadness lurking behind his smile. "I know you."

"Yeah, you do.” You swallow hard and look away, the emotion building up in your chest, raw and aching. "You told me you were always going to find me."

"Sounds like me."

"It did," you laugh as you wipe your cheek again. "And you did."

"Always will," he vows quietly, his voice thick with emotion, and you close your eyes again, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "If that's where you are, that's where I'll be."

The room falls quiet as his words steal the air from your lungs. You can't breathe, can't move, can't speak. All you can do is lie there, the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, and hope that the silence between the two of you says what you can't. What you don't have the words for.

Because if the vision is true, if the future you see is the same as the future Rex wants, it changes everything. It's more than the two of you can possibly comprehend, more than either of you are prepared for.

It's everything. Everything the two of you have ever wanted, everything the you have ever dreamed of. Everything that's been missing in the lives you've lived for far too many years.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

“I’m grateful for it. That the Force would show me a place like that. A home," you manage after a beat, your voice hoarse. "But...it was also cruel. To give me something like that only to take it away. I can't...I don't think I can..."

Your voice cracks, the sentence trailing off, and you turn away, covering your face with your hand. You can't keep going.

The answering silence hangs over the two of you like a shroud, a heavy weight that settles on your shoulders. Your fingers play with the robe folded underneath your head, picking at a loose thread until the pressure building inside you becomes too much.

You sigh and push yourself up, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. You can feel Rex's gaze on you, the concern and worry emanating from him almost tangible, but you keep your eyes on the ground, too ashamed to look at him.

"It's a lot," you admit quietly, your voice muffled by the fabric of your pants. "The whole thing. It's a lot."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It is."

"It didn’t used to be like this. I don’t know why the Force is showing me these things, or what it means," you sigh as you glance up at him.

He's staring down at his hands, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed into a thin line. The sight is familiar, a look he's worn so often in the past several months that it almost feels like a second skin. A mask.

You wish more than anything you could wipe the expression from his face, but you know you can't, and so you continue, "I know I'm supposed to be better at this. Stronger. I don't understand why I'm failing."

"Failing? At what?"

"Being a Jedi," you reply, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. You take a deep breath, and the anger and resentment drain away, replaced by a weary resignation. "I used to think I was terrible at it. That the only reason I wasn't expelled from the Order was because Yaddle took pity on me. But now...I feel like maybe I wasn't a failure, or a lost cause, and that...it's worse."

You pause, a sudden exhaustion settling over you, and the words come out before you can stop them, spilling from your lips in a harsh, ragged whisper.

"It means I could have been more."

The room is silent save for the thud of your heart in your ears, the words hanging heavy in the air. They're true, though you've never said them out loud before, and the truth stings, a deep ache that radiates through your chest.

After a beat, Rex speaks, his voice soft and gentle, but firm, the conviction in his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You are more."

You look up, the tears welling up and threatening to spill over, and he holds your gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"You are so much more," he continues. "You're kind and caring and loyal, and you're a good friend and an amazing Jedi. The best. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter. Not to me."

"Rex..."

"I'm not a Jedi," he interrupts, his voice low and rough. "And I'm not saying this because I'm trying to be the voice of reason, or because I think that's what you want to hear. I'm saying it because it's the truth."

He pauses, the emotions rising to the surface, and his voice wavers, a note of sadness and longing creeping in. "I know how much it means to you, being a Jedi. And I respect that. But...you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You can't keep tearing yourself apart trying to live up to some impossible standard."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," he says, the words cutting off your protests, and he reaches for your hand, holding it tightly. "You're not a machine. You're not invincible. And the war isn't going to get any easier."

"I know."

"Do you?" he asks, his brow furrowed. "Because it doesn't seem like you're giving yourself a chance to rest. To process."

You hesitate, the truth of his words hitting you, and you let out a laugh, a harsh, bitter noise that echoes off the walls.

"I guess I've just been hoping I'd eventually figure it out," you admit, your voice catching. "That somehow, if I just kept going, it would all make sense. And it would work. It's always worked before."

"Maybe it's time to try something new."

You snort, and he raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze.

"Like what?" you ask.

"You could start by not being so hard on yourself," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. "Maybe stop trying to fix everything, or take on the burden of the whole galaxy, and give yourself a little bit of room to breathe."

"Rex, I can't—“

"Yes, you can," he says softly, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and gentle, his thumb brushing the skin just below your eye. "You've given so much already. And you don't have to do it alone. You've got me, and the men, and General Kenobi. And General Skywalker and Commander Tano too, if you let them. We'll help you through it, no matter what. You can lean on us."

The words are kind, and the sentiment is touching, but you shake your head, the doubt and fear lingering just beneath the surface rising up and choking the air from your lungs.

"No," you croak, and you pull away from his touch. "You don't understand. I can't...I can't rely on others, or ask them to carry my burdens. It's not fair."

"Fair?"

"I've caused so much pain and suffering already," you say quietly, the guilt and shame heavy in your gut, and you hug your knees tighter. "I can't drag everyone else down with me."

Rex sighs and shifts closer, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You fight the urge to push him away, to hide, and allow yourself to lean into him, the warmth and solidness of his body a comfort against the storm inside you.

"I know what it's like," he murmurs, his hand resting on the side of your neck, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, "to feel like you have to be perfect, or strong, or unbreakable. Like you have to keep all the pieces together and not make a single mistake. And I know how exhausting and lonely it can be."

You nod, and the tears well up, spilling over your lashes and streaming down your cheeks. Rex doesn't hesitate, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you, cradling the back of your head in his hand as he holds you tight against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against the crown of your head, his breath tickling your hair.

"I've felt it too," he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you squeeze your eyes shut, the sob building in your throat. "I still do. It's been...hard. Especially lately. It's not easy, and it's not something we can just fix overnight. But it's also not something we have to do alone."

You sniffle and nod again, clutching the front of his chest plate as the tears fall faster. The words hit deep, piercing the shell of your heart and filling you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, radiating out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The feeling is familiar, a sensation that's followed him since the day he rescued you, a connection that's only grown stronger with each passing day, and you can't help but press yourself closer, desperate to feel the comfort of his presence.

Rex sighs, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his lips brush against the top of your head. The gesture is tender and affectionate, and it only serves to intensify the ache inside you, the desire to be closer to him, to hold him and be held. To feel safe. And loved.

"You're not alone, and you're not broken," he continues softly, his voice strained, his grip on you tightening as he speaks. "You're just tired. And overwhelmed. And hurting. And that's okay."

The last word catches in his throat, and you pull away, looking up at him through watery eyes. His expression is pained, a raw emotion written across his face, and his gaze darts away from yours. He tries to mask it, but you can see the tears clinging to his eyelashes, the redness in the corners of his eyes. And the sight breaks your heart.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, wiping his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand. "I'm not trying to make this about me. It's just...seeing you like this, it...hurts."

"I know," you whisper. "I know, and I'm sorry. For worrying you. For not being able to handle it. I just...I'm not..."

"It's okay," he cuts in, his voice soft, the pain in his eyes melting into a tenderness that nearly steals your breath. "We're in this together, remember?"

You give him a smile, a small, trembling thing, and Rex returns the expression. The two of you lean back against the wall again, and he tucks his arm around you, drawing you back into the safety of his embrace.

"You're not a failure. Not by a mile. I don't know anyone else who could do what you do, or deal with everything you've dealt with, and still be standing," he murmurs, and his free hand reaches over to touch yours, his fingers ghosting along the scars that stretch across your palm. "You're amazing."

"That's sweet," you mutter, your face burning at his praise. "But you're biased."

Rex snorts a soft laugh and squeezes your hip. "Maybe. But I’m not the only one who thinks so. Ask the men. Ask anyone who's served with you. They'll all tell you the same thing. Hell, you can ask Lieutenant Price. The boys told me he has an impressive poster collection.”

“Oh, enough with the kriffing posters,” you grumble, burying your face in his chest.

He chuckles and rests his chin on top of your head, his arms encircling your waist. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of being close to each other, and the weight that's been sitting heavy on your chest lifts, allowing you to breathe again.

"Thank you," you mumble, and Rex hums, the noise rumbling in his chest. You look up at him and add, "For...all of this. For listening. And for being here. For not giving up on me."

"I'll never give up on you," he promises, and the sincerity in his voice brings tears to your eyes. You quickly look away and press your cheek against his chest again, blinking furiously as you fight back the emotions. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," you say hoarsely, your voice muffled by the plastoid of his armor.

"I never do," he counters, and his hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. He presses his lips to the crown of your head, and his breath is warm against your skin. "Not to you. I'm here, cyar'ika. Always."

Tears sting your eyes again, but they're tempered by the warmth of his words, the feeling of his breath on your head. The sound of the Mando'a rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine, chasing away the cold dread that's been gnawing at the pit of your stomach and replacing it with curiosity. You've heard him say the word before, wrote it in a message once or twice, but he's never offered a translation.

You pull back and look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What does that mean?"

Rex blinks at you, a look of confusion passing over his features before his eyes widen, a flush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. He clears his throat and looks away, his gaze darting around the room before settling somewhere over your shoulder.

"What does what mean?"

"What you just said," you prompt, and his blush deepens, the color reaching the tips of his ears. You bite back a grin and poke him in the chest, trying not to laugh at his embarrassment. "You've said it before. What does it mean?"

"Uh, it's a...it's a nickname," Rex stammers, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "A term of endearment."

"Oh," you reply softly. You duck your head, a smile spreading across your face, and you look up at him through your lashes. "Well, that's...that's nice."

Rex laughs nervously and nods, still not looking at you, and your grin widens.

"Do I get to know what it means?"

"I'll tell you later," he mumbles as he looks at the ceiling.

"Later?" you prompt, nudging his shoulder. "When is later?"

“After you rest," he replies firmly, finally meeting your gaze. Your lower lip juts out, and Rex shakes his head, his lips twitching as he tries not to smile. "No. I'm not falling for that this time. Now come here."

You huff and turn away, crossing your arms and glaring at the wall, but he doesn't give up. He pulls you into his lap, tucking your legs across his and resting his chin on the top of your head. You resist at first, but he's persistent, and eventually, you relent, allowing him to maneuver the two of you into a more comfortable position.

Rex shifts until his back is pressed against the wall and his legs are stretched out in front of him, and you curl into him, tucking your head beneath his chin and resting your hands on his chest plate. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, and you nuzzle his neck, inhaling deeply as his scent fills your lungs.

"Are you going to keep sulking, or are you going to close your eyes?" he asks after a beat, a teasing lilt to his voice. You sigh dramatically, and he snorts, the warm puff of air tickling the shell of your ear. "Fine, but I'm not moving until you do."

"I guess I have no choice, huh?" you grumble, though the smile is still on your face, a fluttery, giddy feeling swelling in your chest. "I suppose you win this round, Rex."

“I’ll mark the occasion in my calendar," he drawls, and you elbow him in the ribs. “On this day, General Anathorn gave in to Captain Rex. A glorious victory for the Republic."

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath. He snickers and tightens his arms around you, pulling you even closer. "You're lucky I'm too tired to keep arguing with you."

"I'll count my blessings while they last," he deadpans, earning another elbow. "Hey, watch it."

"Oh, sorry," you reply, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Rex gives a long-suffering sigh, but the arm around your waist remains where it is, his thumb stroking the fabric of your tunic. "Are you comfortable?"

"Very," he murmurs. "Are you?"

"Yes," you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips. "This is nice. Being like this, with you. It feels...safe."

"Yeah," he breathes. "It does."

You hum contentedly and close your eyes, a yawn stretching across your face, and Rex chuckles, his nose nuzzling the crown of your head.

"I'll wake you if anything happens," he whispers as he grabs your outer robe and drapes it over the two of you.

You nod and press a light kiss to his neck, snuggling closer. Rex stiffens at the contact, his breath hitching before he relaxes, a pleased rumble emanating from his chest. The two of you fall into silence, his fingers tracing patterns along your back as your breathing begins to slow, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill that lingers beneath your skin. 

It's easy to forget, wrapped up in his arms, the soft light of the rising sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Easier than it should be. But you don't fight it, the comfort and security of his presence a balm to the fears and worries that plague your mind. 

For a brief, fleeting second, everything is okay, and you're simply a man and a woman, lost in the warmth and affection between you. Nothing else matters. Not the war. Not the visions. Not the darkness that haunts you. Just this. Just the two of you. Together.

"Sleep," Rex murmurs, his voice a quiet whisper. "I'll be here."

And so you do.

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