#i am writing that self-indulgent fic

[cerseimikaelson]

PJO fanfic readers, here is a question for you.

This is my newest fanfic idea that has been living in my head rent-free. Basically a combination of this post and me giving the minor gods the love they deserve.

The Olympians have always had their heroes. It used to be Hercules and Theseus. Achilles and Patroclus. Aeneas and Odysseus. Romulus and Remus. In the 21st century, it happened to be Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase.

But the minor gods… The minor gods never had anyone until Viola Summercket.

(Alternatively: A daughter of Athena with a knack for defying expectations baffles the minor deities into semi-adopting her)

This is happening. But I am stuck on the form and I need your help.

Option one is twelve short chapters (4000-5000 words) from a different minor deity's pov.

Option two is a series of snapshots all bound together in the same 20k fic exploring the relationships and dynamics between the minor gods and Viola, my OC.

Thoughts, ideas and suggestions welcome!

[zephyrchama]

"Welcome back, it's been a while."

After a long time has passed, how might the Obey Me! demons welcome you home with a hug?

---

Lucifer tries to approach you in a calm and collected manner, but that facade easily crumbles as he gets closer. His pace quickens and his expression melts into an inscrutable blend of emotion. The man is fighting to stay composed.

He pulls you towards him, unwilling to wait a moment longer to have you in his arms. His gloved hands wrap around your back and waist with a secure grip. Your toes brush the ground as his hug lifts you to eye level, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Welcome back, I've missed you."

---

Mammon sprints up with the goofiest grin imaginable plastered on his face. He catches himself at the last moment though, grinding to a halt as a blush creeps over his ears. He wants to be cool. "You sure are a piece a work to keep The Great Mammon waiting."

His arrogant act is betrayed by the many glances in your direction. By the way he's clenching his fist so hard his knuckles are white, and by the way he immediately crumbles into your open arms the second you reach out. He throws his arms around your shoulders and digs his face into your neck. He grips the back of your top a little too hard, as if you might leave again any moment.

---

Leviathan sheds his insecurities and doubts, all negative emotions, just to be able to bask in your presence again. It's a moment he's looked forward to for weeks. He puts trust into the belief that you've also been looking forward to seeing him.

He wraps his arms and legs around you, unconsciously aiming to get as much skin contact as possible. "I've really missed you, you know!?" he half-shouts before burying his face in your shoulder. You fight to stay standing upright. Every little movement, every minor adjustment in posture you make causes Leviathan to snuggle closer until you can't tell where your limbs end and his begin.

---

Satan can't control all of the overwhelming emotions that hit him at once. He grabs hold of your hand, and with a palm on your back he pulls you close until your entire weight leans against him. At your touch, all he can do is smile.

"Glad to see you again." The two of you sway back and forth, turning your hug into a psuedo-Waltz. When you look into his eyes, Satan gives your hand a kiss and presses your intertwined fingers against his face.

---

Asmodeus laughs as he barrels into you. "Did you miss me? Of course you did!"

You stumble back several steps yet he catches you before you fall, latching onto your side like a matching puzzle piece. He rubs his cheek over your head, pausing every few seconds to give you a kiss as his free hand enthusiastically traces its way up your back.

Asmodeus is the most reluctant to let go. Making a mess of your hair and clothes only gives him a calculated opportunity to touch you more as he tidies up your appearance. His caress lingers over your collarbone and around your ear. His fingers brush against your mouth, which he then brings to his own lips.

---

Beelzebub falls to his knees, relieved to see you return safe and sound and glad to be by your side once more. His arms curl around your hips. He noses his face into your chest and looks up with a content smile as he greets you, "welcome back."

You lean over to return the hug, running your hands through his hair. You don't expect Beelzebub to stand, picking you up in the process. You steady yourself on his shoulders as he rises, his violet eyes not wavering from you for a second, tempting him to steal a kiss.

---

Belphegor wraps his arms around your shoulders and practically falls on you. He doesn't seem concerned that you're sinking to the ground. In fact, he's so preoccupied with cuddling up to you that there's no way to avoid sitting on the ground with this demon on top of you.

He curls his body around your legs. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he slowly exhales, "welcome back." He's awake, but nothing will stop him from pretending to be asleep as his grip strength loosens and his face trails down your body.

---

Diavolo laughs amicably as you approach. He wants you to come to him, and is so thrilled to have you back. He bends down to latch his arms under yours and swings you around, sweeping you off your feet as you twirl two, three times, then slow to a stop.

"How have you been?" In due time he wants to know everything, and hear all the stories of your time away in detail. For now, he's got you locked in a bear hug. You feel his lips brush over your hair as he lightly swings you back and forth.

---

Barbatos' hug is the most restrained. It's simple and polite. At first he was content to just greet you with a gentle handshake and loving gaze. Though, when you request a hug, there is no way he can say no.

He extends his arms around your back, gives you two soft pats, and hesitates for just a moment before letting you go.

At night that evening as you prepare for bed, you find a note in your pocket that Barbatos must have cunningly slipped in without anyone noticing. It's a detailed letter with everything he didn't get to tell you in person.

[denimshortsdean]

"sorry this is so self-indulgent, I just-"

my beloved artist. my darling writer. if you are not making things for your own fun and enrichment, then why did you start making it in the first place?

[youremyonepiece]

anxious mornings

sanji x gn!reader (no pronouns used), sanji's pov

anxiety has a tendency to spread, as sanji discovers unexpectedly early one morning.

warnings: mentions and descriptions of anxiety and related symptoms; unhealthy eating habits; small implied mention of disordered eating; slight angst, comfort, light fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)

word count: 3k

sanji runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps out of the washroom, unsuccessful in warding off a large yawn. though the early waking hour is by no means unusual for him, he is but human, he thinks to himself with a slight chuckle; some mornings are just going to be easier than others.

shaking his head slightly as though attempting to scatter his thoughts around him like the water droplets that fly from his hair, sanji starts to make his way towards the kitchen. he needs to start prepping for the many meals of the day if he hopes to stand a chance at keeping up with luffy's incessant hunger. his fingers itch for a cigarette, anything to help stave off the remaining sleepiness in his system, but he resists the urge. while he knows he has little to no hopes of quitting, nor does he really want to, smoking this early in the morning feels like crossing a line-- not before breakfast.

it's as he's walking across the planks of the deck in the 4 AM darkness that he hears a sound he would recognize anywhere: the sound of a stomach growling.

sanji's eyebrows furrow as his thoughts about the day's menu are entirely forgotten. his head snaps towards the cluster of barrels from where the sound came-- a stowaway? he wonders briefly, but they've been out at sea for days now. there's no way someone could have gone unnoticed for that long. the growl is followed by a vaguely familiar soft sigh, causing sanji’s brows to furrow further.

he's at the barrels in a few long strides and can't stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards when he peers over their tops to find-- you. you're sitting on the deck with your back leaning against the barrel in front of him, eyes unfocused as they gaze across the distant horizon.

your name escapes his lips in confusion before he has completely processed your presence. you jolt slightly in surprise, clearly not expecting to have any company, before tilting your head upwards to peer at him.

"sanji?" you ask in your voice that he never fails to swoon at. a pause, and then, "is it that time already?"

sanji can't help but smile at your question. you truly are so sweet, so adorable-- he relishes the sight of your wide eyes, your slightly parted plush lips, your mussed hair. you're still in your pajamas, which isn't unusual in and of itself (you tended to get ready for the day after eating breakfast with the rest of the crew) but something about seeing you like this, alone in the early hour, feels more intimate than the two of you had been before. which, granted, was not at all, but that's only all the more reason he feels grateful to be here with you now.

he makes his way around the barrels languidly before leaning against the merry's railing, facing you with a warm expression. "indeed it is, sweetness. good morning."

he watches as a small smile forms on your lips. “good morning," you say, and sanji struggles to keep his thoughts from spiraling into bliss.

“you’re up early,” he comments casually with a friendly smirk, though a concerned quirk of his eyebrow gives him away. “to what do i owe the fine pleasure of your enchanting presence, my dear?”

the corners of your mouth turn upwards at his question, but he notices the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "just couldn't sleep, i guess," you respond with a shrug, breaking eye contact to stare back out at the dim horizon.

it’s clear you aren't being completely honest, but sanji doesn’t want to push you to share if you don't want to. after all, it isn't like you guys are particularly close or anything. actually, he isn't sure if you could be considered "close" to anyone in the crew, with the exception of maybe luffy.

it isn’t that you didn’t trust them, not exactly-- despite the brevity of your time with the straw hats thus far, you’ve been through enough harrowing experiences together to know that you’ve got each other’s backs. but trusting someone with your life is one thing, especially when it’s already been proven in battle, and trusting them with your feelings is entirely another. it just hasn't been long enough yet; you’re still getting to know them.

at least, that's what he hopes it is, anyway. with the way his eyes seem to cling to you like flies to fruit, he isn't sure what he'll do if the truth is actually that you disliked him.

"anything i can help with?" he offers, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. he wants to help, but he also doesn't want to impose if you don't want him around.

to his relief, you meet his eyes again and smile. "that's kind of you, but no." you don’t say anything for a moment, holding his gaze with unreadable eyes and suddenly sanji feels as though he is gazing upon anubis instead, his heart being weighed on your scale to determine his worth. after a couple of seconds that span eternity, you say, “honestly, i’m just feeling a bit... not great.”

“not great?”

you break eye contact with him to look down at your stomach, silent for a moment again. “just anxious,” you finally sigh, your hands moving to rest at a spot right below your rib cage. “i feel it right here. it feels like... like pressure is building up, but if i press down on it then it's like i can get it to release," you demonstrate, causing a growl to emanate from your torso as though you had simply pushed air out of a bag. you exhale with slight relief again, hands still firm against yourself, before looking back up at him with an abashed smile. "i think my anxiety gave me gas," you half-joke.

sanji forces himself to ignore his ecstasy-- you’re opening up to him! he had just been thinking about it, too! you trust him!-- and to focus on your words instead. it gets easier as you continue, his frown deepening at the sound of your stomach growling again as he remembers what drew him to you a few minutes earlier.

he pulls out a cigarette with the slightest tremble in his hands-- breakfast be damned. you had just unwittingly reminded him of the fact that he’s only human for the second time this day already; some things are harder to deal with than others.

he takes a long inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke permeate through his system and dull his nerves before slowly exhaling it in a thin wisp. "sweetness," he starts when he finally feels grounded again, eyes full of concern as they meet yours, "i don't think that's anxiety."

you seemingly can't stop yourself from releasing a short, incredulous laugh, lips curved in a smile but eyebrows furrowed and eyes guarded. "what?"

"at least, i don't think that it’s only anxiety." he holds your gaze steadily despite your spike of wariness. when he speaks again, his voice is sincere. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to say you didn't know what you were feeling. it's just--" he pulls away from the railing to crouch in front of you, faces now at the same level. the cigarette between his fingers creates a soft haze in the air between you. "when was the last time you ate?"

sanji feels the guilt spread through him again and attempts to fight it off by taking another long drag of his cigarette. he turns away from you to puff out the smoke, lost in thought.

now that he's thinking about it, you didn't show up to dinner yesterday. or lunch. your absence hadn't been odd; in the not-quite-two weeks you had been aboard, you had eaten with the rest of the crew a whopping total of four times. instead, sanji had noticed you opted to grab your dish and eat in the open air of the deck, taking shelter under nami’s tangerine trees if the weather wasn't accommodating. but he can't even remember you stopping by to make a plate for yourself yesterday. and thanks to luffy, he hadn't noticed any discrepancies in leftover food (that is to say, there was none as usual).

you had been there at breakfast, but he can't recall you grabbing anything except a mug of coffee. how could he have failed to notice? when was the last time he had seen you eat in front of him? it's been maybe two days since, he thinks, hating that he isn't certain. this had happened under his watch. and that too, with you. the person he’s trying to get closer to, to befriend and become a trusted confidant of at the very least, and at the very best... well, he finds you very attractive. but he would never cross that line unless he was wholly certain you wanted to, too.

you're silent as well, seemingly thinking back to find the answer to his question. he watches color creep up your cheeks as something dawns on you, realization and embarrassment fighting for dominance over your features. "i ate last night. at like, ten," you finally respond in a meek voice, looking everywhere but his face.

he can’t stop himself from glancing towards the kitchen. “what'd you eat?” he wonders.

you remain quiet for a moment before sighing again. "you're right. i'm hungry. i... i hadn't realized."

he narrows his eyes at you without malice, seeing through your attempts to escape answering him. “what did you eat?" he asks again, his voice’s volume softening to match yours.

you wring your hands, still refusing to look his way. "a couple of almonds," you say eventually, sounding chastised.

"and?" he prompts.

you don't respond.

"okay," sanji says, feeling his hands tremble again as he takes in your words. "okay," he repeats, "what about before that?"

"um, i think right after you cleaned up for lunch? i stole a slice of cheese, the one with the peppers in it." he can see you’re struggling to keep your expression neutral, but he isn't sure which emotions you’re fighting off.

he does know which ones he’s struggling with, though. sanji feels his stomach turn with guilt and trauma at your words. "and before that?" he asks, his voice low.

"coffee, at breakfast." your hands still but they and your eyes remain on your lap.

he exhales your name softly.

"it had milk and sugar in it," you say defensively at his meager response, voice somehow even softer.

sanji lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle before taking your hands in his. he doesn't say anything, waiting, until finally you look up to meet his eyes. "why?" he asks when you do.

you look confused. "what do you mean?"

he raises one of his hands to tentatively cup your cheek, eyes full of tenderness and concern. "are you... unhappy with the way you look?" he asks carefully, trying not to word it in a way that could be misconstrued. when your eyebrows furrow deeper, he hurries to add, "because you’re-"

"no," you cut him off before he can undoubtedly shower you in praise, "no, it's not that." and then you add, cheeks flushing, "um. thank you, though."

sanji offers you a brief smile, his hand falling from your cheek and rejoining the other with yours, before frowning again. "is it my cooking, then? sweetness, if there's ever anything you don't like-"

"no, not at all," you cut him off again, this time with more certainty as you shake your head. "i love your cooking."

“then?" he prompts lightly when you don't say anything else.

one of your feet begins to flicker back and forth like a light switch against the deck, giving away your restlessness. you’re back to looking everywhere but at sanji, at his eyes. "i'm just... not hungry."

as if on cue, your stomach lets out another low growl, causing your blush to deepen in embarrassment. sanji wants to smirk at you, poke fun at how cute you look flustered like this, but the noise reignites his guilt. reminds him how you’d gotten to this state without him even noticing.

"your stomach says differently," he simply states. sanji pulls his hands away from yours before standing up and offering one back to you. you don't hesitate to take it, and he effortlessly helps you rise to your feet. "c'mon. let's get some food in you."

your wince at his words doesn't go unnoticed by him. he gives your hand, still in his as you both make your way towards the kitchen, a short squeeze before murmuring softly, "wanna tell me about it? you don't have to if you don't want to."

to be honest, he's surprised you've been so receptive to him thus far. he doesn't want to push his luck, your grace, because if he did-- if he made you feel uncomfortable, if you began to avoid him because of it-- well, it would feel crushing, that’s for sure.

the nervousness in sanji’s chest continues to blossom as you say nothing for a few steps. however, it’s swiftly replaced with concern when you do respond, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "like i mentioned before, it's because of my anxiety." you sigh once again, weighed down by your words. "sometimes it just gets... bad. i don't know why. i'm not even really sure if there is a reason, to be honest. it just happens every now and then."

the two of you have reached the kitchen by now. he silently holds the door open for you before leading you to a barstool at the kitchen island and walking around it to the sink to wash his hands. he holds his cigarette between his lips as he begins to gather ingredients from various shelves and cabinets and places them on the island between you.

“the anxiety makes me feel... full, i guess?” you continue. “i don't feel hungry, and i definitely don't feel like eating. and i feel so nauseated because of it, too. thinking about eating makes it worse. so does seeing or smelling food." you sigh. "i know i have to eat. i guess... i just didn't notice that i hadn't really eaten recently.”

sanji turns away from you, taking a final drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out and tossing it away. “you didn’t notice?”

“...i guess i didn't want to notice." you sigh for what seems to be the millionth time and sanji feels his heart twist. “noticing means admitting something’s not... okay.”

sanji hums once you trail off, signaling to you that he heard you and understood.

you start up again after a few moments of silence, restlessness shining through once more. “it’s not really that big of a deal, though. you don’t have to worry-- don’t worry about it. it’ll pass. it always does, eventually.”

sanji doesn’t respond, instead staring at the amalgamation of ingredients he had gathered specifically for you. his eyebrows draw together as he mentally rifles through countless recipes, determined to find the right one for you at this moment. something light, since you hadn't eaten properly in a little bit. no strong scents, either, except maybe ginger since that’s good with nausea. a variety of flavors and textures, to keep it fun. it’s early, so breakfast foods-- that means the bananas, yogurt--

"are you mad at me?” you ask timidly.

he freezes, mouth slightly parting in surprise before standing straight, his attention now entirely on you. "of course not, sweetness.”

"you seem upset.”

sanji takes a beat to process your words. he thought he'd been hiding his reaction well, but apparently not. "i suppose... i’m upset at myself,” he finally admits to you.

you frown. “why?”

he offers you a consoling smile, “you haven't been eating well and i hadn't noticed." he realizes you’ve reminded him for the third time that day that he’s only human-- as much as he wants to keep it to himself, to not burden you with his thoughts, he knows he stands no chance at resisting you. who could?

“but i didn't even notice," you insist.

he feels his adoration of you helplessly grow at your rebuttal. “true, but it isn’t your job to make sure all of our crewmates are well fed and healthy. it is mine."

“fine, but we're pirates,” you shoot back almost immediately. “we should all be taking care of ourselves-- i should be taking care of myself."

he chuckles at your fervency, the warm sound filling the room. “i get the feeling you’re not going to let me win this one."

"i didn't realize there was anything to win,” you grumble, making sanji laugh harder. when he glances over at you, he sees you're smiling, causing his own to widen.

sanji works in a comfortable silence for a few moments, his smile remaining on his face as he feels your eyes on him. he takes a step back when he’s done, admiring his handiwork before proudly presenting you with a small bowl and steaming mug. “made especially for you: peanut butter yogurt topped with diced bananas and granola, served with a cup of ginger herbal tea.”

simple, but he knows that’s always best when feeling nauseous. the cold yogurt should help settle your stomach, and the peanut butter provides extra protein which he had heard could help with nausea, similar to the ginger and bananas. and the granola ties it all together with its crunch.

you give him a genuine smile as your eyes glaze over the meal he had prepared before looking back up at him. “thanks, sanji.” you pause for a moment before adding, “are you okay?”

“what?” he asks, taken aback, then chuckles slightly. “aren’t i supposed to be asking you that?”

only you, he thinks to himself affectionately. only you would share something you’d been struggling with and then ask him if he was feeling okay. ever thoughtful, ever sweet.

his question seems to embarrass you and sanji can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest as your ears turn red. “maybe not... one hundred percent, but better.” you meet his eyes again, your smile returning. “definitely better.”

his own smile grows uncontrollably wide as he leans over the island to place his hand on yours. “then, sweetness, i’m okay, too.”

[saintobio]

♱ as you like it | sneak peak.

[dare i share one of my favorite lines on this oneshot :’) yes, only a oneshot you guys. it’s a pretty long one, but sy is still the only on-going series i have.]

Your heart, once brimming with devotion, now lay shattered at your feet. All your life, you have loved him. All your happiness and tears, you have devoted to him. You had stood by his side through every trial, every conquest, only to be deemed unworthy of bearing his legacy. The sting of rejection seared your soul, igniting a fierce resolve within your wounded spirit.

With a voice trembling through a mixture of sorrow and defiance, you met his gaze. “Fair enough,” you whispered, your tone laden with a sorrowful resignation. “If it is a concubine thou seek, then so be it. But a divorce, will I not honor. And know this, my lord,” you declared, your voice rising with a newfound strength, “I am the Empress. The only one. There is none within this empire akin to me, for a worthless, lowly concubine shalt not depose this Empress Y/N of Caleum thou wouldst so readily compromise.”

And in that solemn proclamation, you turned away, your stolid mien masking the shattered pieces of your fractured heart.

His countenance remained stoic as he observed your departure, sighing inwardly as you exited his study. Although no longer offering a response, Satoru found himself unable to deny the truth of your words. Nor the power in which you presented them. Your presence lingered in his thoughts, holding sway over him in a manner he could not fathom.

[velidewrites]

This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Read the Prologue on AO3 or continue below!

The mercenary had run at the first rustle of wind between the trees, leaving Nesta alone and entirely at the forest’s mercy. She should have recognised the man for the coward that he was, but, as Nesta had recently found out, hope had a rather nasty habit of making its harborer blind to other people’s intentions. The last of the silver she’d brought along for the journey had gone into the hireling’s pockets, unlikely to ever be seen again. Elain was hardly the type to chase after others, not even to protect her own interests, and, well—it wasn’t like Nesta was ever coming back to do it herself, anyway.

It was cold and dark in the forest, remnants of frost still coating some of the treetops despite winter being well and truly over. The icy weather never quite melted into spring, and seemed determined to last into the approaching summer. Perhaps it wasn’t going to leave at all.

Elain was going to be fine. Nesta wouldn’t have left otherwise, though the knowledge hadn’t made her decision any easier. The Nolan boy would not have been Nesta’s first choice by any means—no man ever would be wherever Elain was concerned—but he was the best suitor their village had to offer all the same. He seemed to enjoy Elain’s company, besides, if the hours Nesta had spent chaperoning in their garden were any indication. Nesta herself was more than inclined to leave after an hour, but Greysen Nolan kept on listening as Elain rambled on about the tulip fields far on the Continent. He’d even sworn to bring them back for her from one of his travels.

It was enough for Nesta to venture out to the forest with some peace of mind. They had money now, the source of which Nesta preferred not to ponder over. Their newfound wealth certainly had nothing to do with Father’s efforts, or lack thereof, anyway. Their clothes, their food, their very survival…it had always been Feyre.

And now, Feyre was gone.

The guilt had been eating Nesta alive for months. At first, she’d pretended not to care, and for the first few weeks it worked sufficiently enough for her to drown herself in other tasks. Housework, mostly, hiring the cook and staff and even a governess to catch Elain up on the final years of education she’d missed out on. Some days, Nesta would quietly find her way into the office, a book carefully placed in her lap as she curled up by the fireplace under the pretense of the house being too cold. In truth, she enjoyed the lessons and wanted to learn alongside them, her own education left so far back in the past it almost felt as though it had happened to someone else.

There was a kernel of truth to that—Nesta had thought of her family’s lost wealth every day in that blighted cottage, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel out of place the day it returned. She never remembered it so hollow, so empty and lifeless. Perhaps it had been Feyre, stubborn and wild, who’d made the house come alive. Even before that cottage—it had always been Feyre.

It was then that Nesta decided to go. Hiring a mercenary had been Elain’s idea, and Nesta had known better than to argue. Refusing would’ve only brought her closer to Elain volunteering herself for the journey, and that simply would not do. Here, in the human lands, Elain was safe. As safe as their kind could get, at least.

For all Nesta knew, Feyre was already dead. The thought did little to stop her—her mind was made up, and the mercenary hired and equipped with the finest iron the village smith could have procured. Whether it would be enough to pierce the beast’s thick fur and reach its heart, Nesta did not know. She could only hope.

Even if she knew hope was a weapon of the fools.

She sighed deeply, turning over her shoulder to see if the man’s footprints had dried off enough for her to keep going. At the very least, they would provide a decent path back to the village, where the mercenary was undoubtedly already headed. Should the Wall prove impenetrable after all, Nesta would know how to find her way back.

The man’s heavy panting stopped echoing through the woods when the Wall finally came into sight. Nesta knew better than to call after him; she had simply sent him away with nothing but a withering look and a curse so unbecoming of a lady of her status she only dared to utter it within the comfort of her own mind. Wretched as it was, she hoped some wolf or other predator lurking near the border would find him just in time to teach him a lesson, and, if luck was truly on her side tonight, let him take it straight to his grave. Leaving a woman alone in the woods at night was dishonourable to say the least.

It was what Feyre had done nearly every night, though, Nesta realised, that familiar guilt crashing into her like a wave once more. Ever since Father failed them, her sister would go into the forest to hunt—alone in the darkness.

Perhaps Nesta had failed her just as much.

She approached the Wall with that thought, her steps heavier somehow despite her best efforts to stay unseen. The beast that kidnapped Feyre may as well have been waiting on the other side, its claws already sharpened in anticipation. Nesta couldn’t see the other side—from where she stood, the forest simply seemed to continue well into the endless night. But Nesta knew—could practically taste the metallic tinge of magic on her tongue. It reminded her of blood.

She wondered how Feyre had withstood it—that strange feeling tingling on her skin as she stood inches from the Faerie border. As if she was being watched.

It could’ve all been in her head, Nesta thought, suddenly incredibly aware of just how loudly her heart was thudding in her chest, thrashing against her ribcage in desperation. Maybe once she crossed the Wall, it would abandon the same way the mercenary had.

What now? She’d made it all the way here—in one piece, as little consolation as it was. Nesta had no idea just how the golden beast had managed to drag Feyre to the faerie lands, but she strongly suspected her chances of succeeding were significantly smaller as a human. She had no magic—not even claws to shred that thin, metallic veil separating their worlds to pieces.

Nesta needed to find an opening.

There were cracks in the Wall. It was perhaps the only useful information she’d gotten out of the mercenary before he’d fled. If she could find a crack large enough for her to squeeze through…

She began heading eastward, at least according to Father’s old compass she’d found in one of the office drawers. Once again it wasn’t lost on her just how little the men in Nesta’s life contributed to her fate. Still, she murmured a “thank you” into the sky, hoping it would find Father in whatever corner of the world he’d sailed off to and pass along the message. It wasn’t though she’d ever get a chance to speak to him again.

Nesta was bracing for her own death.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d opted to walk East, but there was something about the direction that compelled her forward. The blood tasted different there, less of rust and metal and more of smoke floating above a fire. There was light somewhere out there, guiding her out of that darkness.

Or perhaps she was simply going insane.

The wind whooshed again then, tangling the loose strands of hair that had managed to find their way out of Nesta’s braid, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t the wind that made her halt, though, but a sound rising above the cold breeze. A loud snap—like the crack of a flame.

Slowly, Nesta turned towards the Wall.

But the Wall wasn’t there.

At first, all Nesta could see was the night—the dark sky sprawling over the hills, quiet and starless. The Wall must have been where the forest ended, where the labyrinths of moss and pine finally stretched into one, singular path.

And then, a spark.

A flash of silver that could easily be mistaken for a glittering star had it not disappeared as soon as it arrived. Had it not flickered again, and again, and again, followed by a wide, curved line of others.

Nesta stopped breathing entirely as she watched those sharp, silver teeth stretch into a smile. As wings, large and ancient like withered marble stretched over a pair of horns, over a body so large she could hardly meet its owner’s blood-red gaze.

Nesta knew what the creature was—she had seen it in her book’s illustrations, the same book the governess forbade the sisters from ever touching. The pages are cursed, she had told them. Plagued with the memory of the world we used to live in. A world unprotected by the Wall, a world of magic and monsters and death.

Right now, Death was staring right back at her. Smiling.

“Are you lost, little one?” the Attor asked, its voice like gravelly sand dragging over stone.

Nesta swallowed the fear in her throat—let it burn her voice cords to near ash as she rasped, “I am looking for someone.”

The monster’s smile widened, wings rustling as they moved to embrace her whole. “And she is looking for you.”

[normal-person-i-promise]

»— yandere arataka reigen headcanons —>

tw for obsessive tendencies, possessive tendencies, manipulation (guilt tripping, gaslighting, etc.) sort of. forced isolation? like cutting off ties to friends and family

★ ★ ★

× It had started out normal. Just another client. Just another forgettable face. But the more Arataka talked to you, the more he felt your skin beneath his fingertips...

× He gets a little... Interested, in you, and manages to convince you that you'll need to come again — that the spirit weighing down your shoulders has not yet left, regardless of how you feel. He'd even charge less!

× So you come again. And again. And again. He'd always greet you with a smile, offering you a cup of "purifying coffee" whilst his hands worked away at your shoulders, making pleasant conversation as he does so.

× After a few weeks of him "getting rid of that god forsaken spirit", Arataka brings you to a ramen shop. He'd said that spirits despise this place — the food exorcises your body from the inside, however that works — and that the ramen here is "blessed". He'd brought you here to do just that; an exorcism, nothing more. The food is good and the staff are polite, so you agree to go with him again.

× And so it becomes normal for him to invite you out to eat — you'd even consider him a friend. He's polite enough; he makes pleasant conversation, he always walks you home... He's nice to be around.

× Whenever you'd tell Arataka that you weren't free to get dinner together, that you weren't free to see him, his tone would be one of hurt and his voice would be one of pain. He's done so much for you, after all. He's done nothing but help you, done nothing but heal you, even charging you less for those pesky spirits! What's one little cancelled plan just to see him?

× The more you talk to him, though, the more you realize that... Your friends, your family — or so you call them — aren't as good as you perceive them to be. "I'm a psychic!" He says, flashing you a charming grin. "I'm knowledgeable in these aspects."

× And so, one by one, you begin to cut them off. It's a slow process, one that hurts a lot more than it should, but you know that this is for the best. "You deserve better than them," he'd say over takoyaki. "You deserve someone who appreciates you."

× He'd message you often ever since he got your number. He'd call you late at night to rant about how this certain customer was just being such a jerk, and how he wished every client he served was just like you. Perfect, perfect you...

× Eventually, it had become a sort of... Nightly routine. You'd text him during the day whenever you were free, then call him at night to listen to him go on about a particularly nasty spirit, or a wonderfully polite customer. You'd... Consider Arataka a good friend now. The familiar ringing of your phone was like a comfort to you in the cold of loneliness, and his warm voice always brought a smile to your face.

× Sometimes, he'd... Say that he's too tired. He'd ask to come over, and you'd always say yes. It's so... Lonely, having cut off all your friends and family, so you always enjoyed what company he brought.

× He'd stay over at your place at least once a week, cooking for you and taking care of your home — acting as though he lives there, welcoming himself inside and helping himself to anything he needed. He's always polite, and seems to leave your house cleaner than when he entered.

× ...So you begin to invite him into your home almost every day. Arataka would almost never refuse your offer, saying that it's safer to have a powerful psychic around, especially since the spirits haunting you are so great and terrible. You absolutely love when he stays over for the night; it means you won't be plagued by a silent phone, it means you'll finally have someone to talk to.

× You grow... Attached, to Arataka, trying to see him more on the streets and getting almost every meal together. He's so... Sweet, so charming, and every time you'd strike up a conversation with him, he always seems so happy to talk to you. He seems so... Wise, so knowledgeable, whenever you'd ask him questions; it's like he always knows the right thing to say, and how to say it.

× He begins to get you gifts. Nothing special, usually just a bag of salt or a few handpicked "purifying" flowers. You'd always accept them with gratitude, smiling at him as you take the gift from his hands. He always seems to... Brush his hands against yours whenever you take the gift from his hands. Not that you mind, though.

× Your mental state... You can feel it getting worse. Turns out cutting off all ties to friends and family does things to you, so you find yourself going to Spirits & Such a lot more often to just have someone to talk to, someone you trust. "They're only with you to get something out of you," he'd said. "They don't want you. Just your services."

× You begin to spend almost all your time with Arataka, almost never being seen without him. Isn't it so lonely to be in your empty, quiet house, with no one to talk to? Isn't it so painful to be without him, to not be around him? There's no one else to be around, after all. Everyone will hurt you, everyone will use you. It hurts, it hurts, so you never leave his side. You always go over to Arataka's house, or he'd go over to yours.

× There's this one day when he's staying at your house for the night that he... He gets this debilitating headache — we're talking clutching his head, writhing in pain down on the floor — and he chokes out a few words, barely audible over his noises of pain. "Don't... Go out... Spirits... Will attack..."

× ...So you don't. You stay, most of the time, in your house. Arataka's always there to bring you whatever you need from outside your door — takeout? Got it! Groceries? On the way!

× Slowly, slowly, you find yourself falling for the charming psychic. He just seems so... Perfect, so much better than everyone else. "Everyone's out to get you except me," he'd said, giving you a soft smile. "I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't found you that day."

× ...Oh, and Arataka? God, he's obsessed with you. Your voice, your eyes, your hair... You're... Perfect. And what's more, everything he's been doing to you has been working wonderfully! You've cut off all your ties, you've put him on this high pedestal in your mind — you're falling in love with him, for God's sake! Finally, he has someone to be with! Finally, he won't be alone!

× When you'd confessed to him, he had been overjoyed. This is all he could have ever wanted, to be with you, to be yours, for you to be his! The transition from being friends to dating him is smooth — you've been doing everything a couple would do already: he'd bring you gifts, he'd stay over at your place, you'd have long phone calls that lasted until morning...

...

...That's... Weird. Arataka has been acting like he's been dating you, even before you began to fall in love with him...

...

× ...There's this one day when Arataka goes out for a company trip, and you... You break. God, it's so quiet, it's so empty, it's so lonely...

...Wait.

You've never felt this way before meeting him, have you?

× You reflect a bit. Okay, so... You meet him for a spiritual consultation, he gives you an exorcism, he tells you to come by more, he brings you out to eat... Okay, now it's a little fuzzy. You think he... You remember what he'd said, that... That your friends and family are inferior to him, that they only want to use you.

...Okay, that's a little... Weird. The jump between him exorcising your spirits and knowing about your friends and family...

× Come to think of it, he... Knows a lot more than he should. He knows what food you like, he knows what size clothes you wear, he knows your schedule, he knows where you work...

× Then he... He begins to treat you like his... His lover, even prior to you confessing him and the both of you starting to date, and then he... He discouraged you from going out, saying that there's "harmful spirits"...

...You're starting to doubt whether Arataka is even a psychic.

× ...Okay, okay! So, you try to get back into contact with your family and friends, and... Okay, yeah, they just shut you out, but that's fine! You'll be fine, you're sure. But you can't just... Live without friends, right? You can't just live without seeing your family every now and then, right?

× "You can," Arataka had reassured you when he'd come back. "I'm here. I'm more than enough for you, right?"

× ...You're smarter now. You push him away, kick him out of your house, told him that he'd cut off all your friends and family. "It's not my fault they're all toxic," he'd shot back, angrily. "It's not my fault that I'm the only one who can treat you right."

× ...Okay, that... That makes a lot of sense, actually. You welcome him back in, apologising profusely for your mistake. Arataka knows better than you, after all. You're bound not to see mistakes, not to see the flaws; that's why he's here. He's here to protect you from those horrid people.

× "I love you," he'd repeated over and over. "You can't leave. It's not safe out there."

× ...So you don't.

[nightmarevore]

a switch flips in Rowan's head. where he was standing and talking to luke, his expression falters. his eyes are distant as he looks up from his beloved and where they are. when did they get in public? where are they? he knows luke is in front of him. he can see him and smell him. he’s right in front of him. but who are all these people that surround them? the smell is overwhelming. his stomach churns as dread over takes the predator. this isn’t home. this place isn’t safe. luke needs to be inside him. luke is safe inside him. wouldn’t it be easy to swallow him down now and take him some place they can be safe, where rowan can protect him from the pain of the world? from all these strangers who stare at the two like they’re freaks….

“rowan? are you okay?” luke’s voice chimes through rowan’s panic. the predator’s eyes shoot towards his boyfriend. his face flushes, and he grabs luke’s arm tightly. rowan’s stomach growls in quiet desperation to keep its prey safe. “what’s happening, love?”

without much thought, rowan’s mouth opens wide, and all luke sees is the back of rowan’s throat before he’s shoved into the darkness of his maw. he’s desperate, almost as if eating luke is a requirement to staying alive. as if he didn’t have his beloved boyfriend within him, the two of them would cease to be. luke’s left dazed and confused, his body tensing up as rowan stuffs him into his gullet. 

“rowan?!” he calls out, pressing his hands up against his partner. he attempts to push him away. they’re in public, why would he do this now?! his words are left on deaf ears as a loud swallow pulls luke into the predator’s throat. 

loud gasps. a few people in the crowd watch what happens before them. a man, out of nowhere, began swallowing the person next to him. predators exist, it’s not a shock that they have to eat another in order to sate their appetite. in public, in such a crowded space, though? people couldn’t help but look on in some kind of shocked horror.

rowan holds luke in place as aggressive, panicked, and desperate swallows pull his head and body deeper within him. luke hears how fast and panicked the predator’s heart is beating. something is wrong, and it’s too tight for luke to call out to him and ask what’s going on. even if he could, he didn’t think he’s getting an answer. it… feels like a fugue, but something tells him it’s not. he wouldn’t be in such a panic. 

luke’s flavor blesses rowan’s senses. his scent fills his nose as he swallows him down in an act of love and protection. in an act of pure desperation. he thinks he’s hungry, or maybe he isn’t, and this is just what his mind is demanding he do. it’s tight as his cherry slips down further his gullet. his body squeezes him from all sides and holds him in place. each swallow leaves luke more and more immobile. his arms are pressed up against his own body, constricting him. 

love luke. crave luke. devour luke.

protect him from everything and everyone.

another swallow squeezes and massages luke’s being further down, his head forcefully being shoved into his stomach. his middle visibly expands as the shifter begins to be deposited inside. 

“rowan, what’s going on?” luke finally takes a breath and speaks. it’s a relief that it’s easier to speak in his stomach. “what happened?” 

the predator purrs, continuing to swallow his partner down. he lifts him up, one hand reaching for his middle. he feels it grow as more of luke is forced inside. 

right where he’s safe. right where he belongs. right where he needs him.

his stomach expands more and more. luke’s entire being is forced into the chamber, quickly and desperately. he attempts to shift amidst all of this, trying to figure out what to do and how to sit. rowan would never just suddenly eat him in public like this. rowan hates doing any of this in public. something is terribly wrong.

aggressive and hard swallows send luke’s legs down the predator’s throat, his shirt rising over his middle and growing at a fast pace. both of his hands reach down to his middle and hold tightly onto his skin. he needs to feel the weight of luke inside him, whether it’s the shape his stomach takes, the sensation of luke entering him. of the weight inside his expanding middle. his hands hold a tight grip as his fingers sink harshly into his skin. his nails dig into the layers of skin as he attempts to support the weight of his middle. 

one final swallow sends the rest of luke down, and his head remains tilted upwards until he feels the love of his life finally and fully slide down to his center. it’s marked with a rumble and luke’s muffled voice, but he can’t make out the words. even if he wasn’t muffled, would rowan be able to pay attention to what he’s saying in the first place?

rowan’s eyes shoot open. they’re wide yet glossy. rowan himself isn’t all there. he growls, keeping his hands glued to his middle as the scent of every living person that surrounds them fills his nostrils. it’s overwhelming. it makes him sick.

people are staring. they look on to the predator, some in horror. some people back away. rowan begins to walk, forcing his way through the crowd. a woman, someone he doesn’t know, someone so unfamiliar to him he doesn’t know her name, gets TOO close to him. too close to his middle. his stomach. his luke. his world, his everything. 

the pressure of his hands sink deeper into his belly as the low growl in the bottom of rowan’s throat turns into a snarl, and sharp teeth snap at the strange woman. she sees a monster who swallowed a man whole not just a moment before, and the predator wants to keep it that way. she screams, fearful that this man was going to bite her and strike her down. drool drips from his lips as the rage in his eyes burn deep like a fire. 

“rowan! what the hell is going on?” luke calls out. 

rowan can't hear him. he squeezes his middle with teeth out for the world to see. nobody will hurt him, or his cherry. 

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐏𝐓 𝟐)

PAIRING: sergeant hunter x fem!oc reader

SUMMARY: the aftermath of order 66 for the bad batch, and the reunion of a jedi and her squad.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS + RATINGS: general audiences, mature themes, angst, fluff. happy ending to this chapter! female oc, use of she/her, mentions of death and order 66. series. follows the bad batch timeline.

NOTES: part tew. peep the masterlist!

STAR WARS MASTERLIST THE GREAT FIGHT MASTERLIST

Things were tense in the Marauder, the air thick and suffocating as they finally departed from Kaller. They had remained there for longer than the other clones on the planet, for they had suffered a loss of great devastation. 

Miri Rocksled had been an exception to their isolation from the rest of the GAR, she was one of them and perhaps she had been all along; thus was why approximately eighty percent of the Bad Batch was more than certain she was not guilty of the things the Jedi had been accused of. All, except their own sniper—Crosshair had never been one to express the warmest of emotions to the world around him, but he was unusually callous on the status of his former General. 

It had started with the kid, how he reacted to the orders to kill the padawan that struck something in Hunter. Orders or not, this was not something Clone Force 99 stood by; to claim they had been avid followers of the rules to begin with would be a shameful lie, but to choose such a time to start raised concerns in the man. And it was his reaction to Hunter’s reaction to realizing Miri was in danger that triggered such tension. 

“Hunter, we cannot go look for her,” Tech stated, voice stern as he spoke from the front of their ship. “Do you realize how that would look to the other troopers? To whoever gave us this order?” 

“When have we ever cared?” Hunter shot back. “You know her, there’s no way this is true.” 

From the back of the ship, like a creature lurking in the dark, Crosshair's voice filled the space. “The Jedi are traitors.” All eyes turned to him, sitting alone with his helmet still on, and he leaned in closer from his hunched position to put emphasis on the next blow. “We were given orders to execute those guilty of treason, and your Miri was no exception,” he sneered. 

An unexpected eruption came from where Wrecker stood, and everyone soon realized it was the large man launching himself at his brother.

Wrecker, with his heart on his sleeve and his fists bared, would not stand for such talk of his General. It took all three men to pull him off of Crosshair, but eventually they were able to separate the two. “Wrecker, enough!” Hunter grunted, shoving him into a seat. 

“Listen,” he panted slightly, holding his hands up to diffuse the situation. “This is getting us nowhere. Tech’s right,” he finally agreed, the prior exchange having knocked some sense into him. “It won’t be a good idea to go looking for her, we don’t wanna catch the wrong attention.  But—” he gave a pointed look at Crosshair, “we all know Miri isn’t a traitor. She’s almost loyal to a fault, something the other Jedi never seemed to stop giving her a hard time about. Whatever it is that they’re saying the Jedi are guilty of, we need some more information before we start blindly following orders. Got it?”

One by one, they all nodded their heads, Crosshairs albeit reluctant. But in his true nature, he couldn’t help but have the last laugh. Quietly, almost as if he didn’t want the others to hear, he questioned Hunter. “Besides, what would you even do if you found her body?” 

As they entered hyperspace, Hunter held himself together with the hope that she had gotten away. That her death was also falsely reported; the padawan had gotten away but nobody really needed to know that. Perhaps Miri, that clever one, was able to escape. This hope resided in them as they walked into the facility on Kamino, it was what kept their heads high and facing forward as everyone around them acted even more strange than usual. 

The sight of red and white armor once again raised alarm in Hunter. “Shock troopers?” He questioned as his head turned to watch them walk by. “What’s the Coruscant Guard doing here?” His attention was broken by the words over the intercom, the modulated voice repeatedly announcing ‘level five lockdown remains in effect. Security teams, report to the command center.’ 

He looked to Tech, and without fail he had the answers. “This isn’t a drill,” he stated, sounding surprised to hear such information. 

“Oh man,” Wrecker whined. “What did we miss now?” 

“The end of the war,” a Shock trooper answered as he walked by. 

 Hunter stepped forward, as per usual. “Say again, Trooper?”

“General Grievous was defeated on Utapau. The Separatist leadership has collapsed,” he answered. “The war is over.” A statement spoken so casually, yet possessed the weight of thousands of tons.

Behind him, Tech looked over at Wrecker. “Just like I said,” he quipped seriously.

Wrecker gasped dramatically. “It is just like you said,” he marveled, earning a side eye from his brother in response. Hunter was hardly paying any attention to this, however, as two troopers carrying a gurney walked by, a body with a sheet covering it laying motionless. Just as they passed him by, a lightsaber fell from under the sheet, and the shock trooper he was speaking with crouched down to pick it up.

When he rose to his full height, his eyes were trained on Hunter and the look he was wearing as he watched this scene unfold. He had tried to mask his emotions, but evidently he wasn’t doing that good of a job at the moment as the clone questioned him with slight hostility. “Is there a problem?” 

Though he made no effort to put some trust in his gaze, Hunter answered immediately. “No problem,” he replied, glancing over at Wrecker and then at Echo as casually as possible. “We’ll just head to our barracks then.” 

“Best hurry,” the trooper responded as he turned to walk away. “There’s a mandatory general assembly at 1500.”

And this assembly, one of the first the Batch had committed to attending, shed light to the situation while, somehow, leaving a dark shadow behind. 

“And the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.” 

Chills ran down Hunters back at the words coming from the cloaked figure of what was said to be Chancellor Palpatine. Claims of an attempt on his life leaving him scarred and deformed echoed in his ears as his eyes drifted to the gallery, when the higher ups of Kamino watched from above. But what had caught his attention was a little girl, already watching him. 

She smiled when they made eye contact, but his focus shifted as Tech spoke up from behind him. “What is it?” 

When he looked back, she was gone. “Nothing.” His eyes remained there as Palpatine's voice grew louder and louder. 

“...the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire!”

Briefly, a memory came forward of Miri meditating on the ship while they were stuck in hyperspace for who knows how long. She had been uneasy as of late, yet she tried to hide it. Meditating was something she did often, but what was peculiar to them was the scrunch of her face as she sat still as stone. They tried not to bother her when she did this, understanding it was…just something Jedi did, when she looked so distressed they felt inclined to keep watch. 

It was when she began to breathe heavily, almost gasping, that Hunter stepped forward. “General?” He questioned lowly, not trying to startle her, but she jolted at the sound of his voice anyways. “General, are you alright?” 

She had not responded, only looked at him with wide eyes as her chest rose and fell quickly. “Miri,” he tried again, formalities slipping away in his worry, “are you okay?” 

“Something is…going to happen,” she began, voice slightly frantic as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I—I don’t know what it is, or when, but it’s heavy. It’s…” She sighed, rising from her seat and running her hands through her hair. “It’s dark, and I don’t think anyone is going to see it coming, and if they do it’s just going to be too late.”

That feeling had persisted throughout the end of the war, nagging Miri any chance it got. It was ever present, when she rested, when she relaxed, when she was dispatched for missions and campaigns as well. Constant, the shadow was for Miri Rocksled, and now the curtains had been drawn and it was displayed right before their very eyes. 

Around them, troopers cheered at the revelation, unaware of the looming darkness that weighed heavy on Clone Force 99. “Still don’t think the clones are programmed?” Tech questioned, side eyeing the men around him. 

They would soon find that they were, in fact, programmed. Everything that transpired on Kamino before their forced departure was an echo of Miri’s prediction. She had been so unfortunately correct; it was heavy, it was dark, and it had been too late for anyone to stop it. The plans, orchestrated by someone they could not yet pinpoint, were already in motion, and all the Bad Batch could do was play the game as they always had; and it would seem the game had always been rigged against them. The food fight in the cafe with Omega, the live rounds during their battle simulation for Tarkin, Omega’s warning to not return, the supposed insurgent retrieval mission they were sent on. The undeniable and jarring change in Crosshair, the revelation that Omega was one of them, the weight of the fact that Miri would never leave a child in harm’s way, the devastating betrayal of one of their own. 

It had been made clear that the Empire had no room for Clone Force 99. It was time for them to leave, and Omega would be coming with them. They had a Jedi to look for. 

Many rotations had passed before the need for a pitstop was brought to their attention. Rations, medical supplies, and fuel were running low; and the severe lack of resources for a child was something Hunter had not thought of when he asked Omega to join them. 

They had learned from their visit with Cut and Suu that the Empire was spreading quickly, and travel between planets was growing much more difficult. They had to go out of their way to look for places seemingly untouched, or as much as they could be, by the heavy presence of stormtroopers. Options were running out as their journey was only just beginning, but they had no choice but to make do with the cards they had been dealt. The village they found themselves in was seemingly alright, people milling about but minding their own business; excitement was minimal and danger was mostly undetectable, a rarity these days. 

However, Hunter could feel something. A nagging feeling, that someone was out there. Watching, waiting, plotting, he did not know; but they were there. It was hard to ignore, impossible to shake off as Omega rambled about whatever had caught her interest in the market, and his eyes scanned their surroundings over and over again. He could not put his finger on it, though, for no matter how many times he looked, he came up short. He tried not to let frustration fester where caution resided. 

Until his eyes, squinted and serious as they flit over the horizon, caught a flash of a cloaked figure in his peripheral. A smaller frame shrouded by the loose fabric, identity shielded by the wide brim of their hat, he lets himself hope that it is Miri. A foolish and desperate hope, made as the figure turned away from him in the distance, disappearing in the blink of an eye.   

The hunch he had was far too big to just let this go. The feeling, still lingering on his skin as he quickened his pace to catch up with his brothers, was familiar because it was her, alive and breathing. It had to have been. 

To test this theory, he told everyone to finish gathering whatever they needed, as they were headed out, but instead of making their way towards their ship, however, he led them into the forest with arms full of supplies and faces full of confusion. Their feet carried them past the treeline and deep into the greenery, and still Hunter offered no explanation. Wrecker whined, Tech and Echo fired off logical explanation after logical explanation, and Omega was left looking around in wonder. So caught up in what was potentially ahead of them, he didn’t even notice the body tailing them from behind. In fact, it was Omega who pointed it out, feeling the eyes on her from afar. 

“It feels like we’re being watched,” she whispered, looking up at Hunter with furrowed brows. Worry was etched onto her face, but he didn’t really know how to soothe that worry at the moment. Miri was always better at this than he was. 

“That’s because we are,” he answered gruffly, as if it was no big deal. Nonchalance was something Hunter wore well, but they had so much to lose now that Omega ran with their crowd that so little care in a situation such as this was out of character for him. 

“We are?” Echo shot back through gritted teeth, alarm evident in his tone. “Hunter—”

“I think it could be Miri,” he interrupted, not looking back at Echo. The sergeant found himself almost hesitant to reveal the information he had been hoarding for the last little bit for how it would make him sound. Yes, she was special in a different way, but she was still their general and he knew her. He knew her, and what she felt like, and he was almost certain this was her. The fact that he didn’t hear a branch one snapping coming from their watcher, the fact that she remained out of their sights while keeping them in hers, the fact that nobody ever followed them with intentions of just watching; it all made too much sense to not make any at all. 

“The likelihood of that is quite low,” Tech started, holding a finger up but he never got the chance to continue for Hunter held up a closed fist, a signal for them to stop in their tracks. His eyes were trained not on ground level, but up in the trees, and he spun around as he searched for the lost Jedi. 

Unbeknownst to him, his brothers share skeptical glances. They did not like it, but they had stepped closer to accepting that Miri Rocksled may never show her face again for one reason or another than Hunter had. His desperation, while understood, was painfully obvious. 

But, always one to prove someone wrong, the missing woman made her presence known from a thick branch above them. Hunter had ventured too close for her liking, it would seem, and she stepped into view with her saber drawn and pointed at him. Perched there perfectly, draped in the same neutral colored poncho he had seen back in the village, Miri Rocksled was alive. 

The orange blade hummed lowly as the glow illuminated the expression she wore. Brows furrowed and eyes wide in a horror Hunter didn’t recognize from under the brim of her hat, her knuckles gripped the weapon so tightly the skin had gone ghostly white. Once again, the brothers exchanged glances, this time one of shock. Wrecker’s gasp cut through the ambient noise of nature. And Hunter, who could only stare up at her in awe, could not think of what to do or say. Instead, his limbs remained frozen as his eyes took her in for what she was, his greatest love. 

He had missed her so terribly, more than he thought a close was capable of, and yet he had carried through every rotation she was missing. The weight of it was suffocating, and just seeing her lifted it from his tired body tenfold; he was light with his eyes on her once again, for she was the answer to every problem he could ever have. 

“Miri…” The words left him of their own accord, coming out as a breathy whisper pointed towards the heavens. 

His voice, the sound of it in her ears, made her face screw up even tighter, eyes drawn to slits and lip quivering ever so slightly. “Stay back,” she demanded lowly through gritted teeth as tears brimmed her eyes. They stung, and she blinked rapidly to keep her sights clear on them. She tried to keep the fear at bay, tried her damndest, but to finally be face to face with her clones after Order 66 had dread settling itself in the pit of her stomach. Against her order, Wrecker took a few steps forward, eyes wide as he looked up at her. “I said stay back!” She shouted, voice harsh as it echoed throughout the forest. “I don’t want to hurt you guys; please, please, don’t make me,” she begged, words shaky as emotion threatened to take over.

Hunter repeated her name, snapping out of his daze at the genuine fear that they would try to kill her. Fear, it was not something he was used to seeing on her, and he didn’t like it one bit. His hands went up in a show of peace, demeanor that of a man approaching a cornered animal. “It’s okay. The chips didn’t work in us, we didn’t follow the order,” he explained, desperation hiding behind his words. When she remained still he gave her the smallest of shrugs and the smallest of smirks. “Defective, remember?” 

Tech took that as his signal to step forward, for he knew that Miri needed all the details then and there in order to clear the air. “What he means by that is the inhibitor chips the Kaminoans implanted in all clones did not show signs of controlling us. We have since discovered that is how Order 66 was administered, and that is why we did not participate in it; well, all except one,” he rambled, eyes never leaving the General in a show of true honesty, though Tech was never one to lie. “That is why Crosshair is missing, he…he now works for the Empire.” 

“Crosshair…” she whispered, voice low and hesitant. “It worked on him? He—” she looked away, sadness taking over for but a moment. “He would have tried to kill me?” 

“Yes,” Tech affirmed. “He believed that the Jedi were guilty of the accused treason, because that is what we were told by the Emperor himself.”

Oddly enough, Miri appreciated the bluntness of Tech’s delivery in that moment. One would feel the need to soften the blows, but they had since been dealt. Dealt the moment she had to fight for her life on Kaller against her own allies turned enemies. The facts of the matter almost helped ease the sting of betrayal she had harbored since, knowing that it had not been personal. They could not help but turn their weapons on their generals and commanders, and Crosshair could not help the change in his ideology. 

With this information, she had deduced that the Bad Batch were not a threat to her any longer. They did not display the behaviors other clones did in the presence of a Jedi, and that was the largest indicator that what Tech had said was indeed true. But it was also the look on Hunter’s face that swayed her heart when she tried to keep it stoney. 

A man in love, a man lost in his love, looked up at her as if she was the angel he had been hoping for. The grief of her presumed death, and the denial of acceptance, had worn him down along with everything else, and she could see how he had been changed. He would not harm her, could not harm her; that much she believed. 

There was one question to be asked, however. “What happened to the padawan on Kaller?” 

When Hunter stepped forward to answer, her weapon moved to point at him once again. It startled him, pausing in his tracks as he held his hands up once again. “I let him get away,” he answered, the words spilling out of him. “Lied to Crosshair about it, lied to the Empire about it.”  

She eyed them all one by one, gaze lingering on the little girl tucked away in the back with Echo by her side, before she retracted the blade of her saber, orange light disappearing into the intricate hilt. Her arm fell to her side, but her feet were still planted firmly on the branch. Miri had been in survival mode for so many rotations that she was finding it difficult to let it slip away, even if slightly. Her heart beat rapidly and almost painfully in her chest as she took a deep breath in an effort to steele the resolve to relax. 

With that, she clipped her weapon to her waistband and effortlessly leapt to the ground below. Her feet hardly thudded as her boots made contact with the dirt floor, and she looked to Hunter. She felt herself being pulled to him by something greater than the both of them, and she couldn’t even try to fight it. He watched her as if watching a ghost glide toward him, helmet at his feet as he had dropped it upon seeing her once again, and his hands had begun reaching out for her without even knowing. She almost tripped over the piece of armor as he yanked her into him when she was within reach.  

He held her close, arms wrapped tightly around her as if she would disappear again if he let go, and he breathed. He breathed clearly for the first time in what felt like centuries, lungs able to expand to their full ability instead of being constricted by constant worry. He breathed her in, the scent of her still lingering after all this time of chaos and turmoil. She was her, alive and persisting, and he felt as if he could weep as her body weight felt so solid in his hold. 

“I knew you were still out there,” he whispered into her hair, voice cracking. 

“You found me,” she whispered back, throat tightening as she fought off the same feelings. Hunter, her Hunter, had found his way back to her. She had been so worried that what they had was forever lost, that what she had with them all had been forever tainted, and to let go of that felt incredible. 

He shook his head the best he could while having her so close. “No, you found me, Miri,” he insisted, not caring about anything else besides this moment. “You found me.”

all works on this blog belong to www.hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost on to other sites, or claim my work as your own.

[lizstiel]

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

[mommycity]

Geto with a pussy…it’s gettin me bro. 

Imagine fucking him hgnnsn. Just another night of fun after you both are stressing about your finals. Getting him on all fours and just fucking him with long slow strokes.the way he’s arching his broad frame, his ass is so full it’s just so fucking much ahgnsnn,, His pussy is so wet and needy, it sucks you in and welcomes you home. It’s the best fucking view when you look at where you connect, so sloppy and wet. Geto is so fucking giving even when he’s getting fucked so he’s fucking himself back on you. Your dick is full of his cream at the base. Imagine just rubbing slow tight circles on his clit. “Does it feel good? Fuck I’m so close baby”, he’s whimpering. You have to grab his hair and kiss him so he can give his cream filled finale, he might even let you finish inside. 

Maybe next time you should spit on his asshole and stick a thumb in? I’m just a freak ass nigga tho stay safe yall 

[theminecraftbee]

i understand why you people really like writing watcher!grian now btw. please ignore that whether grian is actually in this fic is a weirdly complicated question. he's in the tags it counts,

[millenniumringg]

WHO YOU GONNA CALL?!

Based on the beloved movie Ghostbusters, but with a yugioh twist👻

Halloween approaches, and so does a new yugioh AU >:) For a long time I’ve dreamed of a ghostbusters AU, and now you should also dream of one because a fic (loaded with chapter art) is coming TO THE INTERNET!!!

The week of October 22nd, the fic will be posted to AO3 with updates happening sporadically leading up to Halloween! Stay tuned and watch out for the first chapter poster to be posted here on Oct. 22nd >:)

Let the countdown begin!!!!

[moonheavens]

currently working on a Wolfstar established relationship First War hurt/comfort one shot!

Remus comes back from a werewolf mission injured and Sirius, naturally, refuses to leave his bedside in St. Mungo’s… and they are very very in love and very cute together and there’s Marauders banter and yeah. This is extremely self indulgent.

Here’s an unedited snippet for anyone who’s curious! 🔪

[binah-beloved]

Book of You

Binah x Reader Library of Ruina Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: None

~ * ~

The Floor of Philosophy smells like black tea and raindrops, fresh with the dew of evening mist, the kind that only appears at midnight under the light of the moon. Quiet and serene, with shelves filled to the brim with books, the eighth floor of the Library exists as a place of calm silence, stars twinkling against the ceiling. But you’re not here to see any of it. The assistant librarians often speculate how their patron spends her hours outside of observing battles- the few who deliver books to Binah report that they often see her drinking tea, sitting at her usual table with a peaceful, contemplative look on her face- although occasionally, the librarians whisper in hushed tones, they’ll catch her walking along the aisles, staring intently at the title of each book for a moment before moving on to the next. It seems as though she’s looking for something, they all muse, huddled in a circle. But what? Not something, but someone. You. Binah can hear her assistants’ whispers, no matter how quiet they try to be- it’s amusing to her, catching snippets of conversation and theories as she passes by, each more outlandish than the last. But they’re never quite right, always missing the fact that she’s searching for a living, breathing person instead of merely an object, the one assistant librarian who hasn’t awoken from slumber yet. She remembered you even when her mind was hazy from sleeping for so long- your smile, your laugh, the way you made her cold, deadened heart skip a beat. You had toiled away at the Corporation together for cycle after cycle and slowly, surely, she had grown attached, although she had tried to resist. Arbiters cannot form attachments, it’s a danger to their work and occupation.

But mostly, it was a danger to your well-being, and that had worried her the most. Binah recalled looking up at the light as Angela reformed everything and everyone, the Arbiter’s hand curled against your warmer one. She had glanced at you, gauging your reaction, and your exhausted appearance drew a droplet of concern from the well of emptiness within her, the shadows in your eyes more prominent than usual before Angela had snapped her fingers and everything vanished. With how tired you seemed, it’s reasonable that you’d want to stay asleep for as long as you could. Truly, it’s understandable. She tries to be understanding- really, she does- but Binah wants nothing more than to be selfish, to find your book and wake you up again because she misses you, more than she’s ever missed anything in the world. It’s lonely up here, in her floor, the skittish assistants not being much good for conversation- and she tries to be more welcoming! She invites everyone over for tea, for books, for a chat, but rarely does anyone take her up on the offer. They’re all still afraid of the Arbiter she once was. So Binah ends up alone, quietly sipping her tea and thinking, as she always does. And she decides that being lonely is dreadful, that she doesn’t like it much, and her search for you resumes even though the Library is endless, even though she’s looked for days without any luck, even though Angela once flatly told her that she might never find you, not ever. Even if it takes eternity, she’ll find you, and you’ll find her- Binah believes in nothing except for this. It’s late one afternoon, near the end of another day filled with fruitless searching, that her keen eyes spot something familiar. A book just like the others comes into view as she steps closer, except this time it’s scripted with a name she knows well on its spine, the elegant handwriting shining with silver ink as she carefully removes the novel from its shelf.

Your name. You. Her heart warms as she traces her fingers over the letters, holding your book with the lightest touch before setting it down on the ground. With deft movements Binah flips open the first few pages then steps back as light emanates from the book, your form appearing with the crackling snap of a thousand sparks. You yawn and blink tiredly, then turn your eyes towards the woman standing before you, and a small, genuine smile forms on Binah’s lips as you gasp in surprise. She looks a little different, with longer hair and different clothes- but so do you, your uniform crisper and less worn than it’s been in years, courtesy of a certain Library Director- and you look positively in awe over Binah’s new appearance. She lets out a soft chuckle and reaches a hand for you to take, her grip firm as she helps you to your feet, making sure you don’t stumble. Your eyes widen as you admire the Library, such a stark contrast from the cold metal of Lobotomy Corporation, but Binah’s hand gently tilts your chin so you’re facing her instead, needing to see your liveliness after so long with only books. For a moment you swear she hesitates, debating with herself before slowly pulling you into an embrace, arms wrapped securely around your waist, and you hug her back eagerly, mumbling that you missed her. Binah hums in quiet agreement, the stiffness of her shoulders easing away almost imperceptibly, and the Patron Librarian of the Floor of Philosophy is finally at peace.

[aceghosts]

Baby, All I Want Is You

Summary:

“You have that look again.” “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile. “The one where you’re planning something.”

A short scene where Rooney and Yorinobu flirt with each other. Title comes from nightlife's nightlifetypebeat.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive flirting between two exes who have it bad for each other. That's it.

Words: 1,377 words.

Author's Note: I'm gonna keep it real with everybody; this was just a self-indulgent excuse to write Rooney and Yorinobu flirting with each other. Also, this was inspired by this tumblr post.

Taglist (opt in/out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @nightbloodbix, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @clicheantagonist, @strangefable, @theelderhazelnut, @voidika, @cassietrn, @cloudofbutterflies92, @direwombat

AO3

“How do I look?” Yorinobu asks, stepping out of the bathroom and into the main area of the penthouse suite. While a genuine question, he could not resist the desire to show off to Rooney, to have their focus solely on him. He turns toward them, Rooney leaning against the wall nearest the bathroom door. They push off the wall, facing him as they put their hands on their hips. Rooney tilts their head, brows furrowed with an inquisitive look in their eyes as they look him over. Most would assume Rooney’s permanent frown meant they detested his outfit. Yorinobu knows them too well to believe that; he delights in reading them better than anyone else. (His favorite expression is when Rooney smiles softly, happiness reaching their eyes, a look typically reserved for him.) Yorinobu teases with a slightly cocky tone, “If you are too horrified to answer, perhaps I should-.”

“Your collar,” Their hands leave their hips as they walk over to him, “I’ll fix it for you.”

He nods, Rooney’s hands coming up to his lavender shirt collar to fix it. As they focus, Yorinobu studies their face carefully. Rooney’s dark blue eyes the same color as the ocean on a bright sunny day or a stormy night, depending on their mood. Their freckles dappled across their face like stars shining brightly in the night sky.  The scars on their forehead and nose, earned from hard-won battles, defiant till the end. Their pale pink lips set in a thin line, close enough for him to kiss. Rooney’s hands move to his suit jacket collar, their touch faint through the dark maroon fabric. Giving him a curious look, Rooney states suspiciously, “You have that look again.”    “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile. 

“The one where you’re planning something.”

“I might be planning something,” Yorinobu shrugs, as Rooney’s hands move down to the lapel of his jacket. He shivers underneath their touch, relishing in it.  With a heavy sigh, Yorinobu starts, “It is such a shame I am going to this party alone. I wish I had-.”

“No,” Rooney replies, a response that would sound curt and brutal to most. Only Yorinobu notices the way the corners of their mouth twitch upward, the playfulness in their eyes. 

“I did not ask you to accompany me, and yet, you turn me down?” Yorinobu places his hands on their waist.

“Then ask.”

“Rooney Shepard,” Yorinobu starts, deeply serious, “Would you accompany me as my date to this party?”

“Hmm…,” They start, tilting their head for a second as they pretend to think before answering with a smirk, “No.” 

“No?”

“You know how much I hate those parties. You’re the only reason I ever tolerated going.” True. Rooney always hated them, sucking it up for Yorinobu when they were dating. He also knew that Rooney looked forward to the night being over, especially when they got Yorinobu all to themself. “I’m also not dressed for the event. I doubt private investigator chic meets the dress code,” Rooney adds, finishing fixing his jacket lapels. 

“I think you look gorgeous in ‘private investigator chic’,” Their hands rest on his chest as Yorinobu leans in closer, “especially when you wear leather like you are now.” The tight leather pants made their legs look so long and their ass look fantastic. There was only one place better he could think that those pants belonged, besides on Rooney. 

Rooney rolls their eyes, a faint red on their cheeks. “Yorinobu, no one will approve of clothes that I’ve had blood cleaned out of, and you only approve because you think I look hot.”     “Their loss.”

Rooney lets out a genuine laugh, a delightful sound. Sidestepping his comment, they reply, “To answer your original question, you look very handsome.”

“Handsome?” In a perfect world, Rooney would tell him he is handsome all the time, but alas, Yorinobu will take it where he can.   “You’ve always looked great in that shade of maroon, and,” They brush off his shoulders, eyes looking over his chest and arms, “That jacket fits you really well. Really, really well.” Apparently, Yorinobu is not the only one who has been looking, and it thrills him. “I’m sure all eyes will be on you.”

“What if I do not care for their eyes on me? What if I want you to look at me? What if I think you are the only one who matters?” A loaded question that he knows Rooney will attempt to sidestep.

“Yori.” Their nickname for him slips out, another sign that his feelings are not one-sided, no matter how much Rooney might try to deny it.  “You don’t need me to flatter your ego. I’m sure you’ll get enough of that tonight.” They pull away from him, slipping out of his grasp once again.  “You should get going. Want me to walk you to the AV?”

He nods, noticing the soft, adoring look they give him.  “I would appreciate it. May I help you with your coat?”

“Yes, please.” He picks up the dark blue and black coat, the one they were so fond of wearing. Yorinobu helps them into the jacket, allowing Rooney to get fully settled. “You should come with me,” He says, leaning in close, “No one will even think about admonishing you for the dress code if you are by my side. Or we could stop somewhere for you to get appropriate formal wear. I could even help you pick your outfit out.”

Rooney shivers, a contented hum escaping from their lips. “Answer is still no,” they pull away, holding out their arm for him to take, “Come on, Yori. Let’s get you to that party.”

He takes their arm, Rooney by his side feeling so natural and right. As the pair head up the stairs, Yorinobu asks, “What would it take for you to say yes? If you asked, I would make it so.”   “Yori, you know I don’t want anything from you. Just getting to be in your company is enough.” Some things never change. Rooney was still sentimental, content to be in his space and spend quality time with him. “I guess you could get me to come for work, but-,” Rooney gives him a knowing look, “I can’t go with you tonight for work.”

“Why not?”

“Promised Reggie, one of the local fixers in Watson, that I would do a stakeout for her. And, I like Reggie. She’s a good person, a little paranoid.”

“One might say that about you.” They roll their eyes in amusement, this time. The doors to the AV pad slide open, Rooney stepping through the doorway with him, “I will have to ask you to go with me as a work obligation next time.”

“Or,” Rooney stresses, accompanying him up the stairs, “You could ask me as a friend. I might be your ex, but I’m still your friend.”

“Friends.” Yorinobu can work with that. He would prefer the title of ‘partner’ or ‘lover’, but being their friend is better than being their ex. 

Rooney nods as the duo step onto the AV pad. One of his assistants comes up to him, Aria, holopad in hand. “Yorinobu-sama, Shepard,” she greets them both, “We need to leave.”

“One moment, please,” He replies, dismissing her. Turning to Rooney, he opens his mouth to speak. 

“I’ll see you later,” They say, giving him an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.” Their smile morphs into a devious smirk, sending a shiver of pleasure through him. Leaning in close, Rooney teases, only loud enough for him to hear, “And if I was your date, I don’t think we would make it to the party.” He sees a hungry look in their eyes, their need for him just as strong as his for them.

Fuck the party. Fuck their stakeout. He is staying here with them and-. “Enjoy your party,” They purr, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Yorinobu reaches out for their wrists, attempting to pull them back in. Rooney masterfully sidesteps him, winking at him. They turn their back to Yorinobu, walking away before he can get another chance.

Yorinobu swallows, a lump in his throat. Oh, this was going to be a long night.