#Kiss on the ramparts

[utterlyhooked]

A kiss on the ramparts

Socially inept but damn, Ling Buyi can flirt!

Actually, I take that back, I do not think he is flirting. It’s more like an instictive action to his emotion and affection.

Her reaction later when she arrived home I thought was on point. Can’t quite contain herself, so excited but can’t really say anything, imagining, can’t sleep. You know, you remember how it was like!

And then I wondered, what was it like for him, and as usual, A’Fie and A’Qi are the ones that feeds us! hahahaha

A’Fei: Young master walked under the moonlight until the wee hours last night. I didn’t sleep a wink because I was accompanying him. I’m so sleepy now.

A’Qi: Isn’t this Young Master’s first time kissing a lady? He was swept away by it.

Their form of showing affection is encircling their arms on the other and resting their hands on the small of their backs. A recurring scene throughout the series. Here, it’s the first time shown but only on his part. She’s not there yet although, this was the start!

Kiss on the forehead, nice and sweet. More or less predictable, but we fall for it anyway like the ejeets that we are! LOL

[itzshrike]

Man this episode had a delectable amount of bad batch and echo content

[stormyblue90]

Replaying Horizon Forbidden West after The Bad Batch finale is giving me voice actor whiplash since these two...

share the same voice actor. I love the range of VAs.

[afaramir]

isnt it insane that merry and pippin spent like the span of weeks apart in different countries and immediately made new besties whose lives they save in their final battles. like merry strikes the blow on the witch king that lets eowyn kill him and pippin pulls faramir out of denethor's pyre. and then eowyn and faramir ended up marrying each other. isn't that wild. were merry and pippin conspiring in the houses of healing like hey i think my new best friend would be great with your new best friend how quickly do you think we can get them to fall in love. was there great hobbit cacophony when faramir kisses eowyn on the ramparts. i think yes.

[eldrith]

i literally just thought abt this ajehbsha but like what if the reader was jace's bethrothed that was "killed" by the greens during the dance, but was actually captured and brainwashed her to be an assasin ksjwbsna

think of it somewhat like bucky barnes

safe flight on ur trip!:)

BABE YOUR MIND…. also i haven't seen the marvel movies in ages so im kinda going off what i can recall . and i took this in a bit of a diff direction i hope thats ok but i love this i could write a whole fucking book about this omfg. your mind is beautiful id love to keep it in a jar warnings: mentions of torture, death, assassinations, angst, allusions to smut if you squint, targcest bc its implied you are aegon's sister/of valyrian blood, brief allusion to suicidal thoughts, fluff mostly at the end and is a bit canon divergent. and yes i know this is 3.1k words but it's still a headcanon ok. its just a great concept

you and jacaerys are betrothed when you are young.

despite this, you remain close; shy smiles, kind whispers and youthful awkwardness that blossoms into a strong, devoted friendship. you're to be queen - and he, king. indeed you study for your future duties side by side, with prideful grins - and along the way, you find time for yourselves.

in youth, it is in teaching jacaerys to sew and read tarot, painting, or maybe even showing him the game you used to play with your brothers; it is in him teaching you to wield a sword, studying high valyrian together, him showing you how to climb the castle's ramparts, and inviting you along with he and luke to throw stones at the sea.

as you grow old, it is in jacaerys giving you rides on vermax, dancing with him any chance you can, exploring nature - mountains with caves and tall waterfalls that he pulls you under with feverish kisses, finding ways to sneak to each other's chambers; it is in you kissing his cheek and teasing him when his face grows pink, bringing lucerys along with the two of you when you begin to sneak out of the castle, in sharing too many cups of wine and stumbling to your quarters, in hands weaving through each other's hair.

it is nice.

but then, the war.

things are as okay as they can be for a while- duty is a blessing and a curse for you both. tensions mount. jacaerys feels like everything is falling apart, but he has you; his best friend, his lover, his favorite person in the entirety of the seven kingdoms. you cry with each other, train with each other, sneak off when things become too intense in court. you begin to whisper about a secret wedding, a traditional valyrian one; intimate, quiet.

he just wants to call you his wife, and you just want to call him your husband. but duty has a way of interfering with even the sweetest plans.

the evening jace leaves to treat at winterfell, you clasp a chain round his neck, one you strung your favorite ring through; a keepsake, perhaps. or as he likes to think, a reminder of you during the cold nights in the north.

despite it all, things are okay.

until he loses you.

you are killed with your dragon, defending a crucial line of passage for their men; vhagar and aemond are the last ones to see you as your dragon spirals beyond a hill, wings singed and aflame. you vanish.

jace is overwhelmed with grief.

the news comes just as he's beginning to find himself in a new world - a world without his younger brother - and he, an empty pit of grief and despair, isolates himself from others. consumed by sorrow and rage, his emotions spiral out of control - snapping, yelling, unable to contain his emotions even at council.

his days are marked by a deep mourning that he's unsure will ever be mended. life continues in its droll capacity - the war rages on, and jace becomes more bitter, and more like his great uncle daemon. bloodthirsty, demanding revenge.

and then, you return from the dead.

the day you come back to him is rainy and drowsy. he had foolishly, or in a bout of grief, not noticed the sounds of dragon overhead the caste; a dragon whose screech he had not heard in many moons.

his mother is the one to find him - alone, staring at the hearth in his quarters, eyes filmed with the glossy haze of sorrow.

rhaenyra's face is ghostly, sickly - and he grows immediately concerned as he sees her expression, rising to grasp her arms. "mother, are you well?"

he is shocked when he hears her whisper out: "she's alive."

his worry for his mother vanishes, blinded by her words. you. you're...

and despite being ordered to remain, his legs carry him out - to you. his mother's own footfalls follow behind him, her voice begging. he does not listen, even when she warns him - there is something that isn't right.

when he finally finds you he's elated, heart nearly stopping when your eyes meet.

but there's something missing.

when he takes you into his arms, you're cold; barely blinking, you are not who you used to be.

his own tears distort his vision as he cups your face, pressing a kiss to your full lips - and perhaps that is why he does not notice the sullen, empty look on your face. but he feels it in the way your lips do not kiss back.

jace tries to ignore it, at first.

as you are nursed back to physical health, you avoid telling the court of the truth. all that is revealed is the harrowing tale of your mangled body, put back together by the maester in the red keep; your mutilated dragon, whose health was dangled over your head by your own brother, the one whose head bears a crown that is not his.

you do not speak of your time, but the nightmares you wake from, screaming your throat raw, speak for themselves.

you heal.

you begin to show some signs of humanity after the initial shock subsides; and when you begin to seek his touch, he is glad for that semblance of what you used to have.

but it isn't the same.

you flinch at the slightest movements; your face, once expressive and joyful, is rarely lax of the straight, icy stare you send mostly towards walls. he knows he must be patient; you've endured something he could not imagine - but he cannot help his unease.

you do not speak as you used to - lapse in memory, seemingly unfamiliar with jacaerys; as if you did not grow up together, running down halls, whispering secrets, notching each other’s heights in the frame of your chamber’s threshold.

he can't help when he begins to turn away from your lips, avoiding the mechanical feeling of your mouth upon his, the coldness of your eyes when you attempt to unlace his tunic.

he feels as though it is a different person that tries to kiss him each time. he grows incredibly lonely.

in time, he is suspicious of you. you're... different. during conversations, you forget important details, you cannot recall milestones or memories you used to cherish.

the way your palm fits oddly into his, the way you no longer brush his hair back when it falls into his eyes. you call him jacaerys, or your grace - that, indeed, is the first seed planted in the suspicion of his mind. always jacaerys, never jace - and when he asks you what you do with all the time you spend alone in your chambers, you lock up as if mute.

when performing certain duties around the queen, your eyes would slide to odd objects, or pay close attention to cupbearers and how the queen enjoys her wine.

and he begins tracking your walks when you think you're alone: he discovers you sending ravens with a cloak pulled low over your head, visiting odd alleys in town and disappearing into the lower bowels of peculiar shoppes.

jace goes to daemon, of all people - daemon, first. he knows his stepfather's reputation—ruthless, cunning, and fiercely protective; if anyone can help him discern the truth, it's him. "something is not right," he tells him, worried daemon would somehow turn it into something it's not.

even worse, though, is that daemon is quick to agree. and when jace tells his mother, she confesses her own concern.

"that isn't her," his voice warbled when he tells his mother - lip, trembling, tears tracking down his cheeks as she pulls him into her embrace, her own fear poorly concealed.

when it finally happens, it is a shock to his entire body.

a mere word; murmured, off-hand at a council you happened to be attending - of which you often no longer attended, your trauma and recovery from the kidnapping having sequestered you to your quarters most days.

"Usurper," he'd said.

and then your head had snapped up.

a change in your face - as if no longer human, you’d leapt, ripping out a dagger that had been concealed in your bodice.

and then you'd lunged at him; slicing like a hound rabid for a piece of meat.

he does not remember much besides his reaction: striking you across the cheek and disarming you- kicking hard, your body being thrown to the stone. four swords at your throat. daemon holding you down with a look of disbelief at your heaving frame.

you were relentless, ready to kill - but you are too small, and the rest too many.

a stinging pain, throbbing at his neck as he watches you in shock.

but that was not you - a statue, some sleeping beast that'd been awoken in your tortured brain at the trigger of such a word. it had nearly been worse than when you'd died.

brainwashed, maester gerardys tells them.

it is not until after you have been thrown into the cells below and a bandage sealed around jace's neck.

the blade was one of green and black hilt; intended, likely, for the queen herself - in hopes that she'd have been the first one to utter the word.

likely, maester gerardys says, you were led to believe you'd been abandoned by them, and subsequently tortured for all the time you'd been held at the red keep.

and of course, there was the threat of further maiming your dragon, perhaps, or other similar threats - and physical torture, if the scars on your body are anything to go by; this twists a raw agony in jace's gut and he has to shut his eyes to ward off the thought of you, in pain.

it is a miracle you did not lose your head for nearly slitting the throat of the crown prince; he contests while still lying abed with the open slice of red across his throat, relieved when his mother informs him you are still among the living. she is a merciful queen.

he does not weep until he is alone that night.

breaking the brainwashing is the hardest part.

nights, falling asleep in his brothers or his mother's quarters where your screams of anguish or anger could not be heard - days walking past your heavily guarded chamber to reach his own, swallowing thick as he imagines you on the other side.

isolation is key, he's been told, but it makes it so much worse.

it takes so long that jacaerys nearly forgets what your voice sounds like, how your eyes shine in the sun. he forgets how your smile, beautiful and uneven, makes his heart flip; the taste of your lips, the cadence of your voice.

he even finds himself praying to the seven for the first time since he was just a babe.

slowly, as you begin to heal, you are permitted to see others. he is not allowed, nor is his mother - daemon first, then baela and rhaena with their grandmother. servants and maids.

he begins to hear you again. walking past the chambers which lie near his own, he'd hear your voice, conversing quietly with maester gerardys. when he dozes off over a strategy tome at his desk, he is jolted awake by your gentle, haunting humming; a tune he used to love.

his mother tells him it is not healthy to keep it in.

but he cannot bring himself to speak of it.

shame, pain, anguish, embarrassment - heartbreak. he has grieved you twice over, seen you become a ghost. he has lost you and lost you again.

herbs, potions, guided discussions and meditations. solitary confinement, exposure to the word - all of this, and you begin to shed the skin of whatever person they had made you into.

he pretends that he does not endure nightmares of that day every time his eyes close - of the glint of your knife, the soulless stare of your eyes. the swelling bruise on your cheek - in the shape of his own fist.

there is a thin scar, a puckered pink line of fresh skin across the apple of his throat the next time he sees you.

it's an accident; he walks past just as a maid leaves your chambers, and he naturally glances over. your eyes meet him, hair wet and fresh from bathing; wide as a sweet doe, pain and regret laced through your gaze. "jace."

his throat is tight when he hears your voice - gentle, laced with remorse. jace, you'd called him. he hides the tears in his eyes when he continues briskly past your chambers. he thinks about you ceaselessly the rest of the day.

he's told you do not sleep. you eat only when it becomes impossible not to, you cannot make meaningful eye contact nor hold steady conversations without breaking down in guilt. it eats away at him.

but as you begin to show signs of improvement, jacaerys is finally allowed to visit.

they're brief, supervised; he brings paintings, books, and anything they believe could help stimulate your memory of life before your change. he tries to ignore the sting of pain when you barely meet his gaze, voice stuttering, hands shaking.

you’re still not you; flickering eyes, quiet voice. but soon, after moons of quiet conversation, stunted by the armored guards standing between you and observing your every move, it changes.

little by little, he sees glimpses of you again. you laugh like you used to. you recount stories of your shared youth - with a grin, you remember the day he'd fallen from an apple tree trying to pick you a fruit, and you'd had to snap his arm into correct place.

you brush flecks of dust and lint from his shoulder with shy looks, you share the books you’ve been reading; one day, you ask him to braid your hair - a task you'd taught him in youth. you fall asleep when he's halfway through.

and yes, there are bad days - days where your grief and guilt eat your stomach and you refuse to even look him in the eye; when you sob into your hands and curl yourself on the chaise longue and jace is stuck, heartbroken, watching you push him away.

you do not forgive yourself, you will not let him forgive you - but you soon let him hold you, and you soon begin to hold him back with a desperate grip.

it takes a while for jace to accept help.

but soon, he undergoes his own healing process; he knows he must reconcile the grief of losing you with the joy of having you back, albeit changed.

eventually, he speaks openly with you about the death of lucerys and about your own assumed death as well. you stroke his hair when he cries into your chest, you kiss his nose and cheeks to rid the tracks of tears.

during quieter moments, you find solace in each other's presence. you walk together in the gardens, hand in hand, your steps in sync as you talk about the future; you sit by the hearth in the evenings, your heads close as you share whispered conversations and stolen glances.

you broach the subject one stormy day, your beautiful hair loose and whipping around your head.

he watches your mind churn behind those eyes, the ones that have regained their expressive nature - the eyes he's loved since before he knew such a word.

"i would have killed you." it's a whisper into the wind. "and yet, you saved my life."

your voice is not grateful - to his horror, it is pained - as if you believe such repentance could only be achieved through greeting the stranger.

he shakes his head, "it was not you who did it." but you've heard it countless times, and you still find it hard to accept - guilt swims in your beautiful eyes.

"i love you." he whispers it.

tears drop from your eyes as you look at him. "why?"

eventually, the fog clears fully.

you remember the details of your manipulation, the torture, the indoctrinating, the conditioning. you confess it all to queen rhaenyra and the dragonstone court - voice shaking and body bent with shame, you apologize for your weakness. jace has to look away when you begin to cry, when you beg for forgiveness, for another chance.

it is given without hesitance.

one evening, you sit by the fire with him.

something upon him catches your eye; with a tentative reach, your fingers brush his chest. jace looks down, breath catching as he realizes what you've found; gently, you pull the necklace from his tunic - a ring upon it, untarnished. your smile is sad, sorrowful - "you kept it," you whisper.

he can only nod, eyes never leaving yours. "i never took it off."

it is that night you tell him about a dream you had; you were both young again, carefree and in love. his eyes glisten with unshed tears just as yours do, and he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "we'll get there," he promises, his voice unwavering. you both believe it.

you come back to him in ways he doesn't expect.

longing glances, eyes holding on his lips when he speaks to you - short teases that release your sharp tongue and quick wit. you are given some old duties back. kept to the castle, you mostly held draw efforts from within, but he can see the fire in your eyes return as the guilt subsides.

when the word usurper is accidentally used in conversation, eyes still flicker to you. there will remain wariness - conscious or not - for the rest of your days. but you prove yourself loyal and trustworthy, and you soon begin to forgive yourself.

nights you spend in jace's arms, fingers brushing against the scar you'd given him. tears are replaced with soft kisses upon lips, and eventually upon flushed, sweat-laced skin.

he is terrified each time you ride into battle - even when he and vermax are alongside you.

perhaps it is a weakness - to worry so, during a war; he cannot help it. but to his relief, you always come out unscathed, as does he - and you always slide off the wing of your dragon and pull him to you, murmuring into his neck, soothing over his back with your palm once you return.

you love him, and you tell him as much any chance you get. you begin to stop wincing when he tells you he loves you, too.

you still wake sometimes with a hoarse throat, but now you are soothed back to sleep when jace, bleary eyed and heart pounding, crawls into your bed alongside you. your cries turn into soft puffs of breath as he braids your hair until you fall asleep.

you still sometimes flinch when someone raises a hand, jace sometimes watches with wariness when he sees you wielding a knife.

but eventually the war ends.

you and jace marry.

a traditional, valyrian one; dragonglass sliced into lips, palms. a kiss that tastes of metal, of loyalty, of love. you whisper the words to each other, no echo of ghosts nor fear in your minds.

one flesh, one heart, one soul. now and forever.

you become prince and princess of dragonstone, first in line for the succession to the iron throne.

you show to be just rulers; fair and kind, strong willed and bright. ceaselessly, fiercely in love.

your firstborn son is named lucerys.

he has jace's eyes and your hair. you sing him the song jace remembers you humming those days after you came back to them - and when the queen visits to give her congratulations and to meet her grandbabe, the heir to the heir, she calls you daughter.

the scar upon his neck fades away, until you can scarcely trace it with your finger as he pulls you to him in the late hours of eve, wrapped in furs and the soft flicker of candlelight.

you do not hear the word usurper again.

requests open, or talk to me <3 taglist/mutuals; @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @softspiderling @dipperscavern

[venice-1987]

As much as I would enjoy a kiss at their reunion, I do think the dragon prince crew would do something softer when (not if <-clown emoji) Sorvus is made canon. I'm picturing Corvus and Ezran and Callum arriving at the castle like in the promo image, them checking up with Opeli and she reveals everything is fine.

But Corvus asks about Soren. "Where is he?" he asks, his mind already wandering to the possibility that Soren...hadn't made it out. He will himself to remain strong for his king, but his body fills with dread. Thankfully, Opeli points him to the river.

There, Soren sits on the banks. Corvus sits beside him, noticing the same pained look in his eyes that he had seen on the ramparts the day Soren asked him to become a crownguard. Now, that same pain encompassed how he sat, how he stared mournfully into the waters.

Corvus asks is he is alright, and Soren can't even answer, holding back what emotion he can to maintain his cheerful attitude. He is failing miserably. Something more terrible than the Storm Spire must have happened. Something worse than Katolis burning down.

Corvus lays his hand over Soren's on the rock. Soren looks from it to Corvus, then shifts so that he can hold Corvus's hand back.

Like Janai and Amaya, its a confirmation.

and, of course, at the end of arc 2 or start of arc 3 (affirm affrim, manifest manifest, like to charge reblog to cast) then we get a kiss, teehee

[violettduchess]

A/N: I literally posted today that I don't have a lot of time but I did manage to finish this!

Matthias x Reader, kiss fic

WC: 500

He’s standing on the balcony, his palms resting flat against the mottled gray stone which you know from your time in Achroite must be cold to the touch. Out here, on the easternmost side of the castle, the night winds blow a little wilder as they dance in the dark along the ramparts and climb the imposing towers. They play and shriek and whistle, carrying the frigid echoes of the snow-capped mountains they have previously caressed. Matthias’s placid gaze is turned towards those mountains, but there is something paradoxically soft in the lines of his handsome face, something that counters the starkness of the jagged stone and cliffs. He looks at them and at the star-filled sky and he feels peace.

He is at home.

You break the silence by saying his name and he turns towards the sound. 

Light illuminates the gray clouds of his eyes, turning them silver, and he holds open his arms in silent invitation.

As if you would ever decline.

He pulls you against him, wrapping one arm around your waist. He is warmth in the cool night. He is your beacon in the shadows. You begin to snuggle into his embrace. His other hand catches your chin before you can tuck it away and holds you still as he leans down. Your heart never fails to flutter when he draws so close, a tiny snowstorm of emotion that shoots through your veins in whorls of yearning and love. You press yourself even closer, hungry for him and the heat of his kiss.

Matthias appreciates truth and so you play no games. You do not hide how much you want him. Your kisses are eager, your hands roam across soft fur, thick wool, enticing skin. All the fire in your veins, stoked by the swift beating of your enamored heart, is palpable. 

He can’t help but give in. 

To the outside world he is as solid and immovable as his beloved mountains. A paragon of conviction and strength. But in your arms, he crumbles. He melts. He yields to the unwavering heat of your desire, bends to the will of your lips and tongue. Your hand slides up into the soft, pale mass of his hair, thrilling in the way it slides between your fingers like spun sunlight. You tighten your grip.

He does not growl or groan. The sound that rumbles through his chest is closer to the tremulant purr of a large feline, a satisfied roll of thunder that you can feel in the press of his hips against yours, the possessive grasp of his hand on the indentation of your waist.

The Lawman, the Defender of Justice, is a step away from falling off the cliff of reason. Logic and rational thought dissipate like morning fog in the face of your molten need for one another.

Matthias suddenly lifts you into his arms as if you are light as a snowy owl’s feather.

The sky and its multitude of stars, the dark mountains and their icy summits, are left behind.

His world has narrowed down to one singular, pulsing, fundamental need:

You.

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia

@wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary

@namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family

@kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun

@bubblexly

[nahoney22]

And for my second request with a f reader… this is quite confrontational but I can’t help but be sucked into the rugged rampart simp brigade! 😶

Perhaps reader has to escort Rampart somewhere but distractions are needed so can I please have the classic ‘kissing to escape enemies’ trope? OF COURSE THIS IS A WILD BUT PLS I LOVE U 😆 delete if not appropriate! Thanks!

-JJ ✌🏻

Tell No-One 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Grand Admiral Rampart X Female Reader

word count: 1.2k

prompts:

none

Tasked to infiltrate a base to gather information, yourself and Rampart find yourselves in a rather precarious and close circumstances.

warnings: Safe for Work, Kissing to Escape Enemies Trope, Heated Kiss, Awkward Moments, Bickering, Unsure Feelings.

authors note: oh I love a wild request and bearded Rampart makes me purrr. Enjoy.

It was safe to say that the boys were a little apprehensive when it came to you and Rampart going to a remote base by yourselves. But, they trusted you and knew you were capable enough. As well as knowing that Rampart was pretty useless, weak and pathetic to do anything if he tried to attack you.

He had been dragged around by you and the Batch for a while now since he was valuable for Echo and Rex to gather Imperial information, and the lads weren’t discreet when it came to mocking him and his silly screaming from Tantis. You also couldn’t help but join in on the teasing.

The base where the two of you were headed was located by a bustling market in the heart of a city. There was a cacophony of noise and movement with Vendors shouting about their wares, and citizens hurried about their business, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding between you and the insufferable Admiral. The plan was simple: get him to lead you to the hidden Imperial base. The execution, however, was proving far more complicated.

“You’re sure this is the right way?” Rampart sneered, his voice dripping with skepticism.

“Seeing as these were the coordinates you gave, I hope so,” you snarl back. “Just keep moving,” you hiss, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Imperial patrols. “We can’t afford to draw attention.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who seems to enjoy playing hero,” he retorted, his tone as sharp as a vibroblade.

Before you could respond, you noticed a squad of stormtroopers—the ‘replacements’ of Clones—pushing through the crowd, clearly searching for something or someone. Your heart pounded in your chest, and without thinking, you grabbed Rampart’s arm and pulled him into a narrow alleyway.

“What are you—” Rampart began, but you cut him off.

“If you want to live, just shut up and follow my lead,” you snapped.

But Rampart didn’t shush his whining. “Get your filthy hands off—”

As the stormtroopers drew closer, you took a deep breath and made a split-second decision. You grabbed Rampart by the collar of his new civvies (since his prison attire was rather eye-catching) and pulled him close, your lips crashing against his. His initial shock was obvious, his body tensing against yours as you cut him off from his incessant whining.

For a moment, you thought he might push you away, but then he responded, his lips moving against yours with surprising intensity.

You were confused, your eyes widening during the kiss, but you didn’t pull back as your heart fluttered wildly. Then, you gasped against his lips as you felt his hand slide up to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss that had your eyes fluttering shut.

Everything seemed to blur, the noise of the market fading into the background as well as the plan in action. And despite your initial dismay, you found yourself lost in the sensation.

His lips were surprisingly warm and firm, with a soft, insistent pressure that made your head spin. You were keenly aware of every little detail: the scratch of his beard against your skin, the faint taste of spice on his lips, the way his breath mingled with yours. Your hands moved from his collar up to his shoulders, noticing they were quite toned.

You couldn't help but lose yourself further when his free hand pressed against the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His kiss was commanding, almost desperate, and you couldn't help but respond in kind. You tilted your head, letting his lips slot perfectly between yours. A small, involuntary sound escaped your throat as he pressed you against the wall, the rough surface scraping your back, a shiver running down your spine.

You moved your hand to his cheek, fingers tracing across his scratchy beard that you couldn’t help but admit suited him quite well. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and the heat of his body against yours was almost overwhelming. You felt the strength in his arms, the rough callouses of his fingers, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it pounded against your chest.

The intensity of the moment, the unexpected passion, left you breathless and dizzy.

Finally, you broke away, gasping for air, and stared into his eyes, both of you breathing heavily. The stormtroopers passed by without a second glance, but the tension between you was almost unbearable.

“That was... effective,” Rampart said, his voice awkward and unsteady. His usual arrogance was tempered by a hint of something else—something vulnerable.

“Just a distraction,” you said quickly, trying to steady your racing heart. “Nothing more.”

Rampart’s gaze lingered on your lips for a moment, and you noticed, looking back at his and meeting his gaze. “Just a distraction…” he repeated quietly, and you swore you almost swooned as he cupped your jaw and leaned in. “Nothing more…” Stars, it was like he was drunk.

Your gut wanted to have another kiss; another foolish and irresponsible kiss. Yet your brain was screaming at you to be sensible and do the right thing. And fortunately, your brain won.

“Stop.” You moved your head back, his hand dropping from your face, and he read your expression before he nodded.

“Of course,” he said, his tone regaining some of its usual sharpness. “Let’s keep moving.”

As you navigated through the market, the atmosphere between you remained charged with unspoken tension. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss—the way his lips had felt against yours, the heat of his body pressed close to yours. It felt as though you had committed seventeen war crimes and a thousand sins all at the same time.

You found a small, abandoned building on the outskirts of the market to take refuge in as the two of you took too long to infiltrate the base and decide to get started at first light.The silence however, was thick and awkward as you set up a makeshift camp. But it’s Rampart who broke the silence.

“Why did you kiss me?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost unsure.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling before running a hand through your hair. “It was the only thing I could think of to blend in and avoid getting caught. That’s it.”

Rampart was silent for a moment, then he spoke again. “Edmon,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. “My name is Edmon.”

You frowned and looked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. “Edmon,” you repeated softly. “Alright. I’d tell you mine but you already know it.” You reply, a small smile on your lips.

It’s weird to see him smile but just like his beard, he suited it.

“And,” he continued, his gaze now fixed on the ground, “let’s agree not to mention the kiss again. It was... a moment of desperation.”

You nodded. “Agreed.”

As you settled down for the night, the memory of the kiss lingered in your mind. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny that there was some kind of connection, however fleeting. You just couldn’t let the others know. Ever.

Sighing softly, you roll onto your side as you close your eyes, knowing that the mission just got a whole lot complicated. And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one who felt it.

Masterlist:

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka

@theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone

@ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog

@pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87

@ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot

[green-alm0nd]

[Hunter x gn!reader]: Aftermath

----

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Summary:

You woke up remembering war, just for Hunter to remind you that your war was over.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR TBB S3 FINALE, cuddling, comfort, established relationship, one swear word (kriff), kissing, fluff, sensory overload (Hunter), intrusive thoughts. Short and sweet. Not proofread.

Enjoy!

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The sunrise rays rested on your skin, giving you a warm welcome to the universe and say goodbye to the dream world. You didn't remember falling asleep, the only thing you remembered was when you arrived at Pabu after Tantiss was destroyed. That's it.

Upon opening your eyes, the sun rose from the shoreline, and a small breeze lightly moved the curtains.

You stirred, and immediately stopped when you reminded yourself of the man sleeping besides you. Hunter, your significant other. You slowly removed yourself from his arms (one below your body, and the other one resting on your waist), and sat down on the bed. Hunter had been so emotionally and physically drained that his senses didn't work for the rest of the trip back to Pabu, besides going into a state of sensory overload that he managed to reduce slightly.

After a deep breath, you finally got up and changed to casual clothes.

...

The smell of caf filled your nostrils, as you exited the small apartment to stare at the sun rising above the shoreline. You sat down on a chair, sighing and finally relaxed.

The moment you slumped your shoulders, you were reminded of everything you and the rest of the Batch had gone through. You gripped your mug, and narrowed you eyes at the memory of Tantiss being destroyed.

However, the Empire was smart. The Empire had resources. If Rampart was actually a traitor, he could've still sent Nala Se's data to Maker knows who, which meant the Empire would have resources to build another, better, and improved facility to keep people with positive M-count trapped in there. Which also meant Omega would be in danger again, and the Emperor would have more power than he ever had and-

"If you keep gripping the caf mug like that, it's going to crumble into pieces." Hunter said, behind you. He slowly got closer, placing an arm around your shoulder. He must've sensed your feelings. Your hand relaxed, and so did your shoulders.

"Sorry. Good morning." You greeted, as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Morning."

"How are your senses doing?" You asked.

"Better." He responded, with a small shrug.

He let go, and leaned on the fence, looking at you.

"Why the long face?" He asked.

You sighed, sipping from your caf.

"Just thinking."

You paused for a moment.

"Is this really over? Will we...have to run away again?" You wondered out loud, as Hunter's hazel eyes softened slightly. "I don't think we'll have to run away again" He remarked.

He took a sip from his own mug of caf, listening to your worries.

"What if Rampart is actually a traitor? He could've sent the intel to kriff knows who! Omega will be in danger again and they could probably build another Tantiss! And-"

You were cut off by the gentleness of his hand on your chin and his lips on yours. The light taste of caf on his lips made you relax and melt. After he pulled away, he stared into your eyes.

"Nothing is going to happen. We're all safe here, including Omega. They won't find us, Pabu is a remote isle in a remote planet. We will be almost dead by the time the Empire finds us." He stated. "I already told Omega that we can be whoever we want, and it also counts as both of us." He added, with a small smile.

You hugged him, almost making the clone drop his caf. But he still hugged back.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

As the hug continued, he saw an opportunity like no other. He steadily took your wristband, one that Omega had made for you, and kept it in his hand. He didn't like sadness. War was over, he wanted to give his significant other some time to calm down. And why not have a calm moment at the beach?

He quickly lifted up the wristband and smirked.

"You lost something."

Your eyes widened.

"Hey! Give it back!" You said, getting closer.

He snorted.

"Come get it yourself!" He answered, and immediately started sprinting towards the beach. Of course, you ran behind him, yelling at Hunter for stealing it. After reaching the beach he was out of breath, but happy to see you with a smile as you caught up to him.

"You see, I can give it to you now..." He started.

"Or we could have a nice bath in the water." He finished, with a cocky smirk.

You blushed profusely for no apparent reason.

"HUNTER-"

----

I am not proud of this at all, but I wanted to do something for the finale so...yeah.

Requests are still open! Liking and sharing is very appreciated!

[shiinata-library]

Imagine: They see you’re drunk

Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo's reactions when they see you very drunk for the first time

[ 📚 Main Imagines Masterlist 📚 ]

Warrings: Kind of NSFW

Kíli

At the end of summer, the evenings are warm and long in Dale. And what’s better than a drink in a tavern to enjoy it even more? 

Kíli and Fíli were waiting for you after a meeting with the king Bard with some other friends of theirs. Since you’re living in Dale and Kíli in Erebor, the opportunities to see your boyfriend are rare, so you join them as soon as you finish your job. The evenings in a tavern are often the same but tonight, you don’t know why, you want to drink. Maybe because you’re too enthusiastic by Kíli’s presence. 

You suggest a game: spin the bottle. Everyone is joining you. The game lasts for a long time. You don’t even know how many drinks you had. Kíli and Fíli cheer you up at each drink, enjoying seeing you get more and more drunk for the first time. Kíli doesn’t say it but he is quite surprised. He would never have imagined you could drink that much. You never said no to a drink, but here, it’s totally different. 

The more you drink, the more you flirt with Kíli. Whispering to his ear. Winking at him. Sticking your tongue out. Touching his arms, his hands. Playing with his fingers... He doesn’t say anything about it, enjoying everything you do to him. His cheeks are not red only because of ale!

At a point, you take advantage that neither you nor Kíli is the target of the bottle to whisper in her ear, your hand resting on her thigh. At the same time, a dwarrowdam speaks with her friend next to her, “If I was a prince, I won’t court a woman of Men. She’s nice, but I don’t know what he is doing with her.” She thought nobody could hear her, but actually, everyone in the group hears her.

Kíli doesn’t have time to say anything. Everyone jumps when you stand up suddenly and stagger a little. “What is he doing with me?” you exclaim, looking at her. “Oh, that's easy and I can show you!” Then, you lean toward Kíli, grab his collar and kiss him deeply. With all you did to him earlier, he is already melting on your lips. At this point, you could do anything you want of him. He knows that culturally dwarves don’t show this kind of affection, but here, he welcomes Men’s culture with open arms! When you end the kiss, leaving him as breathless as you, he beams, admiring you totally in love.

“Jealous?” you provoke the dwarrowdam, licking your smiling lips. “Of course!” she pout while the others are already laughing. “So get a room, I don’t want to see that in front of me!” she resumes, avoiding you both.

“She’s right!” Kíli exclaims as he stands up suddenly. You don’t have time to say anything. He takes your hand and pulls on it as he runs out of the tavern. It’s totally dark now, but you follow him without asking. You don’t know where he is going to take you, but you’re sure to love it!

Fíli

It's been a long time since Fíli saw you. He's busy with his prince's duties while you help Erebor’s people in any way you can. Yet, Fíli has free time this evening and he was looking for you. It's thanks to the help of Bofur, whom he met along the way, that he knew where to find you.

He finds you sitting on a stone bench on Erebor’s ramparts, a glass in hand, looking at Ravenhill far in front of you. It’s quiet for a spring night, and as you’re lost in your thoughts, you don’t hear him approaching. “Did someone stand you up?” he asks in an amused tone as he joins you, taking his time with his limping leg. Once you leave him room on the bench, he sits next to you. “No, I needed fresh air,” you sigh, still focused in the same direction. You finish your glass down in one, then serve you another one. 

“You shouldn’t stay here. It’s cold for a spring evening,” he warns you. “Oh, I have survived worse,” you shrug, remembering the nights at the Misty Mountains. Fíli has noticed how cold you are with him without knowing why, but since you don’t seem to be upset by his presence, he tries to cheer you up. “Can I try it?” he asks, showing the bottle. “Yeah. I didn’t expect company so I don’t have another glass, but you can try straight from the bottle. But it’s quite strong,” you warn him as you hand him the bottle. He chuckles and tastes it. Then he coughs several times. “Oh, hm, I see why you’re not cold!”

On any other night, you would have laughed, but not tonight. You were not in the mood before Fíli came, but now he is here, it’s worse. Without a word, he removes his princely jacket and puts it on your shoulders. You murmur a thanks before finishing your drink. “I’m sorry,” you eventually say in a quiet voice as you put your glass on the bench. You discreetly rub your stinging eyes. “Sorry? For what? Wait, you’re crying!” Fíli almost falls off the bench in surprise. Even though you try to hide yourself, he notices how red your eyes are. He easily understands you were already crying before he joined you.

When you realise it’s impossible to hide it any longer, you explode. All the tears you kept until now are running on your cheek. You’re barely able to breathe, so it's unthinkable that I could answer him. Fíli hugs you almost immediately. “What happened? Someone hurt you? Tell me their name!” he continues a short time with questions, then he just lets you cry, keeping you in his arms. 

“No one hurt me,” you murmur hid against his chest when you don’t have any tears. You remain quiet for a moment, enjoying the way his presence calms you until the guilt starts to eat away at you again. As you move away from him, you try to take the bottle, but Fíli is faster than you. “No alcohol for you anymore,” he says in a serious tone. 

He never saw you like that. You obviously already drank with him and the others, but you never ended in this way. It’s also the first time he sees you cry, and this part worries him the most. “So, why are you sorry?” he asks, leaving you the time you need to answer. You’re glad he is the most patient of the Durin’s heirs, because talking is not your strong point, especially now.

“I’m sorry I was so useless during the battle. More than useless. You lost your leg because of him. I don’t even really know how to apologise. You can’t barely walk because of me. You can’t run anymore. You'll never be able to fight again because of me! Seeing you lumping every day… I don’t even know why you are still talking to me.” He lets you talk as much as you need to. “You lost your leg, but you could have lost your life!”

When you finally look at him, you notice he was looking at you the whole time with kind eyes. You’re so angry at yourself, but he is so calm. “If I had to do it all over again, I'd do the same thing. Even if I would lose my life,” he says seriously. “Nonsense! You’re Erebor’s heir! Thorin needs you!” you exclaim as you grasp his shirt. “I need you…” you murmur as your head falls back against his chest and your tears come back to your eyes. “I had no choice. I couldn’t let them hurt you. I need you too,” he admits, a hand caressing the top of your head, hoping it could comfort you a little.

“If I had known you’d be so honest when you’re drunk, I’d have done it earlier!” he jokes after a while both motionless. You chuckle. “You should never have known,” you say, raising your head slowly. “I didn’t plan you would join me.” Fíli wipes the last remaining tears from your eyes with one hand. “Next time I want to know something, I know the way,” he smiles. “There will be no next time!” you say before he laughs. “Oh yes, there will certainly be a next time! But for now, let me walk you back to your home. Don’t make that face. I can still walk better than a drunk woman!” You both stand up laughing. You take the bottle and the glass with you, just in case one of you wants to drink it on the way, or at your home.

Bilbo 

Eyes are hard to open when you have slept very well… Hm, where are you? This is not a room that you know, and this is even less a bed that you know. Yet, this is very comfortable. You look around and see an elven wardrobe, elven curtains, an elven chair...

Oh yes, Rivendell! You arrived yesterday with Bilbo and Gandalf in the middle of the afternoon. What do you remember again?

You were glad to arrive at Rivendell after all you’ve walked since you’ve left Erebor. It’s true you’ve taken some breaks, but Rivendell is special. Beautiful, relaxing, and safe. Absolutely safe. As soon as you entered, Lord Elrond came to welcome the three of you. He let you rest, asking someone to show your guest’s bedroom. One for each of you. Yours is beautiful and so clean!

In the evening, Elrond invited the three of you to join him for dinner. His two sons and his daughter were also joining you, glad to meet Gandalf again. The dinner lasted several hours. No one could stop Gandalf but mostly Bilbo to tell our adventures to Erebor. As you were too shy to speak, you mainly ate and drank what they served you. This night you understand how Elrond estimated Gandalf when you saw the meal. Your glass was always full thanks to an elf waitress. Yet, you realised too late that it was not juice but a sort of wine. Oh, a delicious wine. You were laughing at every Bilbo’s anecdote, remembering some funny things.

When the dinner ended, everyone stood up and walked out. The moment you noticed your legs didn’t want to move as you wanted, you felt stupid. Oh, too much delicious wine… You tried to leave as naturally as possible until no one saw you. Lucky for you, no one notices you. Your feet led you to a quiet place in the garden. Fresh air. Oh, it felt good… You stumbled so much that you ended up on the ground. But you know what, the ground felt good too. And safer! Next to you, a river flowed slowly enough for you to rest your feet into it. Oh, that felt good too…

The night was so pleasant that you let your back on the ground, admiring the starry sky. You would certainly have fallen asleep if Bilbo hadn't come to join you. The two of you chatted for a while before Bilbo suggested that the two of you head back inside, feeling the air freshen as your feet were in the water. “Don’t worry. With all I have drunk, I don’t feel the cold at all!” you laughed. “That’s why we should go back inside,” Bilbo sighed, shaking his head from right to left. “Be careful when you–”

He didn’t have the time to finish his sentence that you both were in the river. Your legs were still not totally functional, so you quickly lost your balance, taking Bilbo with you. It was not deep but you were soaked. Your laugh echoed in the quiet place while Bilbo looked at you, no sign of amusement on his face. “Come on, it’s fun!” you tried, as you got out of the water. “Absolutely not! It’s dangerous” he scolded you, wringing his shirt. “We’re in Rivendell. We’re safe!” you resumed.

Bilbo sighed until he saw you remove your jacket, leaving you in your white, transparent shirt. As it would be proper to look at what was under your shirt any longer, he tried to take his mind off things. “We-we should go back to our room,” he said as he turned his back to you. “Yeah, but I don’t remember where mine is,” you still laughed stupidly. “Maybe I can sleep here. It’s comfortable, but I may be cold though.” A long sigh kept Bilbo from cracking. He had never seen you so drunk, and if he had known you would test his patience so much, he would never have let you drink that much. “Follow me,” he grumbled as he took your hand. 

You followed him to what he explained was his room, since he didn’t know where yours was and it was too late to ask anyone. “It’s warmer here!” you exclaimed as you walked to the fireplace. Since your wet clothes prevented you from feeling the warmth of the flames, you started to remove them. Shirt, shoes, socks, trousers… “W-what are you doing?!” Bilbo cried out as he saw you in a bra and knickers once he put his jacket and yours on a chair. “I don’t want to catch a cold, so I try to get warmer,” you explained as you went to the wardrobe to find something. “Come on, you already saw me like that during the quest,” you resumed once you found something that looked like a nightdress. Then, you went behind a screen to remove the rest of your wet clothes and put on the nightdress. 

“But this is not the same. Absolutely not!” Bilbo said, more and more irritated as he remained turned to the door, not daring to look at you even just once. “Here, we’re here in the same room. It’s not proper. You shouldn't undress like that in front of anyone!” He stayed in the same place when he heard you getting out of the screen with a sigh. You were getting sober and hearing him angry at you sounded more and more fun. “But you’re not anyone… Listen, I don’t want to quarrel with you. If you want me to leave, just say so. But first, don’t stay wet like that.” 

Bilbo eventually turned toward you. He was not able to say anything at first when he saw how beautiful you were in that elven nightdress, but then as he looked at the fire, he found his words. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of myself,” he said as he walked to the wardrobe. After you left your wet clothes in the front of the fireplace, you did what he said.

Then you waited… for a long time without feeling him joining you. As he had put out all the candles, there was only the fireplace to see by, and that wasn't easy. Yet Bilbo was easy to make out, huddled in an armchair. “Join me. For once we have a comfortable bed…” No answer. “I promise to behave as a proper lady,” you tried. Still no answer….

You probably fell asleep next because that’s all you remember. Before you sit up to look at Bilbo’s armchair, you notice someone sleeping next to you. It seems that Bilbo eventually joined you. You knew he couldn’t resist such a comfortable bed! 

“Why are you still laughing?” you hear next to you. Bilbo turns to you, rubbing his eyes. “You’re cute in the morning,” you say, smiling. He truly is, with his messy hair and his tired eyes. “Are you still drunk?” he frowns. His seriousness makes you laugh even more. “No. Not anymore. Do you hate it that much when I’m drunk?” He doesn’t wait to answer, “Oh yes! You were too…” You finish for him, “too annoying? Too funny? Too undressed?” You love seeing all the faces he makes at your words. You never see enough… 

But a knock on the door makes both of you jump. “Bilbo? I’m sorry to bother you but I’m looking for Y/N,” Gandalf says behind the door. He doesn’t wait for an answer and opens it. “Oh! Oh. I shouldn't have been in such a hurry. I will wait for you in Elrond’s library when you have finished.” Then, Gandalf closes the door, leaving Bilbo with the reddest face you ever see while you're laughing so hard you can hardly breathe.

Thorin

Sometimes after a long week, Thorin, King under the mountain, goes to the first tavern that opened since the rebuilding of Erebor. There is always someone he can join to relax with a drink. Tonight, it's you, sitting at a table with colleagues, an empty glasses in hand and a large smile on your lips. He easily guesses you're not at your first drink when he sees your pink cheeks. 

“Thorin!” you yell as soon as you see him. The smile on your face disappears when the whole tavern becomes quiet. “I mean, your Majesty! Join us!” you say, waving at him. He sits next to you with a tired smile after he ordered an ale. “Thorin is fine,” he says as he nods to your colleagues. 

“Rough week?” you ask him. “Yes, like every week,” he starts. “But I'm sure it is the same for everyone in Erebor.” You reply as a waiter serves Thorin, some colleagues, and you. ”You can't even imagine! We're exhausted! Rogni is a ball-breaker! Oops, I mean Lord Rogni is a ball-breaker. One long week to validate one line on the last treaty!” You're not the only person to sigh while Thorin is chucking. 

Sure he already saw you drink but never drunk like that. He never heard you speak like that. “Oh it makes you laugh! Good! Next time, you'll deal with him while I'll laugh at you!” Your grumbling makes him smile even more. “Lucky for me, Erebor has the best cider to comfort me!” Thorin raises an eyebrow, “Cider?” He looks at your colleagues while they avoid his eyes. “Dwarf-cider, your majesty,” a dwarrowdam explains with a smile. “It's too strong for her,” he sighs, understanding the situation now. “It's her fifth,” she chuckles. Oh, now he really understands. “I may deal with Lord Rogni next time,” he jokes. “Don't mind me when I'm just next to you,” you say, shrugging. “It's gold for my throat and I won't stop now.” 

The evening continues. Even after a meal, you're still quite drunk. Thorin realises how funny you can be when you drink too much, but also how tactile and familiar you can be. Telling some awkward quest's memories, hitting his back, tasting his drink, touching his forearms… Alright, maybe it's time for fresh air for Thorin, and you. 

Outside is fresher but it's never cold under the mountain. “I didn't want to leave but you were right. I needed fresh air,” you say before taking a deep breath. “They don't have any cider inside anyway,” Thorin jokes as he slides his hand on your back to help you to stand up straight. “That's ok. I wouldn't remember where I live if I drank one more drink…” you sigh as you look around. Your squinting makes Thorin laugh. You’re not the only one who drank too much. “Do you need help to find your home, my lady?” he asks, standing proudly beside you. You squint even more but this time you look at him, “My lady? Since when?” You burst out laughing. Without asking, Thorin starts walking, pushing you with him. He knows where you leave, and if neither of you decides to move forward, you'd be here for a while. 

“Water?” you ask as you enter your home, removing your jacket and putting it away on a chair. “No need. Thank you,” he replies, closing your front door behind him. He knows he shouldn’t enter your home at this hour, but he wants to be sure you’re fine. What a gentledwarf! Or maybe he is drunk enough to allow himself to see you a little longer, alone in your place…

Once you lit some candles and hydrated yourself – certainly not enough according to how much you drank, you walk back to him. “I thought dwarves never enter a lady’s home after a certain hour. And it seems I’m a lady from tonight,” you chuckle as you put a hand on his chest. You feel him jump a little, but he remains still, his eyes not leaving you a moment. “You don’t show the best example as a king, your majesty.” Since he hasn't rejected you yet, your other hand goes upper. Oh, his beard is smoother than you expected. Are you dreaming, or is he tilting his cheek against your hand?

If you're too drunk to hold back any longer, then Thorin is just as drunk to stop you. As soon as your lips touch his, he slides a hand behind your head to deepen the kiss. And what a kiss! You can’t help but melt against him. If he hadn't held your hip, your kneels would have given out. Even breathless, you both keep kissing until you start to explore under his shirt. “Wait,” he gasps, pushing you suddenly. “No,” you only say before kissing him again. “I said ‘wait’,” he grunts, pushing your shoulders to see you in the eyes. Your reaction is immediate: you squint, pout, and cross your arms on your chest. “Why? I can feel you want it as much as me!” you exclaim while Thorin starts to laugh. “You’re drunk,” he explains bluntly. “And so are you,” you grumble. “Yes, I am, but not as much as you. I’ll remember it tomorrow. I'm not sure I can say the same for you,” he says as he caresses your cheek slowly. “Oh, what a gentledwarf!” you sigh exaggeratedly. “I must show the right example,” he smirks. 

“Are you sure?” you ask a last time, still pouting. It takes a lot for Thorin to nod, but it's better than taking the risk of further consequences the next day. “You’re too reasonable,” you eventually laugh. “Leave now or I won’t let you go if I kiss you again.” Thorin burst out laughing before kissing your forehead. “Don’t tempt me too much.” “I tried,” you laugh as you open your front door. Thorin leaves now but he is sure to come back tomorrow as soon as he can, hoping you’ll remember what you did the night before.

[george-weasleys-girl]

Amoree

Can i request a fic/drabble or whatever u wanna do with this:

f!reader x Fred Weasley (they're dating)

The twins have left school and when Harry, Ron and Hermione go to the WWW, the reader goes with the trio

As Fred and she are away for a while, the situation gets a little "strange" at first (I got this idea from Amy and Peralta) Fred doesnt know much what to do, thinking if she missed him as he felt her. Everything is solved and she's leaving with the trio but is fluff more fluff

if you need a prompt "Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back." pleaseee♥️i love you and you're amazing (I'm sleepy and wrote too much so maybe have wrong words sorry)

Thank you so much, lovely🥰

I'm not familiar with the reference, so I hope this turns out as you were envisioning it.

Hello Again

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Warnings: one curse word

Fred paced back and forth, pausing every few minutes to stare out the window. Almost three months had passed since he had last seen Y/N. She stood on the ramparts of the castle, blowing him a kiss as he and George flew off into the night. After that, they'd exchanged a few letters here and there, but he'd been busy getting the shop up and running, and Y/N was wrapped up studying for her N.E.W.T.S.

So, it made sense that their correspondences were sporadic and brief. At least, that's what Fred kept telling himself. But, the truth was, deep down, he worried that time and distance were pulling her away from him.

~•~

Harry, Ron, and Hermione bounced through the door with Y/N following behind, a nervous smile plastered onto her face. At first, she'd been so excited to see Fred again. It felt like ages since she'd heard his voice or melted into one of his all-encompassing hugs. However, the closer it got to their visit, the more apprehensive she grew. The letters between them in the past months had seemed so formal and distant. She knew he was busy with the shop and everything, but her paranoid mind couldn't help wondering if he was falling out of love with her.

~•~

"So, umm... this is the apartment," Fred waved around the room. After an awkward, uncertain hug, he'd given Y/N the "grand tour," and now they stood in the living room of his and George's flat.

"It's nice, very comfy," Y/N took in the room that held an old, ratty sofa that looked like one from the Burrow and a couple of rickety chairs.

"We've got better furniture on order," he commented.

Y/N nodded, turning back Fred. "It really is nice."

"Yeah, yeah," Fred stammered. "Would you, um, like to sit down?"

"Ok," Y/N replied.

"Anything to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm good."

Fred nodded and sat beside her. "So, yeah... " His words trailed off and he turned his gaze away from her. "Are we, you know...?"

"I - I don't know," she looked up at him. "Are we?"

"I hope so," he said, meeting her gaze. "But your letters were really short and kinda... I don't know..." He shrugged, unable to find the right words.

"I knew you were busy, and I didn't want to bother you with big, long letters."

Fred blinked in surprise. "You wouldn't have bothered me, love! I thought you were rethinking our relationship."

"I thought the same about you," Y/N countered. "Your letters didn't exactly instill a lot of confidence either."

"I knew you were studying for your N.E.W.T.S and I... " Fred stopped, realization dawning. "We're really fucking stupid."

Y/N snorted. "Yeah. We really are."

"I'm glad we're not breaking up," Fred said.

"Me too."

"So, umm, I was wondering," Fred began with a grin. "Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back."

Y/N giggled. "You can have all the kisses, my love."

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @fredweasleyyyyy @hufflepuffie @alexistonks @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @smallsweetvanillabean @costheticbabe @charmedfandomgal @hanne-montana @rhunew @greenapplegrass @lizzytrees @spididerman @Havenater1920 @jelloangela @whotfskai @netflix-addict @lunacurlclaw

[stars-n-spice]

TBB x Sonic FanDub (Pt. 1?)

So how about that Sonic 3 trailer, huh?

Anywho, some Bad Batch (& Co.) as Sonic Fandub quotes that I quote religiously.

Hunter: Well, I'm not a gamer so maybe that means they'll respect me.

Phee: ...

Phee: That just makes you a beta cuck.

Tech: I need to update my audio equipment.

Tech: *cocks gun*

Tech: I have updated my audio equipment.

Hemlock: How many times are you going to run??? I've captured you 17 different times!!

Omega: ...

Omega: I feel like it's going to be at least 18.

Rampart: You have 13 seconds before you both fucking explode you HOT TOPIC wannabe and you BLUE GUMBALL son of a bitch!

Crosshair: 🙄

Tay: 🤨

Rampart: You've done nothing but destroy my life I hope you both die!

Cross and Tay: 😏

Emerie: So...this is the fabled "Tilted Towers..."

Echo: Oh my god. You can tell you're white.

Wrecker: I can't believe your tits are one polygon!

Khea: ...

Tech (has been away from Phee for less than 10 minutes): I miss my wife, vod. I miss her a lot.

Crosshair: ...

CX-2: In your future it looks like you'll kiss seven girls...How lucky for you...

Crosshair: Jokes on you...If you were a true copy of me you'd know I'm gay!

Echo: Can you guys not have relationship issues while I'm on the phone with Rex?

[assortedseaglass]

We Have This Hope - I

Osferth x Lady-In-Waiting OFC

[Masterlist]

Summary: Aefry heard much talk about young monk who joined Uhtred's ranks. When he rescues her lady, the King's own daughter, and appears at her door, Aefry finds her interest far from quelled. Instead, it is piqued tenfold.

Story Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Mentions of Violence, Strong Language

A/N: This is the first part of a mini-series based on Steadfast & Forever. This series will expand, and go beyond, that short story, especially in later chapters. As with S&F, we’re staying in Winchester for ease.

“Is it them? Or have the brutes found us?”

“No, ‘tis the King!”

“-and is our lady with them?”

“What about Edward?”

“There was a fight-”

“-their number is smaller than when they left Wintancaester-”

“Stop this incessant chatter at once.” At the Queen’s words, all three young women stilled. They looked at each other, apprehension written across each face. Through the damp night air horses’ hooves thundered like the drumming of their hearts, and the torches of the castle walls clapping in the wind. Under the flickering of their flames, the castle household held their breath. Knights, ealdormen and abbots waited, eyes flickering between the approaching party and the four women looking over the ramparts; Queen Aelswith, her hands twisting with worry, and her daughter’s three ladies-in-waiting. With one swift movement, the Queen gripped the hand of the lady beside her.

“It is her. It is Aethelflaed.” Before any could celebrate, she turned to the gathered women. “Check the fires in her chambers are still lit, and have a bath drawn. Aefry?” She added as the women turned to leave.

“Yes, my lady?”

“For however long she needs you, stay a little longer. Do not leave her side.” The lady bowed and hurried after her companions. Adburh and Saeflaed were already rounding the stone corridor towards Aethelflaed’s rooms, whispering lowly.

“He was there, did you see?”

“Which one, Saeflaed?”

“The Gael!”

“Good. You can leave the Dane for me!” The two women giggled as Aefry arrived at their side, their hurried steps falling into rhythm.

“Perhaps I will find myself captured, if they are my rescuers. Our poor Lady,” Saeflaed sighed. “Do you suppose they will bring her to us? Or have her seen by the physic first?”

“The physic, I suppose.” Aefry said as they reached the chamber doors and pushed in. “And her mother. The sooner she is here the better. She needs all the rest and solace we can offer her.” And at these words, each woman set about the room. Saeflaed hurried to the hearth, adding logs to the dwindling flames. Adburh began beating the linens and plumping the pillows. Aefry instructed a maidservant beyond the door to prepare water and herbs for a bath to be drawn. The kitchens were already heating the water, she was told.

By the time Aethelflaed was brought to her chambers, the barest tinge of pink was illuminating the dawn, such was the hour of her return. She was escorted by her mother who, alongside the three handmaidens, helped Aethelflaed undress. Her body was bruised, violent purple blooming beneath her white skin. In the hour they waited for their lady to return, many a messenger appeared at her chamber with news of her imprisonment. They tried to dishonour her. Kept her in a cage. She fought in the ensuing battle. No wonder her body bore marks of her trials. By the now roaring fire, a bath was steaming, its milky water fragrant with sage, thyme and petals from the meadow beyond the castle gates. With four pairs of gentle hands to steady her, Aethelflaed sank into the steaming water. At once, quiet tears cascaded down her ruddy cheeks. Aelswith kissed her forehead tenderly, nodded to her daughter’s ladies, and departed.

Saeflaed drew her elegant hands through Aethelflaed’s hair, softly washing away the grime of soil and blood. Adburh hummed a low tune as she rubbed oils into her lady’s legs and feet. Aefry, content to have her lady back, held her hand, her thumb soothing the skin as Aethelflaed cried.

“You are back,” she whispered. “You are safe, you are loved, you are home.” A small sob burst from Aethelflaed.

“Thank you,” she ran a finger over Aefry’s cheek. “Thank you all.”

She soaked until the water ran cold. The sun was nearing its horizon appearance when Saeflaed, Adburh and Aefry settle the princess into bed. Blackbirds were singing the melancholic call to the day, and Aefry gave thanks for the noise; her mistress’ eyes were wide with terror, nightmarish visions flashing in her memory. Silence would have been torture. Through the early dawn, her ladies-in-waiting hovered at her side, stroked her hair, and listened to her whimpered recounts of her imprisonment. Of the gentle Erik, his cruel brother Sigefrid, her escape with Uhtred and his men, and the fight for her freedom.

Æthelflæd and her ladies drifted into sleep terrorised by faceless men and their brutish abandon, and by the dawn’s true break day, only one remained sentinel over her mistress. Aefry. The youngest of Æthelflæd’s three handmaidens sat curled at the foot of her bed, her mother’s book of psalmsopen by her side.

He will command his angels concerning me, He will guard me in all my ways.

With a warm smile, Aefry looked at the sleeping women around her. At Saeflaed with her golden hair, her alabaster skin and, even in sleep, her kind smile. At Adburh, a frown holding down her brow, lips pouted as if arguing with someone. Her fire would never burn out. And her lady, Aethelflaed, sleeping in peace at last. Aefry had not been in the crown’s service long. Her father, a kind man and a knight, died on the battlefield when she was just a child. Motherless, she having perished not long after Aefry’s own birth, the small Saxon girl was sent to the convent, unbeknownst to her that the kind benefactor to which she owed her position was the King himself. Aefry’s father was a loyal man, first to Aethelred and then to Alfred. Who was he, a man of God, to cast out the child of a subject so loyal? And so it was, that when Aefry reached sixteen she was taken from her tutelage at the convent and brought before the King and Queen, newly seeking a companion for their daughter. She remembered it like it were yesterday, stood with the abbess at her shoulder in that grand hall. Two other girls were presented before the monarch also, a beauty with golden hair and a sour-faced girl who took Aefry’s hand in hers. Until Aethelflaed’s capture, they hadn’t left each other’s sides since.

The sun was high now. Almost noon. Soft fingers of sun streaked through the courtyard window into Aethelflaed’s room, and Aefry watched them stroke the stone and tapestries, noting that the dappled light against Æthelflæd’s face seemed to ease her, and she sent up another prayer of thanks. Between casting a watchful eye over the sleeping princess, Aefry’s attention drifted to the window where a mistle thrush sang its fluting midday song. Its speckled breast quivered as it lifted its joyful voice, and the lady felt her heart aglow. What a strange comfort, to know that despite the terror of these recent weeks, the world still continues to move with beauty at every turn.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Aefry’s head snapped in the direction of the door. The knocking was quiet, as though the hand behind it were tremulous, but in the hush of the castle, still following Æthelflæd’s return, she heard it. She glanced to her mistress, and to Adburh and Saeflaed beside her, but they did not stir.

KNOCK KNOCK

The sound was more tentative than before, and beneath the door Aefry saw the shadow of someone moving from foot to foot. With gentle feet she hurried to the oaken door and set it open a little. No-one. Perhaps the sleepless night had addled her mind. She wrapped her shawl tighter about her shoulders and stepped into the empty hall, only to find it was not empty at all.

A man took a shuffled step backwards and she drew the door close to her side, obstructing the stranger’s view of her mistress. A cursory glance told her that he was a holy man, though man was stretching the fact; he looked no older than she, perhaps even a year or so younger. She suspected he was tall, were it not for the stoop of his shoulders and the bow of his head. Even from where she stood, she could see the tendons of his jaw pulsing with tension against the shorn sides of his head. He fumbled with the threadbare sleeves of his woollen cowl, watching his hands with fixed scrutiny and jostling the cross at his chest. A monk.

The oblates and novices never strayed this far into the keep. She smiled at his bashfulness, still wary of opening her lady’s chamber door. “May I help you?” 

At being addressed, his head shot up and, at seeing the lady before him, he stood a little taller. “Isshealright?” The words were urgent, and once Aefry had recovered from the urgent blue of his eyes, she saw that they were wide and red-rimmed as though he had spent a great many hour crying. No, not crying. Awake.

“Pardon?” she stepped out into the hall. The monk coughed and looked at his feet, and she crouched so that he might look at her. Pride swelled in her chest at the rosy hue blossoming on his cheeks. She found herself gazing at him in the bright light the midday sun cast about the keep. All the holy men she knew were old, dirty, or pale from days at the altar. This man was regal, almost beautiful in his boyishness. She blanched. Who was this man, that that had this effect on her? A stranger lurking at the doorway of her mistress, with his kind eyes and gentle voice. Aefry was less scared that God knew her thoughts, and thanked Him that the Queen could not read minds. What thoughts lay behind her eyes at that very moment were not becoming of a lady’s maid.

“Lady Æthelflæd. Is she alright?” The monk said slowly, his eyebrows pinching in concern.

“Er, yes,” Aefry recovered herself. “But she is resting. I’ll tell her you wished her well -” Her eyebrows raised in question of his identity and, realising he had said nothing other than to enquire as to Æthelflæd’s health, he offered his name.

“Osferth.”

“Osferth..?”

“Just Osferth. She will know.”

Aefry nodded with a chuckle. “Well, Just Osferth, I will tell her you were here.” The monk relaxed at the nickname and exhaled with a small smile. The lady in turn beamed at him and they watched each other a moment. The events surrounding Æthelflæd’s capture and return had upended life in the King’s keep. A princess of Wessex imprisoned by northmen and rescued by a pagan. People forgot their stations, and whether on the frontline of the terrible affair or listening to whispered tales of it on the wind, returning to normalcy was proving difficult for the people of Wintancæster.

Through sleep-starved eyes Osferth admired Aefry as she stood before him. The remnants of braids creased her hair, and despite the hour of the day, she looked as though she had just woken. He supposed, being one of Æthelflæd’s ladies, she may have, or else not slept at all. The eyes hidden by the curtain of hair were dark with exhaustion but bright with kindness, and he found he didn’t care that his cheeks grew hotter under her gaze.

A maidservant turned into the corridor and Osferth jumped back. “Thank you, lady,” the nervous monk returned and, with a quick bow, he made his leave. Aefry watched him go, took the tray of bread and fruit from the maidservant and backed into her mistress’ chambers, the smile that tugged at the man’s lips ever-present in her mind.

“Who was it?” Æthelflæd’s voice was hoarse but in the stillness of her rooms, her lady-in-waiting still jumped. Æthelflæd stood in the centre of the chamber, barefoot and wrapped in blankets, pouring herself a tonic from the pitcher at her table. Adburh and Sæflæd slept soundly in the bed, and Æthelflæd approached her Aefry for the tray. Even after her ordeal, she was tender as she waited an answer.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” her companion said. “It was a monk, asking after you.” She thought of his kind face and smiled. “Have you been spending much time with the young oblates, my Lady?” The gentle teasing of her voice made Æthelflæd laugh and she continued. “This young monk seemed very taken with you. He called himself-”

“Osferth,”

“Aha! I’ve caught you! Do not fear, I shall not tell you dear husband,” Aefry said the words with sarcasm. “Or your darling mo-”

“He is my brother.”

Silence thrummed between the two women. Aefry’s words died in her throat. If she was to guess, he was a year or so older than Æthelflæd. She watched her. Aethelflaed’s eyes darted to her two other companions, still snoring softly, and whispered once more. “He is my brother.”

“I don’t underst-”

Æthelflæd took her by the hand and led her to a bench covered with furs. “The rumours are true. My father sired a bastard. Many, who knows. When the boy’s mother died, my father sent him to a monastery.” Is this what this King did with all unwanted, or else surplus children? “There, my father could keep a watchful, if distant, eye on him and pretend to the rest of us that he doesn’t exist.” The lady covered her mouth and urged her mistress to carry on. Adburh stirred on the bed and the two stilled. When she didn’t wake, Æthelflæd continued. “Osferth begged Lord Uhtred that he may join him, as a warrior-”

“What? A warrior?” Aefry whispered her shock, and Æthelflæd nodded.

“The only reason, so I’m told, that he let the monk join was to embarrass my father.”

A flash of memory whipped through Aefry’s mind. Walking to the kitchens to prepare food for herself, Æthelflæd, Adburh and Saeflaed, she had passed the throne room and heard the anguished voice of the Queen. Something about “the bastard and the Dane-lord or whatever he is or isn’t.” Even after Æthelflæd’s wedding to Æthelred, petulant little Æthelwold could be heard crowing throughout the town. “The bandy-legged bastard hasn’t even held his own cock, let alone a sword.”

“-and he was the one that killed Sigefrid.”

Her mistress’ last admission shocked her into the present.

“The monk?”

“Yes! Struck him through the back with his sword.”

“A warrior monk-”

“And a King’s bastard,” She grimaced at Æthelflæd’s use of the word but said nothing, her mind reckoning the image of a feared Dane-lord being slain by the timid monk she met at the door. “Aefry,” Aethelflaed gripped her hand. “You mustn’t tell. Not a soul.”

Aefry covered Aethelflaed’s hand with hers. “Do you know nothing of me, my Lady?” Aethelflaed smiled, though the gesture was small. “I would not dare betray you. Besides, I have no-one to tell.”  

Tags: @arcielee @babyblue711 @elizarbell @chilling-in-my-head @skikikikiikhhjuuh @fan-goddess @sylas-the-grim @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @targaryenrealnessdarling @doomwhathouwilt @gemini-mama @myfandomprompts @bcon24 @bookwyrmsblog

[swanmaids]

“Shepherds’ delight,” Maedhros remarked, watching the Sun set over the plains from Himring’s ramparts. 

Finally alone with Fingon, Maedhros had been mostly quiet after spending all day speaking with various allies – debating, strategizing, reassuring. This was the first thing he’d said for several minutes, talking over the pleasant quiet of the birdsong above them and the sentries below, and Fingon could not make sense of it. 

“Hmm?” 

“‘Red sky at night; shepherds' delight.’ It is a saying - one that Bór claims originates with his folk; many of them raise sheep. When the sky glows red at dusk, the following day will be fair.” 

“I see. So you’re longing for a shepherd’s life? I must say it’s a bit late in the day to be considering such a drastic change in fortunes, but I do concede that sheep are probably easier to wrangle than some of our relatives.” 

Maedhros elbowed him in the ribs. “And Maglor says I’m too literal,” he laughed. “But Fingon, don’t you see it? It seems to me that just as when the first Sun rose to greet your father’s coming into Middle Earth, this is another sign. We will have our victory – and our vengeance too.”

Fingon swallowed. His lover had never been one to put great stock in portents; and he thought it more likely that Maedhros was convinced in the success of his venture not because of the colour of the sky the night the Union had finalised their battle plans, but because he needed to be. The idea that they might fail was too terrible to be borne. 

But he was not unmoved by Maedhros’ speech – quite the opposite. Fingon burned too for vengeance against their shared enemy. If victory required putting faith in meteorological phenomena that he understood nothing of, then he would do it. 

“I think you are right, beloved – when the day comes, we will win it. I will return west swiftly, and make my people ready until then.” Then he smiled. “And once we have won, you can trade your sword for a shepherd’s crook. You can tend to all the sheep you want –”

Laughing, Maedhros shut him up with a kiss.

[caynesugar]

my personal durgetash hcs

(this’ll prolly be a part one, i’ve got a lot of these stored in the ol’ cayne-brain™️ (these are sfw!))

• i’m completely on board with the idea enver secretly craves attention that a parent would provide; what he’s desired for a very, very long while. he’s done what he thought best to cover his tracks, but once that shell gets cracked, it’s open for good. small gestures like durge cooking dinner w/o the help of servants are of particular interest to him; they make him melt.

• gods, enver needs an open ear. someone to hear him out. someone to listen to his tinkerer ramblings and bounce ideas off of. a lazy evening of small, but ever-important exchanges between him and durge as they count hours away in his office. it wouldn’t matter what he was working on, durge would give their own perspective if asked as a throwaway question. so menial but so huge.

• enver can be explosive at times; durge douses him. sometimes, when away from prying eyes, enver can allow his frustration to get the better of him- the cool, confident attitude he exudes is a coverup, that steam needs to escape sometimes. him beginning to crease his brow in lividity just as durge grabs hold of his rough, calloused hands like a lifeline. who knows what those hands could do. nothing to benefit enver. so they hold his hands until his tenseness recedes; his gritted teeth unclenching themselves. and all is well.

• that ornamental piano in enver’s office?? yeah?? yeah?? has anyone mentioned that before? i am. flakes of blood still linger on its keys. unclear finger/clawprints stamped in sanguine. perhaps durge had once known how to play, perhaps they simply wanted to fool around with such an elaborate instrument. enver daren’t clean the keys. it was a reminder to show that durge was sweet, once.

• dusk along the ramparts: a treasure for them both. i imagine it was the location of their first actually loving kiss. enver lazily flicking a haughty cigar in his hand, taking a drag as he breathes in the lights of his city. it stirred a rather sudden, impulsive sense of passion within him. this moment was too good to be celebrated alone, and just a foot away was durge, basking in enver’s secondhand and watching the sea. a pivot, a drop of the cigar, and a gentle cupping of his ally’s face. his nearest and dearest. his favorite. a rather chaste seal, but one that lasted seemingly until dawn. the feeling of it, anyway.

[wolveria]

On Frozen Wings - Ch 10

Pairing: Crosshair x Hunter

Rating: 18+ only, Explicit

He didn't mean to make things worse.

AO3

They shot him. They actually shot him.

Well, stunned him, but still. Hunter couldn’t believe it.

All right, he could believe it, but he was still pissed about it.

He woke in the secondary cargo hold, neck aching and body heavy with sedation. He rubbed his head as he sat up, wincing at the lights even though they were dimmed.

It was the scent that alerted him to Crosshair’s presence. He leaned on the wall opposite of where Hunter had been laid across a large crate, arms crossed as he gave an unblinking stare.

“What…” Hunter started, confused why Crosshair looked so… well, angry.

“Good question,” Crosshair growled, and yeah, he was mad. “What was that, Hunter?”

Sitting up the rest of the way, Hunter thought back and—the conversation with Rex. Crosshair. Rampart.

Hunter scowled and got to his feet, fists balled at his sides.

“That piece of shit. I’m going to kill him—”

Crosshair shoved him hard enough that he nearly lost his balance. Unusually aggressive for him, given that it was Hunter who normally got physical first.

“You could have ruined everything,” Crosshair snarled. “We could have lost our only chance to find Omega, and for what?”

Hunter’s nose crinkled into its own snarl.

“This isn’t about Omega.”

“That would be a first.”

Hunter took the low blow and shoved past it.

“This is about you,” Hunter persisted. “About what he did to you.”

Crosshair scoffed and looked away, arms folding over his chest, defensively. Protectively.

“Does it matter?”

“Are you serious?”

Crosshair met his eye, glare hard enough to sizzle nerves.

“It’s done,” he snapped. “And nothing can change that. We need Rampart to find Tantiss, and that’s all you should worry about.”

“I can worry about more than one thing.”

Crosshair unfolded his arms, paced a few steps, and then whirled back around on Hunter.

“Why is this so important to you?” A finger prodded against Hunter’s cuirass. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”

Hunter stepped right up to him, not backing down from the sharp eyes and bared teeth.

“Because he hurt you. And he’s going to pay for it.”

“So this is about revenge?” Crosshair sneered. “How is that going to help Omega?”

“This is about helping you.”

Hunter knew he’d said the wrong thing even before Crosshair’s eyes lit with fury, and he had the real urge to back away.

“This may come as a shock to you, Hunter, but I’ve managed to survive this long without you hovering over my shoulder.” Crosshair moved so close he was within kissing—or more accurately, biting—distance. “I don’t need your protection or your help.”

Hunter could pretend that didn’t hit like a blaster bolt to the chest. He’d never been very good at pretending, though, and a sliver of panic slipped through. It felt like they were moving backwards. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He just—he hadn’t been thinking. Once he knew what Rampart had done, he’d literally seen red. Everything after had been a scarlet-tinted haze, and it was probably for the best that Crosshair had stunned him. Otherwise, Rampart would be dead, and Hunter would have done irreparable damage to the trust that was already so fragile to begin with.

Not to mention Omega was counting on them, and Hunter had nearly destroyed their best shot at rescuing her. But… it was torture to know their only source of intel was a man who’d treated Crosshair worse than an animal. He’d used him like a plaything. A toy to be discarded. Hunter would not let that go unanswered, even if Crosshair would.

The look on Crosshair’s face leeched some of his fury away. He was angry, how could he not be, but there was a pleading there too. He really did want Hunter to just drop it. Forget it ever happened.

“Crosshair,” Hunter tried again, his voice softer this time. “You can’t just ignore this and hope it goes away. You have to deal with it at some point. Talk to someone. Anyone. It doesn’t have to be me, but, you can’t take on everything alone.”

Crosshair loomed over him, their chest plates nearly touching.

“You think I’m holding back?” he seethed, eyes hard and too bright, as if he might laugh. Or cry. “Omega was taken, and you haven’t said a word about it. You chased one side of the galaxy to the other looking for that kid. You deserted for her. Left—… left Kamino for her. Everything you did was for her, and now you want to pretend I take highest priority?”

Crosshair’s right hand shook by the end, and he grabbed it with his left, squeezing it in frustration, something more than simple physical pain in his expression.

Hunter sucked in a breath, confusion and a certain dreadful understanding blooming in his mind.

“Crosshair…”

He moved closer. Crosshair moved back.

“No.”

His brother’s voice was no longer steady. There was something in his eyes that scared Hunter worse than anything he’d felt in a long time. Worse than staring down the muzzle of a rifle or the jaws of an angry beast.

“You made your choice,” Crosshair forced out. “So did I. And neither of us chose each other.”

There was nothing Hunter could do but watch as Crosshair left him there, alone and drowning in regret.

The ship was quiet, but the silence wasn’t a peaceful one. It held a poised tension, ready to snap in two—or maybe that was just Hunter.

He stared across the galley, unseeing, as he sat on the floor with his back to a cabinet. His thoughts were muddled, still too distraught, though he was on his way to dulling them.

And still Crosshair’s expression wouldn’t let him go. The sharp pain and crushing disappointment, bright jealousy and lingering betrayals of the past. And here Hunter had thought he was the one being gnawed at from old, unanswered questions.

Did Crosshair truly think Hunter had left him behind because of Omega? That he was replaced?

If he believed that, he was wrong. Hunter had taken her because she was a child with no one to turn to. He never would have left Crosshair behind. He’d tried to protect him, block the regs from separating them, but he’d failed. Having to watch Crosshair leave that brig had been agony much worse than the rifle to his gut.

They had planned on going back for him after they escaped and got their gear. Hunter would have tracked him down and ripped through half of Tipoca City searching for him.

But Crosshair had found them. Cold smiles and uncaring orders. It was like looking at a stranger. As if all the years they’d been together, fought together, bled together, had meant nothing. His brothers were nothing to him. Hunter was nothing to him.

Hunter had shut down and made himself equally cold. It was the only way he could save the rest of his family and survive leaving a piece of himself behind.

Omega hadn’t replaced Crosshair, but she had been a way for Hunter to move forward. Otherwise, he would have kept searching for Crosshair, even if it killed him. It might have. Maybe it would have been him instead of Tech.

Maybe that would have been better. What good was he if he couldn’t protect his squad?

And here he’d failed again. Crosshair, Tech, Omega. Who else was going to pay for his failure in leadership? Wrecker? Echo? The damn hound?

The spicebrew burned as he chugged it down, eyes watering, but he let the acrid taste be his punishment. He knew he should have stopped drinking a while ago, but why stop at one regret. Really, when Hunter made mistakes, at least they were of impressive proportions.

Phee had come across him a while ago, sitting on the floor and leaning against the cabinet that held her stash of what tasted like very expensive hooch.

“Sorry,” he’d mumbled before she could threaten to kick them off her ship or fine him for the bottle he’d already drained. Instead, she’d given him a surprisingly soft look. Sympathetic. Too understanding.

“I’ll excuse the lapse of manners, and the pilfered spicebrew, if you restock my shelf once you sober up.” She tilted her chin toward the storage unit still occupied by the Imperial. “The extras are in there. Try not to accidentally stab the womp rat on my couch. Blood’s hard to get out.”

“Thanks, Phee,” he’d said, voice not entirely steady. She’d given him a shrug, but again, her expression had been more kind that he deserved.

“Sometimes you gotta let the hurt, hurt.”

And then she’d left him to lick his wounds, though Hunter didn’t soothe them so much as he chewed them open and let them bleed. Being alone like this was… bad. He knew that. He remembered how the last few months had been the loneliest of his life. Wrecker could only do so much, especially when Hunter clammed up and shut him out. He hadn’t wanted to, but it was an old habit, one Wrecker was too sweet to shake him out of.

No… Hunter had needed someone else for that. When they were cadets and Hunter’s enhanced senses had been too much, he would do the same thing. Disappear for a while, find a dark storage space to crawl into until things quieted down again. And he never wanted to talk about it after.

Crosshair had been the only one willing to take the snarls (and the possibility of biting) to pry him open.

Hunter supposed it was funny. Crosshair hated talking about this kind of stuff himself, but he could get Hunter to at least admit when he’s in pain. That’s really all he had to do for Crosshair to be satisfied, and when they were much younger, pull him into his bunk to curl around his side. And it had always filled Hunter with a sense of relief and… he didn’t know what else. He just knew as long as Crosshair was with him, he could handle anything.

What if he lost that? Along with everything else he’d gained since Crosshair returned?

Hunter’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to experience that a second time, life without his brother at his side. Maybe Hunter relied on him too much, maybe that made him a bad leader. He wasn’t sure he cared. He’d lost too much already, and Crosshair leaving would be the blow he couldn’t survive.

Especially right now. Each passing moment took him further away from Omega, and it felt like Crosshair was holding on by a thread. What if he lost them both? Again?

He was on his third bottle when quiet voices whispered outside the door. His senses were pleasantly dulled at that point, but not so much that he couldn’t understand the hushed words.

“Yeah, and he’s not doing so hot, either.”

“…Right.”

“Just make sure your boyfriend doesn’t get alcohol poisoning or throw up on my stuff.”

A sigh was what Phee got, but not a correction. Huh.

The door slid open, and Crosshair stepped through. He gave one quick, appraising glance up and down Hunter’s slumped form, and another quiet sigh left his lips.

Hunter lifted the bottle and pointedly took another swallow.

Something bounced off the bottle, nearly knocking it from Hunter’s hand, and a fork clattered to the ground.

“Hey,” Hunter complained with a scowl.

“Dick.”

Hunter opened his mouth to throw back an insult, and then promptly shut it when Crosshair sat on the ground next to him, so close their shoulders touched.

Was he… hallucinating? He was quickly on his way to getting shitfaced, but even his fast-paced drinking had a hard time keeping up with his even quicker metabolism. At least he didn’t have it as bad as Wrecker; the poor guy got cut off at 79’s before he could actually get proper drunk, the bartender droid claiming they were dipping too far into stock.

Hunter continued to stare, but his brother remained firmly in place. So, not a hallucination. Crosshair was… touching him. And not yelling obscenities at him. Which meant he couldn’t be that mad at Hunter, but that made the situation even more confusing.

He blinked, trying to find words to say, and Crosshair didn’t help. He sat with his legs bent, arms resting on his knees, face forward and neutral.

 “So… how bad did I shoot down our chances? At getting Rampart to talk,” Hunter rushed to add. His cheeks went hot, and Crosshair chose that moment to glance his way, appraising his flushed skin with a raised brow.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Crosshair said, and there was a smile there he didn’t understand. “He’s feeling quite chatty all of a sudden. Something about the life almost being strangled out of him?”

Hunter blinked again.

“Made him reassess his priorities, apparently.”

Hunter finally relaxed, more from Crosshair’s easy tone than the actual words.

“Did it now.”

“He was ready to spill a-l-l-l-l-l-l his secrets.”

Hunter grunted and brought the bottle back up to his lips. It made him feel better. Marginally.

He lowered the bottle with a sigh.

“Then I better get back to questioning him.”

“Already done.”

Hunter glanced at him, frowning.

“You… know where Tantiss is?”

“Not exactly,” Crosshair said. “But we know how to find the coordinates. Orbital Station 003 above Coruscant, they upload the coordinates to the navicomputers there.”

Hunter mulled it over, the information processing through his brain at a frustratingly sluggish pace.

“Then… I need to contact Echo and Rex. Come up with a plan to infiltrate—”

“Also done.”

“W… what?”

“We’ve got a plan. Echo is stealing us a ship and some clearance codes, and he’ll signal us when he’s ready to meet. Phee’s got us in a holding pattern until then.”

Hunter’s mouth gaped open, and Crosshair just gave him a steady, almost-smiling look. He finally closed his mouth and chuckled.

“Maybe you should be the sergeant.”

“No, thank you,” Crosshair said smoothly. “My hair’s already grey.”

Unexpected warmth flooded Hunter’s chest. He was just… glad that Crosshair was talking to him again. After the last words they’d said to each other, he’d thought he’d ruined things between them permanently. Hunter suddenly felt like an idiot for breaking into Phee’s stash and getting wasted like… well. Some kind of idiot.

“So… we’re really doing this,” Hunter said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Are you… okay?”

He didn’t know what he was asking about specifically. Was Crosshair okay to go back to Tantiss? Was he okay after what Rampart did to him? After what Hunter did to him?

Crosshair shrugged and said, “Sure,” in an entirely unhelpful way.

Hunter chewed his lip, a sick feeling sinking in his stomach that was made worse by the alcohol. It had done nothing to dull his memory, and he could still remember Crosshair’s reaction that night on Pabu. Lying on his stomach, willing to try something new with Hunter, but then freezing, scent soured by fear. And even before that, on the Remora—Crosshair’s reactions to Hunter’s tears. His immediate panic and horror at what he thought he’d done.

Even Captain Howzer’s interactions with Crosshair looked different in a new light. Maybe he had been interested, or maybe he’d just been concerned for a fellow brother. Especially if Howzer was familiar with Rampart and what he did to clones.

Hunter hadn’t understood then. He did now.

“I… I thought…”

Crosshair shifted next to him, probably to get a better look at him, but Hunter couldn’t meet his eye. It was painful enough to say the words aloud.

“I thought… you and him… I thought you were… together.”

“Who?” A pause. “Me and Vice Admiral Asshole?”

Hunter didn’t react to Crosshair’s attempt at a bad joke, and his brother sighed.

“You didn’t know, Hunter. And I didn’t exactly clue you in.”

Hunter winced and shut his eyes tight.

“But I should have known.”

“How?” Crosshair pressed, shifting closer. “You’re not a damn Jedi. You can’t read minds.”

“I should have…” Hunter trailed off.

“Should have what?”

“Been better.”

He blurted out the words, not quite able to keep up with what he was even saying, his throat tight and his sluggish thoughts churning in unhappy drunkenness.

“I failed you. I failed Omega. I failed T--….”

He choked, and he swallowed it down with another swig. The spicebrew burned in a nicely distracting way, but not so much that he couldn’t feel Crosshair press closer against his side.

“Need to cut you off. You’re getting morose.”

When Hunter failed to respond, Crosshair let out a quiet sigh.

“You didn’t fail anyone, Hunter.”

“Yeah, I did.” He finally looked at his brother. “Especially you.”

Crosshair’s eyes widened the smallest amount, but it was still a large gesture.

“That’s absurd,” he said, voice unusually soft. “You know that’s absurd.”

Hunter shook his head and looked away.

“Hunter…”

But Crosshair didn’t say anything else, just his name, and there was something fragile in it, an alluring plea that tempted to draw him in like an insect to flame.

But he needed Crosshair to understand.

“Plan 88. You told us what was coming, and I didn’t listen. There was a reason,” Hunter rushed out when he sensed Crosshair about to interrupt. But Crosshair remained quiet.

“It wasn’t that… I didn’t believe you. I did.” Hunter stared at the bottle he held by the neck, slowly sloshing the liquid inside. “It’s just… we knew you were being held prisoner. And we weren’t going to leave you there.”

Hunter swallowed past the lump in his throat. The spicebrew made it easier to talk, when he wasn’t choking on his own regrets, but that didn’t mean it was a painless process.

“Tech insisted we find you. I… was more cautious. I thought it might be another trap. Another chance to hurt us. But I wanted it to be true, that you had turned on the Empire. I wanted it too much.”

And that scared me, he didn’t add, because he didn’t have to. Not when Crosshair could see right through him like he always could.

Crosshair was silent but tense, as if bracing for an inevitable hit. Hunter didn’t know how to take away that tension, so he kept talking, letting the words spill out almost faster than he could process them with the spicebrew fogging his thoughts.

“I needed to know what made you change your mind. Because I knew it wasn’t me. I wanted to be the reason you left the Empire, and it just… got in my head.”

“Hunter—"

He shook his head and smiled a little.

“Yeah, I know. I know how it sounds. Like I’m a jealous cadet all over again.”

“You were jealous?” There was no teasing; Crosshair was genuinely curious.

“Are you kidding me?” Hunter’s lips tilted lopsidedly. “Any time a reg stared at you too long, I found a way to make him stop staring. Usually with a punch to the head.”

Crosshair snorted, and there was a ghost of a smile.

“That would explain your sudden and inexplicable aggression against the regs. You didn’t have a problem with them until we were older. I never did figure out why.”

Hunter winced and said, “I think Tech did.”

“Oh?”

“He gave us those… educational lessons after I started that one fight in the canteen. The one where I, uh… gave that other kid a concussion.”

Crosshair finally laughed, a low rasp that rippled up Hunter’s spine.

“So we have your hormones to thank for those grueling lectures. And you didn’t even bother to pay attention.”

“I was distracted!” Hunter protested a little too sharply.

“By?”

Hunter pointedly didn’t answer and took another swig. He was getting too sober for this conversation.

“Don’t stop now,” Crosshair teased, the smirk returned, “not when the confessions are getting good. So, you were distracted from topics of erections and ejaculations because…?”

“Why do you think.”

“I want you to say it.”

Hunter closed his eyes. Considering all the shit Hunter stirred up with Rampart, he could give this to Crosshair. Besides, he was tired of secrets. Tired of hiding things because that’s what he’d always done.

Hunter finally said, “Your scent.”

“…What.”

“Your scent. It had been changing for a while. And it was distracting, especially while Tech was talking about… sex stuff.”

Crosshair snorted again, but he was gracious enough not to prod Hunter what he meant by sex stuff.

“So, I smelled hot and bothered, and that distracted you, did it?”

“Yes,” he ground out through his teeth.

“There, was that so hard?” Crosshair grinned. “I guess it was…”

“You’re hilarious.”

“One of us has to be.”

Hunter took another long chug in response to that, and when he saw a blur out of the corner of his eye, he barely managed to pull the bottle away and keep Crosshair from stealing it with a hand on his chest.

It didn’t work, of course. Not because of Crosshair’s longer reach, but because there was no universe where Hunter would resist Crosshair crawling halfway onto his lap. It was objectively unfair, but Crosshair always did fight dirty.

His closeness also allowed Hunter to catch his scent, warm and inviting, and he almost chased it, a whine in his throat at the loss of Crosshair’s hand on his thigh rather than the bottle plucked from his fingers.

Crosshair took a swig and eyed him triumphantly, thinking he’d won. Hunter would let him continue to think that, not even trying to be subtle as his watched Crosshair’s throat bob as he swallowed. The alcohol in his gut was doing its job, filling him with a weightless bliss that pried his tongue loose without warning.

“I… won’t apologize for trying to kill Rampart,” Hunter said softly. “But I didn’t mean to make this more difficult for you.”

Crosshair stopped drinking. He set the bottle down and eyed Hunter with a mixture of caution and something a little brittle. He looked away and gave a half shrug. The silence stretched between them, and when Hunter sensed Crosshair wasn’t going to respond, he kept going.

No more secrets.

“I haven’t talked about Omega being taken, because I know we’ll get her back,” Hunter said slowly, carefully, wanting to make sure Crosshair didn’t miss a word. “I know because I got you back. I thought we’d never see you again. But… you’re here.”

Crosshair pointedly stared at the ground. He suddenly seemed so fragile, slightly hunched and trying to keep a blank expression.

Hunter wanted to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Make all of this go away. And maybe that’s why his words came out the way they did, low and serious.

“I’d do anything for you, Cross. You know that, right?”

That startled his brother enough to meet his gaze, his eyes a little too wide. And then he scoffed, and Hunter could actually see him rebuild his defenses, wall them off and retreat to safer distance.

Not this time.

He was in Crosshair’s lap within the span of two heartbeats. Hunter took the bottle out of his hand and set it aside, uncaring that it tipped over.

Hunter cradled Crosshair’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

He’d tried to imagine what it would be like kissing Crosshair. The way Echo had talked about it, first kisses were awkward, weird, and poorly landed.

Crosshair’s lips melted against his like butter, smooth and warm. And when Hunter licked against his mouth, Crosshair opened to him, his own tongue meeting Hunter’s with enough fervor to send an electric jolt up his spine.

Now his head was fuzzy with spicebrew and the intoxicating taste of Crosshair. Hunter wanted to drink him, or devour him, he wasn’t sure which, and he pressed himself tighter to his brother, thighs squeezing around his waist in an attempt to get closer.

The sedating effect of the alcohol didn’t affect all parts of Hunter, and he was grateful he no longer wore a codpiece as he ground his erection against Crosshair’s stomach—not the most comfortable when he was covered in armor, but Hunter was hardly in a position to care.

In fact, he quite liked this position, sitting atop Crosshair’s lap and kissing him. The kiss turned more desperate, possessive, before Hunter broke off and continued to plant his lips along Crosshair’s jaw.

Crosshair made a purr-like noise and gripped him by the hips, shoving him closer, and Hunter nipped at his neck. Fuck, he wanted Crosshair so bad it ached.

“You’re drunk.”

“Not that drunk.” Hunter only pulled away when he’d left a bruising mark on Crosshair’s neck, and he rubbed a thumb over the bloom, pleased at the sight.

“Three bottles in isn’t drunk?”

He smothered Crosshair’s protests with his mouth, smiling a little when his brother immediately gave in, parting his lips and practically going limp when Hunter licked into his mouth.

“Not in a way that matters,” Hunter mumbled against his lips, smiling wider when Crosshair shut him up by kissing him harder. He wrapped his fingers into Hunter’s hair as if to prevent him from pulling away. As if Hunter would dream of doing that.

Hunter didn’t know where to put his hands, frustrated he couldn’t get under Crosshair’s armor, so he settled on cradling his neck and jaw, using every opportunity to taste his mouth. It was like a different kind of challenge between them, a fight that Hunter felt he won no matter whose tongue ended up where.

Maker, why hadn’t they tried this before? If he’d known it was like this, Hunter would have kissed Crosshair often and earnestly. Maybe it was a good thing then, how late he’d figured this out. Omega would have come to some realizations sooner, and that wasn’t a conversation Hunter was equipped to have.

Still. To have Crosshair like this, breathing hard and gripping Hunter wherever he could reach, his mouth pliable and warm, Hunter didn’t care who knew.

Something warm and vast filled his chest, the cold hollowness that had lived there for months slowly filled with something else. It was almost too much, like he would burst from the feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter blurted out when he had the air. Crosshair kept stealing it from his lungs.

“For?” Crosshair asked, breathless.

Hunter couldn’t remember if he’d ever said the words before. He’d never needed to. They had always been able to apologize without saying it aloud, but this felt important.

“…Well. Everything.”

Crosshair stared into Hunter’s face, cheeks flushed and lips tantalizingly puffy. He licked them before responding, and he was so quiet, Hunter might not have heard it if he hadn’t been in his lap.

“I… yeah. Me too.”

Hunter leaned in, not in a kiss, but to brace their foreheads together.

“We… we don’t need to go any further than- than this. What we’ve been doing. We don’t have to do anything y-you don’t wanna do.” Hunter didn’t mean to sound so rattled, but the alcohol was making him raw, like an exposed wound.

Crosshair was quiet for a long moment, and then he pulled back to look at him, his own expression searching Hunter’s pleading one. And then the natural lines of his forehead smoothed, and a little smile tugged at his lips.

“You’re such a puppy sometimes.”

Hunter didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound like Crosshair was about to reject him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Crosshair finally said, his words unusually soft as he ran his fingers through Hunter’s hair. “Don’t we always?”

Hunter closed his eyes and shamelessly leaned into the attention. Maker, how was Crosshair able to make him feel so good, even with a simple touch?

And then Crosshair’s lips were on his again, and Hunter shuddered, wrapping himself as tight around his brother as he could. He couldn’t help it—his hips rolled, desperate for touch, a whine in his throat as he wordlessly begged.

He didn’t care if this wasn’t a good idea, or that Echo could contact them at any moment, or Phee or Wrecker could just walk in. All he could focus on was Crosshair’s tongue licking into his mouth, his fingers digging into Hunter’s hips so hard he would have bruises later.

“Crosshair—”

He choked out in a whimper, and Crosshair growled. He reached down, Hunter couldn’t see what he was doing, but relief hit him as Crosshair tugged open his pants and freed his cock.

Crosshair fumbled with his own codpiece, and then their lengths slid together, aided by the saliva Crosshair spit into his palm. Hunter groaned as fingers wrapped around them and stroked without mercy.

Hunter claimed his mouth again, holding Crosshair in place with a hand cupped around his jaw, but his other squeezed between them and batted away his brother’s grip. Hunter wrapped his hand around them both and jerked them off, swallowing Crosshair’s surprised moan.

Between strokes, Hunter grinded against him, and Crosshair did something with his tongue that he didn’t have words for, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. Hunter thought kissing was a sappy, romantic thing that didn’t do much, so he was completely caught off-guard when kissing Crosshair made him so aroused so fast he was a little lightheaded.

Or maybe it was the booze, it was hard to tell at this point.

He broke off the kiss, gasping for air as he moved faster, teeth grazing Crosshair’s jaw as he fucked into his fist and against Crosshair’s length.

He was caught by surprise a second time when Crosshair grabbed Hunter’s hair and pulled, forcing his head back, and his teeth clamped onto Hunter’s neck. Not hard enough to injure, but Hunter still choked on his whine, helpless as he lost his rhythm and spilled over his fingers.

Hunter didn’t stop, using the additional lubricant to stroke them together, not caring if he was oversensitive. He kept going until Crosshair groaned into his neck and throbbed, coming hard enough that he didn’t breathe for several seconds.

Crosshair collapsed back against the cabinet, releasing his grip on Hunter’s hair as he panted. Hunter tasted his lips, gentler this time, almost teasing. He was rewarded with Crosshair’s shuddering breath and annoyed look. Hunter just smiled.

“Puppy,” Crosshair muttered, more to himself than to Hunter. He still didn’t know what he meant by it, but his hazy expression and soft stroking of Hunter’s hair told him he was at least content.

Hunter managed to find some napkins within arm’s reach and cleaned up the mess, most of it caught on their armor. At least they hadn’t made a mess of the galley; Hunter was already testing Phee’s good graces, and leaving cum on her floor would possibly lead to an airlock ejection.

But once he cleaned them up, he didn’t move off Crosshair’s lap, instead collapsing against him and resting his head on his shoulder. His brother made a noise of long-suffering as he reached between them and tucked them both away.

Oh, yeah, Hunter forgot that part. He turned his head and kissed the side of Crosshair’s neck in appreciation. His body was a heavy weight, and even through his old armor Crosshair was a beacon of warmth, pulling him in.

“We still have time,” Crosshair said, answering an unasked question. He stroked up and down the small of Hunter’s back, the only place he could feel the touch with his cuirass in the way. “Relax.”

Hunter closed his eyes and did. A small, guilty part of him knew he should get up, resume his role and get them ready for a mission that would be their hardest yet.

But Crosshair was right. There wasn’t much for them to do until Echo commed, and Hunter needed to sober up. He was exhausted down to his bones, and Crosshair’s arms around him was a refuge he didn’t realize he needed.

Hunter buried his face into Crosshair’s neck and let his muscles relax. Crosshair had him. It was safe to let go.

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