#Kit crossing his legs and folding his arms

[kazscrows]

I’m obsessed with this photo

[giuliettagaltieri]

Not Your Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: You opened your eyes

Warning: Angst, fighting, injuries

Word Count: 2209

Inspired by this ask

 “God, Y/N.  I’m fine.”  Rafe pulls your hand from his collar.  But you click your tongue at him. 

“Come on, I promise you look better with it folded properly.”

Rafe glances at his watch.  “We’re running late.”

“Who cares?”  You mutter as you straighten the creases of his shirt.

“I do.”  He snaps before grabbing hold of your wrist and dragging you out of his room, not letting go until you are standing right next to his car.  He opens the door for you and taps his foot as he waits for you to get inside but your steps are too slow with you checking your bag for necessities.

“Tylenol.  Mouthwash.  First aid kit.”  You look up from your bag.  “You still have our extra clothes in your trunk, right?”

“Yes.”  He spoke impatiently, his bored stare sharpening.

When you finally get inside, he slams the door extra loud, startling you, but you shrug as you fasten your seatbelt.

Rafe jams the key in and ignites the engine.  He’s about to step on the pedal when you place a hand on his chest.

“Seatbelt.”  You smile sweetly and he bites back a retort, only choosing to roll his eyes and fix his seatbelt.

“Happy?”  He spoke sardonically and you scan your eyes over him and grin.

“Yes.  Just remember not to go over the speed limit.”

This is why he didn’t like to invite you to parties.  You act like a mother hen, and him, your baby chick.

You are glued to his side the whole time.  He understands this behavior back when you were six, but you’re fucking adults now, when are you gonna grow out of this?

With you by his side, he can’t score on some chicks.  Them thinking that you’re his girl, thus extending his dry spell. 

But there’s that new girl by the punch tables.  Standard hot girl, lean, tanned, long legs, and bleached hair.  She’s shyly looking at him, but she’s not exactly being discreet either.

“I’ll get us something to drink.”  He pries your fingers one by one from his arm. 

“I can come with you.”  You suggest hopefully but he’s already heading to the punch table.  You head to the side, sitting on an old and broken down cobblestone wall as the night breeze nips your skin.  Just smiling and nodding at the people you know while watching the rest of them have fun.

The party is in full blast.  There’s a lot of Tourons joining the party too.

You wonder what’s taking Rafe so long.

Deciding it was best to go look for him, you get up from your seat.  You brush the dust off your shorts as you tighten the button up that you stole from Rafe’s closet around your body.

Just as you start looking for him, you notice hurried footsteps and cheers from one side of the party.  A guy bumps into you but he quickly hooks an arm on your waist to keep you from falling.

“Oops.”  He laughs.  “Sorry, Y/N!”  It was JJ and you watched him run with the others.

“What’s going on?”  You mutter.

You hear a sigh next to you and you turn to see Sarah and Kie, looking at the gathered crowd in disappointment.  Sarah turns to you with a tired face.  “Rafe got in a fight with a Touron.”

They look at you in pity as horror crosses your face.  As you run to the fight, they shake their heads.  You’re too good for this world.

You run as fast as your legs can carry you, hands pushing people away just to get through. 

When you finally do, you see Rafe with a busted lip, his chest squared up and heaving as he looks at his opponent who is barely standing, leaning his weight on some girl you don’t recognize.  His face was red in certain places, his eyelids swollen, two nostrils bleeding.  Is he missing a tooth?  Good God.

Rafe was yelling insults, how this is his island, he’s about to march over when you throw yourself on him, arms tightly wrapping around his torso to keep him from moving.

“Y/N! Fucking let go!”  He grips your arms tightly, adrenaline clearly coursing through his veins.

“No!  That’s enough!”  You say sternly as you bunch his shirt on your fist.  “We should go.  Please!”

Rafe scoffs.  “I said, let go!”

When you only tighten your grip, he curses and throws the guy one last glare before dragging you with him back to his car.

“What were you thinking, beating up that guy?”  You say in disbelief as you make him lean against the hood of his car while you dig through your purse.  

He curses at you when you dab a wet wipe on his lip.

“If you don’t get in stupid fights, I won’t have to clean you up now, will I?”  You reply angrily before slapping his hand away and dabbing gently.  You play oblivious to his searing glare.  Trying to ignore his hisses when you accidentally dab too roughly.

“Why’d you decide to make that guy a punching bag, anyway?”  You ask while smearing a disinfectant ointment on his wound.  Your heart beating wildly at your close proximity.

Rafe clicks his tongue.  “His girl was flirting with me.”

You look at him in disappointment, making his blood boil.  He hates receiving that look, it reminds him of how he constantly fails his father.

“You must have encouraged her too.”  You really don’t know when to stop.

“Shut up, alright?”  He pushes past you.  “It’s not like I knew she had a fucking boyfriend.”

You sigh as you tidy up your kit.  Rafe opens the door for you and you take your time in getting in.

“Why’d you have to flirt with all the girls at every party?  Can you think with your mind next time and not with your dick?”  You mutter under your breath as you glare at nothing in particular, upset that he’s got himself into trouble, and upset that it’s because of a girl.  Again.

“That’s it.”  Rafe slams the door before you can take a step in, the impact makes you gasp, your fingers nearly crushed by the door.  Your eyes are wide and afraid as you look at him.  He backs you up until your back is flushed against the door.  He rests an arm over your head, as he points a finger dangerously close to your face.

“Rafe-”

“I’m fucking done with your bullshit.”  He spoke through gritted teeth.  “If you think you have the right to speak to me this way, let me tell you something.  You don’t.”

You bite your lower lip, eyes turning glassy as you fight the urge to cry.  “I’m just concerned.”  Whatever immunity you thought you had from his anger crumbles like sand on the palm of your hand.  You’re no exemption from his outbursts, apparently.  You’re just like everybody to him.

“I didn’t ask for your concern.”  He laughs dryly.  “And I don’t care about your stupid crush on me, either.”

Your lips part as you blanch, looking at him in embarrassment and frustration.  Your palms sweat as your fingers twitch, wanting nothing else but to get swallowed by the earth.

“Yeah.  You think I don’t know about your feelings for me?”  He laughs at you before he slams a fist on his car, making you scream and cover your ears in fear.  “It’s kinda cute, you know.  Watching you chase after me, clean after me, do everything I say like a pathetic puppy waiting for a treat.”

Something inside you snaps.  “Stop talking.”  You hiccup, tears dripping down your cheeks.  

Huh, it’s been a while since he saw those tears.

“Why?”  He asks in feign concern.  “Am I hurting your feelings?”

“Yes.”  You say shamelessly, making him scoff.  “I just wanna go home, please,”

Mascara has ruined your pretty makeup, tears wetting your cheeks as your hair sticks on your temples, making you look disheveled and wrecked.

Rafe looks at you blankly as he runs a tongue on his tooth.  “Fine.”  He runs a hand over his face as he attempts to calm his breathing.  He’s tired of your bullshit for today, he’ll deal with you tomorrow.  “Let’s get you home.”

He opens the door for you and you get in without sparing him a glance, your shaking hands quickly fastening the seat belt.  Rafe looks at you in silence but your eyes are dropped to your feet, adamant on not looking at him.

“You crybaby.”  He spoke lowly and you closed your eyes.  “Get it through your dumb head, alright?  I don’t fucking like you.”

You whimper, arms wrapping around yourself as you shrink away from him.

“Stop doting on me like we’re dating.”  He continues.  “You’re fucking embarrassing.”

“Just take me home, please.”  You sob and for a moment he feels the need to wipe your tears but he stops himself, a frown creases in his brows.

“And don’t fucking boss me around.  You’re not my mom.”  He slams the door and the rest of the drive is filled with nothing but your sniffles.

The thing about Rafe Cameron is that he’s impulsive.  Always speaking his mind without thinking of the consequences.  He is very quick to anger yet very quick to calm down after the stimulus vanishes from his line of sight.  

You can’t keep up with the shift of his emotions throughout the ride.  With him honking at every driver in front of him then suddenly nudging you and pointing at something down the street, laughing like he didn’t just murder you inside.  He really doesn’t understand what he’s done.  He’s a child and you wanna strangle yourself for ever letting yourself love a man like him.

“Shit, Y/N, calm down.”  He groans as he parks outside your house.

You attempt to open the door but he clicks the lock in place.

“Let me out.”  You whimper.

He rests his elbow against the door and scratches his chin.  “Not until you calm down.”

“I’m calm.”  You respond in a shaking voice.

“Uhuh.”  He hums as he rakes his eyes over your face.  “Can’t take a rejection, princess?”

You don’t respond, hands tightening over your bag.

“We’re not in fucking elementary school anymore.”  He props his head against his knuckles as he grins at you.  “And I’m not Rafey anymore.”

“I know.”  You spoke harshly as your bloodshot eyes stared forward.

He chuckles.  “Good, that’s good.”

“Yes.  The ‘Rafey’ I know would never hurt me like this.  You’re not him, not anymore.”  You stare at him blankly.  “He’s gone and I can see that now.”

Rafe straightens up in his seat, biting his cheek as he nods at you, though his mind is still trying to wrap around your words.

“Right.  It’s good that you get it now.”  But why does he suddenly regret all this? 

He’s been trying to get you to understand this for the longest time.  And now that you finally do, all the challenge between you is gone, and he is lying if what is going to happen after this does not make him anxious.  Is this another one of your reverse psychology tricks?  You know it always worked on him.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and he clears his throat, swiftly opening his door and races to your side but you beat him to it.  He swallows thickly as he shoves his sweating palms in his pocket. 

Rafe walks you to your gate but you don’t acknowledge him, even if he pushes the gates open for you.  He tries to catch your eyes but he starts to bleed with the background around you, no longer relevant enough to be looked at.

When you lock the gates, he leans on it and watches you turn away and head to your house.�� Leaving without the usual cheek kisses and “see you laters”

He clears his throat.  “Uh…so, tomorrow?”  A desperate attempt to keep you with him a little longer.  

You pause and you turn to look at him with your face cold and hard, so devoid of emotions.  He never thought you’d be capable of holding such a look.  “What about tomorrow?”

He grips on the thin metal of your gate, the weathered paint chipping and clinging to his palms.  “You said you wanted to check out the ice cream parlor that just opened?”  He adds the charming smile he knows you like but your face remains blank.

“I changed my mind.”  You start to walk away again but he calls your name and you look at him with a small frown on your eyebrows.  You really wanted nothing to do with him anymore, huh?

“I’ll call you later?”

“What for?”  You cross your arms and for the first time, he is rendered speechless, his tongue heavy as he racked his brain for a response.

You’re right, what for?

Rafe shrugs while he tugs at his collar.  “I don’t know.  Don’t you like it when we call?”

You sigh.  “Goodbye, Rafe.”

He watches you leave and he tightens his grip on the gate, making the metal dig on his palms. 

“Goddammit!”

He messed up.  He messed up real bad.  And he’s not sure he can still fix this.

Not Her Man • His Girl

[vivid-dreamscapes]

Period cuddles <3 ~Bakugou x Reader~

(I have hella bad cramps rn and I’m waiting for the meds to kick in, so I’m writing this as a distraction)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Tw; Swearing, cause Bakugou. Minor suggestiveness.

Themes; Fluff

Summery; You manage to rope Katsuki into cuddles to soothe your cramps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Pain. Pain. PAIN.

You were lying on your bed in your dorm, one arm draped across your eyes as you waited for the meds to kick in.

It felt like every knife within a 700 mile radius of your was violently jabbing at your inner thighs, abdomen, stomach, and of course, the ever so lovely low room that caused this all.

Cramps. PERIOD cramps. Your heating pad was being borrowed by your best friend Mina, so the painkillers were your only hope right now. And they were failing at being the thing you were here at UA to be,

After a moment, you heard a knock on your door. You looked up to see your ever so lovely boyfriend Katsuki leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a plastic bag hanging from his finger.

“Oi, dumbass. You sick?” He said, raising an eyebrow at you, looking at your position. To him, it looked like you were just being lazy, but any other person out there with cramps would understand.

You groaned, clutching your stomach slightly as you looked at him. Lucky ass men. They didn’t have to deal with nothin like this. Cause they didn’t get burn with a uterus.

“I hate your dick.”

You grumbled, getting him to raise his eyebrow higher. Ironic, you had saying the exact opposite two nights ago.

“Remove the ‘H’ babe.” Katsuki said with a completely stoic face, walking over. You rolled your eyes. “Haha.” You said flatly, looking away. He sat down next to you, setting down the plastic bag. Your could see some instant ramen and a really good boba kit in the bag, causing your mouth to water.

“You on your period or somethin’?”

“Wowwww, he had a brain.”

Katsuki frowned and rolled his eyes at your sarcastic remark.

“Shut up, smartass. You don't have to be a jerk about it. But seriously, are you on your period or not? That why you're acting all moody and crap?"

“I’m on a high amount of pain killers, is what I’m on.” You responded simply. Wow. Your sarcastic self still managed to pull through at a time like this. Lucky him.

Katsuki's frown deepened as he heard your response. He knew pain killers could only help so much…

“That doesn't really answer my question, dammit." He reached out and gently pushed the hair back from your forehead, looking down at your face intently.

"How bad is the pain? On a scale of 1 to 10?"

“20697.”

Katsuki's eyes widened in surprise at your exaggerated response.

"Wow, really? Fuckin’ 20697? That high, huh?” He paused for a moment, his mind trying to process the pain level you mentioned. 20697? That seems impossible… “You're just shitting me, aren't you?"

“Try getting kicked in the balls for sixteen minutes straight with a metal leg. Thats about half of what I’m feeling.” You said with a small eye roll.

Katsuki winced at the thought, his hand instinctively moving down to protect his own family jewels. Which of course, almost made you laugh.

"Jesus, that sounds painful as hell. Why do girls have to deal with this shit every month?" He looked at you with sympathetic pity, unsure if there was anything he could do to help. "Is there anything I can do to help? Get you some chocolate or something?"

You paused silently before looking up at him with innocent eyes, ever so subtly poking out your bottom lip. Not in a lay someone would know you were pouting, and yet it had the same effect.

“Cuddles have been scientifically proven to help with period cramps.” You said, looking up at him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, his expression shifting from sympathy to a hint of amusement.

“Seriously? Cuddles? You're asking me to cuddle you to ease your period cramps?" He gave a small smirk, folding his arms across his chest. "And here I thought you were just being a drama queen, but you actually want me to cuddle you?"

“It works twice as well if your big spoon.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes at your insistence, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit amused by your request.

"Of course you want me to be big spoon. Typical…" He sighed heavily, acting as if it was a big inconvenience, before reluctantly crawling into bed next to you. "Fine, you big baby. I'll cuddle you."

You immediately smiled as he got under the covers, and wrapped your arms around him. His own muscular arms found their way to your waist as you scooted closer, nestling your face square in his chest.

You could smell his natural scent as you closed your eyes with a smile. Carmel and Burnt pine. Strange but extremely comforting. Wow. You felt better already.

Katsuki wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. He tried to maintain his usual tough and nonchalant demeanor, but couldn't help but soften a little as he held you in his arms.

“You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?" He grumbled, but his voice lacked any real venom. He gently ran his fingers through your hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle.

“I can be a pain in your ass.” You said with the smallest of smirks, eyes remaining closed.

Katsuki let out a small scoff at hearing your suggestive remark, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lip.

"You really have a talent for turning something romantic into something filthy, don’t you?" He tightened his arms around you, his hand moving down to rest on your lower back. “Love ya dumbass.”

“Love ya too boom boom bitch.”

“…what did you call me?”

[faithless-hoaxx]

"Kit. Feet off the desk," scolded Julian. "Some of us are trying to do actual work here and need space."

Ty watched with some amusement as Kit scrunched his face up like an adorably disgruntled rabbit.

Then, because Kit lived to be a difficult piece of shit - Ty truly meant that in the most loving way possible - he said, "Yeah, and some of us-"

"Kit," Jem cut in gently, poking his head into the doorway of Cirenworth's messy library and doing a cursory glance at the slumping stacks of Faerie-related tomes. "Feet off the desk?"

Instantly, Kit slid his legs off from where they'd been crossed on the hardwood table and folded them beneath him. It didn't take long for discomfort to win out and Kit to close the distance between him and Ty to tuck himself into Ty's side. Acting on muscle memory, Ty's arm came upwards to wrap gently around him.

"Aw," teased Dru. "Kit's such a daddy's boy." She tucked a bright dyed-turquoise lock of hair behind her ear before adding, "And a mommy's boy, for that matter. He's just a big softie."

A warm flush coated the peaks of Kit's cheekbones as he buried his face into Ty's stomach. "Piss off." He glanced outwards to add, with a great deal more pride, "I'm Jem and Tessa's boy. And I refuse to be made felt bad for it."

Just a little snippet of the fic I'm writing! It's a much later scene but I thought it was cute :) I live for Jessa raising Kit and Kit loving them

(ft. fluffy established KitTy!)

[yaniluvs]

۶ৎ (용복) : YOUR WARMTH ALONE ── your sunshine boyfriend ends up bruising himself while trying to skateboard on the snow covered pavement right outside the cabin.

𓍯 bf!felix ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 2.1k ── ༯ DRABBLE, domestic fluff, comfort, bruises, petnames, kisses, corny flirting, slightly worried/upset. ⸝⸝𓂃𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ blonde lixie has been invading my mind recently, not that im complaining.. >< wrote this while listening to twice's new album ;3 changing my theme a bit (lot) heh. comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

the tiny, cozy cabin was nestled, in the quiet arms of the snowcapped hills, framed by a winter that seemed softer than usual, as though it too wanted to protect the pair inside. snow cascaded gently outside, flakes falling like whispered secrets onto the untouched slopes of the village. the windows of the wooden loft—frosted around the edges—offered glimpses of a world washed in silver, a serene contrast to the warmth pooling within.

the room held an intimate stillness, the kind that could only exist between two people who’d shared years of quiet moments together. the air was thick with the scent of pinewood, faint traces of cinnamon from earlier tea, and the earthy crackle of the fireplace that painted the walls with flickering amber light. shadows danced on the polished wooden floor, illuminating the textured grain of the pine boards, aged with stories of other winters.

she sat on the plush, woven rug—a deep brown flecked with hints of cream—atop her boyfriend's knees, her legs drawn up loosely to her chest. her skin glowed in the firelight, the straps of her thin top slipping off her shoulders with careless ease, revealing glimpses of lace along her collarbone and the soft curve of her waist. her shorts were loose, brushing against her thighs, and her toes peeked out, cold against the carpet despite the warmth of the room. a stray strand of her hair fell across her face, but she didn’t brush it away, too focused on her task.

he sat beneath her, leaning back against the base of the sofa, his legs sprawled open and his head slightly tilted. damp strands of his blonde hair clung to his temples, catching the firelight like spun gold. his skin, kissed by the faintest flush from the heat inside, bore fresh, angry scrapes and bruises—pale streaks on the otherwise perfect canvas of his arms, chest, and neck. he wore nothing but sweatpants slung low on his hips, the fabric pooling against his ankles as though it, too, had surrendered to the room’s languid warmth.

the small wooden coffee table near them held a folded linen towel and the remnants of a first-aid kit, its contents scattered with quiet precision. her hand moved slowly, a damp cotton swab tracing the length of a scrape along his collarbone. she was careful but firm, her brows knitted in an expression of muted frustration. he didn’t flinch, much. instead, his gaze was fixed on her—soft and unhurried, studying the way the light wrapped around her like a second skin. his lips, slightly swollen from a split, quirked into a faint, rueful smile when she muttered something under her breath.

the loft was small but cozy, a space that felt lived-in despite being rented. the walls were honey-colored, planks of smooth wood rising to meet an a-frame ceiling where beams crossed like an embrace. a single pendant light hung from above, casting a warm yellow glow that mingled with the flicker of the flames. in the corner, a sheepskin throw lay draped across a rocking chair, and a stack of books sat forgotten on a nearby shelf. the curtains were drawn back just enough to reveal the snowfall, which caught in the firelight and shimmered like stardust.

the heat from the fire clung to the room like a blanket, thick and almost too much, but neither of them moved to open the window. the snow outside seemed worlds away, and in this space—this bubble of warmth and quiet intimacy—they were untouchable. the only sounds were the occasional pop of the wood burning in the hearth and the faint hiss of the snow meeting the glass. silence wove itself between them, heavy and meaningful, as if even words would have felt too loud.

felix sat still as best as he could, leaning against the sofa, but every so often, a slight flinch betrayed him when her cotton swab pressed a little too firmly against one of his cuts.

“don’t move,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with an unspoken frustration that wasn’t entirely anger. her eyes stayed fixed on his chest, focused on cleaning the shallow scrape that ran across his collarbone. she didn’t look up, not even when she felt his gaze on her, warm and unrelenting, as if he could memorize her like this forever.

“sorry,” he whispered, his deep voice so soft it barely reached her ears. there was no playfulness, no cheeky grin. just quiet, earnest apologies that made her heart ache and fold all at once. he winced again, but this time, he quickly bit his lip to stifle any noise.

“felix,” she mumbled, finally meeting his eyes for a moment, her tone firm yet so tender it didn’t carry the weight of real anger. “stop moving.”

he nodded solemnly, his golden hair falling into his freckled face. “i won’t, baby. i promise. sorry.” his lips, slightly swollen from the fall, tugged into a small, apologetic smile, but her gaze had already returned to the task at hand.

she worked with the steady precision of someone who cared too much. her hands moved gently, dabbing at the shallow cut on his lip now, careful not to press too hard. she didn’t say much, but the set of her brows and the soft pout on her lips spoke volumes. she was upset—not angry, not exactly—but worried in the way only someone who loved too deeply could be.

he couldn’t help himself. even as she tended to his wounds, felix’s eyes stayed glued to her. the firelight painted her features in warm hues, and her hair, slightly messy from the day, framed her face in a way that made her look impossibly soft. she was close—so close he could feel her warmth, smell the faint trace of her vanilla lotion mixed with the subtle smokiness of the room. his chest tightened with the weight of his own admiration.

“y/n,” he whispered again, his voice like velvet, coaxing her attention. she didn’t look up. he shifted slightly, just enough to bring his hand to her leg, resting it lightly on her knee, his thumb brushing in soft, absentminded strokes. “love.. i really am sorry.”

her hand paused for the briefest second, but she didn’t reply. instead, she moved to his neck, carefully tilting his chin up with her fingers to get a better angle. the cut there wasn’t deep, but it stood out against his fair skin, and she felt a fresh pang of guilt seeing it. she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her resolve.

his eyes never left her. the soft firelight caught the sparkles in his gaze, turning his brown eyes into molten amber. his freckles, scattered like constellations across his cheeks and nose, seemed to glow, and the gentle curve of his lips—heart-shaped and still pink despite the small cut—made her heart squeeze.

“babe?” he tried again, his voice a little deeper now, but still so tender it felt like a caress.

her eyes flickered up briefly, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the annoyance she was clinging to wavered. his expression was pure, almost boyish, with the kind of fragility that made her want to gather him up and never let go. she let out a soft sigh, returning her attention to his wounds without a word.

“don’t be mad,” he pleaded, his voice a little playful now, though he didn’t dare move again. “you’re too pretty to be mad at me.”

“felix,” she muttered under her breath, her tone warning but without any real edge. “don’t speak.”

“sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, but the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, almost mischievous smile. “i just missed you, baby. you know that, right?”

she didn’t reply, but her hands slowed slightly as she wiped away the last of the blood from his arm. he took that as his cue, letting his hand slip from her knee to her waist, resting there gently. his touch was warm, grounding, and she let out another small sigh, finally sitting back a little on his lap.

“i’m fine, you know,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to cup her face, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. “really. you don’t have to worry so much.”

her eyes flickered to his, and this time, she didn’t look away. “you’re not fine, felix. you could’ve really hurt yourself.” her voice was softer now, the frustration melting into something more vulnerable.

“i’m okay,” he insisted, leaning forward slightly so their foreheads almost touched. “and i’m here. with you. that’s all that matters.”

her lips parted as if to argue, but the way he was looking at her—with so much affection it felt like the room had shrunk to just the two of them—made her words falter. she hated how easily he could do this to her, how his angelic smile and soft voice could unravel her in seconds.

oh, one can never really stay mad at this angel.

“don’t do it again,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible, but he caught it.

“i won’t,” he promised, sealing it with a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “i swear, baby.”

and just like that, her resolve broke. she leaned into him, letting her head rest against his shoulder as his arms came up to wrap around her, holding her close. the snow continued to fall outside, but inside, the world had never felt warmer.

his arms tightened around her as she leaned into him, her weight settling lightly against his chest. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as if he could apologize a hundred times through touch alone.

for a while, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the faint whistle of the wind outside. then felix broke the silence with a quiet chuckle.

“you know,” he murmured, tilting his head so he could see her face better. “i think the skateboard might have it out for me. you think i should sue?”

she let out an involuntary snort, quickly stifling it by burying her face against his shoulder. “your fault for thinking you’re tony hawk in the middle of a snow-covered town.”

“hey, i was trying to impress you,” he defended, his deep voice dipping into a mock whine. “how was i supposed to know the ground would be slippery?”

“it’s snow,” she deadpanned, pulling back just enough to give him a pointed look. “what did you think it would be? a trampoline?”

felix blinked at her, then broke into a sheepish grin, his freckles scrunching adorably. “okay, fair point. but you looked really curious watching me from the window, so…”

she rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in spite of herself. “you’re lucky i love you, otherwise, i’d let you bleed out next time.”

he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “so cold, babe! i thought you were the sweet one in this relationship.”

“sweet?” she echoed, arching a brow as she reached for the first-aid kit again. “i’m literally the one patching you up after your dumb stunts.”

“because you love me,” he teased, his voice dropping into a sing-song tone.

she shook her head, biting back a smile as she gently applied a fresh bandage to his collarbone. “don’t push your luck, lixie.”

“too late,” he quipped, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against her cheek. his hair, still damp from his earlier shower, tickled her skin, and she swatted at him half-heartedly.

“lix!” she protested, laughing now despite herself.

he grinned wide, his heart-shaped lips pulling into the kind of smile that could melt even the iciest resolve. “there she is. my y/n. knew i could get you to smile.”

“barely,” she muttered, but her cheeks betrayed her with a soft blush.

he chuckled, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her temple. “you’re terrible at staying mad at me, love. it’s one of your best traits.”

she scoffed, but her head found its way back to his shoulder, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of his sweatpants. “next time you try to impress me, just.. don’t involve gravity.”

“deal,” he said easily, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. “but for the record, i still think i looked cool for, like, two seconds before i fell.”

“sure,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “you were the picture of elegance.”

“see? you do get it,” he said, laughing as she groaned and playfully shoved at his chest.

“i love you.”

“i love you so much more, darling.”

and just like that, the tension dissolved into kisses, laughter and warmth, the kind that only they could share. outside, the snow kept falling, but inside the house cabin, all was right in their little world again

[wileys-russo]

little blurb about supportive arsenal gf finding out lessi is starting 🥹

two posts in one day, spoiling y'all

debut II a.russo

"lessi did you grab my training top by accident with yours?" you called out as you rummaged through your closet with a frown. "babe?" you called out again a little louder when your girlfriend didn't answer.

"no! are you sure you didn't already pack it?" the blonde called back from down the hall where she was sat in the spare room on the bed, laptop balancing on her knees as she worked on an assignment. your own shared bed was covered with your clothes as you of course had left it to the last minute to pack, your girlfriends own case already down by the front door ready for lotte to pick you both up tomorrow.

"oh. yeah i did, thank you!" you smiled in relief as you searched through your suitcase seeing your training kit folded neatly in the bottom, the taller girl in the other room rolling her eyes with a small smile.

the two of you headed to sweden tomorrow for your first match of the season and the qualifier of the champions league, you were over the moon to finally be playing alongside alessia than against her.

and it finally meant no more hours of travelling on the tube or cross city roadtrips just to spend a day or two together and then weeks apart until the cycle repeated. the distance wasn't easy but with time and communication you made it work, and you had never pressured one another about switching clubs.

but seeing how poorly alessia was treated by her former club, a team she'd supported since her childhood, was hard to bare when you loved her dearly. but you were there by her side through it all, the same way she was when you tore your hamstring early last year.

"i'm packed." you announced with a relieved sigh finally joining the striker on the spare bed, collapsing beside her on your back and resting your head against her hip, scrolling through your phone.

"thank god i was worried we might miss the flight." the taller girl teased, not looking away from her laptop as her fingers flew against the keyboard and you playfully pinched her leg for the comment.

the two you sat together in a comfortable silence, you swapping your social media deep dive for a book as your girlfriend tangled a hand in your hair, nails scratching at your scalp as she read through her study material.

"i'm gonna go start dinner baby." you finished your chapter, marking your page and sitting up. "hey!" you laughed as your girlfriend poked at the slit of skin which appeared as your arms up with a stretch. "what's for dinner?" the blonde asked with a curious smile.

"whatever i can make with as many items as possible, the last thing i'd like to come home to is a fridge full of expired, soggy or mouldy food." you winced in disgust, scrunching your nose at the thought. "do you want a hand?" the striker offered, moving her laptop off her knees and tugging you to lay on top of her.

"hi. "hello beautiful."

you blushed at her words as the blonde kissed your nose with a soft smile.

"no it's okay you said you need to study so you can focus when we're in sweden, i'll come get you once it's done baby." you answered her previous question with a smile, kissing her softly in thanks.

"now hit the books!" you ordered playfully, rolling off of her and standing to your feet as the blonde gave you a salute and picked her laptop back off the bed.

~

"smells almost as divine as you." you smiled as hoodie clad arms wrapped round you, the taller girl pressing her front into your back as her chin rested on your shoulder, kissing your cheek affectionately.

"charmer." you grinned, a slight blush coating your cheeks as you relaxed into her hold. "so, i have news." alessia broke the silence, unwrapping herself from you and taking a step back as you turned round and raised a curious eyebrow.

"jonas called." your girlfriend started, fiddling nervously with the sleeves of her hoodie as you tilted your head, unsure where this was going. "i'm starting on wednesday." she finally revealed, watching as your mouth dropped open, her own curling into a shit eating grin.

"baby! you're getting your debut!" you squealed happily, launching yourself at her as the blonde stumbled backwards but caught you, your legs wrapping around her waist.

"i am so proud of you less. i told you he was impressed at training!" you beamed, kissing happily all over her face as the tall blonde let out a giggle making your heart soar.

"i did smoke you at the wind sprints." "hey your legs are like half the size of my whole body you have an unfair advantage."

"but i can't believe we'll finally be on the pitch together for the same team and in the right red." you teased lightly as alessia spun you around before taking a few steps forward and placing you down to sit on the counter top.

"so long as i'm with you i couldn't care what color i'm wearing."

[superblysubpar]

return to main menu | Move masterlist |

I Want It, Can't Have It

personaltrainer!steve x personaltrainer!fem!reader

summary: Your co-worker Steve and you refuse to admit defeat in a game of who will give into their suppressed feelings for the other first. | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

6,354 words

the song: Move by Saint Motel

warnings: use of too many "petnames" | talk of jealousy & comparison with other women | a woman showing too much skin in the 80s?! Good heavens! | SMUT (unprotected piv - creampie / ass slapping / teasing - asking to cum / public - locked bathroom door but people def know)

The smell of chlorine and lemon disinfectant, flickering fluorescents overhead and the record breaking ton of body spray wafting down the hall are making the tiny men with jackhammers inside your head work overtime today. 

Hearing him before you see him, you shake out a second pain reliever - taking preventive measures for the headache that was only about to be made worse.  

Whistling a top forty track, blazer’s squeaking against the tile of the hall - because he refuses to pick up his feet when he’s around you, and the thwip of a towel smacking a coworker’s ass as they banter all fall to your ears as he rounds the corner. 

Steve fucking Harrington. 

Unsure why, the two of you quickly agreed on one thing and one thing only upon your very first introduction: you positively hated each other and would do everything in your power to make sure the other never forgot.  

Eyes trained on the staff clipboard you’re filling out for taking medicine from the first aid kit, you choose to ignore him as he grows closer. Pen scratching against the paper, your senses try to focus on writing out your full name instead of how good he smells. A hard thing to not notice when it’s compared to the hazardous waste for sweat from the teenage boys you’d been forced to endure for the better part of the last hour. 

Of course, he can’t help himself and has to ruin the one thing that brings you semi enjoyment when in his presence, clearing his throat and nodding once, without even looking at you, “Jane Fonda.”

The use of one of the nicknames he refuses to let up with has your teeth grinding as you clench your jaw, “Bite me, Harrington.”

Steve spins, toned and tanned arms folded on the desk above you as he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, hazel eyes peering down at you with contempt, “Oh good, glad to see you’re in a swell mood as always.”

Shoving the clipboard back into its slot, you push back in the rolling chair, relishing in his clenched jaw when the wheel squeaks a little too loud - two can play at the causing a headache game. An exaggerated pout forming on your lips as you force a bubbly and higher tone, “Oh. I’m so sorry. Let me go curl my hair, pop on a bright pink lip, and add an extra little perky bounce to my step so you can ogle my ass in bright blue spandex.”

“Could ya?” Steve’s lips shift up into a lopsided smirk at you.

Huffing out a breath and crossing your arms, you can’t even get another jab in before his twelve o’clock bounces through the door. To neither of your surprise, she’s dressed exactly as you had just described - blonde hair piled high in a ponytail on the top of her head just like Barbie and just like you knew it would be. Watching Steve train her for the past several weeks has been nauseating to say the least. Her leg stretched up and over his shoulder, their smirks and less than subtle flirting, and her slaps and squeezes of his biceps in an eye twitch inducing sort of way. 

“Hi Steve,” her voice sugar and spice and everything you’re not as she blows a bright pink bubble with her gum. You’re surprised Steve doesn’t pop it for her as he leans in close enough, one elbow still on the desk.

“Well, don’t you look cute today,” his voice deeper and full of a charm that’s very lacking from the way he talks to you. 

Twelve o’clock Barbie beams and he gestures down the hallway, hand on her lower back as she brushes past him. Steve lets her trail ahead, tilting his head with a sigh as he watches her ass jiggle in all the right ways. 

Scoffing at him, you chuck a rolled towel directly at the side of his head and hiss, “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

Steve spins backwards, clutching his chest and groaning through a wide grin, “I love it when you talk dirty to me babe.”

Eyes narrowing at him as he high fives one of your coworkers as he turns back around, arm wrapping over the shoulders of Barbie. Her bright and bubbly laugh trails all the way down the hall back to you, “So, did you catch the game last night?”

Steve hums, “I don’t think so…which teams were playing?”

“Oh…uh…the Cubs?”

Rolling your eyes with a snort at her question of a response. 

Baseball. 

It’s fucking February. 

Randy, your co-worker, snickers and then looks at Dylan who rounded the corner as well, shaking his head, “Five bucks he pretends he did watch the game and does her in the locker room?”

Dylan laughs, sticking out his hand for a deal, “Ten if he gets her to tell him details of the nonexistent game too.”

The boys look at you laughing and don’t even try to hide their conversation or amusement with Steve the manwhore Harrington. You’re just one of the guys here, and something about this fact that’s never bothered you before, this interaction you’ve had many times already, is burning your blood a little more than you’d care to admit. 

Their words about her perfect hair, the curve of her ass in the spandex, and the low cut of the leotard are only flashing spotlights to your exact opposite features you can see in the reflection of the glass windows. Dull and sweat matted hair shoved under a baseball hat, dark and muted tones of your joggers and sweatshirt - which now has a stain on it from lunch. Curves don’t exist, your footwear is sensible, and your skin doesn’t have that perky glisten or glow - it’s sweaty and flushed in all the wrong ways. 

Yanking your whistle down from the hook, you push past the boys. You could care less about 12 o’clock Barbie and you’re happy with your life. Confident you don’t need someone like Steve Harrington in it to make you feel fulfilled because you are independent and have a clear and level head atop your shoulders. A man staring at your ass isn’t what you want, you want to be appreciated for your brains, personality, your interests - screw pretending to like baseball to get a guy to sleep with you. You want the one who knows you like it and genuinely wants to talk to you about it, baggy sweatshirt and all. 

But when you hear a giggle and see Steve and 12 o’clock Barbie sneaking into the bathroom your stomach somersaults and something in you snaps, shouting down the hall, “Harrington! Nobody’s paying you to sleep with clients!”

Steve freezes, his strained muscles and vein in his neck visible even at a distance and his face reddens. He’s pissed.

But he turns with a bright and forced smile as Barbie dips into the locker room with an inflamed face as well. Steve walks down the hall towards you, arms crossed and head tilted, “What the hell is your problem?”

You have a lot of problems. Number one being you don’t understand what possessed you to do that, but you can’t tell him that, obviously. Queen of thinking on your feet though, you cross your arms and cock your head, “Wouldn’t want you to lose your job for not being able to keep your dick in your pants is all, buddy.”

He scoffs loudly, stepping closer to you until your back hits the wall, “Really? I would’ve thought you were the first person wanting me out on my ass, Mary Lou.”

Rolling your eyes at the new nickname, you try to side step and get out of there but his hand pushes to the brick over your shoulder, caging you in. 

Steve towers over you, faces close together and he smirks as you squirm under his insistent gaze. Steve leans closer, “Oh, I get it,” he whispers, nose almost touching yours. He’s close enough for you to see his lashes, the gold flecks in his eyes, and the freckles that dot his nose. His breath mint and charm fanning across your cheeks as he continues, “You’re jealous.”

“As. Fucking. If,” you hiss at him, nose bumping his just barely as you lean forward and narrow your eyes. 

Steve and your shallow breaths mix and amplify in your ears, everything else muffled like it’s underwater. Fingers clenched into fists at your sides, Steve’s tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip. Yours part involuntarily, his eyes glint, the mossy color deepening to a mix of dangerous forest and stormy sea and god fucking dammit, you sigh. 

Someone, somewhere in the universe, slaps you in the face in the form of Barbie dipping out of the locker room and pulling both of your attention in a blur of turquoise. Steve’s arm drops and he steps back, a smile on his face again as he turns to her, “Hey babe, ready?”

He leaves with her and it isn’t until you see them disappear around the corner and you count to five that your muscles start to unfurl, fingers uncurling from where they had been pressing crescent moons into your palms. 

Your head falls back against the brick, “Shit.” 

Snapping the palette closed, you stare at the contents littering the counter of your bathroom, untypical for a weekday. 

No. You will not wear eyeshadow to your job at a gym. 

With time to reflect on what happened with Steve on Friday, you’d only stewed and steamed more about Barbie. Steve calling you jealous? Of what? Her perfect hair and skin and body and that she was the one who got his eyes to linger?

Please. 

Steve just loves that you’re not drooling and falling over yourself for him - a challenge, a toy he can’t have. You’ve worked with him and the boys long enough and they’re all the same. They love having a pretty thing wrapped around their arm, a token to remind them they’re a winner, because it’s all just a game. They live for the rush of the chase and the high of someone screaming their name like a stadium full of fans. And you know without a doubt, Steve calling you jealous and the incident on Friday was his tip of the ball to his side of the court. He wants you to beg for it. And you’re not going to do that, because you know that it’s actually Steve who wants you. 

Smirking, you pull out an outfit you’ve yet to wear to work, a little giddy from the plan that’s slowly formulating. Steve isn’t the only one who knows a thing or two about playing games, and it’s time to show him who he’s up against. 

As typical with Steve, he shows up after you to work that day. He’s always balancing a gym bag on his shoulder, jacket slung across only one arm like he couldn’t bother to finish putting it on, hair in disarray (spending the first half hour of his shift fixing it in the bathroom) and a bagel hanging between his lips, dropping sesame seeds across the floor. 

Normally, Steve won’t even blink twice in your direction upon arrival. If he does, it’s only because you’ve gotten in his way, demanded he pick up the bagel crumbs, or you’ve done something else in the minute you’ve been in each other’s presence to annoy one another. Enough for him to remove the bagel and actually banter with you verbally instead of a grunt. 

Today though, his blazers squeak to a sharp stop and much to your delight, the bagel falls out of his mouth and hits the floor, egg sliding out and splatting and echoing in the quiet entryway. 

Grabbing your whistle and heading towards the gym for the morning meeting, you brush past him, looking over your shoulder as you call, “You better clean that up!”

A smirk still sits on your lips as you enter the gym and the conversation of all of the boys stops. Rolling your eyes at their lack of subtlety in analyzing your new look, you take your normal seat and start peeling a banana. Clearing your throat loudly, before small conversations pick up again. 

“You look nice today,” Dylan, who’s sitting next to you mumbles. He picks at a loose thread of his joggers, eyes flitting up to yours and back down to his pants. 

Really, your outfit is not that crazy. It’s still in your color palette of cooler tones, you’re not even wearing spandex for crying out loud. A little bit of midriff showing has these boys blushing more than they ever have around you, and it’s hard to hide your amusement at how easily your plan is being implemented without barely lifting a finger. 

Humming, you blink up at him innocently, “Thank you Dylan.”

He coughs into his fist, “Ye-yeah. Did you…did you do something different with your hair?”

Tilting your head at him, you time your laugh perfectly to Steve walking in, “No, nothing different with my hair…”

Dylan watches you, eyes eager on your mouth as you lift the banana up to your lips. Slowly taking a bite, you keep eye contact with him. Fluttering your eyelashes and humming around the fruit, his mouth falls open a little and it takes everything in you not to snort. Especially when a hand makes contact with the back of Dylan’s head and Steve’s bored tone falls directly behind you, “Are you twelve?”

Dylan’s cheeks turn pink and he turns sharply to the front of the room and you nudge his knee with yours, reassuring him it’s okay, before turning to face forward too. A small smile sitting on his lips and you relish in Steve’s sigh behind you. 

Unfortunately, Steve seems to realize what you’re doing far sooner than you anticipated. 

As your boss begins the meeting, hot breath fans across your neck, his voice low and barely audible even with his lips just brushing your ear, “Nice try.”

Your body betrays you and a chill runs down your spine, causing a shiver despite the embarrassed and irritated heat trying to reach every corner of your skin. You know if you turn around you’ll be face to face with a smug look and crossed muscular arms, so you don’t put yourself through the misery. 

Steve is better at this, you hate to say it, but it just means you have to think of new ideas for your playbook. 

Your clothes only get tighter and expose more skin each day. You’re playing dirty: leaning over him to grab a clipboard so your chest brushes against his arm, bending down to tie your shoe right in front of him, and at one point you tugged on the whistle around Dylan’s neck right in front of him before swaying your hips as you left him standing there shaking his head. But Steve barely broke, a tough competitor with a good defense and even better offense. Steve’s hand found your lower back in passing, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, and his flirting with Barbie and other clients only got more obvious which you didn’t think was possible. 

A week of going head to head with Steve in these little games all to prove that you weren’t jealous and it was him that wanted you. But, he was still determined it was the other way around, waiting for you to beg, to wave the white flag and just let him win. Today was your final straw, pulling out all of the stops - black spandex biker shorts and a black sports bra with, much as you hated to do it, a face full of makeup and hair styled. 

When you arrive at work on Friday, you have to actively focus on keeping your composure around Steve because it seemed he was taking a final stand in this war as well - black baseball hat, shirtless while playing basketball, his shorts slung low on his hips. 

You hate him. 

Friday’s were slow though, thankfully, and had Steve and you basically switching jobs, you with clients and him in the gym - away from each other for most of the day. Or at least, you should be away from one another for most of the day. 

Filling out a form while leaning against the counter, Steve’s voice draws your attention, “Hey, Muscles.”

A smile twitches on your lips and you look up to see him pulling a gray shirt on as he approaches, eyes lingering on the lines of his stomach, the trail of hair leading to a black elastic band peeking out of his shorts. 

Turning your body towards him, you relish in his own lingering gaze over you as you tilt your head, “Muscles? That’s a new one. And, dare I say, a compliment?”

Steve leans against the counter, squeezing water from his bottle into his mouth, some dribbling out, and you hate that you want to lick the small bead of water directly off of his skin. He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and turns his hat backwards before facing the counter. Drumming his fingers against it aimlessly, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs before admitting, “Well, you have been showing them off a bit more this week.”

Rising onto your toes, you drop the pen on the other side of the desk and risk a glance back at him. But he’s too busy staring down at your ass and you whisper, “Seen anything else you’ve liked this week?”

Steve’s eyes dart up to yours quickly, licking his lips as his hands land on top of his hat, his arms flexing as he breathes out a quiet laugh that ends in a groan, “Fuck.”

A smile worthy of a championship victory fills your face and he rolls his eyes. Before either of you can say anything, the voice of your boss hollers your last name loudly across the room.

“Yes sir?” turning to face him, you stand up a little straighter at his tone and quickly forming scowl.

He sighs as he approaches and glances at Steve who attempts to keep himself busy with a clipboard a few steps away. Your boss is nice, stuck in that sort of manly man kind of world and opinions, but nice nonetheless. You do good work and you’ve never had this sort of look opposite of you. He rubs his temples and he sighs, “I need you to find a change of clothes.”

Snorting before you realize he’s serious, he crosses his arms and you match him, your mouth dropping open as you ask, “Are you serious? Why?”

“Listen, just, this is a professional work environment and you’re showing a lot of skin and I need you to-”

Holding your hand up, you interrupt him, “That is absolutely ridiculous. No.”

He groans and grabs a stack of clipboards, “Don’t get upset, please. You’re a good worker and I don’t want to write you up but-”

Your laughter is loud and you throw an arm out to Steve who’s failing to pretend he’s not listening, “So Harrington can basically have his dick in a client, but I can’t show my shoulders and stomach?”

“Enough! Get a sweatshirt. This is your only warning.” He walks away with the clipboards and you’re left seething, kicking the counter with a grunt. 

Forgetting that Steve was even there to witness all of that, you’re reminded when a piece of fabric brushes your shoulder. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him, yanking it from his outstretched hand and stalking away before he can give you any sort of pity. 

Fingers brushing under your lashes, you refuse to cry about any of it, screw this place, screw your boss and screw Steve. It’s his fault you changed how you looked. It’s his fault your boss doesn’t take you seriously now. It’s Steve’s fault that you let a “victory” over something so stupid and juvenile cloud you from your work and your values. You changed your clothes, your appearance, and your attitude, and for what? To prove Steve likes a different version of you? Does it even feel good knowing you got his attention?

Pulling the sweatshirt on, you hate that you recognize that it’s his from the smell filling your senses. Hands shove themselves inside the pockets and they brush against a piece of paper. A folded sheet from a notebook with your initial on the front, you pull it open to see ‘Meet me. Bathroom. -Steve’.

Scoffing, you shove it back in the pocket and storm off towards the staff bathroom. He’s so full of himself, probably expecting to swoop in and comfort you and still score. You slam the door open and he jumps, grabbing at his chest before resting his hands on his knees.

“Jesus Christ, could kill a guy with an entrance like that.”

Closing the door and leaning against it, you cross your arms and hiss, “What do you want, Harrington?”

He stands and mirrors your stance, leaning against the sink as he shrugs, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for the sweatshirt. Anything else?” you don’t make any movements to leave despite your better judgements.

He leans his hands back on the counter, smirking, “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear you’ve been thinking about my dick.”

Pushing yourself off of the door, you snort, “Seriously? Do you really think I still want to sleep with you?”

Steve’s smirk widens, lips upturned slightly higher on one side in a signature lopsided grin, “Still?”

Your hand points at him, stopping any sort of thoughts from running away, “No. Listen. Steve, you only started to give me the time of day when I dressed differently, when I acted like those other girls and I hate to break it to you, but I am and never will be like Barbie.”

Steve takes a step closer, toes of your shoes touching and he reaches for your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin tenderly in a way you never expected from him as he shakes his head, “You’re crazy if you think I wasn’t staring at your ass before this week, Florence.”

Heart thrumming at his admission, you tilt your head at the new name, “Florence?”

Steve’s fingers brush up your forearm, gliding under his sweatshirt, “Griffith-Joyner? Flo-Jo?”

Breath hitching, you’re starting to wonder if he’s looking up these women on purpose. Thoughts of Steve researching or deciding new names to call you outside of work sends electric jolts straight to your heart. He can’t know, and you can’t let him think you’re falling for any of this and you start to pull away. His fingers are on your shoulder now and he sighs. From how his eyes are peering directly into your soul, you know he already knows that you’re hooked - line and sinker. 

He pulls you closer, fingers on the back of your neck, the other hand reaching up to cradle your jaw and his nose nudges yours, “Say you want this.”

Your hands work on their own accord, pushing up his chest to around his neck, head craning to arch back, rising on your toes slightly as your lips catch his barely as you breathe out, “You first.”

His hand on your neck squeezes lightly, laughing a little into your parted lips, “Fuck, you’re so stubborn.”

Steps falling backwards, your shoes are being kicked off your feet, “Wh-what time is it?”

Steve blinks at you, barely pulling away, his body pressing you against the door now, “What?”

Your hands find his hips, fingers dipping under the elastic waistband, “I have a 2 o’clock appointment.”

Steve breathes out, bottom lip catching your top one, “Shit, yeah, I’ll be…I’ll be fast.”

Laughing, your hands push at his shorts, “Is that supposed to impress me Harring-”

“Fuck, just shut up,” he commands, mouth swallowing the end of your sentence in a kiss. 

Steve’s thumb brushes against your jaw as your mouths move with each other’s quickly, like that first sip of water after hours of sweating. Steve kisses you like it’s the first and the last, somehow tender and forceful, fingers tangling in your hair while his tongue pushes against yours. 

Pants shed quickly, his other hand rubs against the front of your already wet underwear and he moans into your lips. Breaking away, you finish pulling his boxers down and bite your lip as the swollen red tip of his length twitches under your touch. 

Steve’s fingers tug your underwear aside, finger running up and down through your slick in a way that makes your legs buckle. His breath is shallow against your skin, foreheads touching but you can still see his smirk, “Think you can handle it, pretty girl?”

Fingers wrapping around his length, you roll your eyes and ignore the way the ‘pretty girl’ makes your stomach flutter alive with a swarm of butterflies, “Please, it’s not that big.”

Steve laughs, a little too loudly, and your other hand slaps over his mouth. His eyes sparkle above you, gold flecks that seem like your own little personal spotlights, lighting you up in a way you didn’t dare dream of. 

You are fucked. 

But he can’t know that, he can’t win. Because despite the way his fingers dipping into your entrance suddenly has you gasping and your eyes rolling, the way your thumb swipes over his leaking tip has the same effect on him. It’s an even playing field and you’re determined to make him sweat a little more. 

Your hands move around his neck, pulling his mouth to yours, “You have five minutes to prove me wrong, Harrington, think you can handle the pressure?”

Steve’s hands find your hips and lift you, your legs wrapping around his waist like you’ve done it hundreds of times before and he looks down at them with raised eyebrows, “Have you done this before?”

“Four minutes and forty eight seconds Steven,” you catch his bottom lip and he moans. 

His fingers hold your underwear aside as he rolls his hips, coating his dick in your slick with a few swipes through you, tip catching your clit before sliding back down and pushing into you forcefully and without warning. He catches your scream and gasps with his mouth, nodding against you as he slowly continues to push into you. Your fingers grip the back of his head, causing his hat to fall off, as your head smacks into the door behind you, back arching away from it. Steve’s hands on your hips hold you steady, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as they caress down and cup it. 

Once he’s fully inside of you, and your breathing seems to slow again, he pulls his mouth away just enough to whisper, “Knew ya could handle it.”

“Four…fuck…minutes” his hips roll against yours and a moan echos across the tiles and the distinct sound of a click of the lock as his hand reaches below you. 

Your body heats with embarrassment, you hadn’t even thought about locking the door and Steve knows it. Your fingers tug at the back of his head in an effort to gain control again, yanking it a little too forcefully and he growls as you hiss, “Gonna move or not?”

Steve’s hands move back to your hips after giving your ass a harsher squeeze, pulling out of you slowly, “Are you ever not bossy?”

Before you can reply he’s pushing back into you, smirking at the way your mouth falls open and no sound leaving it as he hits the deep spot inside of you quickly. He continues his slow pulls and forceful pushes, the muscles of his shoulder tensing, able to feel each twitch and move under your hands through his shirt. His fingertips bruise your hips, dragging your slick walls back and forth across his length at an agonizing pace. Your legs locked around his waist, you glance down to where your bodies connect, the sight of your slick coating the rough patch of hair at his base making your walls clench around him tighter. Steve’s breath hits your neck, squeezing your hips even harder as he gasps out against your temple. 

Smirking at his weakening defenses, you hide your own insatiable desire, teasing, “Harder, Steve.”

The boy whimpers, nose pressing into the sweat slick skin of your neck as his hips pick up their pace. The sounds of your shallow breaths mix with the sharp slapping of your skin, and he groans, “Fuck-I can’t…I can’t-”

“Come on, Steve, this is the best you can do? I thought you do this all the ti-”

He’s had it with your teasing finally it seems, and he pulls out of you harshly, arm wrapping around your waist to spin you before yanking you back against his chest. 

Wet lips brush your jaw from behind, arm squeezing in a warning around your stomach, “Tell me what to do again. See what happens.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you don’t trust your voice to not give away the tidal wave of arousal that’s threatening to crack the dams you have in place. A breath out through your nose before you whisper, “Don’t be mean.”

He laughs against your neck, lips dragging down and awaking a sea of goosebumps to rise across your skin. He speaks into the sweat kissed dip of your shoulder, “So, she dishes it out, but can’t take it?”

Before you can even respond, Steve’s pushing your back, chest falling to the counter in front of you as his hands find your hips. His voice is stronger, deeper, rougher as he commands, “Open.”

Your head falls forward, eyes squeezing shut at his tone, thighs sticky and pushed together tightly from the arousal that’s reached its breaking point with barely any touching and a simple word.  

The swollen and wet tip of his cock presses into your ass as he squeezes your hips, “Baby, don’t make me say it again.”

Every time he’s called you a name other than an athlete has you seeing stars already, wanting to keep playing the game to see how many more you can collect. Pressing yourself against him, you arch your back as you pout, “A please would be nice.”

His hand connects with your ass, a sharp smack that echoes and stings as he mocks, “Please?”

Legs falling open easily, he slides himself through your slick, dragging and coating his tip in your arousal even more, you know you’ve lost, because he’s the one with the power now. His hand pushes between your shoulder blades, the other gripping the dough of a cheek, slapping it again as his tip bumps your swollen nerves with a precision you know is one hundred percent on purpose and stupidly accurate. 

Without warning again, Steve pushes into your entrance, a cry stopped by the press of your teeth into your bottom lip as your fingers grasp for purchase on the flat surface beneath you. 

Steve’s agonizing pace from earlier is gone, slamming his body against yours in a brutal and bruising speed. Your hands start to push against the counter and Steve’s hand drags down your spine, pushing on your lower back gently in contrast to his forceful command, “Don’t move.”

Walls tightening around his cock at his tone, the sounds of him pulling and pushing into your dripping center mix with the quiet bump of your knees hitting the cabinet in front of you rhythmically.   

His fingers not on your back knead into the plush skin of your ass after smacking it lighter than before, but still hard enough for you to tighten around him again. He moans, huffing a long breath out of his nose, “Fuck, like being told what to do, huh?”

Hips never stopping their harsh thrusts, your breath sticks in your chest as you keep your moans stifled, threatening to bubble up and past your lips as he smacks the same spot again, the sting coating your lashes in wetness as he whispers, “I asked you a question babe.”

It’s a breath, and if you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror in front of you, you may not have even realized you admitted it, “Yes.”

Steve’s fingers trail from their soothing kneading against the red skin, to your hip, brushing down your thigh and back up. His hips roll and he picks up his pace, humming out a content sigh at your admission. His eyes lock on yours in the mirror and he smirks, “So good for me, being such a - shit,” his eyes close as you push your ass back against him, slipping him in deeper than before, fingers dragging on the cool counter. He grunts through the rest of his sentence, “You’re so mean to me, but this is what you wanted all along, yeah?”

Moaning at his question, your eyes squeeze closed, the coil inside of your stomach pulled tight, body vibrating and chasing that breaking point until you have to release. He leans forward, brushing his lips against your shoulder, hands back to your hips as he hits that deep spot inside of you repeatedly with bruising accuracy. Steve smiles against your skin, “You act all disgusted by me too, and turns out,” his lips and nose glide across your muscles, warm breath fanning across your skin and his fingers brush back up to your hips as his mouth opens more against you, trailing to your neck. His breath shoots the tightening in your stomach into overdrive and a whine falls from your parting lips as his fingers adjust on your hips, whispering, “You’re just as much of a slut as I am.”

Eyes fluttering and breath hitching at his comment, your back arches up again, but not far enough before he presses his weight against you. Pushing himself faster and to a spot that feels like you can feel him rearranging your guts and you both moan loudly, his breath hitting your neck in a way that has your fingers searching for purchase beneath them, whining louder and your knees aching to collapse. 

Steve gasps harshly, sucking in a deep breath he can’t quite finish, the sound directly in your ear and before another moan can break past your lips, his hand is coming up to press over your mouth. Your eyes rolling back as he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Be good baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to get fired for not keeping their dick in their pants, right?”

Nodding your head as he slowly lets his hand go. Your sighs quiet until his other hand wraps around your waist, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your swollen button. You jolt at the stimulation he had yet to reward you with, knees losing their battle and buckling, Steve holds you up, grunting as you cry out quietly, “St-steve.”

Somehow quickening his pace, his thumbs circular motions match perfectly to the rhythm of his hips, “Quiet, come on, babe, thought you were good at following instructions.”

Whimpering as he thrusts into you harder, your body fully collapsing against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool of the stone underneath it. Steve’s swirls to your swollen nerves are the breaking point, the added weight that breaks you from pushing it any further, unable to do another rep and your lashes wet, “Steve, I’m gonna - fuck, I-”

He can feel you tightening around him, his own hips stuttering but the game isn’t over yet. His mouth drags down your neck and another shiver runs through you as he smirks into your shoulder, “A please would be nice.”

And with your own sentence thrown back at you, he’s won.

Eyes opening, you see his own watching your body swallow everything he gives it eagerly. Standing back up fully, his cheeks flushed pink, hair sweeping across his forehead. His fingers dig into your hips as his bottom lip pulls between his teeth. His head falls backwards, breath huffed out of his nose. 

“Please.”

Unsure if he says it again or it’s you, both of you collapse into the feeling of releasing. His thumb continues its circling as his hips stutter un-rhythmically. Both of you gasping out for breath as your walls milk his release and your body relaxes into its own. Muscles unfurling, fingers flattening to the counter, back arching as his hand caresses down your spine in buzzing tenderness. Meeting gazes in the mirror again, his chest heaves in time with yours and your rolling eyes are met with a widening grin on his face. 

A loud knock comes from the door and you both jump, your hand slapping over your mouth as Dylan’s voice calls your name through the closed door, "You in there? Mr. Conners has been out in the lobby for ten minutes!”

Steve leans forward, grabbing your hand from across your mouth. He presses it down, covering it on the counter with his large one. His other squeezes your hip as he stays buried inside of you. He nips at your neck and you squeak out, “Uh-I, I’m not feeling well, can someone else do it?”

A huff on the outside of the door and Steve’s mouth starts sucking a bruise into the skin below your ear and you smirk, calling out more confidently, “I bet Steve could! He’s not doing anything today!”

Steve pinches your waist and you yelp, walls tightening around him and he moans loudly at the feeling, still sensitive from his release. Reaching up awkwardly from your still bent position, you flick the side of his head. 

A louder sigh from the other side of the door and a groan, “Man, fuck you Harrington. I know you’re in there with her!”

Steve and your laughter is hard to keep quiet as Dylan kicks the door, his voice trailing off as he walks away, “You just can’t let anyone else win can you? You two deserve each other.”

originally a part of @newlips milestone of love event 💛 thank you for hosting Cece!

[intricatechaosofyou]

Sewing Lessons

Fandom: The Bad Batch; Star Wars

Summary: Life Day is quickly approaching, so you and Omega set out to give your boys some gifts.

Using the prompts “Did you get us matching pajamas?”

Warnings: sewing needles (no one gets poked, they just exist), kissing, I am unaware if mistletoe is a thing in the Star Wars universe but it is now so deal with it

Author’s note: Happy Life Day Exchange @wizardmandoo !! It was great getting to write for you. I hope you enjoy this story and have a fantastic Life Day season, babe!

And thank you to @cloneficgiftexchange for putting this together!! This was my first exchange and I’m so glad to take part!

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Strands of green hung around Omega’s door frame as she sat in the gunner’s mount that served as her makeshift room. The young girl had never experienced a real Life Day before. Kamino wasn’t known for their festivities; the long-necks claimed they took away from their work time. So although the boys didn’t have much experience actually celebrating the holiday either, they all tried their best to give Omega a perfect first Life Day.

Hunter had let you all stop for a few days on a snowy planet. With enough supplies, he figured you could take a break somewhere festive for the holiday.

Wrecker had let Omega sit atop his shoulders to hang up homemade garland around the Marauder.

Tech had taught her about the history behind the holiday, telling her everything he had learned from the Holonet.

Crosshair had taught her to make the perfect snowball and helped her perfect her aim.

And Echo told her stories every night before bed he had heard back during his days celebrating Life Day in the 501st.

Yes, all the boys had done their best to give Omega a perfect Life Day. But Omega was even more excited to give them a perfect Life Day. The girl had the biggest heart, so that’s how you found yourself crammed in the gunner’s mount with her, carefully watching as she stitched her design.

She had wanted to give the boys gifts, and when you recommended pajama pants, she jumped at the idea. The boys only had their blacks and sometimes the Marauder could get cold, even for them.

So the two of you found the perfect red and black pants that would match the team’s colors, and Omega was insistent on adding the Clone Force 99 symbol onto the pants, skull and all.

“It’ll be perfect!” She claimed.

So you found the sewing kit you kept in case someone’s clothes needed repair and showed her how to sew.

The girl was very intent in her escapades, listening and watching your stitching intently. She put her all into making the design. And when she was disappointed about her stitches being crooked, you reassured her that her brothers would love them no matter how they looked.

“I’m done with Tech’s,” she announced, holding up the pants to show the freshly sewn design on the left leg.

“Perfect, Megs. Now only Echo’s and Hunter’s left.” You took the garment from her and folded them up to add them to the pile of finished gifts.

She nodded and began to thread her needle when Wrecker called her name from the cockpit.

“I got something else to hang up!” He called.

Placing her supplies down, she rushed down the ladder to help Wrecker hang up another decoration.

You laughed and climbed down from her room as she took off. You smiled at the small girl before looking to your left, finding Hunter leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his chest.

“Hey there, Sarge,” you smiled.

He smiled and glanced over at Omega. “You two are certainly spending a lot of time up there.”

“Just having a little girl time.”

His eyebrow raised at your response. Although it wasn’t a complete lie, it wasn’t the complete truth either.

“Anything I should be concerned about?” He questioned.

You adamantly shook your head. “Nope!”

He smirked and leaned in to whisper in your ear so Omega wouldn’t overhear him. “No Life Day gifts hidden up there?”

You gasped and gently hit his arm. “How dare you accuse us of hiding something!”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move away from you. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the surprise, cyar’ika.”

“You better not,” you retorted as Omega came rushing back up to the two of you.

She immediately grabbed your hand and tugged you back towards her project. You didn’t resist the girl’s pull and sent Hunter a wink before heading back to Omega’s little room.

———————

The seven of you sat in the middle of the hull of the Marauder. Omega had practically been bouncing off the walls as the time to exchange gifts came around. She happily handed each of them their gifts. Even though you didn’t have enough credits to wrap them in something nice, it was clear by the look on their faces that they appreciated the gesture.

As they unfolded the garments, Hunter smiled at you. “Did you get us matching pajamas?”

You nodded and gestured to the girl beside you. “Megs is the mastermind behind this one. She wanted to do something special for you boys.”

“Do you like it?” The young girl asked, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“They’re perfect, Omega,” Echo replied.

“They’ve even got our symbol on ‘em!” Wrecker shouted, glee evident in his voice as he held up the pants. “Looks great!”

Omega smiled and happily retold the story of sewing the symbol on as the boys listened, indulging her in the exaggerated tale. Even Crosshair had a small smile on his face as Omega spoke.

You happily listened along from your spot on the floor when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you found Hunter standing above you. Subtly, he tilted his head towards the doorway of the cockpit.

Getting the message, you nodded and stood up, careful not to interrupt Omega’s story as you two made your way to the cockpit.

“What’s up, Hunter?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stood in the doorway.

There was a pause as he considered his next words, fingers twitching as if he was twirling his vibroblade between them.

“I wanted to thank you. For the pants,” he finally said.

“Megs and I just want our boys to be comfortable,” you responded, heat blooming in your chest. “Thanks for not spoiling the surprise.”

A smirk made its way onto his face and he leaned back against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “So you two were hiding Life Day gifts.”

“We weren’t hiding anything. We just evaded your senses,” you lied, smiling innocently at the sergeant.

Hunter clicked his tongue. “Nothing evades my senses, cyar’ika.”

You tensed slightly, wondering if that was true. Could he hear the way your heart was fluttering in your chest? Could he see the way you smiled just a little bit bigger when you saw him? Could he feel how your skin was always warm when he was around?

Hunter opened his mouth, no doubt to tease you again, when Crosshair’s voice rang out through the ship.

“The mistletoe seemed to evade your senses though.”

You glanced at the team’s sniper, brow furrowing before looking above your head.

There it was. A small plant hung from the cockpit’s doorway: the new decoration Omega and Wrecker had hung up a few days prior.

Glancing back at Crosshair, you found that the rest of the team was staring at you.

“What‘s so important about mistletoe?” Omega asked innocently.

“It means they gotta kiss,” Echo explained, a teasing lilt in his voice as he glanced at the two of you.

“Technically—“

Tech was quickly cut off when Wrecker shoved him.

“Shush!”

You turned back to Hunter, slightly confused when you saw the small smirk on his face.

“Hunter…”

One of his hands came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face towards his.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours. “I told you. Nothing evades my senses.”

Before you could respond, you felt his lips press against yours. It was completely intoxicating, and you grabbed his shoulders to keep yourself steady. The kiss was filled with such precision, every movement careful but filled with such feeling, you felt like you were drowning in him.

As Hunter pulled back from you, the rest of the world came crashing back on you. The cheers of his brothers, the feel of his blacks beneath your fingers, and yet you could only focus on his eyes and how they remained fixed on you.

You, stumbling over yourself as your mind tried to catch up.

Your head spun as you connected the dots, the fact he brought you over here purposely, knowing the mistletoe hung above you.

Just to kiss you?

It seemed surreal, the ghost of Hunter’s lips still on yours. But it was real.

A smirk spread across your lips. “I’m glad you liked the present.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He asked.

“Happy Life Day,” you whispered, before reconnecting your lips, earning another round of hoots and hollers from his brothers and Omega.

And as you two rejoined the group, Hunter’s arm draped across your waist, you smiled to yourself. Happy Life Day indeed.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Unlikely Roads Chapter 3: Unexpected Ally

Summary:

Danny and his rival, Wes Weston, join forces to escape the GIW. On a tense road trip, they uncover personal truths and forge an unexpected bond while battling both the GIW and their own conflicts.

The phone buzzed in Wes’s pocket, a sudden intrusion into the heavy silence that had settled between them. Wes fumbled to pull it out, his fingers clumsy from the cold. The screen flickered to life, illuminating the bruises on his face as he squinted at the message.

“It’s from my uncle,” Wes muttered, his voice uncertain.

Danny looked over from where he was leaning against the crumpled remains of the bike, his eyes narrowing. “The one who doesn’t trust anyone, including you?”

“Yeah, that one.” Wes paused, reading through the message, his expression shifting from confusion to surprise. “He says he’s been following the news. He knows about the GIW and... he’s offering us a place to hide.”

Danny blinked. “Seriously? Why now?”

Wes shrugged, wincing as he shifted his injured leg. “He’s always been paranoid about the government. I guess he sees the GIW as proof he was right. He doesn’t care about me—he just hates them more.”

Danny didn’t trust it, but at this point, they didn’t have much of a choice. With the bike destroyed and the GIW hunting them down, they were out of options.

“Where is he?” Danny asked.

“ Guess he's out in the middle of nowhere. A cabin in the woods,” Wes said, glancing up from the phone. “We could be there in a few hours—if we had a ride.”

Danny stood, pacing back and forth. His mind raced through the possibilities, none of them good. “We’ll figure something out.”

Several hours later, after hitching a ride from a sympathetic trucker, Danny and Wes found themselves standing in front of an old, weathered cabin. The trees loomed tall and dense around them, the silence of the woods broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The place was remote, far enough off the grid to give them a few days of peace—if they were lucky.

Wes’s uncle stood in the doorway, a grizzled man in his fifties with a permanent scowl etched into his face. His arms were crossed, and his eyes flicked between Wes and Danny with suspicion, but he said nothing as they approached.

“This is him?” Danny whispered to Wes as they walked up the creaky steps.

“Yeah,” Wes muttered back. “Brace yourself.”

Wes’s uncle grunted in acknowledgment as they reached the porch. “You look like hell,” he said, glancing at Wes’s injured leg.

“Good to see you too, Uncle Ray,” Wes shot back, though there wasn’t much heat behind it.

Uncle Ray’s gaze lingered on Danny, his eyes narrowing. “So, you’re the kid with the ghost problem.”

Danny tensed, unsure how much Wes had told him. “Something like that.”

Ray gave a noncommittal grunt, then turned, jerking his head toward the open door. “Get inside before you freeze to death.”

The cabin was small but well-kept. The walls were lined with shelves cluttered with books, tools, and old radios. A fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. It was the first time in days Danny felt even remotely safe, though the tension between him and Wes was still palpable.

Ray pointed to a worn-out couch. “Sit. I’ll grab the first-aid kit.”

Wes limped over to the couch and sank down with a groan, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Danny stayed standing, scanning the room, half-expecting something to go wrong at any moment.

Ray returned with the kit and a bottle of water, setting them down on the small table in front of Wes. “You’ll need to rest that leg for a while,” he said gruffly, “but I can’t promise you’ll be here long. The GIW doesn’t like loose ends.”

Danny sat down across from Wes, folding his arms. “Why are you helping us? You don’t seem like the kind of guy who gets involved.”

Ray shrugged, sitting down in a chair by the fire. “I’ve always kept to myself, but I’ve been watching the news. The government’s been getting too comfortable lately, stomping on people’s lives without consequence. The GIW’s just the latest example.”

Wes winced as he started wrapping his leg with the bandages Ray had given him. “So, what’s the plan? You got some kind of secret bunker we can hide in?”

Ray chuckled darkly. “I don’t have a bunker, kid. But this place is off the grid enough to buy you some time. Not much, though.”

Danny leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “We’ve been running from the GIW for days. They’re not going to stop until they catch us.”

Ray nodded grimly. “That’s what they do. They won’t stop until they’ve ‘neutralized’ the threat. Which, in this case, means you.” His gaze flicked to Danny. “You’re the target.”

Danny felt the weight of those words sink in. He’d always known he was a target, but hearing it spelled out so bluntly made it feel more real. He glanced over at Wes, who was staring down at his leg, his expression unreadable.

Ray stood, heading to the kitchen. “You two look like you haven’t eaten in days. I’ll make something.”

As Ray busied himself with food, Danny and Wes sat in silence, the flickering light of the fire casting long shadows on the walls. The exhaustion of their journey weighed heavily on both of them, but neither was willing to admit how scared they really were.

After a while, Danny spoke up, his voice quieter than usual. “This is bad, Wes. The GIW’s gaining too much power. If they’re willing to go after someone like you, what’s next?”

Wes didn’t look up, his fingers tracing the edge of the bandage on his leg. “I don’t know. I just... I didn’t think it would go this far. I thought I was just—”

“Annoying me?” Danny finished with a small smirk.

Wes finally met his eyes. “I was trying to do the right thing. I thought exposing you would make everything better.”

“And now?” Danny asked, his tone more serious.

Wes sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Now I see that it’s not just about you. The GIW... they’re not just hunting ghosts. They’re after anyone who doesn’t fit their perfect idea of control.”

Danny nodded, understanding all too well. He had always been on the outside, constantly running, constantly hiding. But Wes... Wes had been dragged into this mess just for getting too close to the truth. And now they were both paying the price.

Ray returned with a couple of sandwiches, dropping them on the table in front of the boys. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Danny grabbed his sandwich, taking a bite as the fire crackled in the hearth. For the first time in a while, they had a moment of quiet—no GIW agents, no chases, no immediate danger. But even as they ate, the weight of their situation loomed over them.

“How long do you think we have?” Wes asked between bites, his voice low.

Ray didn’t look up from the chair by the fire. “A few days, maybe. But if they’re as relentless as you say, they’ll find you eventually. You need a plan.”

Danny swallowed, glancing over at Wes. “We’ll figure it out.”

But deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

[scrollsaplenty]

Clawing Fear

Hello, everyone!

Here is another little one-shot of my OC, Mara, and Astarion.

TW for blood and injury.

One-shot under the cut! Enjoy.

“Then it’s settled,” Mara muttered as she drew a few symbols on the map, “Tomorrow at first light Karlach, Shadowheart, Astarion, and I will head into the Underdark to start looking for the path to Moonrise Towers. While we head forward, Lae’zel, Wyll, and Gale will finish clearing the goblin camp and then follow our trail. Does anyone have questions?” 

The group was silent. Between their exhaustion from fighting Ethel and the impending anxieties associated with the journey ahead, everyone was eager for bed. As the group dispersed, Mara carefully folded the map and began tucking her things into her pack. 

“I can feel you staring,” Mara muttered as she closed her pack. She turned towards Astarion and folded her arms over her chest. 

Astarion’s gaze softened at the sight of Mara in his tunic. The tunic dwarfed Mara’s smaller frame, allowing one of her elegant shoulders to poke free from the collar. The badges Shadowheart applied to Mara’s chest poked through causing something to stir in the pit of Astarion’s stomach. 

“Come,” Astarion reached for Shadowheart’s discarded healing kit and motioned for the edge of the camp, “It’s time to change your bandages.” 

Both knew it wasn’t time for Mara’s bandages to be changed. But Astarion’s tone was short and commanding, leaving Mara little room to argue. She sighed and followed Astarion toward the water's edge. 

“Sit,” Astarion commanded as he knelt beside Mara, “Take off my tunic so I can work.” 

Mara sat cross-legged next to Astarion. Tension filled the air as she strained to lift the tunic over her head. Mara grunted as she tossed the garment aside. The cold air met her bare flesh causing Mara to shutter. She was thankful for the thin undergarments she purchased from the grove. The thin linen fabric was a pathetic attempt at modesty, but it was something. 

“If you wanted to get me naked again,” Mara’s voice shuttered as Astarion’s nimble fingers carefully unraveled her bandages, “All you had to do was ask.” 

Normally, Astarion revealed in their flirtatious quips, but today he was in no mood for Mara’s sarcasm. Just hours ago Astarion was forced to watch as Ethel brought her monstrous claws down upon Mara’s chest. Astarion was certain he would never forget the blood-curdling sound of Mara’s screams nor would he erase the image of her body crumbling to the ground from his memory. He would never forget the horror that rushed through his body at the thought of losing the strange young woman. 

“Trying to corner the hag by yourself was stupid,” Astarion snapped as he tossed the dirty bandage to the side. He dipped a clean rag into the river and began dabbing dried blood off Mara’s pale freckled flesh.

Mara hissed at the sensation, “If I didn’t distract Ethel then Mayrina might be dead.” 

“To hells with the stupid girl,” Astarion hissed. He hated Mara’s selflessness; her inability to turn away from another's suffering all while ignoring her own. Astarion hated that Mara threw herself in dangerous situations just for the greater good. Astarion hated that moment he felt utterly helpless. 

But most of all, Astarion hated the feelings he still refused to acknowledge building in the pit of his stomach. 

“She is foolish,” Mara agreed as Astarion dipped the rag into the river, “but that doesn’t mean she deserved whatever Ethel had planned.” 

A part of Astarion wanted to scream at Mara, but he knew Mara would never understand his fear. He didn’t even fully understand his own fear, and he hated it. 

An uneasy silence fell between the two. Astarion wasn’t a healer and knew very little of the science, but he tried not to fumble through Shadowheart’s kit. He reached for a cleansing balm and tried to keep from looking at Mara’s wound. 

Mara noticed Astarion’s discomfort and frowned. Mara reached a gentle hand towards Astarion and cupped his sharp cheek. Astarion froze under Mara’s gentle touch.

How many decades had it been since Astarion felt tenderness? Tenderness with no ulterior motive. The tenderness that was true, gentle, and caring. But what terrified Astarion the most was how deeply he longed for more. More tenderness, more gentle caresses, more kind gestures, and more of her. 

“I’m alive, Astarion. I will do my best to not put myself in such a position again. But I cannot promise that I won’t help those who need it,” Mara spoke with equal parts gentleness and determination. 

It stirred those unspoken feelings inside Astarion, and he hated it. 

Astarion said nothing, leaned away from her touch, and applied the salve to the four angry red gashes on Mara’s chest. Mara hissed as the salve seeped into the wounds but remained still. 

A strained silence fell between the two once again. Astarion reached for a roll of bandages and began rewrapping the wound. 

“There,” Astarion muttered, “Have Shadowheart clean the wound in the morning before we leave for the Underdark.” 

The wrap was clumsy and Mara knew it wouldn’t stay in place throughout the night. Shadowheart would be livid in the morning when she saw that Astarion undid her work. Mara reached for Astarion’s discarded tunic and pulled it back on. 

“Are you excited about going into the Underdark tomorrow?” Mara asked as she pulled her knees to her chest, “It’s dark and everything wants to kill you. It seems like a vampiric dream.” 

Astarion stood as the unspoken feeling bubbles in his stomach, “You need your sleep, we have a long day ahead of ourselves. Good night, my darling.” 

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Sooooo I may be a little in love with Drifter 🥺 because of that could we possibly get "your body was made for mine" or "i'll take good care of you, i promise." Whichever you think fits him more (or honestly any other of the prompts I'll take any of em!)

DEEJA!!! I'm just as excited by this ask as the day you submitted it, and I'm still just alandjsjamal over the fact that you asked for my boy Drifter!! I hope this feeds the brainrot <3

Favors and Promises

Summary: After returning from a long campaign, Drifter has only one thing on his mind.

Warnings: 18+ minors get away; f!reader x OC Captain Drifter, oral (f receiving), some slight angst, quiet yet intense feelings, I'm feral for this man & he's from my own brain

Word Count: 717

A/N: Three smut drabbles in one night! no idea where this all is coming from but I won't complain. if you'd like to learn more about Drifter, you can read here, here, and here!

Drifter stands at the edge of your bed, still in his full kit of armor. Only his helmet is removed, tucked under his forearm, propped on his hip. The scuffed forest green paint makes your heart squeeze for a moment, your perceptive eyes picking out all the new scratches and missing flakes of paint that catalog all the near misses he had on this latest deployment. At the very least, his face seems free of any new scars; his eyebrow piercing glints dully just the same. But the ache in your chest only soothes when he tilts his head, his dark gaze catching yours. His eyebrows lift in a silent question. 

“Missed you,” is all you say. It’s all you can say—there are not enough words to express how grateful you are that he’s returned to you. 

The ghost of a smile graces his features. He’s tired, that much you can tell; but there’s something else lingering in his glimmering amber eyes, something deeper, hungrier, that makes your blood thrill. 

“Drifter?” you say, voice hushed, barely audible over the rushing of the incessant Coruscanti skylane traffic. 

“Sarad,” he hums. “Can I ask a favor of you?” 

Pushing yourself away from the snuggly cocoon of pillows and blankets, you sit up a little straighter. The low rumble of his voice washes over your skin with a shiver. You’re certain the goosebumps that erupt over your bare arms has nothing to do with the arousal pooling in your belly, and everything to do with the chill of the conditioned air. 

“Of course, love.” You offer a smile. 

He appraises you for a moment in silence. The longer he remains still, the shallower your breathing becomes. His gaze trails down your form, lingering on your bare shoulder where your shirt has slipped down and on your parted thighs where you sit cross-legged. You watch the subtle way he shifts his stance that can only mean one thing—and sure enough, his codpiece doesn’t quite lay flush as it should. 

“Let me make you cum on my tongue,” he finally says. “Please.” 

Your lips part in a gasp of “oh,” and then you nod frantically, shoving the sheets out of the way. Drifter doesn’t even bother to remove any of his armor, just sets his helmet on the ground with a soft thud before crawling over the bed to you. His lips find yours in a heated kiss, his beard scratching your face in a familiar, soothing burn. You moan into his mouth. 

“Missed you,” you repeat, words muffled against his lips, “so much.” 

“Me too,” he says. He nudges your face to the side with his nose, then presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your cheek to your neck. When he laves over the one spot he knows drives you crazy, you arch into him, your hands finally flying to find purchase. One hand buries into his soft curls; the other hastily shoves your sleep shorts down over the swell of your ass. 

Drifter nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder as one of his gloved hands trails between your thighs and draws a feather-light trail up your folds. Whimpering, you drag his face back to yours to devour him, teeth clacking together and tongues sliding over one another. 

He pushes you firmly onto your back, then pulls away. His eyes are wild with lust; without breaking eye contact, he shuffles down the bed and slings your legs over his pauldrons. The cold plastoid armor makes you hiss, but the discomfort is very quickly forgotten as soon as his hot mouth seals over your pussy and moans. 

Fingers tangling in his hair, you catch your bottom lip between your teeth as his tongue darts out to draw light circles around your clit. You dig your heels into his armor, pushing him down into the bed and closer to you.

“D-Drift,” you mumble. 

He licks a stripe up your cunt with the flat of his tongue. Already his face bears signs of your arousal, the dark hairs along his upper lip and chin shiny with slick. You whine when he pulls away. 

“Shh, shh, mesh’la,” he croons. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” 

He’s never broken a promise to you before, and he certainly doesn’t intend to start tonight.

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @lem-hhn @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @originalcollectionartistry

[mama-qwerty]

“I am not a warrior.”

Knuckles stood at the base of the Emerald shrine, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he watched Tails scurry about the Master Emerald, taking readings and notes on the energy output. The echidna wasn’t all that keen on letting anyone that close to the giant gem, considering he’d just gotten it back from the latest greedy villain who’d snatched it for their own gain, but despite everything, he trusted Tails completely. And he would be able to tell if the Emerald decided it had had enough of the fox’s curiosity.

Besides, the kit and Sonic had gone to great lengths, and great peril, to help rescue the Master Emerald. There were only a handful of people Knuckles trusted with the gem, and the hedgehog and fox were at the top of that short list.

“What?”

Sonic had been lounging beneath a tree nearby, resting from their most recent battle. He laid with his shoulders resting against the trunk, hands folded on his belly, one leg bent and supporting the other. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes when he spoke.

Knuckles lifted his lip in an annoyed snarl. The hedgehog’s lackadaisical attitude to these types of threats never ceased to infuriate him.

“You keep referring to me as a ‘big bad echidna warrior’. I am not a warrior.”

Keep reading on ao3

[forest-falcon]

Part One of my current WIP

Virgil lay on his stomach, his toes digging into the wet sand as the gentle tide swept over his feet. It was a beautiful day. A rare day where all the brothers had time on their hands. The sun had beckoned the engineer out from his workshop cave and into the warm and dappled light. He snoozed there, enjoying the unique soundscape belonging to their shoreline; sounds of the island birds, the trill of the palm leaves in the breeze, the foam against the rocks, the saxophone... what the?

Virgil's eyes shot open as the theme tune from Pink Panther blazed nonchalantly from inside the cover of the trees. Virgil clambered to his feet. Whatever prank his brother intended to play, he was not going to fall victim to it. 

He reasoned that Gordon (because it had to be Gordon) would bank on him following the music in order to investigate said prank, so he tactically followed the shoreline back towards the villa. No way was he falling for that trap. 

It was a warm day and it took Virgil's sun-addled brain a few moments to catch up with his feet as he stalked along the golden sand. Something was wrong. No, something felt wrong. Something felt...breezy. He stopped abruptly and looked down at his waistline only to discover that his swim shorts had vanished. Virgil frantically patted his bare legs as if doing so would magically cause them to materialize. He spun a full 360 on the spot, scanning the beach for his missing attire. Nothing.

"GORDON!"

Scott and Kayo were attending to some paperwork concerning a recent covert mission when Virgil entered the Comms room wearing nothing but a scowl.

Scott opened his mouth to say something but stopped short. 

"Nope!" Virgil's no-nonsense voice was backed up with a hand, gesturing for silence. He held this gesture as he crossed the room, never breaking his stride. Once he had completely disappeared, the two onlookers erupted with laughter. 

Scott and Kayo returned to the report they had been discussing, the odd chuckle escaping every so often as the fresh memory bubbled back to the fore. It wasn't long before the sound of numerous doors opening and closing disturbed their report writing once more. Scott followed the source of the commotion only to witness the final glimpses of red flannel disappearing behind Virgil's art room door. There was an audible locking sound before music began to blare. 

"Copy that." Scott sighed and headed back to the comms room. 

"Virgil's shorts magically disappeared? Bummer!" Alan smirked.

"The cheek of it! Well, I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of it!" Gordon chimed in.

Scott swallowed his laughter and schooled his face into its military commander mode.

"Guys, I know it was you."

"Hold up there Scottie, how do you know it was us?" Alan feigned his innocence 

Yeah, how derrière you! Gordon protested. 

"We live on a tropical island. As far as I'm aware, John's still in orbit, Kayo's been helping me square out some paperwork and Brains has been working on Four."

"...Could've been Grandma." Alan offered.

"I mean, she is a kickass seemstress." Gordon shrugged.

Scott signed and turned to his sister.

"Kayo, can you pull up security footage for the south beach?"

The holoprojector sparked into life and a blue washed image of the beach appeared before them. Kayo ran the minutes forward until additional movement alerted her to stop. 

Gordon entered on screen, kitted out with a fishing rod and Scott's jetpack. He gestured to Alan, who had his music player, to a point somewhere under the cover of the trees. Gordon then flew up to a low, but concealed vantage point. 

Kayo ran the footage forwards again until Virgil appeared, strolling through the shallow water. He sat down and admired the view for a few minutes before rolling onto his front and snoozing, his head cradled on folded arms.

Scott looked up at his two youngest brothers who watched the footage in glee as Gordon reappeared and, using a laser, carefully and strategically cut Virgil's swimwear. The fabric draped limpy over Virgil. It still took the aquanaut several attempts to hook the inner mesh of the material. 

Scott paused the footage just before Virgil had a chance to react. He turned to his youngest brothers with folded arms.

"Fine! So what if it was us! We were just having some fun. It's not like we were the only ones arsing around!" Alan sniggered.

"And it's not like Virg is the butt of all our jokes!" Gordon beamed.

"You stole my jetpack so you could laser off your brother's swim shorts. What is wrong with you?" Scott continued to stare.

"Nothing. We're just...peachy!" Alan spluttered.

The youngest Tracys fell about laughing. Scott rolled his eyes and went to pour himself a drink. Given the symphony of cackles coming from the terrible twosome; he'd figured he'd have more luck holding an intelligent conversation with Virgil's lacerated shorts.

[fabeong]

2 - Whiskers

The second quick-fic of the Elite Kit Fisto - Agen Kolar - Saesee Tiin Trio, and this time it’s pure fluff. Enjoy!

Words: 1163

Characters: Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, Kit Fisto

Warnings: None

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

His cloak sweeping behind him, Saesee Tiin strode swiftly down the stairs from the main quarters of the Jedi Temple towards the flight hanger, his head ringing with the arguments- sorry, heated discussions, Jedi don’t argue do they now? - of the Jedi still up in the Temple corridors. This war was getting to everyone’s heads, but Skywalker…that boy is concerning, Saesee thought, rubbing his left horn absently. To see him so aggressive, so vicious, even verging on vengeful when in debate with a council member was clear proof for the Iktochi that even the Chosen One was not invulnerable from the burdens of war.

Rounding the corner towards the hanger that held his personal starfighter, Saesee halted in his tracks. He could hear…voices. Very familiar voices. His heart began to thump in his chest; he had come here for a break from people, and the last thing he needed right now was for those two to find out more around that starfighter than they had to. But he was too late; as the Iktochi approached further he could hear their voices.

“Why does it have those thin hairs coming from its face?”

“I think they’re called whiskers. I have no idea what they are for.”

“Maybe he can sense things like you or Saesee can?”

“She.”

Saesee stopped in the doorway of the hanger to see his two fellow Masters sat on the storage boxes around his starfighter. A tiny furry creature with pointed ears and those whiskers was sat between them, reaching up with a clawed paw to try and bat at the green tentacles it could almost reach. “It’s definitely a she.” Kit Fisto chuckled at the creature’s antics.

“Very well.” Agen Kolar was watching it intently, and did not look up. “Is she yours, Saesee?”

The creature had abandoned its game upon seeing the Iktochi and sprung off the crates, choosing instead to gambol up to Saesee and push its head up against his legs with a purring sound beginning to grow in her throat. His cheeks burning but his lips set in the typical frown, Saesee dared to look up at the other two; Kit Fisto was beaming broadly, his gaze on the animal, while Agen Kolar was unsuccessfully fighting off a smile as well, looking instead at the Iktochi.

“How can she be mine?” Saesee walked towards his starfighter, trying to avoid an undignified trip as the creature followed suit and attempted to weave around him. “Jedi have no possessions.” He deadpanned. Kit’s smile did not lessen as he hopped off his seat on the crates. The Iktochi wavered, his arms folded defiantly, but the animal made the decision for him. She bounded forward and jumped back up to where she had been sat before, and looked back expectantly. You sitting or what? Her eyes seemed to say. And so Saesee sat down on the crates where the Nautolan had been; Kit himself moved so that the trio of Masters were in something of a triangle and made to perch down too. “Don’t sit on my starfighter.” Saesee glanced up sharply as his hand had made to stroke the creature’s nutmeg-coloured fur.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Kit quipped, instead sitting cross-legged in front of the ship. Agen was watching the creature with curious eyes as she nuzzled into the Iktochi’s hand, her purring louder than before.

“She may not be yours.” He commented, “But I think you are hers, my friend.”

“I found her taking shelter in the cockpit. She was cold. And thin.” Saesee said. He remembered it well, the rain outside had been drumming on the metal roof overhead, and had almost drowned out her mewling cries when he had lifted her out of his pilot’s seat. How quickly she had quietened though, wriggling and turning only to snuggle into the surprised Jedi’s thick robes. She was doing much the same now, crawling onto the Iktochi’s lap and trying to get comfy amongst the folds of his cloak.

“And so you adopted her.” Agen finished, an amused smile twitching on his lips, “Or perhaps the other way around.”

“Something like that.” Saesee muttered, returning to gently stroke the animal’s head. Purring again, she settled down on his lap but pushed her head up into his hand, seemingly unbothered by the Iktochi’s claws. “What are you two doing here anyway?” Saesee looked back up at Agen, who held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Ask Kit, he was here first.”

“Now don’t go accusing me of anything!” The Nautolan laughed. “I came looking for you, Saesee, I thought you might be fixing something. Then this friend of yours leapt up out of the cockpit and came to say hello!”

“When I arrived they seemed to be getting on quite well.” Agen said amusedly. “Getting on meaning she was sat on his head.”

“She was comfy! Who was I to move her?!”

“Why did you look for me, Fisto?” Saesee interjected, frowning in confusion. There was a pause, and Kit cocked his head in some thought. His head tresses twitched independently.

“I’m not sure.” He replied mildly, “I just sensed you might need-” The Nautolan broke off as the furry creature stood on Saesee’s lap, stretched, then leapt onto the ground and padded over to him, sniffing at his outstretched hand curiously. “Hello, little one.”

“Be careful. She’s looking to pounce on your tentacles.” Saesee warned, sensing the animal’s intentions. Kit chuckled and nudged his tresses over his shoulder and out of sight. Dejected, the animal licked at his hand then padded back over to the boxes, jumping up again and fixing lantern-like eyes on Agen. The Zabrak looked more than a little apprehensive as she advanced unblinkingly.

“What is she doing?”

“Smelling you.” Saesee’s words did not seem to reassure Agen, who seemed more alarmed at the tiny creature. A minute smile twitched on the corner of the Iktochi’s lips. “Relax.” He said.

“She has claws.”

“So do I, you do not fear me.”

“That’s different.” Agen muttered. Yet the little creature had no such reservations and was quickly nuzzling up to the Zabrak, the purring sound recommencing as she found a comfier seat on his lap.

“Agen, I think you’ve made a friend!” Kit laughed at his gobsmacked companion. Saesee nodded.

“She likes you.” He agreed. Throughout all of this, the impossible had happened; his two fellow Jedi and his little friend had succeeded in making him feel better. The weight of the argument upstairs felt as light as a cloud that rolled off his shoulders as he watched Agen tentatively begin to stroke the creature’s soft head and he listened to Kit’s cheerful chatter. In the past, he never would have imagined companionship such as what he shared with these two to be so pleasant. So useful. And something so… treasurable.

Maybe friendship isn’t so bad after all, Saesee thought, and the strange fluffy animal with pointed ears and odd ‘whiskers’ just yawned.

*

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Healing Ties - Chapter 50 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Libby sat down cross legged next to Fanner, smoothing her dress out so that it lay properly over her knees.

"Take energy from me. I won't be fighting in any wars."

"Oh, um, I don't know..."

"I know I look like a little girl but I promise you, I'm not one. I'll be fine."

"Okay..."

Despite Libby's reassurance, Fanner was still so, so careful as he began pulling energy out of her, at least until he realised she was correct.

There was no danger of him accidentally taking too much energy.

She had plenty.

Fanner put one hand on Libby's arm and the other on Cookie's back, shut his eyes and let energy flow through him.

There was no clear stopping point.

If he'd been keeping the energy within himself, he would have reached the limits of his ability to contain it fairly quickly but Cookie was like a bottomless pit.

What he had given her would surely not be enough to achieve what they were asking of Kit but hopefully it would be enough to test the theory.

As soon as Fanner took his hand off of Cookie, she rolled onto her back and stretched out like a cat basking in a sunbeam.

"Do you think you can put that to use?"

Fanner asked Kit.

"Let's see," Kit said and when they next spoke the resonance of their voice was deep and echoing.

"Come here."

For a moment Fanner was just confused but then he heard it.

A sound almost like a vicious wind beating at the leaves of a tree, getting louder, getting closer.

It was the light that Fanner saw first, balls glowing in countless different colours and lighting up the trees as they flew by on tiny wings.

They settled on the porch, in nearby trees, in the folds of Libby's dress.

"Pixies," Libby said. "They heard you call them here."

"Do you think you can do it, then?" Yore asked Kit.

"Depends what you're asking. Do I think we can project ourselves into the heads of an entire army given enough energy? Maybe."

"And if that's not what I'm asking?"

Kit dipped his head to direct their attention and Fanner turned to see Noel in human form, old but not so frail, looking out over the front of the porch.

"They're coming," Noel said. "They'll be here in a day, maybe two."

"You don't think this will work," Libby said.

"I stood in a room full of men and we all watched as one of us killed and butchered a couple of teenagers. It takes more than you can imagine for people to not only change their way of thinking, but to then risk everything to make a stand."

"There's an alternative," Kit said. "We could make them turn their weapons on one another. Have an entire army execute itself."

"Those humans, when we were captured," Fanner said. "That was you, wasn't it? That was why they killed one another?"

Kit nodded.

"It's not really our style anymore but we're willing to make another an exception."

"Let's make that plan B," Libby suggested. "Noel, I do agree with you. It's not easy to change anybody's mind about anything, and this is a very big thing. But we still have to try. I know you lost your faith in people back when you still were one but a person holds within them the potential to be so many things, both beautiful and ugly. If we can reach them, if we can help them understand, it will change everything."

Noel fluttered his fingers in front of one of the pixies, not quite touching it.

"Well, I'd love to be proven wrong."

"I know it's tempting to be cynical. We were all born into a world where things could have so easily just been fine if everyone tried to be just a little kinder, just a little more understanding and accepting. If we couldn't figure things out back then, what chance do we stand now? I think this can be different because nobody's under the illusion that everything will be okay anymore. We're all desperate for solutions, and I hope the humans will have seen enough of the world by the time they get here to realise that an army won't provide any."

Noel turned towards her, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

"Maybe I am too cynical. Maybe what this world needs is someone who's still willing to try."

He shrugged and with a sigh, he disappeared.

"He's right, you know," Kit said. "I'll show those humans what we went through, but it won't be enough. I'm not sure if anything will be, but if you want any chance at all, you'll need more. Find us some stories to tell."

"I'll do that," Libby promised. "One more thing, Kit. I may not be able to see into your mind but you can't slip things into mine without me noticing like you can with everyone else. You could have just asked."

"Most people don't have to ask. They can just take it for granted that people will know what their pronouns are. Besides, it's really hard to pretend to be above the concerns of the living if I have to admit I still care about things like that."

"Oh," Yore said. "We've just been calling you 'they' without even really questioning it, haven't we?"

Kit shot him a look that had an edge to it.

"Well, don't start now."

"We won't," Fanner promised.

Kit waved away the concern.

"Cookie doesn't have a gender in the same way that a rock doesn't have a gender. You can use whichever name and whichever pronouns you want. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to catching up with Noel."

"How will we find you when we need you?" Fanner asked.

"We'll be here and if we weren't, well. You might not always be able to find us, but we can always find you when we want to."

"Thank you, Kit," Fanner said. "You're a good friend."

"And a week ago I considered myself dead. What has the world come to, hmm?"

Kit offered Fanner the hint of a smile to show that they were joking, turned, and faded away as they walked back towards Cookie and Noel.

Libby pulled up the sides of her dress and spun them from side to side.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to have to go and dig up the darkest stories lurking within people's heads. Let's go join the beach party."

[betterlost]

"Maybe I like sleeping on couches," he argues. "Fucking love a good couch." He's not sure what he'd do with a whole bedroom space, anyway. He barely even utilizes the one he's got - same could be said for the rest of the apartment. Were it up to him, the place would be barren save for the couch and television. Which, okay, fine, he's not exactly proud of, but decor shopping is such a fucking domestic thing that he can't really stomach the thought of putting in all that effort on his own for just his own benefit. It'd feel like going through the motions, which doesn't feel worthwhile when he's not fully sure he cares about the outcome. Maybe the place would look better with some shelves, but what would they hold? Or some plants, but even after all this time he doubts his ability to take care of anything particularly effectively.

"Ten? You're kidding." A pause. Nicholas draws back just minutely and looks, scrutinizing, at Will's face. "You're not kidding. You know, they sell this ten-in-one that would cut down on the number of bottles in there by at least fifty." He's joking, too, but to what extent? Shampoo can be an all-in-one in and of itself if you've neglected to go to the store in three solid weeks. Sometimes he wonders how in the hell anybody put up with him in college. Catherine must have really been some sort of crazy, though he's thought that for around two years now (unfairly). He shifts his weight, folding one leg under him and sprawling one arm across the back of the couch with a half-shrug of a shoulder and a nod.

"Well, half-serious, anyway. They've got their own fuckin' first aid kits, but it's hit or miss on whether they can actually take care of their shit properly." With little papercuts, yeah, that's fine, but then half of them lose their shit at the sight of the tiniest drop of blood and it becomes his problem. Or the burns, but that's usually because the company gets in hot water if they let somebody get hurt with Disney's equipment and don't send them to the first aid station. "Water's not the issue, it's the fact that if I wanted to run circles in 95-degree weather I would've joined a fucking cross-country team or some shit. Jesus," Nicholas runs a hand down his face. Sometimes he can only be grateful that he hasn't fallen far enough to have wound up working custodial around here, instead - sprinting around in the muggy Florida heat and lifting eighty-pound trash bags. Sure, he can admit he could probably afford to get back into weightlifting, but not like that. He cracks his fingers apart to give Will one wary, suspicious look with a tired eye. Something tells him he should count on calling out tomorrow one way or another.

"Flattery and a suspicious amount of pre-planning. Thought you poet types were supposed to be subtle."

" who knows? maybe, maybe not ~ , " his head tilts from one side to the other as he speaks, an amused look spreading through his expression. " though, if it were to happen, i'd never make you sleep in a couch, love. you'd have one of the rooms for yourself, y'know, decorate it how you like. put up all of your band posters and stuff. " though he gets the impression that, even in the case more beds are available, they'd continue sharing a single one, like they have been so far. " and hey, closet's least of my worries. i can just buy another one if we need the extra space. it's the bathroom shelves i'm worried about - y'know how many hair products i've got? like, close to ten, i think. "

the comment's framed like a jest, but really, he means it. he's got almost two shelves near his bathtub filled with items dedicated solely for the maintenance of his hair, though that number could very well round to two if the body products he owns are taken into consideration, too. " other than that . . i think we would make do just fine. "

it's a fine thought to ponder, but not one he intends to bother nicholas about in a serious context - really, the other's got an exhausting job already, he doesn't want to make nick deal with him constantly on top of that, too, specially after a particularly long work day or something.

an eyebrow raises in response to nicholas' following remark, the bard leaning back onto the couch, too, to further express his disbelief. as he does, he catches a glimpse of the lipstain now pressed onto the man's jaw and makes the mental note to later on remind nicholas to wipe it off, just in case the other, in the next morning, doesn't wash prior to going to work. " wait, are you being serious? they really make you go out in this weather to put a bandaid on someone's papercut? i thought you'd only get brought out in case someone . . i don't know. got a huge wound or broke their nose or something like that. do you take a water bottle or something to work? it'd probably be best if you did. "

there's a brief moment where he freezes in his spot as the corners of the box settled behind him dig into the flesh of his back, an attempt soon being made to slowly sit up again while trying to look as casual as possible in performing such an action. his arm extends, too, laying atop the chair's back as part of his attempt. " gonna be so, so honest - yeah, it is. can't go outside for thirty minutes without feeling that i'm gonna pass out in this weather. you're definitely right, though - i deal infinitely better with rain. 'cause sure, i might be cold, but i'm not . . getting dizzy or something. "

and sure, perhaps not wearing leather out in the summer would help, but he has a reputation to keep! not only that, but he couldn't wear anything else if he wanted to - he only has a couple t - shirts that are appropriate for the summer and the rest is leather.

" i know they are, and you don't look half bad with them - but really, you look so exhausted today. we could sleep in tomorrow, y'know . . or go somewhere fancy to eat. who knows, maybe there might even be some surprises today? huh? huh? " a wink follows, in hopes that nick gets the hint.