#Spiral Hill Village | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gloomskulls · 6 days ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ WHAT LIES UNDERNEATH [cult member peter parker x reader]

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after losing your family, your friends, and your boyfriend, Peter Parker casually crashes in your life out of nowhere. His presence was welcoming, as his so-called village is too. But his hospitality seems to have something darker underneath

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNINGS ୨୧ NON-CON/DUB-CON (RAPE), heavy manipulation, toxic relationship, cult beliefs, oral (fem receiving), drugging (use of an aphrodisiac), p in v, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, mild violence, mentions of death, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied murder. lemme know if I missed any. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content

a/n: this is loosely based on Midsommar, it's a really good movie. I have changed some stuff that i didn't feel comfortable writing or I just didn't want to write. Also this maybe the worst smut you've ever read probably. don't steal any of my shit or I'll steal ur head.

"I'm sorry sissy, the darkness is consuming me, and I will take them with me"

Those were the last texts your sister sent you. You were worried sick about her cryptic message and wanted disclosure from her, but she hasn't written back.

Your sister has been known to be a rather mentally challenged person. She was just venting to you. Right?

It was unnaturally still in the air, sitting at your kitchen table with the phone pressed close to your ear. Your fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the edge of the table, still collapsed trying to ground yourself. All night, your sister has not picked up her phone. The strange text messages she had sent earlier in the day replayed like a broken record in your mind.

How many times have you been thinking of something really wrong, more than you would admit, but still dismissing it?

Somehow tonight felt different.

You texted Harry to reassure you, but the typical unsympathetic reply only served to add more weight to that chest heaviness again. Now you are left alone with your thoughts, and each one seems darker than the other.

You were about to not pick the phone because it looked like a spam call to you. The number was unknown, but that gut feeling inside you made you press accept.

"Hello?" Your voice dared as you strove to steady it.

The unknown caller said your name as they spoke, "Is this her?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a cold detachment that made your stomach drop.

"Yes," you replied.

"This is Officer Hill with the NYPD. I'm sorry to tell you we've had an incident regarding your family," she said.

Air disappeared from your lungs suddenly, and your grip tightened against the phone. "What kind of incident?"

"I understand this is tough," she said, her voice carefully measured. "But I need you to come to the station. It's better to speak in person."

The issue of reality has been stretched and heavy between you, and it was so unbearable. “No,” you spoke finally in a panic voiding interiorly. “Please, just tell me now. What happened?”

There was a moment's hesitation in Hill's case. In that moment, you could feel the world starting to crack around you.

"There is no easy way to say this," she finally managed to come up with. "Your parents and sister were involved in a fatal accident. I am so sorry."

You could not comprehend those words for a moment. They swayed in the air outside with an unreal and incomprehensible quality. "What do you mean? Are they okay? What—"

"They didn't survive," Hill said softly, and that cut through your spiraling questions.

The phone fell from your hand and banged tipsily on the table. To this resonating rattle in the small space, however, your ear was tuned out. Your chest tightened, and the phrase ran in your brain, echoing in shallow gasps.

They didn't survive.

The days that followed the funeral just passed in a haze of hollow condolences and noise deafening silence. Your world had been torn apart while everything moved forward—all relentless and lame. Harry, your boyfriend of 2 years stayed as he assured you, but his presence seemed more of a fulfillment of an obligation than any comfort.

He was not exactly a cruel person; at least not really overt, for distance was a high-dubious chasm with every awkward conversation and with every minute spent by him scrolling through his phone instead of talking to you. Not blind are you to those glances he exchanged with his buddies once they assumed you weren't watching. There is pity instead of love and comfort in his eyes whenever you cry.

The last straw fell on a quiet Friday evening. You had dragged yourself to the apartment of Harry, looking for refuge in his presence after yet another sleepless night. He was lounging in the couch with one hand gripping a phone while the other was a beer.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," you admitted softly and settled next to him. Your voice cracked, and at last, the tears that were kept in were poured out. "I don't know how to do this without them. I don't know how to… keep going."

Harry glanced towards your direction, the look on his face inscrutable. After that, he set his phone down and fell into this heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand, okay? But you can't keep unloading things like this on me. It's…it's too much."

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

"I'm not your therapist," he said in defensive. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix this for you."

"I'm not asking you to fix it!" You snapped while accepting the anger that had replaced the hurt. "I just need you to be here. To actually care."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he diverted his gaze from her, tightening his jaw. "This isn't fair," he muttered.

"What do you mean fair!?" you yelled, your volume rising. "Me grieving my whole family? It isn't as terrible as needing the person who's supposed to love me to act and comfort me?"

Harry stood up immediately and started pacing the tiny living room. "I didn't sign up for this," he said. The words cut like knives. "I feel like… like I'm drowning too. I'm trying to keep my head above water, but here you are, pulling me under."

Your breath literally caught in your throat at that last sentence, as if a blow on the physical plane had hit home. "Is that really how you see me? As one who drags you down?" You asked in disbelief.

However, he stopped pacing and turned toward you, shoulders sagging. "I don't know," he said more quietly. "I don't know what I feel anymore. My friends tell me I should end it. They say I can't do this to myself. But I thought, you know, that might help."

"Help?" you echoed, voice breaking. "You think pity keeping me would help? Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Harry looked away. "Well, I'm sorry! alright!? It's not like I want to be part of your fuckin tenth reason in your suicide note!". Guilt was scrawled across his face when those words left his mouth. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You stood waveringly. Nevertheless, your voice remained firm. "If this is too much for you, then spit it out. Be frank for once, Harry."

He hesitated, his silence answering the question you hadn't dared to ask outright.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Well, that's what I figured."

You took your bag and stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you just before the torrent of tears fell as you stumbled down the street. For the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. Sure, Harry wasn't the best boyfriend, but now you didn't have family, Harry, heck, you don't even have friends to pat you in the back and tell you it's alright.

You were truly alone, crying in the middle of the streets.

A week later, at the dinner party of an old classmate's friend, Peter Parker walks into your life.

Peter wasn't meant to be there—he admitted that soon after you started the talk. "I kind of crashed this," he confessed with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard there was free food, and, uh… I have no self-control."

You laughed against your will. It was a real laugh that felt vaguely familiar after weeks of grief.

He was awkward but charming, with rapid tumbling out of words out of his mouth as he tried to start a small talk. "So, uh, how do you know Sam? Are you a friend from work? Oh wait, no, you don't look old enough to work with him—wait, not that you look like a kid or anything. I just meant—"

"It's okay," you interrupted, smile still there regardless. "I get it. I am also kinda crashing here, I never really got a proper invite, I just found out from one of my old classmates that there was a party, now here I am"

The more you could talk to him, the more you would discover how easy it was to be in his company. Unlike Harry, who had always been polished and withdrawn, Peter was frank and genuine, emotions laid out for all to see.

And by the end of the night, he had known your family. You had not intended to tell him, but somehow the way he listened— actually listened— made it spill out.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said softly, voice laced thickly with empathy. "That is… I can't even imagine what you're going through. But, if you ever need someone to talk to—or like, someone to distract you with dumb jokes—I'm here."

You've been taken aback by his earnestness. Finally, after what felt like years, someone might have noticed you.

It was indeed one of those nights which made time stretch out into eternity. You were there with Peter on a park bench where the faint light of the flickering city lights was shining through dense bushes and trees. The air was crisp, a cool kind that could very much seep into one's bones, yet Peter's company made it bearable.

He had this way of filling the silence without forcing it: sometimes talking, rambling on about whatever random thought invaded his head, sometimes just sitting with a person comfortable in the quiet, and today, he was acting especially thoughtful, staring at some faraway towers protruding above the skyline.

"Can I ask you something?" he suddenly blurted out, breaking the stillness.

"Sure."

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip as if he couldn't decide how to start, and began speaking. "Do you ever feel like…I don't know, like you're stuck?"

You blinked. It caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like everybody around you is moving ahead, but you're just there standing still," he explained, his words pretty crumbling out in that earnest, awkward way of his. "Like no matter what you do, you can't catch up."

The question was a little more awkward for you than you'd expected. "Yeah," you quietly admitted. "too many times than how I want it to be"

"It's tiring" he said, his eyes still far. "I get that. After my uncle… well died, after all that, I felt like I was trapped in this… I don't know, this loop. So, I couldn't allow myself to be happy because it would feel wrong, you know? Like I didn't deserve it."

You were gaping at him, flabbergasted by his openness. Peter was not the kind to talk much about himself—not like this, anyway.

"How did you get out of it?" you asked in a soft voice.

He smiled faintly. "I didn't. Not really. But I found something that helped."

"What was it?"

Peter gazed upward at the stars. "My hometown. It's a little dot in the middle of nowhere on the map. Quiet, kind of old-fashioned place. But there's something… something grounding."

He stopped for a brief while, casting a doubtful glance at you. "I go back every summer. It's like hitting a reset button or something. And, uh… would you want to join me this year?"

Totally unexpected. "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, blushing in the face of it. "If you want to. No pressure, or anything. Just you have been through a lot, and I thought maybe time away might help or something. It's not fancy or anything—definitely not the kind of place with five-star hotels—but it's peaceful. And I'd be there, so… you wouldn't be alone."

At his words, your throat became somewhat tight. He was not offering a vacation. He was inviting you to an escape.

"I don't know," You finally ventured with a little quiver of voice. "What if I just feel worse?"

"You won't," Peter said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "I won't let you."

There was something so genuine about the way he said it, like he truly believed he could protect you from the weight of your grief.

"What is it like?" you asked, helpless curiosity walking over your hesitation.

Peter's eyes set aglow at that moment, brimming over with a lot of excitement. "Oh gosh! Now where do I even begin? Okay, so there's this diner right in the middle of town. It's run by Mr. and Mrs. Beck. They've been married for like fifty years or something, and they make the fluffiest pancakes you've ever tasted in your life. And then there's this old library. Small, yes, but it has this weird charm, you know? Everything is crooked, and half the books are falling apart, but I love it. Oh, and there's this great big field just outside of town—it's perfect to stargaze because you can see the Milky Way out there. It's insane."

Now he was practically bouncing out of his seat, his enthusiasm almost contagious.

"It sounds… amazing," you found yourself admitting. A small smile tugged your lips.

"It's amazing," Peter said earnestly. "And I think you would love it. Everyone is so welcoming there. It's like… a little bubble of goodness in this horrible world sometimes."

For just a moment, you let yourself imagine it, far from the city and the reminders of everything that had been lost, somewhere I might again breathe.

"Okay," you said finally, barely above a whisper.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to come?"

"Yeah," you said, surprising even yourself. "I think I need this."

"Trust me; you won't regret it," Peter continued, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this trip wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything. But for now, it was enough to know you wouldn't be facing it alone.

It was a surreal feeling about the trip toward Peter's hometown. It was almost a relief because you sensed that you were really leaving everything behind, even thought it was just a few weeks. Driving in a comfortable pattern with Peter talking animatedly about all of the town's strange things, while you listened and occasionally chimed in with a question or a laugh at one of his goofy replies.

As you drove farther from the city and the scenery opened to rolling hills and dense forests before you, Peter shifted in his seat to adjust the radio. The soft tune filled the car and merged with the sounds of the tires over the road.

"You are going to love it," Peter said, glancing at you with an innocent smile. "Air's so fresh it nearly smells fake, and the stars. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you said, smiling despite the nervous knot still twisting about in your chest.

The town came into view just about the time the sun started sinking, dipping the horizon in gold and pinks. It was a little bit smaller than you had in mind, the kind of place that probably knew everyone by name.

Peter slowed the car as you entered the main street, which was lined with quaint buildings that appeared to have been plucked from another era. A few of the local's whereabouts were either on their porches talking, in their gardens working, or taking their dogs out for a walk. They would almost wave at Peter as they drove past.

"See? Told you. Nicest people on the planet," said Peter returning the waves enthusiastically.

"No shit," you said, watching a woman coming across with a basket of flowers smile toward you warmly.

Peter stopped in a graveled driveway leading to a homely two-storied fairy tale house. Crooked white picket fence and wildflower-laden garden, there was little that screamed charm.

The moment the car stopped, from the front door, she came, a petite woman in her 30's with brown hair, beaming with kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile.

"There's my darling nephew!" she called out.

Peter jumped out of the car, practically bounding onto her, hugging her. "Aunt May!"

"And you must be the girl Peter keeps talking about," she said, her bright eyes finding their way to you. "Peter has told me so much about you."

"Oh, um, hi," you said, stepping out of the car and giving a small wave.

"Then that's it," she said, surprising with her strong hug for her small figure. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Come in! It's rather hot out here during the summers"

Once you stepped into the house, you were met with interior that was as cozy as anyone could expect, the design suggests mixes between vintage and modern furniture, with colorful throw blankets and knickknacks making it feel lived in. There was also a faint waft of freshly baked cookies, which you soon spotted on the kitchen counter.

"Make yourself at home," May said, "Your room's already set up upstairs. Peter can show you around."

"Thanks May," Peter replied, already grabbing your bag before you could protest.

Up came Peter, leading you to a small but cozy guest room overlooking the backyard.

"Hope that's cool," said Peter, dropping your bag next to the bed. "Not fancy, but it's quiet."

"It's perfect," you said, placing your backside on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to breathe.

In the following days, Peter became your own personal tour guide, leading you through the town every nook and cranny, and introduced you to everyone as if you were already a part of the community, and to your surprise, they all welcomed you with open arms

Mr. and Mrs. Beck would insist on serving you their best pancakes while there at the diner even after breakfast time.

"We have heard so much about you," Mrs. Beck said it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Peter's nearly counting the days until you came."

Peter turned red and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Beck. Subtle as always."

Library, this was to be; the charmingly ramshackle structure seemed to sag under the weight of its many books. Peter's eyes lit up as he walked through those rows of crooked shelves with his fingers trailing over the spines.

"This here was my escape growing up," he said, pulling a worn copy of The Hobbit from the shelf. "Any time things got… overwhelming, I'd come here. Just me, a book, and a whole lot of silence."

This was the kind of moment when one caught a glimpse into Peter's world of quiet, reflective, introspective thinking where the depths beneath the sunshine state, as always, reside.

The very field that Peter had described so vividly turned out to be even more breathtaking than you ever imagined. The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying gently in the breeze, and the sky above was that of a canvas painted with stars, brighter and bolder than he had ever seen.

With a dramatic sigh, Peter flopped onto the ground, patting a spot next to him. "Come on, you're not getting the full experience unless you lie down."

You hesitated to lie down beside him, letting the cool grass tickle your arms as you stared up at the infinite expanse of sky.

"Wow," you breathed.

"Yeah?" he said, turning his head towards you. "It's like the universe decided to show off or something."

They lay there silently for a good while with the sound of the rustling grass and an occasional chirp of crickets. That was the most peaceful you had felt in a long, long time.

Maybe it was a little initial self-talk that told you it was just small town hospitality. People in cities don’t wave at strangers, though maybe that’s simply what people do out here. Maybe they were just genuinely curious about a stranger in a little place where everyone knows everyone.

But as the day went on, those small gestures, those innocent jests began to feel… different.

It started out slow.

At the diner, Mrs. Beck lingered longer than she ought to while refilling your coffee, her smile warm but sharp, penetrating eyes boring onto you.

"You're feeling like one of us already, aren't you?" she would have said, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

You gave a polite smile with no idea of how to answer. "Uh, yeah, everybody's really welcomed here."

"Oh, good," she said, with a firm nod. "That's what we want."

There's something in the way she said it, words weighing a lot more than they were supposed to.

And so it went; the Becks household was not the only one. The pattern held true for nearly every encounter.

"How are you settling in?"

Not "welcome" or "hi and how long are you staying?" The last kind of question you would expect from someone meeting a newcomer. The question, however, assumed permanence. It assumed that you were settling in, that you live here now.

Initially, you passed it off as just another one of those quirks that could be attributed to small-town hospitality. Maybe that's just their way of being polite. But after a few more days, it became pretty hard to ignore the repetition.

You brought it up to Peter one morning as the two of you sat on May's porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

"Is it just me," you began, keeping your tone light, "or does everyone here ask the same question?"

Peter looked up from his mug, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What question?"

"How I'm 'settling in.' Like, literally everyone has said it."

"Oh, that?" Peter chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "That's just how people are around here. Small towns, you know? Everyone's in everyone else's business, and they just want to make sure you're happy. It's aggressively wholesome."

You nodded while struggling to let his explanation take root in you, but that feeling of unease lingered.

Then came the presents.

The librarian insisted that you check out a copy of Little Women, even if you just went there to browse.

"You'll love it," she said, sliding it over the counter to you with a knowing smile.

"How do you know?" you asked, only half-joking.

Her smile didn't waver. "I just do."

At the hardware store, the owner gave you a tiny potted shrub. "Every home needs a little bit of green," he said cheerfully, but his eyes had a dark intensity that made him more intimidating.

"Thanks," you mumbled awkwardly, holding the plant as you walked out.

It was the kind of gift given to a father like you, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

Peter was treating you to dinner there after spending the afternoon wandering around town. It was quieter than usual, the counter occupied only by a few regulars. The place smelled of coffee and fries, and while Peter was busy demolishing a plate of the latter, you excused yourself to go to the washroom.

The hallway at the back of the diner is dark and narrow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming in slightly grating tones. At the door marked "Women," you caught snatches of voices from the kitchen-garbled, urgent.

"…And she's settling in?"

"She seems fine so far. Peter's doing a good job keeping her comfortable."

You were frozen with your hand on the doorknob. Your pulse raced. "Good, she has to feel like she belongs, it's important."

Then there was a crashing sound of many dishes, followed by a long heavy pause.

"So," says the first voice, "you think she suspects anything?"

"No. Not yet."

There, silence fell between the voices after that, then just the faintest clink—the sound of silverware-and the quick pounding of your heartbeat resounded in your ears.

When you stepped back to the table, Peter's easy smile greeted you. "Everything cool?" he asked as he dipped a fry into ketchup. "Yeah," you said quickly as you slid into your seat. "Fine."

The mind remained racing.

They must be talking about someone else—a new hire at the diner. Maybe a new family into town. There was no way they were talking about you.

Right?

You tried to shake it off, sinking into Peter's chatter about the upcoming festival, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.

May's small guest room became so beautiful in the rays of the morning sun that they filtered through lace curtains and softly flecked the walls. You stared ridiculously at the ceiling, a heavy weight on your chest, making sleep unusually elusive. Thoughts had been just too loud and tangled.

Those whispers from the diner, the rehearsed kindness from townspeople, and the way he seemed to brush it all off so easily were elusive things you couldn't shake off. The most you told yourself was that it was probably nothing.

This is what you told yourself as you forced yourself out of bed and down the stairs. Peter wouldn't lie to you; he was the most genuine person you knew. Right?

The smell of pancakes and coffee greeted you in the kitchen.

By the stove stood Peter, his hair at odd angles and humming a tune under his breath. For a moment, you let yourself relax. This is Peter, your Peter.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted, grinning at you with that boyish grin. He slid over a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries.

"Morning," you replied, low enough to be heard.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep much," you tugged and picked little at your food.

"Frowning," Peter said and kept down his fork. "Anything troubling you?"

"No," you lied quickly. "Just one of those nights."

He studied you for a moment, and you forced a small smile. Whatever the unease was, there was no reason for dragging Peter into it. He'd just dismiss it as he always did.

At last, the day was spent in a well-practiced blur of activities. It seemed Peter had made up his mind to keep you as busy as possible, even dragging you around the town park and to that creek he used to catch tadpoles as a kid. And if that weren't enough, he picked you up from the bakery where the sweet aroma of pastries was very strong. Offering you so many pastries till your stomach ached

Evening had cloaked the house in darkness, and so much for bottled up emotions. After dinner, the two of you sat alone in the living room: May well and truly off to bed. And that left you here with Peter sprawled across the couch flipping through some book, while you closed yourself into a tight little knot in the armchair.

"Peter," you broke the silence.

He blinked up at you with alarmed eyes. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

His brows knitted slightly, but he set aside the book. "Sure. What is it?"

You pause, heart racing. "Last night at the diner I heard something. Two people in the kitchen were talking about me."

Peter's face remained impassive. Still in his eyes, there was a flicker of something that disappeared as quickly as the light.

"What did they say?"

"They said you were doing a good job keeping me comfortable. That I need to feel like I belong." You paused, faltering with your voice. "Peter, what does that mean?"

Peter leaned forward, dangling his elbows on his knees. "It's nothing, they were probably just being nosy. People here care about each other, and when someone new comes in, they get… curious."

"That is not how it sounded," you said shaking your head. "It sounded like, intentional. It sounded much like plotting."

"You're overthinking this" Peter sighed rubbing back on his neck "Seriously, this town—it's different—close-knit. They just want to ensure you feel welcome, happy here, nothing but that".

“Then why does it feel so fake?” you pressed, raising your voice. “Everyone acts like they already know me. Like they’re expecting something to come from me.”

Peter tensed his jaw, and then he did not speak anything for a moment. He then stood up suddenly. "I brought you here for your help," he said in a hard tone. "I brought you here so you might begin a fresh mental state, a place where you could heal. And instead of appreciating it, you are looking for ways to tear it apart."

"I didn't ask for this!" you shot back, standing as well. "I didn't ask to be dragged into some town where everyone acts like I'm part of some… some secret club!"

Peter turned to you, eyes flashing. "You didn't have to ask! You were falling apart. You needed this. And I've been trying my best to make things easier for you, but you can't even see that, can you?"

The words hit you like a slap. Staring at him, breathless, tears filling your eyes. "Peter… why are you doing this?"

He softened immediately, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—look, I just… I care about you. I hate seeing you so lost. I thought bringing you here would help, but maybe I was wrong."

You wiped your eyes, and the mind is busy with thoughts. Maybe he is right. Maybe you are over-reacting. Peter was not that manipulative. He was just worried.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice shaky. "But if this town is so great, then why does it feel like there is something you are not telling me?"

Peter's eyes drifted towards the window momentarily—as if to check whether there were eavesdroppers outside—"It is not like that," he said, whispering faintly barely audible.

"Then tell me what it is," you said. "If you want me to trust you, then stop keeping secrets."

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Alright," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

He moved closer, looking you straight in the eye. "Some things are better demonstrated rather than told," he said, his tone even more pleading. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Just…give me another day."

You gawked at him, feeling your belly tie up in knots. Every instinct in you screamed to demand answers right now, but for some reason, the look in his eyes stopped you. He looked… desperate.

"Fine," you said with reluctance. "One more day."

Peter nodded, a relief washing over his face. "Thank you," he said almost inaudibly. "I assure you, it will all come into perspective soon."

But climbing into bed that night only made more pronounced the doubts gnawing at you louder than they had done before.

The cold, crisp evening air wrapped tight around you like a noose, as they led Peter into the woods. Try as you might to ignore the uncomfortable hollow in your gut, the longer you sat in this strange, unsettling village, the more you felt that something dark ran underneath it all. Every villager's smile, how they seemed to know just a little too much about you—everything just felt orchestrated, perfect.

You had held the doubts to yourself, buried deep down because Peter had always been the perfect anchor. But tonight, something flickered in his eyes—his tense shoulders and that almost undetectable flash of something darker crossing his face—told you that you were no longer in control.

You entered the clearing, gasping for air by the time you stepped into the structure resembling a stone chapel. The door agonizingly creaked open, bringing in the cold air from outside in juxtaposition with the stifling heat within. There, illuminated softly, were the others. A few you recognized from the eerily quiet familiar faces that watched you through predatory eyes.

It felt thick and heavy in the air, almost stultifying. The walls were closing in, and the silence was becoming almost oppressive. Peter gently but firmly drew you forward, his comforting presence still providing warmth, though everything else seemed wrong.

He was more weathered and older than you imagined, the drawn skin of his face tight over sharp features, pale and unblinking eyes matching his face. The robe hung dark and almost blended into shadows as he approached you. A murmur swept through the people gathered, and you paid little attention. Everything spun in your head and your heart drummed against your ears.

"Peter," said the man with a voice which grated like a rusty hinge, as if he had been whispering for years. "She has come."

Peter's eyes had been fixed on you for some time, and now he nodded slowly. The heat of his gaze made your skin crawl. The man checked you out from head to toe, and his intense eyes seemed to promise a lot of something. "Perfect," he said under his breath but not for too long so that others could hear him as he shouted, "She is the one. It's time."

Time, just like that word, seemed hollow, reverberating in the air around you like a bad omen. Instead, you opened your mouth to argue or question what part of this was really happening, but then, Peter squeezed your shoulder so tightly that it felt like it might crush your bones.

"It's okay," he whispered against your ear with his very warm breath. "I'll explain everything. You'll understand soon enough."

But understanding was the last thing you wanted to happen. All you had in mind was running. The man stepped forward, never breaking the eye contact. "Our village has managed to survive for many centuries and still thrive at its odds. But there is one rule that we have to abide by—there is one rule that can't be broken. After every eighteen years, one of our own must depart from this world and find someone in the outside world—from beyond these walls to someone pure."

Your mouth went dry. "What… what do you mean by that?"

"Every time a child turns eighteen, he must leave for a period of time to spend in the world outside, learn its ways; but after this period, he must return, and he must bring someone from the outside to add to the village."

Your body suddenly turned ice cold. "What do you mean, bring someone from the outside?" You spluttered. Your voice barely made an impression on the silence.

The smile of the man became broad. "A new family member. A mate. Someone to whom they will get married, with whom they will create children. This is the law."

You turned to Peter with wide eyes filled with horror as your heart stuttered deep in your chest. "What do you mean… a mate? You want me to…?"

Peter tightened his grip on your shoulder and breathed shallowly. "That's how it is done. This is how we survive. The village needs strong new blood. The children produced from these unions keep the bloodline pure, preventing inbreeding."

Inbreeding. That one word roared through your mind like no other thought. You couldn't breathe. You felt suffocated under the weight of all that.

"What… what are you saying?" you gasped, stunned and unable to take in everything being revealed to you.

Peter stepped even closer; eyes dark with something almost predatory. "That's how this works. You're part of the plan now. You have no choice. You are here because you were chosen. You are going to help us keep the village alive. Our survival depends on… "

"No," you whispered, stumbling backward as you tried to retreat. "No, this isn't right. You can't—this isn't—"

And suddenly, an old man stepped beside you, his shadowy tallness overshadowing you. "You will understand soon. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Every child who leaves returns with someone. And they will mate, they will bear children. This is how we preserve our people, how we protect our bloodline." He said as if it was your duty, as if this was your destiny.

"No!" You screamed tearing the air with your voice now choked in emotions. "This is insane! You're insane!"

The gentleness from Peter that used to soothe you all vanished, replaced by the steely resolve. He took another step forward, and instinctively you recoiled. "I did not want you to have this," he said, his voice low and strained, "but it is how it is. You will come to understand, and you will see that it is for the best."

The other villagers watched you with silent intensity as the space surrounding you felt as if it were closing in on you, with walls pressing from all sides. You could feel their hungry and expectant eyes on you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

But as soon as the old man reached out his hand to grab you, Peter's hold on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you anchored. "You don't understand yet," he said quietly, his voice tinged with something darker, something that, as it sent chills down your spine, made you think he was going to take you off somewhere to be tortured. "But you will. Soon, it will make sense. The only way to survive is this. This is something we can't let you ruin."

You were trapped. The weight of their expectations crushed you, their smiles now twisted masks of something monstrous beneath.

"Your child will also do the same duty," the old man said softly. "When they come back to the village with their mate, they will fulfill their destiny. They will carry our future."

Your chest constricted. Every part of you screamed to escape, to run, to fight against the suffocating nightmare into which you had been dragged. All the while, in the depths of your consciousness, you knew that there was no escaping this; they had planned for this. They had chosen you.

Back against the stone wall of the chapel now, your breath came in rapid, gasping suction since the reality began to drown in you. It beat loudly in your chest, a frantic mind racing for exit routes, for freedom from the path that had been laid out for me like a spider's web in all its horrible detail.

Peter's gaze was cold and cruel; it was no longer the warm presence one had hoped for. The heady words of the old man echoed in your ears, chilling and impossible to escape, like a curse. "You will return. You will bear our future."

As impossible as it was to believe, you finally realized it, this fucked up cycle wanted you to be part of it—and not by choice.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You pushed past Peter and felt the sharp sting as he grabbed at your arm. You broke free, legs now trembling beneath you, as you headed for the door. You had to get out. You didn't know where you were running, but the woods were the only option. The only chance at freedom. You burst through the chapel door and into the cold night air, stumbling over uneven ground.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn't dare look back. The wind howled around you, swallowing up any sounds from the village. Your lungs burned as you pushed yourself faster, harder, your breath ragged from panic clawing at your chest.

You didn't look up when you heard a car approaching, but you didn't stop either, as your mind told you to keep running, to escape, but your legs were beginning to fail you.

The car stopped short before you, the headlights blinding. You turned with a wild heart as the door to that vehicle swung open. A man in a police uniform stepped out, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, with a soft voice but underneath carrying an authority.

He wouldn't let you trust him, and you could be in danger. "I-I need help," you stuttered, barely able to catch your breath. "They're chasing me. They—they won't let me leave."

The officer stepped closer, his eyes darting toward the woods behind you. "Who's chasing you? What happened?" His voice was smooth, coaxing, calm.

You stumbled toward him, the last shreds of your resistance slipping away. His presence was comforting, the uniform a familiar sign of safety in this strange world that had turned upside down. "Please," you gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please help me."

The officer smiled, that warm, almost paternal smile that gave you a moment's feeling of cocooned safety. "You are well within safety here. Get into the car and I'll take you to the station. They won't find you."

You didn't even think twice about it. Worn out and shivering, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The door slammed behind you, then the engine revved into life. You sank into the seat, closed your eyes, letting the sound of the engine create an illusion of safety. Finally, you escaped. Finally, you could breathe again.

The engine growled before heading out with the officer looking at you and softening his expression to almost a grin. "A strange night out here, huh?" Are you really sure you are, okay?"

You shook your head, catching your breath. "I need to get away from those people… I don't know who they are but they're dangerous."

"People can be dangerous, can't they?" he mused.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know who to trust anymore."

Soft chuckle from him, as if to sense that it sounds contrived, that it has to be learned. "What's trust? You just have to know whom to get along with and whom to avoid. It requires experience."

You just turned to the window and trees and darkness rushed by. The mind was reeling from the attempt at grasping everything that has happened as it was really too much: the town; the event; Peter's cold stare; and now this—this officer who has apparently materialized at just the right moment. He must be the one sent to rescue you.

"Where are we off to?" You asked

"Oh, just a little way out of town," he replied, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "Nothing to worry about."

You nod, fatigue dragging heavily on your eyelids. For a moment, it felt good, like all was well. But then the cop's voice became a personal one.

''I'm Steve by the way, Steve Rogers. Was just coming here for a quick stroll," he began, "I never thought I was going to be out here, helping someone like you. It is really funny, how life turns out."

Brow furrowed, and incomprehension written all over the face. "What do you mean?"

The very slight narrowing of the officer's eyes at you, just for an instant, was followed by his returning gaze to the road ahead. "I spent a lot of time in these parts, and the people can be somewhat…. they are peculiar. But then, I guess you already know that."

Heck, what was he talking about? "What do you mean by a little hard to understand? Who do you mean by that?"

Just above a smile, something confidential, something dark, flickered across the officer's lips. "Well, my wife, Peggy… she was from around here. She got them, you know? Understood what was going on. It took me a long time to realize it, but eventually, I figured it out. I did too."

Your heart stops, hammering against the confinement of your ribs. "Peggy… Carter?" That name rang in your mind like a bell, sharp and dissonant. You had heard that name before, only in whispers, a long time ago.

From what you remembered Peggy Carter was one of the most vicious woman in the police force, even in her short time in doing her job. One day she got married to a man named Steve and nothing was heard from her again. As if she disappeared, she completely left her job and duty, and so did Steve who was a fellow police like her who also vanished from the face of the earth. That was all you knew, and all of that happened 10 years ago. Many believed they moved. Some believed

The officer's smile brightened, but now it had no warmth. His voice went down low, as if telling you a secret you weren't supposed to know, "That's right. Peggy Carter. She was special. A part of something much bigger than either of us ever realized. I didn't understand it at first. Thought she was just a regular woman… but then I saw it. I saw everything for what it was."

It had caught in your throat because your mind was connecting all the dots. Peter, in actual fact, couldn't stop saying that you were here for a bigger thing, that you actually belonged. And now there is the officer, Peggy Carter, the strange village thing, the quite twisted ceremony—now everything starts to get clearer while terrifying you.

Your pulse raced, and once more, you cast a glance at him, eyes wide with realization. "You… you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of their… their plan.”

For just a second, something shadowy, something colder, flicked through his eyes; and with that flicker, somehow you knew you'd made a terrible mistake trusting him.

Steve Rogers, the cop smiled "I was hoping you'd come around sooner or later. You're a bit smarter than I thought," his voice was light, like he was discussing the weather. "However," a dangerous tremor lurked below his words. "Peggy always said you'd be the perfect addition - just like I was, just like she was."

You sprung back, your first instinct was to reach for the door handle, but before your brain could register what was happening, the vehicle shifted violently. Body flung against the door; your head crashed against the metal side with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind your eyes, and suddenly, everything muffled.

When you woke up from what felt like the worst sleep in your life, but you weren't sleeping, or did you just doze off and you couldn't remember any of it? Everything felt like a blur, memories were juggled up, and everything seemed out of place. How did I get here again? You thought to yourself.

It was strangely silent all around. The engine's rhythmic humming gave way to a stifling, heavy silence. You couldn't move. The air around you was thick and stifling; you had a throbbing headache that was likely to make you nauseous.

You couldn't even comprehend what was happening before you saw the door of the car opened, your whole-body weight made you fall off the vehicle. You audibly groaned as your body hit the rough dirty cement

Lo and behold, standing right in front of was Steve Rogers, towering above you, his face expressionless. His cold stare that piercing through your soul at you while your arms continued to adjust the sleeves of his uniform with a calm expertise.

He circled you as if he was predator cornering its prey. He stopped just at your head. He looked at you with an expressionless face, he slowly smiled, the creepy type of smile you would see psychopaths do on movies.

You wanted to run, punch him in the face and fucking run. But you couldn't, it felt as if your feet have already given up on you, plus the blooming pain in your head made it hard to think.

"It just never gets the job done" He frowned momentarily, your eyes widened in fear as you saw him take a beer bottle from behind his back, you shook your head, no please, please, please. You tried your best to crawl away from him, but you couldn't even feel your legs.

You sobbed in defeat, but he just caressed your cheek and wiped your tears away, as if to lure you into a false sense of security. With all the softness of a feather, he said, "You'll be fine," really more to reassure himself than you. "The ceremony's just waiting for you."

Before you can act, a hard bang on your head seems to lurch your stomach. The officer had swung a beer bottle at your skull; it hit with a sickening crack and within the instant the pain exploded into darkness pressing behind your eyes, and the world went black.

It was the scent of incense—sickeningly sweet and heavy enough to churn in the stomach. Candlelight flickered. shadows danced on stone walls, making the small space feel smaller by the second.

You woke up all lethargic with a blooming headache. You felt relaxed underneath the soft bed that you laid, but once you took in the stone walls, it felt like a train has hit you. All of the events from a few hours ago running you over.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, but all you saw was Peter standing between you and the door.

He never looked more like a stranger.

The once boyish charm which drew me to him was now a hollow mask as he hid himself behind his dark eyes. The face had no malignance—worse, it was soft, almost tender, like he really believed in what he was about to do. And that thought haunted me most terrifyingly.

"You are trembling," Peter said, his calm and soothing voice only making the fear spike higher. "I know it's a lot, really overwhelming, taking it all at once… but… it will be okay, I promise you."

"Peter, please," you whispered, your voice breaking into pieces at the seams. You could hardly utter a word without your throat choking it. "You don't have to do this. Let me out. I promise I won't tell the police—"

But that was where he cut you off by shaking his head sadly. "You don't understand. This is my home. It is where I belong. And now, it is where you belong too. We are part of something bigger here. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" you spat. "You kidnapped me, lied to me, and brought me here to…" The words cracked at the tightness in your throat. You couldn't even say them. I dawned onto you that you have been too trusting with Peer, but who wouldn't? Who knew that clumsy little sweet Peter was capable of doing something this fucked.

Peter stepped closer, casting a shadow over the too small room where it suddenly felt claustrophobic and anchoring. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

His voice is insistent, though not harsh. “You were lost out there. Alone. No family, no one who cared about you. Don’t you see? This is your chance to start over, to have a purpose. To be loved.”

“Loved?” The word struck your lips like venom. “This isn’t love, Peter. This is… this is sick.”

It darkened slightly his countenance, as a spark of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by forced patience. "You're scared," he softly pronounced. "That's normal. But fear does not last. Once you embrace your role, once you understand what we're building here, you'll see that it's not sick. It's beautiful."

“No,” you whispered, the soft sound swallowed by the thrumming of your heart. “No, this isn’t survival. This is—”

“But” Peter cut you off firmer now like a knife slicing through your protests. “It’s already decided. The village chose you. I chose you. And now… it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Peter looked at you, with a voice deceptively soft. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the village needs. What I need. We can’t let our bloodline die. Every generation, we bring someone in—someone like you. It’s how we survive. How we thrive.”

“Not,” that voice barely came out through the rapid pounding of your heart. "No, this isn't survival. This is—"

The words sent the waves of nausea throbbing through you. Your knees buckled, landing you onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking violently. Peter knelt before you, hands gentle as they gripped your knees. The touch made your skin crawl, but you were frozen, paralyzed by fear.

"You are afraid," he repeated, the tone almost tender. "it needs to be this way. After the ceremony, you'll see there is clearly a need for it."

"Peter," you choked out, barely in a whisper. "Don't do this, please."

He tilted his head, softening in expression as if he really thought given how pitiful you look. "This is for them. For us. For the village. You'll thank me one day."

The door creaked open, and two women stepped in to the door. They moved with quiet, almost unnerving precision their white, long, and flowing robes covering the ground as they entered. Both had faces that seemed devoid of emotion—serene but cold as if they had performed this ritual hundreds of times before.

You instinctively tried to press yourself into the corner of the bed pulling down from Peter. “Who are they?” you asked unsure though your voice came out shaky and weak.

Peter turned toward the women; his posture casual almost welcoming. “They’re here to help,” he said softly as though the explanation should comfort you.

Help. The word in your stomach was like poison. You didn’t need help. You needed to escape.

One of the women carried a bowl filled with a dark unknown substance that shimmered strangely in the candle's light. She laid the bowl down on a small wooden table near the bed, her movements carefully controlled. The other carried a smaller cup with her fingers clutching tightly as she looked at you.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. “I’m not drinking that.”

It’s just to help,” he said calmly. "You’ve been through so much. You lived so much. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. This will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax!” you cracked your voice rising in desperation. “I want to leave! Please, Peter, don’t do this!”

He sighed, as though disappointed but his patience did not waver. “I know you’re scared,” he said reaching out to hold his hand on your knee. “But this isn’t about fear. It’s about trust. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your stomach tilted and a cold wave of nausea was rolling over you. Why would he even ask that question? "Peter, you are not the person I thought you were. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Peter’s jaw tightened somewhat ever so slightly, as if flickering with guilt. Peter was the funny and clumsy guy you met at a party, but this Peter. You don't know which dimension he came from. But his guilt was immediately gone in an instant replaced by the same calm, unnervingly patient expression, accompanied with a reassuring smile that could've been comforting in different circumstances.

“It’s my fear. I think that can be said,” he said, his tone softening again. "Once you let go of this, you will see. You’ll feel better.”

He gestured toward the woman with the cup to reach closer to you. Her movements were graceful, fast rehearsed as she held the drinking. The cup itself was simple, wooden. But compared to what's inside looked nothing compared to ordinary. It was a dark murky brown with faint swirls of crimson that seemed to ripple on its own.

Your stomach churned at the sight of it, you wanted to gag at the thought of even coming in contact with that liquid, you said again "I won't drink that." Your voice barely above a whisper.

The woman didn’t respond. She held the cup in her hand, as if waiting for you drink it still.

Peter reached for your hand and firmly gripped on it, but not a forceful one. "It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “This will help you. I promise.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, and the woman moved the cup closer to your lips. Panic rolled. Your heart began to beat, and tears were falling from your eyes. “No!” you shouted thrashing against Peter’s hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t let go. His strength was shocking and unyielding as he held your and instructed the woman to force the drink in your mouth. The dark liquid sloshed down the rim, spilling onto your trembling chin as you refused to open your mouth, moving your head back and forth so that you could just avoid the unknown and disgusting liquid.

“Please don’t fight this!” Peter shouted; his tone now laced with urgency and desperation. "It’s better if you just let it happen."

The woman tilted the cup and poured the thick liquid into your lips. You clenched your teeth, refusing to let it in. Peter’s hand moved to your jaw, his fingers pressing firmly until your mouth opened involuntarily. Liquid graced on your tongue, its taste vile and metallic like rotting herbs and rust.

You gagged and coughed violently as they forced you to swallow. The bitterness burned all the way down, leaving an acrid aftertaste that made you want to rip out your tongue, you fell on the bed as you gripped your throat—massaging your throat, a pathetic attempt to soothe the taste that felt like it travelled all the way down to your throat, it didn't have any burning sensation, it just felt like your throat had taste buds.

You convulsed on the bed, “What the- What was that?” you asked; out of breath as you tried to gasp for air.

Peter stood “You’re going to feel it soon,” he said, pushing a damp lock of hair off your brow.

It was a gentle warmth blooming in your chest, then outward like the bright afterglow from the strongest of drinks. Then it grew. It scorched through your veins, making your skin feel alive with a burst of tingling sensations. Your breaths came quicker as you kept trying to dismiss the feelings, but they just wouldn't listen.

“W-What is happening to me?” came the stammers from you in a trembling voice.

Peter knelt beside you again, touching your knee ever so lightly with his hand. “The elixir is working its magic on you,” he said kindly. “It allows you to let go. To free yourself to connect with what is meant to be.”

This warmth soon transformed into a more diabolical sensation, a slow burn that throbbed low in your stomach that stretched to your clothed womanhood. Suddenly every nerve ending on your skin was hypersensitive, sending a shiver down your spine against that crawl of fabric over your body. Heart racing, but it was hardly with fear.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t right.”

Peter merely smiled all the wider and relaxed his squeeze on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said. “Your body is just responding. It’s natural.”

While your mind was telling you every reason to fight it off, your body would have none of it. That heat, the damn heat; it clouded everything snuffing off every thought but that strange feeling growing in you.

Peter leaned in closer as he whispered “This is how it’s supposed to be. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Your brain screamed against this intrusion, invoking all the force it could muster to reject it, to reject him. But your limbs felt heavy, thick, sluggish, as though they had been clapped into a steel frame. The drug took effect, you loathed it and wished to deny the dull calling of unwanted pleasure.

"Please," you managed to whisper, letting your tears flow down your cheeks. "Don't do this."

In every way this was wrong. You didn't want to partake in this, you wanted out. Peter was not the person you thought he would. Maybe he was before all of this, but not now.

Peter held your face with both his hands—gentle yet firm. "It's been done," he said, pinning his gaze on yours with steady resolve.

The heat had become unbearable; it drummed against your thoughts and created ceilings that pressed down on you. You could hardly breathe, each breath barely manageable since all control was lost over thoughts revolving around him. The very touch of him inflamed every nerve in your body.

Peter continued to lean forward until the distance separating your two faces became almost nonexistent. The darkness of his brown eyes was rendered soft, for all that, it was chillingly out of place now. "You're trembling," he said softly, his voice dipping with mock concern as he brushed his palm over your damp forehead, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

You turned your head away, yet your body was heavy and unwilling to cooperate. "P-please," you whispered, not even sure what it was you were begging for at this point—mercy, some distance, anything but this.

Peter's hand slid down again to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch felt like additional treachery against your body, which leaned into his hand, once again, even though the screams of your mind were saying otherwise. "Shh," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing pitch. "It's okay. You're safe here. With me."

His words twisted a knife that lodged in your heart, and you were still trying to find a protest when his other hand clamped on your waist—gentle yet firm. Just enough pressure was applied to make acutely aware of every detail of your closeness: the scent of wood smoke and something faintly sweet, flooding your senses and drowning all your composure.

"You've had to fight for so long," he said; there was almost a tenderness in his voice. "Let it go—let me take care of you."

You shook your head weakly, your lips parting to say no words that would come. Everything in you resisted, heavily dulled by the drug that now crumbled your defenses and left you helpless to bask in warmth blossoming in your chest and the sickening affinity of Peter's presence.

He angled his face, gazing down at you as the thumb of his right hand traced the curve of your jaw. "So beautiful," he murmured, almost a whisper. "Yet you don't even see it? You are something else—so special."

The tears that had built up in your eyes crashed down, scalding lines down your cheeks. "Please," you said again, but it came almost like a feeble whisper, your power to protest fractured.

Peter leaned forward, and his breath ghosted over your lips. "I've waited for this," he murmured, as though revealing a secret. "Waited for you. I thought I would never even have a chance with you since you were so fucking smitten with your dick of a boyfriend. But you're mine now,"

And before you could think, hit him back or convince him otherwise, his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was languid, purposeful, and claiming. His mouth flowed with an unsettling confidence, an almost eerie manifestation of such rehearsed movement, if it existed at all. You wanted to break apart from him and scream and fight him, but your body let you down one last time; it was folded under the drug and against the full force of his presence.

His hands moved, one remained cradling your face, while the other tightened at your waist as a gentle reminder that you belonged nowhere else. It was a kiss more claiming than forceful, a silent proclamation of his ownership over you.

He finally pulled away but only to press his forehead to yours, feeling warm against your skin. "It's time" he whispered, it was loud enough for the women to hear. They immediately scurried out of the room and closed the door on their way out.

Before even asking what was going on, Peter attacked your neck. You shrieked at his sudden actions. He kissed, licked, and bite every single portion of your neck.

Peter's hot tongue licked your skin as he leaned closer, lips barely grazing the curve of your neck. A shiver made its way down your spine as he softly sucked on the sensitive flesh, forming this sweet vacuum that made your heart stand still.

Peter kept on kissing and nibbling at your neck, fueling his excitement that grew hotter like a fire, determined to engulf you both. His hands tightened around your waist, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, lips and tongue moving together in a dance that spoke both pleasure and pain.

You winced; you want nothing more but for this to end. You tried to imagine yourself in another scenario, a happy one. That one time where Harry bought you this wonderful necklace for your one-year anniversary. Things were still calm, peaceful.

You were so deep in thought that the ripping sound of fabric made you flinch. You have realized that Peter has ripped off your thin graphic t-shirt, leaving nothing but your bra on full display for him. But of course, the bra didn't stay on for long.

He ripped your bra off you with such force. He threw the bra elsewhere, that was the least of his worries as your he saw your mounds with all its glory. Blood rushed up to his cock at the sight of you half naked and slightly damp from sweat. You on the other hand just wanted nothing more but all of this to end.

Peter leaned in, his lips grazing your skin down to the soft curve of your delicate breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple, and he started to suckle; the soft gentle tug sent a jolt of sensation radiating through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets as you let out a shriek.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment" His words came in muffled since he was still stuffing his face with your breasts, but you heard it loud and clear. How blind were you? Peter has been lusting over you, longer than you even met him, how come you never realized it? All the warning signs were there, but they were subtle, now they're just coming to light now that it was too late.

He had grown more daring now, sucking, kissing, and licking every inch of your breasts. He nibbled and sucked at the curves, gently biting the flesh around them. Meanwhile, his hands traveled all over her torso, cupping and squeezing dear breasts as if to remember every contour.

"So beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. "Perfect. Mine." Those words sent a shuddering chill up your spine.

Peter stared into your eyes while he was sucking and nibbling on your breasts. They would have been a sweet sight if the present state of affairs were any different.

He released your nipple from his mouth, as drool connected from his lips to your erect nipples.

With urgent impatience, Peter fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tore it off, revealing a sculpted torso that demanded attention. The muscles of his torso flexed while he moved, and for a second, you could not help but look at the sheer grace and control that radiated off his body.

Now, Peter had long ceased to be interested in himself; he was now concentrating all his energy and attention on you. The moment he grabbed hold of your pants, and his fingers had clasped tightly around the waistband, panic ran through you at the sight of him pulling down on them. You didn't want to give in, not now, not ever.

Your hands went straight up to push against him; you punched at his chest with all the remaining strength that you have that wasn't stripped off by the drug. Your fruitless attempt on trying to gain some space between your bodies.

"Peter, no," you said, your voice wavering but earnest. "I don't want to. Please!"

His eyes never left the prize, and nothing was going to stop him. He yanked your pants down, regardless of how you kicked and thrashed against the force with which he was pulling. Your underwear met the cool air.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized that Peter was staring down at the small scrap of fabric that barely covered you in your most intimate area.

He wrapped his fingers around your underwear's waistband. You tried to squirm away from him, but he held you tight, his grip like a vice. In one swift motion, he ripped the fabric from your body, leaving you completely bare.

Peter's eyes had wandered across every inch of your naked body, you tried to look away from him, but your face was met with a wet pillow, you didn't even notice that you have let out a few tears.

Peter dove on to your crotch and his warm breath rolled over your sensitive skin like a wave of fire. His tongue flicked out as he suckled at your clit, and involuntarily, jolts of electricity pulsed up your spine. You attempted to push him off you once more, but Peter was far too strong

Peter continued his assault on your pussy, you felt a familiar sensation happening. You shook your head as your body betrayed you. Peter seemed to notice this, "There she is"

Before you knew it, he inserted a finger in your hole as he continuously licked your clit with such vigor.

You let out a strangled moan as your hand flew to his hair. Peter smirked at this as he slowly fucked you with his finger, which was a stark contrast to his tongue who ravished you like you were his last meal

"God, such a tasty pussy" He murmured, which just sent vibrations to your pussy. He continued, his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. "Good lil fuckin pussy" He moaned as if he's the one getting head.

He continues to lap on your juices, slurping any arousal seeping through as if he hadn't drunk water in many years.

His voice low and soft, whispering how good it is, how perfect your sweet pussy was for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet—so good for me. God, I'm so glad your mine now." He kisses it so passionately, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

And as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, you felt a building pressure inside yourself. It felt like every nerve ending had been ignited by Peter’s ministrations.

Your legs stiffened, your hips jerked upwards, and your entire body began to tremble with anticipation.

With such joy and pain, you felt like you were seeing stars right in front of you. The intensity was too much to bear as your grip on Peter's hair tightened

That instant when the knot finally snapped and a deluge of pure, harmless ecstasy engulfed you, your body contorted, muscles oscillating and contracting rhythmically; an intense orgasm swooping upon you like a tempest.

Your legs stiffened and your toes curled in pleasure. You clutched at anything and everything. Peter's hair, bed linen, anything to hold on to the threads of reality, as everything before your eyes dissolved into an ocean of forced bliss.

River of tears were falling from your eyes. You couldn't help but reminiscence your time with Harry. For the first years you were together with Harry, he was sweet and loving, even if your relationship has turned sour after Harry found another hobby, he would never force himself inside you. When you had sex, it was always consensual.

With the final ripples of the orgasm fading away, Peter finally pulled his head from between your legs. His gaze brushed over you with a kind of possessive pride, and he took the disarray of your body in the messy fondle of your hair, the daze that lingered from where he brought you so close to the edge that you fell over it, and the slick of sweat glistening over your skin.

“You look tired,” Peter said with a soft almost guilty tone, "But I'm afraid that that was just to prepare you, were just beginning"

When those words came out his mouth you shook your head as you begged him, "Please Pete, please" You sobbed, your words barely even intelligible.

"Shhhhhhhh" He shushed you, "The more your accepting, the sooner this will end" No, you didn't want to accept this, there must be another way, there must be.

As he stood up and took off his pants, exposing his erect cock. His cock slightly bounced once the boxers were fully off of him. He climbed on top you as both of you were now fully naked as the day you were born.

"The bedding ceremony is about to begin” Peter said, low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “It's going to hurt, but I think I prepped you enough”

He then aligned his cock to your slit. You gasped as his bulbous tip entered you, he wasn't big, but he was thick. He slowly pushed his cock inch by inch inside you, your sensitive flesh was still sore from the previous orgasm.

Peter suddenly thrusted deep inside you, fully losing patience, with a forcefulness that took your breath away. His cock touching your cervix when he bottomed inside you, it felt almost painful how intense it was.

“Please, Peter,” you pleaded, attempting to push him away. "You're hurting me."

But Peter just smiled at you, it gave you tingling shudders through your spine. “That's the first step of the ceremony” he said, pulling out then plunging back in. “You just have to learn to accept what I’m giving you, if you learn maybe Goddess will reward you"

His relentless cock was battering your insides, and you were starting to tear up. It was nearly unbearable agony; the pleasure was subtle that you could barely even get the gist of it, the searing warmth that burned itself into your very essence.

“Stop,” you said again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please just stop."

Through the pain and the fear, you never lost hope. So you fought back with a passion you never had before.

Your hands raked Peter’s chest, ripping at his skin to the point he grunted in surprise. Your fingers sank into his skin, but he only chuckled—a sound that was hollow and empty.

Unfazed, you fought on. Your teeth dug into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him hiss. But even as he grimaced, he wouldn’t stop — his hips pumping a relentless rhythm, one that threatened to swallow you whole.

You swung your fists, punching into Peter's face and chest with a frenzied abandon. Forced down in front of him as he sunk his cock deep within your needy hole, you tried to twist away, to squirm free as he held you in place, the weight of his body pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to take this.

And you tried, even though it was entirely pointless. You kicked your legs to try and buck him off you. But he was too heavy — too powerful — and he laughed again as he kept your legs pinned down beneath him.

With each thrust Peter grew more aggressive; almost brutal the heat inside you was burning you up; threatening to consume all reason and make you numb.

You were lost in the agonizing bliss, as Peter's cock continued its merciless assault on your insides. The fire in your belly grew more intense, it felt like it was spreading through your insides like wildfire.

"God, you're squeezing me so hard" Peter breathed as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit.

Yet whilst you sensed you were in pieces on the inside, that you were toppling apart, something in you relished it. It felt like your body had turned against you, reacting to the vicious attack with a disgusting cocktail of agony and pleasure.

Peter thrusts forward and you felt your hips bucking in time with his, your mind spinning in horror. It was like your body had created its own consciousness that responded immediately to the arousal with animal instinct that couldn't be suppressed.

You were losing yourself in the sensations, being sucked into a world both dark and depraved, where no line could be drawn between pain and pleasure. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, when you wondered if you would ever find a way out of the grip of this monster who was responsible for everything.

With every thrust, Peter became more aggressive, more brutal - You could feel yourself losing control; teetering on edge, ready to plunge headfirst into unknown; uncertainty ignited both fear and anticipation.

Your breaths were coming in small gasps now as Peter gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice. You attempted to move; attempted to wriggle against him—but it was futile: he was too strong

This friction just poured gasoline into the flames that had been raging within you—turning those pleasurable sensations into unbearable ones. The edge of your sight blurs out; stars dance along the border of your vision as the world narrows down on a single point of focus: Peter

In pure ecstasy moment you found yourself surrendering, submitting to the wave pleasure that is tearing up your body. Its fear inducing and freeing sensation — like leaping off a precipice without a net — not knowing what awaits at the base.

The world went white and quiet. You hear Peters voice in your ear whispering "Come for me" and with that your body explodes into thousand pieces

You weren't sure what happened, your mind all fogged and your pussy sore. The only thing you have noticed was that Peter was still thrusting inside you.

He leaned as he whispered the most haunting words into your ear, "I almost feel bad for you. I guess you should always follow what your parents says, don't trust strangers"

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

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the-californicationist · 6 months ago

Text

Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago…

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle.

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring.

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin.

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt.

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep.

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements.

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned.

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman.

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands.

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you.

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger.

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky.

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently,

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further,

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head,

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win.

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers.

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through.

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle.

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic.

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop.

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles,

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.”

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside.

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown.

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths.

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld.

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you.

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen.

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you.

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth.

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there.

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season.

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold.

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs.

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin,

“How about this, hm?”

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it.

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it.

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it.

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it.

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm.

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him.

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body.

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain.

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion.

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list.

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines.

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout.

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain.

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout.

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction.

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick.

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep.

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it.

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain price x you #captain price x reader #hades!price #persephone!reader #hades and persephone #greek mythology au #x female reader

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mooishbeam · 1 year ago

Text

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago

“Come get me!”

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield. In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs.

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble.

“You scared me!”

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village.

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him.

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill.

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy.

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm.

“Will you miss me?” he asks.

“A lot.”

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you.

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.”

“You’re a rock” you retorted.

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to be a rock?”

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip.

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds.

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle.

“What should be talk about?”

“What are you going to do after you move?”

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.

“Cool. I hope you do.”

“Me too.”

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns.

“Yeah?”

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.

“Then don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.”

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.”

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion.

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor.

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent.

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.

“Where is she?”

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture.

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?”

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.

“500,000 mora.”

“194,000 for me.”

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?”

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do?

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-”

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you. “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman.

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening��you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs.

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.”

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?”

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says.

“...What?”

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.”

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-”

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.”

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads.

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes.

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door.

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-”

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood.

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.”

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point:

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving.

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness.

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior. You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.”

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?”

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern.

“Business...what kind?”

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue.

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.”

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension.

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step.

Click

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it.

You fell into a trap.

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight?

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants.

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different.

“Come get it.”

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye.

“Come get me!”

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face.

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.”

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head.

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all.

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory.

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists.

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice.

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see.

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.”

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer.

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.

“You still consider me a friend?”

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.”

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you.

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera.

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover.

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?”

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine.

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers.

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose.

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation.

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek.

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace.

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking.

“What is it?” you ask.

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.”

“...What?”

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy.

“Absolutely not” you assure.

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away.

“4.”

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it?

“3.”

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway.

“2.”

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact.

“1.”

“I’ll do it.”

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you.

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.”

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.”

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there.

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical.

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall.

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it.

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings.

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan.

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast.

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it.

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward.

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes.

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost.

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain.

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core.

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink.

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.”

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-”

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands.

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both.

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling.

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?”

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles.

“Mine. Always.”

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin au #pantalone smut #pantalone #pantalone headcanons #headcanon #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #genshin impact pantalone

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shadamyheadcanons · 24 days ago

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Headcanon #304

After dating for several years, Tangle and Whisper tied the knot. Naturally, Amy was invited to the wedding, and she brought her boyfriend along.

Amy had always found Shadow handsome, but she was floored when she first saw him in a suit. Apart from the occasional leather jacket, he never wore clothes, let alone formal wear, and it was as if it had been tailored perfectly to flatter every inch of his body. On top of that, he’d paired the black suit with a pink tie and pocket square instead of the predictable red, claiming he’d rather match her for the occasion. Amy was smitten before the wedding even began.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one who noticed Shadow’s good looks. Shadow had never been to Spiral Hill Village, so the guest list was full of strangers who hadn’t heard of his fearsome reputation. He’d mellowed out since he and Amy got together, so all the guests saw was an intense man who was easy on the eyes. Soon, he was plagued by clingy, drooling fans.

If they’d known Amy had a giant hammer and an infamous jealous streak, they might’ve given him more space.

Amy would never ruin a friend’s wedding—especially one as lovely as Tangle and Whisper’s—so she held back, eye twitching as other women clung to Shadow, offered him drinks, and tried to entice him to dance with them the whole time. The pink accessories matching Amy’s fur did nothing to deter them, even when she looped her arm with Shadow’s and cuddled up to him. Even Rouge was more touchy than usual, at least until Amy threw her a death glare.

For his part, though, Shadow smoothly shrugged off every single suitor. He barely looked at them, instead keeping his full attention on Amy the entire night with an odd look in his eye. Her jealous side barely had time to flare up; it was hard to feel envious when she alone held his focus, and the frustrated pouts on her rivals’ faces when Shadow brought her to the dance floor and held her close were the icing on the wedding cake.

Once they left, Amy gushed to Shadow, thanking him profusely for being a gentleman about it and making her feel valued and special the whole night. When he just stared back, clearly confused, she tilted her head and pointed out all the flirtation that had been thrown his way. He frowned and shook his head, saying he didn’t remember anything like that. She thought he was kidding at first, but he insisted, shyly admitting that he hadn’t really noticed anything other than how radiant and beautiful she looked in her dress.

She stared at him for several seconds, but only sincerity and infatuation stared back.

Tears pooled in Amy’s eyes, and a smile forced its way onto her face. When Shadow expressed concern, she immediately pulled him into an eager kiss. Warmth bloomed in her heart as she realized she’d never have to feel jealous again.

The two of them were cuddling in bed one morning years later. Shadow took her hand in his and gazed down at the rings on their fingers. With a chuckle, he confessed that he’d spent half that night wondering how she’d look in white instead.

[From IDW issue #61. Just thought I’d drop this here. 😊]

#shadamy #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #hc #whispangle but not enough for its own tag #it’s literally the lesbian flag behind them

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tighnarisfavourite · 3 months ago

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⟡ says he’s gonna teach me just what fast is, say it’s gonna be alright ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

cyno x fem!reader

it's been days since the investigation started, and you were losing hope. will you get your deserved freedom, or will it be taken away?

a/n : please read part 1 before reading this! also i wrote this at like 1am last night so I apologise if the writing is bad!! >_<

word count : 1595

⟡ One day had passed since Cyno returned to the Akademiya to search for evidence that could lead to the student being the one who really committed those crimes and not you.

As for yourself, you went back to Aaru Village since you couldn’t possibly show up at the Akademiya after everything that has happened. Your parents happily greeted you and let you stay for the time being.

Of course, they had asked why you suddenly came back to Aaru Village but you just explained that you wished to see them again after so long, which wasn’t necessarily a lie and it held some truth but not the full truth.

You had busied yourself with helping around the house, doing chores such as helping with cleaning and cooking, and even going out of your way to assist Candace if she needed anything. You just needed to keep your mind distracted and not let it wander to... well, you know what.

But one day soon turned into three days...

Three days since that fateful day.

When you were left alone with your thoughts, you always came to the conclusion that maybe the search is just taking a while... after all, evidence isn’t something that can just be found easily, especially when you’re investigating a student from the Akademiya.

During the evening, just as the sun dipped low over the dunes, you found yourself at the village outskirts, taking a short walk with Candace. “You know,” Candace started to speak, her hands behind her back. “I always thought you’d find your way back here someday. You left to chase your dreams and become something great, but there’s a peace in Aaru Village that can’t be found anywhere else, so you return to it.”

You managed a faint smile. “I never thought I’d come back like this, unannounced too. Well, what can I say? I wanted to make my family and the fellow desert folk proud before I made my return.”

Candace let out a hum, nodding. “And you have made your family and the desert folk proud. You’ll be a clear inspiration to the children of the village too, and they’ll feel as if their dreams of becoming a scholar in the Akademiya isn’t silly at all, but very manageable and achievable if they study well.”

Being seen as an inspiration right now with everything that’s going on, isn’t exactly how you wish to be seen... after all, you don’t even know if you can return to the Akademiya after this. If you can continue being a scholar...

That was always there in the back of your mind— the sights of the cold, judgmental faces of the council that replayed nonstop, you wondering if Cyno would find any proof... it kept gnawing at you, a constant ache you couldn’t shake, no matter what you did. It was always there, haunting you.

The third day soon turned into the fifth day.

Five days since the investigation started.

You couldn’t deny the hopelessness you started to feel, perhaps this was it, no evidence leading to the student being the one who did it and you’re forced to stand on trial and get locked away for a long, long time while he stays free.

The fifth night was colder than usual, the desert winds sharper, biting at your skin as you lay awake, staring up at the vast sky with the stars lighting it up. You couldn’t help but head to the top of the hill where you and Cyno usually laid and stargazed as kids.

As you settled under the twinkling night sky, your thoughts began to spiral deeper.. wondering if this would be the last freedom you would ever experience, the last time you’d get to look up at the stars as a free person?

Shoving those thoughts aside— you tried to find comfort in the memory of this place, this familiar hill where so many of your happiest moments had been spent with Cyno. It was here that you used to imagine a world filled with possibilities, a future full of promise.

But now, that future seemed farther away than ever. Completely stripped away from you and the hard work you had put in for it was useless. Utterly useless.

Had it not been for you being so naive and trusting of others, you’d still be at the Akademiya, going on with your research but it seems like you just so happened to be unfortunate that day and everything came crashing down.

Studying in advance for everything, making so many backup projects and theories for all the work you had to do as an average student... just what was all that for? The all-nighters you had to go through, the amount of times you’d be too tired to focus on what the professors were teaching, but fighting through that tiredness— achieving the best grades that you possibly can.

All of that... for what?

You break out of your thoughts once you hear distant footsteps coming from behind you— standing up and turning around... you recognized that individual very well, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight.

“Cyno,” You whispered, barely able to believe he was really approaching. “You’re here?”

“I’m here. The search took longer than I expected, but I found it,” Cyno started. “The evidence. The student made an error while forging your signature— he left a trail. It was subtle, almost too well-hidden, but there was enough to prove he was the one behind everything.”

Hearing those words... your face lit up fully, those thoughts that were driving you mad just a few seconds ago— completely disappearing. Feeling the wave of happiness and relief wash over you, you couldn’t help but run up to Cyno and wrap your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug.

He was a bit surprised at the sudden affection at first, but quickly came to accept it, his arms wrapping around your waist— keeping you close to him. The nightmare you were living in for so long... it was finally over.

“I knew you’d be able to do it,” You whispered against his shoulder, letting out a short laughter of relief afterward. “I was starting to lose hope, but... I should’ve known better. I should’ve known you’d find a way. You’re not the General Mahamatra for no reason.”

Cyno pulled back slightly to meet your gaze. “I wasn’t going to let you suffer for someone else’s deceit. After all, it’s my duty to bring justice to everyone.”

His words were a reminder of just how deeply he cared for somebody close to him, even if he rarely allowed it to show. “I don’t know how to thank you,” You pause, a grin that carried only joy appearing on your face. “For not giving up on me, even when it seemed impossible.”

“You don’t have to thank me, [name]. You know I would never give up on you, not in a million years.” A warmth spread throughout you, making your heart race, and your stomach felt those butterflies— the same ones you had felt whenever you were around him as a youngin.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Silence making itself very known, but it would occasionally be broken by the sounds of the soft rustle of the desert wind. Looking into his red eyes that so carefully looked back into yours... you knew it was the right time to do what you’ve been wanting to for so, so long.

Your hands slither up to his neck, letting them rest there as you lean into his face, closing your eyes before you place your lips onto his— a fiery feeling coursing through the both of you.

The worries, the pain, the harshness of the past days all melted into the background, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours and the steady beat of your hearts.

The kiss deepened, and a spark ignited between you. Here, in this quiet yet passionate embrace, you felt as if you’d come home at last, to a place you hadn’t known you’d been searching for. A true home.

Cyno was your home, and he was the one that you would cherish for eternity.

You finally pull back, breathing in the desert air as you open your eyes. “Didn’t expect that, did you?” You chuckle, a small smile playing on your lips as your eyes meet his once more. “I can’t say I did, but it’s not unwelcome.” His hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering against your cheek as if he wanted to memorize this moment.

“Wanted to do that since we were in our teenage years... been waiting for this for so long.” You admit, feeling a hint of embarrassment but too happy to care. A faint smile curled his lips, and he leans closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to wait anymore.” Cyno murmurs.

“Honestly... forget about the butterflies. When I’m with you, I feel the whole zoo.” And of course... the romantic moment was ruined just like that, he really couldn’t hold back a joke, could he?

“You should’ve stayed quiet...” You mumbled, a sigh escaping your lips.

For the first time, you felt certain that this was only the beginning— the beginning of an actual happy future with the one you love most. No matter what may come, Cyno will always be there by your side,

loving you to the moon and back.

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sashi-ya · 1 year ago

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𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑳 𝑨 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻. Trafalgar Law x F! Reader

🌨 a/n: so I recently been to Austria, a country I often visit since it's literally like a dream. (plus, my mom knew she was pregnant with me there, so I was used to come back to Innsbruck as much as I could with her). But in any case I got inspired there to write this little fic, that might -or not- be a multi chapter one if you all like it. The place exists and the scam part, happened to me -kinda, the airbnb existed, but not as it was listed :P- but in any case, please enjoy and don't forget to leave some feedback if you want more~ ❄ tw: a very sfw story, that might evolve into something else if you want me to keep writing about their trip 😏 ☃ wc: 2.6k

Hijacking for the first time, what could go wrong? Maybe everything, maybe nothing.

A two-month long trip all around Europe has found you on a little village of Austria. Your boots are cold, but luckily they are snow proof ones. Your skin all bumpy, your cheeks irritated. It’s been snowing all night, and despite the sun rising for now, some clouds in the sky menace with more white blessing to fall upon your shoulders very soon.

Those little mountain streets around the Alps are wonderful, they surround mountains going up and down and in a spiral way. But those are wonderful, as long as you can drive a car with heating. And you don’t have one right now.

The crunchy sound of the snow beneath your boots mix with the melody of a glacial river running in between the mountain and the road. It is certainly beautiful, the little rocks and stones being bathed by such pure and cold water, the rests of dry leaves and some moss growing on an everlasting shadow casted by tall, enormous peaks. Everything is worth taking a picture, but you should prioritize your battery life this time around. The GPS is sometimes wonky, being that high can affect the service.

Many cars have passed by, but none of them have stopped. Little lorries carrying logs pass, cars completely drenched in dirty snow and that mix of salt that roads have during winters.

However, just when your hopes for finding someone to at least give you a ride to the next village were about to run out, the yellow shine of an old VW ban flashes before your eyes.

There, behind a curve -a very dangerous one if you ever went to the mountains- something smells like smoke and a tall man of white furry hat swears up to the skies.

You walk towards him, carefully. Who knows what is happening? Who knows who that man is capable of? There is one thing you are sure, however, and it is that this man is absolutely mad at his old van.

When peaking behind a dark wooden tree that’s now covered in spots of white snow, you discover the annoyed man is a young -handsome- one.

His van, a little rusty but still cute, seems to be having problems to keep going and the smoke coming from it shows it very well.

“Sir? Sir! Your van is catching fire!” you announce, realizing the smoke is indeed a very serious issue.

The guy of chocolate skin and tattooed hands turns around to look immediately at you and then to the back of the van. Those 70’s vehicles had actually their engines right in the back instead of the front.

And Indeed, you were right. Apparently the climb had been too tough for the poor old VW and its engine couldn’t take it any longer.

He quickly opens the back door, maybe searching for a fire extinguisher while you grab fistfuls of snow in an attempt to put down the incipient flames. Quickly enough, and with not many damages to count, the fire stops, and the only thing left is a big black spot on the back of the caravan.

“Thank you” he says, as dry as hopefully your socks. “No problem. What happened? Did the engine over heat?” you ask, curious despite his “I don’t want friends” face. “Yes; these hills are no joke. This never happened to my Polar, but there is always a first time…” he sighs, assessing the damage with a sad expression.

Apparently his van has a name; “Polar”. That’s very cute, and his eyes too. A golden shine in them looks even beautiful with the pristine white around. His tattoos do as well. You wonder about his name, and what is he doing on the road, but you are not sure if it’s proper to ask. However, he asks first.

“What are you doing here? do you have a car?” he mumbles, his voice is as attractive as he is. His eyes scan the place, but nothing catches his attention.

“No, I am actually hijacking. No one stopped so I started walking before the sun starts going down. I definitely got scammed; the Airbnb I was supposed to stay in didn’t, in fact, exist.

He grunts, almost silently. Apparently he is not happy with what happened to you but that’s it.

“Well, that’s so unsafe. I am sorry I can’t give you a ride right now. Apparently none of us have been blessed with good luck today” he says, walking around his vehicle with long legs covered in spotted jeans.

You nod. Your tongue is aching to ask about him, but you clearly catch the hint… he doesn’t want you there.

“Yep. Well, I wish you luck! I must keep going” “Same to you, be careful”

He doesn’t even look at you, something that makes you -somehow- very sad. In any case, you start walking away. There is no point in staying there… even if you have great mechanical skills that could help.

And as you do, you also have a very, very loud consciousness voice screaming at you on how could you leave him with no solution if you know it…

“Sir, you should check your water level…” you shout, a few meters away from him. The sound of your voice echoes in the huge natural immensity of the Alps and his golden eyes finally fall upon you.

He stops moving for some seconds, lost in you. You, as well, wait for him to say something else. Something like “stay with me” or “don’t go”. A total stranger you want to hang up with. A total unknown woman he wants to protect.

“You know how to fix this?” “I do…”

Or so that was what you thought.

No more than a couple of minutes took you to help him out. VW vans are noble machines; they are durable and easy to fix despite their particular design. And soon, as a part of your payment, the man that you learned is called Law and you drove away through intricate roads and huge snowflakes.

“Where are you going, (Name)-ya?” he asks, handing you an old cover from an old comic, Germa 66.

“I was supposed to stay for a couple of days in Bad Goisern, and then I thought of visiting Salzburg. I am on a long trip through Europe. What about you?” you ask, cuddling with the blanket. A certain blessing for your freezing hands.

He nods, checking the breaks before going down the hill.

“I am too. I just graduated medical school and I thought of taking a little vacation before my residency starts. I’m going to be a surgeon. A cardiac surgeon” he tells, full of dreams he fails to cover up behind a tough guy expression.

You celebrate his success, and the next couple of hours become a ping pong of questions and answers. A smile on your face that leaves your cheeks hurting accompanies you until the sun hides and the little lights on the mountains start to scatter.

You didn’t want to go down in the first village, nor the second, nor the third. Law, didn’t want you to go down his van either. You named Salzburg, and he promised you to take you there.

But the night found both of you, and apparently your mechanical skills weren’t as good as you thought the would… Polar decided to stop, in the middle of nowhere during a dark, very dark winter night.

You close your eyes as the sound of rusty gears fail and Law’s annoyance grows stronger than ever. When Polar finally loses all of the power, Law manages to agonizingly park on the side of the road and a huge sighs escapes his lips.

You peak through your left eye; his DEATH tattooed fingers squeeze the wheel, and you know he will snap at any moment. But he doesn’t…

“I’m sorry. I thought- I-“ you try to give a plausible apologize, even though you had nothing to do with it.

“No. It is not your fault… it is mine- As we didn’t stop, I have completely forgotten to fuel Polar up” Law says, absolutely mortified for such stupid mistake. Apparently you were enough distraction to keep him from the basics of road tripping.

You breath alleviated and try to stop your upcoming laughter. Your grimacing did nothing to hide it, and a big burst of laughter took over the van and everything around.

Law looks at you pissed, but a soft smirk garnishes his lips. You can’t stop, perhaps it isn’t that funny… but you feel so happy right now. And you have no idea why, since you are literally stranded in a very dark wood with temperatures below 0C and snow pooling on top of that van.

“Welp, it’s ok. We should wait until tomorrow, then” you say, knowing the risks. “You- you prefer spending the night in here? aren’t you afraid of dying?” he asks, surprised.

“I am, in fact, scared of dying. That’s why I know very well I can’t walk during a snowstorm in the middle of the night in the Alps. Plus, you are too sweet to be considered a threat” you joke, searching for some chocolate inside your backpack.

Law narrows his eyes, deepening his frown. Apparently being called “sweet” and “not a threat” is not something he enjoys.

“I could cut you open and took all of your organs out during the night” he says, serious as hell. “Go for it. Don’t forget to steal my heart, doctor” you laugh, taking your jacket off.

Law is flabbergasted; he has never confronted someone like you before… but he is beginning to like it now.

A bar of chocolate that you had kept in your backpack for too long lays too close to his nose. You shake it, offering its sweetness to him.

He takes it but doesn’t eat it. Instead, his hand gets pressed against the window behind you. Law has pinned you against the door of your side. He is not a very muscular man, but he is indeed very tall and lean… if he wanted, he could do anything to you.

Your eyes widen, big as the moon. You swallow, thinking maybe walking through the forest might be a safer option.

“L-Law… I- didn’t mean to-“ you tremble, asking yourself where did you put the Victorinox blade you bought in Switzerland… it should be enough to defend yourself, right?

You notice his chest is also tattooed as his clothes open just a little. His arms, are too. His scent, despite the danger, smells deliciously tempting…

“Don’t trust strangers that easily, (Name)-ya” he whispers, a few centimetres from your lips. Letting you go after and biting the chocolate bar as if nothing has just happened.

You remain there, frozen up with your eyes widen and your lips softly trembling. He is, in fact, very right. Law is indeed a stranger, after all.

When oxygen finally begins to reach your lungs and brain again, you move and blink the dry eyes away. Silently you sit back, properly. You aren’t able to say anything, somehow you have run out of words.

You squeeze the blanket he gave you, covering you as much as you could, making yourself as tiny as possible on that old leather seat.

“Are you ok?” he asks, so nonchalantly.

“Ye-yes, I’m… ok” you mumble back, almost sticking yourself to the passenger door. “Is it ok if I go to sleep? I’m tired”

Law nods, confused. Maybe he was just joking around, but it did scare you big time. He goes down the van and opens the back doors. You look at him disappearing in the darkness until a very little glimpse of silver light coming from the moon filters through the doors.

But, soon after, fairy lights illuminate the back allowing you to discover a very cozy space behind the front seats.

“I am glad I installed this independently from the fuel tank. I have a little power generator for the back. It’s not a hotel bed, but it does the job” he says, showing you a precarious mattress covering the entire floor of the vehicle.

You smile softly, it looks cozy and pretty. The walls are full of random posters and maps, and there is even an old picture of a younger Law with three more guys wearing fancy hats with something written in the snow. You take a closer look at it, to discover it says, “Pirates of Heart” and you giggle. What a peculiar gang name.

“Law, this is really cute. You even have a lot of blankets and cushions!” you chime, easing a little bit.

“My best friend Bepo decorated it for me, I only helped him with the lights” he says, a little embarrassed.

You jump right back, leaving your backpack in the front seat and forgetting everything for the moment. What a reckless lover girl.

“I am going to sleep in the front seat, don’t worry. Use as many blankets as you need” he informs you, closing the back doors and leaving you there. You most probably were to say “no, stay here” but you simply couldn’t.

After all, this tattooed doctor is a gentleman. Right?

You let yourself rest for a bit on that improvised bed, with your sight blurring while looking at the fairy lights. The scent of the blankets and pillows is the same as him, something you secretly enjoy without even knowing. You catch a glimpse of the reflection of him sitting in the front through the back windows, at how he takes his hat off revealing a dark shade of onyx spiky hair.

For the next half an hour, or maybe less, you both become silent. The only sounds are the huge slaps of snow falling from the sky against the van and the subtle whistle of the wind filtering through the doors.

It is cold, but it’s probably colder in the front as Law is only using his Germa 66 blanket to cover up…

“Law? Are you awake?” you ask, shyly.

“Mh? Yes... why?” he asks back, with not much emotion but a soft tremble on his voice. He is probably cold, very cold.

“I feel bad for you; you must be freezing. There is plenty of room back here, you could sleep here. It’s ok with me” you say, taking advantage of not being in front of him.

Law takes a few minutes to move, but he ultimately does. He hops to where you are and sits there crossing his long legs. He is not wearing his black leather boots, so you can see Sora’s socks.

“Cool socks” you say, sitting right in front of him watching his cheeks go blushed. “Here, cover up. You are freezing, doc”

Both of you cover up with heavy blankets and fall into the mattress at the same time, facing each other.

Maybe, it is too strong to deny it. The attraction is natural, and you both can’t stop it… Exactly like the wind and cold reaching your skins.

“I am still cold” you mumble.

“I read in one of my books that the best way to keep the warmth of our bodies is to share it… skin to skin” he whispers, unable to take his eyes away from your lips.

“Is that so?” you breathe, coming closer to his embrace, allowing his arms to surround your frame and your hips to join with the other’s.

His forehead slowly touches yours, the bridge of your noses do as well. Your fingers, playfully but slowly, crawl to the crook of his neck. While his, squeeze your waist with delicate dominance. A leg that snake into the other’s, crossing, tangling…

Lips coming closer, so close. Breaths warming up, going faster and bumpy. Hearts that indeed had been stolen, the first kiss of two strangers, meeting for the very first time like two snowflakes join while falling from an endless sky

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWill they continue their journey together? 🦢

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hometoursandotherstuff · 8 months ago

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Wow, huge 1940 English Tudor in Cherry Hills Village, CO has 5bds, 12ba, $13.5M. Well, let's see what we get for $13.5M. Interesting that they chose Fu Dogs to guard an English Tudor. Don't they have Corgi statuary?

Well, I must say this is impressive. Beautiful wood, is that a balcony up there? Look at the fireplace wall- it's massive.

Wonder why they would put wire outdoor chairs in front of it.

What a ceiling. I don't know, when modern combines w/old, it can blend, but this is distracting.

Very formal dining room. Look at the fireplace and gold chandelier.

The kitchen is amazing. The cabinetry must've cost a fortune. Beautiful countertops and look at the massive stove hood.

What a fabulous primary bedroom. Deal breaker if the sheep doesn't convey.

Settle down in the beautiful tub in front of the fireplace.

The closet. Wonder what's up the spiral stairs.

Yipes, stripes! Love the horse, but he looks silly w/the lampshade on his head.

Must be like a conversation table.

Pool table in a step-down sunken room. Very sophisticated.

Hall of brick arches.

Very large wine tasting room.

TV room.

Outside there's tennis and shuffleboard.

Patio overlooking the pool.

Look at the gardens.

Gated property.

2.69 acres. Beautiful property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3-Churchill-Dr-Cherry-Hills-Village-CO-80113/99675851_zpid/

#english tudor mansion #english tudor estate #houses #house tours #home tour

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thatsoanjie · 4 months ago

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Fresh out the slammer

Sebastian Sallow x reader

Summary : In a haunting farewell under the cold night sky of Feldcroft, you leave Sebastian behind, grappling with the pain of loss and the desperate need to find yourself amidst the shadows of a once-bright future together.

Word count : 1.6k

Notes : Since y'all like the gut-wrenchingly sad ones 😼 here's one loosely inspired by the song "Fresh out the slammer" by Taylor Swift! In this story, you're living at the cottage in Feldcroft a few years after the original timeline, and Sebastian turned to the dark arts for good.

Read my disclaimer and fair use notice here

The night air in Feldcroft is cold, biting through your cloak as you stand on the hill overlooking the village. The memories here are thick—woven into the stones, the trees, the very ground beneath your feet. It’s where you and Sebastian once dreamed of a future, where he clung to the hope of saving his sister, where you both began to spiral into a darkness neither of you could have foreseen.

You trace the lines of your wand, the familiar grooves offering little comfort. This place, this moment, is suffocating in its finality. You know what you have to do, even if it tears you apart.

The door to the small cottage creaks open, and there he is, standing in the threshold. The sight of him hits you like a curse to the chest—his face drawn and worn, eyes searching yours for an answer you can’t give. You can see the remnants of the boy you fell in love with, the fierce determination that always made him seem invincible. But the years have chipped away at him, and the man standing before you now is a shadow of that boy, marred by loss and the pursuit of power.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” His voice is rough, barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a dagger.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The words you practiced, the explanations you rehearsed, all crumble into dust in the face of his pain. “I have to, Sebastian. I can’t stay here anymore. It’s…it’s killing me.”

His hand tightens on the doorframe, knuckles white. “We can fix this. Whatever it is, we can fix it. You don’t have to go.”

You want to believe him, you want to fall into his arms and let him convince you that everything will be okay. But you’ve tried that before. You’ve tried to heal the wounds with whispered promises and desperate kisses. And each time, the darkness only crept in deeper.

“It’s not something that can be fixed, Sebastian. Not with spells, not with time. We’re…we’re broken. And I think we’ve been broken for a long time.”

He steps closer, his eyes pleading. “I can change. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. Just…don’t leave me. Not now.”

The ache in your chest intensifies, and you take a step back, needing the distance as much as you hate it. “It’s not about you changing, Sebastian. It’s about me. I’ve lost myself in all of this—in you, in trying to save you, in trying to save us. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Then let me help you find yourself,” he begs, voice cracking with desperation. “Don’t go through this alone. Don’t leave me alone.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “I can’t stay, Sebastian. Every time I look at you, I see everything we’ve lost. Everything I’ve lost. And I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

The silence between you is heavy, laden with everything unsaid. You can see the walls he’s tried to build around himself crumbling, the vulnerability he’s kept hidden for so long laid bare. “Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I need you.”

You close your eyes, fighting the urge to run to him, to hold him and let him hold you back. But you know that if you do, you’ll never leave, and you’ll both be trapped in this endless cycle of hurt and hope.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words nearly choking you as they leave your lips. “But I can’t do this anymore. I have to go.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to stop you as you turn away, but you can feel his eyes on you, burning with everything he wishes he could say, everything you wish you could hear. The pain is a physical thing, tearing through you with each step you take away from him.

As you reach the edge of the village, you pause, looking back one last time. He’s still there, a solitary figure in the doorway, the light from the cottage casting long shadows around him. For a moment, you think he might come after you, that he might say something that will make you turn back. But he doesn’t. And you don’t.

The path ahead is dark, uncertain, but you force yourself to take that first step, then another, until the village is behind you, until the memories begin to fade with the distance. You know that this isn’t the end of your story—only the end of this chapter. But that doesn’t make it any less painful.

As the tears finally fall, you let yourself mourn what you’ve lost, what you’ve had to leave behind. Because in the end, you realize, it was never about leaving Sebastian. It was about finding yourself. And that, you hope, will be worth the pain.

•••••••

The fire in the hearth is dying, the last embers casting a dim, flickering light around the room. Sebastian sits in the armchair by the window, staring out at the darkness beyond. The night outside is still, suffocating in its quiet, as if the world itself is holding its breath. But inside, the storm rages, tearing through him with a ferocity that leaves him trembling.

He hears the door close again in his mind, the finality of that sound echoing like a death knell. You’re gone. You walked away, and he did nothing to stop you. The memory of your retreating figure is burned into his mind, every detail sharp and clear. The way your shoulders had slumped as if the weight of everything was too much to bear. The look in your eyes when you told him you couldn’t stay—the heartbreak, the resignation, the sorrow. He felt it all then, and he feels it now, a gaping wound that refuses to heal.

He had tried to sleep, tried to close his eyes and block out the reality of what had happened, but sleep eluded him. The bed, once a place of comfort, now felt like a tomb, cold and empty without you beside him. Each creak of the floorboards, each whisper of the wind against the window, was a reminder of your absence. The silence was unbearable, a suffocating weight that pressed down on him, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Finally, exhaustion overtakes him, and he drifts into a restless sleep, only to be torn from it hours later, his heart racing, drenched in sweat. For a moment, he’s disoriented, the remnants of his dream clinging to him like a fog. In the dream, you were still there, standing in the doorway, smiling at him, everything the way it used to be. But as the haze lifts, reality crashes down, brutal and unrelenting.

You’re gone. The bed is empty.

Panic grips him, and before he can stop himself, he’s out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor, heart pounding in his chest. He stumbles through the darkness, eyes wide, searching—desperate to find you, to prove to himself that it was just a nightmare, that you didn’t really leave. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he flings open doors, calling your name, his voice echoing through the empty cottage.

But you’re not there.

“Where are you?” he mutters, half-delusional, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You wouldn’t leave me…you wouldn’t…you promised…”

He moves through the rooms, frantic now, convinced that if he just looks hard enough, he’ll find you, hiding somewhere, waiting for him. He calls your name again, louder this time, the sound hoarse, desperate. But the only response is the wind outside, howling like a ghost through the cracks in the walls.

He stumbles into the living room, collapsing to his knees in front of the cold fireplace. His hands tremble as he reaches out, as if trying to grasp something that isn’t there. The realization finally hits him, like a physical blow—this is real. You’re not coming back.

The sob that escapes him is raw, tearing through him as he doubles over, clutching at his chest as if he can physically hold himself together. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words choked out through the tears that he can no longer hold back. “I’m so sorry… Please come back…”

But the night offers no solace, no comfort. The darkness is relentless, pressing in on him from all sides, suffocating in its intensity. He feels like he’s drowning, pulled under by a tidal wave of grief and regret. His mind races, replaying every moment, every mistake, every word he wishes he could take back. But it’s too late. You’re gone.

In his delusion, he starts to believe that if he can just make it to the door, if he can just reach out, you’ll be there, waiting for him like you always were. He stumbles to his feet, lurching toward the door, his vision blurred by tears. His hand grips the handle, pulling it open with a force that nearly wrenches it off its hinges.

But the night outside is empty.

“Please,” he whispers into the void, his voice breaking, the last remnants of hope shattering as he stares into the darkness. “Please… I can’t do this without you…”

He collapses against the doorframe, sliding down to the ground, his body wracked with sobs. The cold night air rushes in, chilling him to the bone, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything anymore. The only thing that mattered was you, and now you’re gone, leaving him hollow, a shell of the person he once was.

As the hours drag on, he’s left alone in the cold, clutching at the empty space where you once stood, haunted by the echo of your departure. And in the silence, the only sound is his broken whisper, repeating your name like a prayer, begging for a miracle that will never come.

***

Hehe. Requests are open :P thank you for reading, and we shall meet again my next endeavour!

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apple-of-my-eye1 · 3 months ago

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Wally Darling (Welcome Home)

Some songs that remind me of Wally Darling. I’ll be sure to update it over time.

This playlist might be one of my longest.

⚠️Spoilers Ahead ⚠️

———————————————

Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You by Frankie Valli (I don’t think I need to explain this one, also puns)

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? By Mr. Rogers (again, I don’t think I need to explain this one)

It’s You I Like by Mr. Rogers

Under The Wool by K-Modo (again, self explanatory)

Beautiful Dreamer by Roy Orbison (again, self explanatory)

Im Looking For A Friend by Mr. Rogers (I can imagine Wally singing this about Barnaby, and I find that, in his own words, just the absolute most!)

Apple Village by Louie Zong ( purely based on vibes and name sake)

Paintbrush by Kero Kero Bonito (purely based on vibes and name sake)

Man Or Muppet from The Muppets Movie OST (purely as a joke)

Movin Right Along from The Muppets Movie OST (I can just imagine Wally and Barnaby singing this)

Dream by The Pied Pipers (purely based on the name and vibes)

Welcome To The Neighborhood by Brian David Gilbert (I haven’t seen a lot of people bringing up this song. Honestly? I can see Beta! Wally Darling singing this more).

Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones

Rule #4 Fish In A Birdcage by Fish In A Birdcage (I can see Wally Darling singing this, talking about The WHRP. Particularly the one member who had a nightmare about him. As well as reminding me of the hidden record player audios from the old website)

Puppet Boy by Devo (I don’t think I need to explain this one)

Dreamy Eyes by Johnny Tillotson (I don’t think I need to explain this one, also puns)

I Lost Something In The Hills by Sibylle Baier (Reminds me of this one guestbook response he wrote)

Everything Is New To Me from Guillermo Del Toro’s Pinnocchio OST

Birdhouse In Your Soul by They Might Be Giants (I can see him singing this to The WHRP, but also to the fans who watched the original show)

Polite And Good by Secret Pie (I can see him singing this to The WHRP, particularly the one who had a nightmare about him)

Apple Shampoo by Nelward (mostly based on the name, and vibes.)

The Tornado by The Owl City (Honestly I can see this applying to Eddie Dear as well)

Parallelograms by Linda Perhacs (purely due to the name and vibes)

Spiral of Ants by Lemon Demon (purely due to the name and vibes)

Fallen Down from The Undertale OST

Fallen Down (Reprise) from The Undertale OST

Just Take My Wallet by Jack Stauber (for the tragedy and angst fans, I can see this from Wally perspective, talking about Barnaby)

Frozen In Time by Infinite Frequencies

The Descent by Infinite Frequencies

Drifting by Infinite Frequencies

You Got A Friend In Me from The Toy Story OST (I can see Barnaby singing this to Wally)

#welcome home #welcome home wally darling #wh wally darling #wh wally #welcome home horror project #welcome home puppet show #gif #image #cw spoilers #cw minor spoilers #text #playlist #music #music playlist #my post

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loving-the-cambridges · 2 months ago

Text

The Snow globe

This is my story for the Life Day exchange 2024 for @alegendoftomorrow.

Prompts: “The lights are beautiful.”- “Yeah they are.” Neither of them are looking at the lights. || “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?” - “Positive…. maybe….. probably.”

A/N: Thanks again to @cloneficgiftexchange for making this possible. They were some fun prompts to work with. I apologise for the day's delay, I had been going at it, it's pretty long as you'll see and work had been crazy, I wanted it to be perfect. I just hope that you'll love every second it as much as I had fun writing it. It's a bit different, but that's fine in these sorts of things. I'd love to know your thoughts on it.

there are no warnings needed for this story, maybe just for it's length.

On A03

word length: 14 323

The hum of the ship’s engines filled the cabin, steady and rhythmic, as the stars of hyperspace streaked across the viewport. The ship was alive with the sound of voices, playful banter bouncing off the metal walls. It had been a long time since they’d all been together like this—no battles, no orders, no looming war. Just brothers, traveling through space toward a promise of peace and something new.

Jesse stretched out on a crate in the corner, helmet balanced on his knee. “I’m just saying, if this thing falls apart mid-flight, I’m blaming Tech. He’s the one who’s supposed to know every single bolt and wire in this tin can.”

Tech didn’t even glance back from the co-pilot’s chair. “The Havoc Marauder is structurally sound and fully functional. Any mechanical failure would be statistically improbable.”

“Right, and ‘statistically improbable’ means nothing when you’re spiraling toward a planet,” Jesse shot back with a smirk, leaning his head against the wall. “Fives, back me up.”

“Depends,” Fives replied from across the cabin, leaning lazily against the bulkhead. “Do I get to be the one piloting when it happens? Because I bet I could land this thing better than Cody.”

Cody turned his head from the pilot’s chair, arching a brow. “You’d be lucky to hit the planet at all, Fives. Remember the time you drove a speeder into a tree? Or should I say, through a tree?”

That earned a round of laughs. Even Echo, who usually kept his comments to himself during these exchanges, let a smile slip. Fives raised his hands in mock surrender. “That tree came out of nowhere! Besides, we’ve all made mistakes.”

“Not mistakes like that,” Echo said under his breath, his grin widening when Fives pointed an accusing finger at him.

“It’s not my fault that tree had something against me,” Fives huffed, crossing his arms. “Anyway, what’s this planet called again? Idelmor?”

“It’s supposed to be some kind of winter paradise,” Jesse said, tipping his helmet off his knee and spinning it idly. “Snow-covered hills, cozy villages, all that storybook stuff.”

“Storybook?” Crosshair’s voice came from the shadows where he lounged, his toothpick twitching lazily between his fingers. “Sounds boring. Unless there’s a good fight waiting.”

“No fights,” Cody said firmly, turning back to the controls. “That’s the point. We’re supposed to relax for once.”

“Relax?” Wrecker’s booming voice came from the back of the ship as he stood, cracking his neck with an audible pop. “I’ll show you relaxing. You just point me in the direction of this ‘Christmas roast’ they’re supposed to have, and I’ll handle the rest.”

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Crosshair muttered, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “Food.”

“Damn right,” Wrecker said with a grin. “If this ‘Christmas’ thing involves feasting, count me in.”

“Christmas,” Tech interjected from the front, pushing up his goggles, “is an ancient tradition originating from Core Earth. It involves gift-giving, communal meals, and decorative customs designed to foster goodwill.”

“Yeah, yeah, goodwill,” Jesse cut in, rolling his eyes. “What about snowball fights? I heard they’re big on that here.”

“Snowball fights?” Kix, who had been quietly cleaning his medkit, raised an eyebrow. “You mean pelting each other with frozen water?”

“Exactly,” Jesse said, sitting up straighter, his grin widening. “It’s like a battle simulation, but fun.”

“Only you would think throwing snow at people is a battle simulation,” Kix replied, shaking his head. “You’d probably twist your ankle trying to dodge a snowball.”

“Twist my ankle? I’d be unstoppable!” Jesse said, puffing out his chest. “Mark my words, I’m going to bury you all in snow.”

“You’ll be too busy running from Wrecker,” Echo muttered, earning a chuckle from the others.

“You’ve got that right!” Wrecker bellowed, punching the air. “I’m gonna flatten you all.”

“Not if you trip over your own feet,” Crosshair said, smirking. “Again.”

The cabin filled with laughter, the kind of unguarded sound that only came from moments like these. Rex, leaning against the bulkhead near the cockpit, watched it all with a faint smile. His arms were crossed, his stance relaxed, but there was a quiet weight to his expression. It felt good, being here with them like this. It reminded him of the barracks, back when the galaxy wasn’t such a heavy place to carry.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, glancing over his shoulder at Rex. “You alright?”

Rex shrugged, his smile lingering as he looked out at the glowing blue of hyperspace. “Yeah. Just… good to see them like this. Feels normal.”

Cody nodded, a rare softness in his tone. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Rex didn’t reply, but his eyes lingered on the group—the way Fives leaned into every word, the way Kix shook his head at their antics, the way Wrecker’s laugh echoed like thunder. They were all still here. That was enough, for now.

The ship shuddered slightly as it began its descent, Tech adjusting the controls with practiced ease. “Approaching Idelmor,” he announced. “Optimal landing conditions. Minimal atmospheric interference.”

“Minimal interference?” Wrecker grinned. “Sounds like a smooth landing for once.”

“Try not to break anything before we even touch down,” Crosshair said.

“Try not to break the planet with your bad attitude,” Wrecker shot back, folding his arms.

As the ship pierced through the atmosphere, the viewport filled with a dazzling view of Idelmor: rolling hills blanketed in snow, evergreen trees that glistened like crystals, and a cluster of warm lights marking the small village below. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint glow of lanterns illuminated the streets, casting a golden hue against the soft blue of twilight.

For a moment, the cabin fell silent as the sight sunk in.

“Well,” Fives said, breaking the quiet, “if that doesn’t look like the perfect vacation, I don’t know what does.”

“Let’s hope their food’s as good as their scenery,” Wrecker added, his excitement evident as he grabbed his gear.

Rex remained still, his eyes fixed on the village below. The glow of the lights reflected in his gaze, stirring something faint but steady in his chest—something that felt, just for a moment, like hope.

***

The ramp of the Havoc Marauder hissed open, spilling cold air into the ship’s warm cabin. Rex was the first to step out, his boots crunching against the packed snow at the base of the ramp. His breath misted in the frigid air as he glanced around, his senses keenly aware of the sudden stillness that came with setting foot on a new planet.

The village of Elycara lay a short walk ahead, nestled into the base of a hill that rolled up toward a dense forest of evergreen trees. Lights flickered warmly from the windows of stone and timber cottages, their rooftops heavy with snow. Smoke curled from chimneys, mixing with the faint scent of pine and something sweeter—spiced, comforting. Lanterns hung along the main path leading into the village, casting a soft glow over the white ground.

The galaxy, for all its vastness, had rarely offered Rex a sight like this: untouched, quiet, alive without chaos.

Behind him, the others stepped out into the cold. Jesse whistled low, his breath visible in the sharp air. “Would you look at that,” he murmured, eyes scanning the scene before them. “I didn’t think places like this actually existed.”

“They do,” Cody said, descending the ramp with practiced precision, his boots crunching into the snow. His gaze swept over the village, assessing as he always did, but there was no tension in his expression. “Rare, but they do.”

“It’s picturesque,” Tech said from behind, his tone clinically observant. He adjusted his goggles, the lenses catching the lantern light. “Precisely the sort of settlement one would expect to find associated with a holiday tradition. Communal, centered around warmth and shared experiences—quite fascinating, really.”

“Fascinating is one word for it,” Fives muttered, brushing his gloves together as he stepped off the ramp. “Another is freezing.”

“You’ve survived harsher than this,” Echo replied, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. His voice was soft, but his tone held the familiar, dry humor that always came out when he felt at ease. “Don’t act like a cadet.”

Fives grinned, nudging him with an elbow. “A cadet would’ve taken one look at this snow and gone back inside. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

The sound of snow crunching behind them was punctuated by Wrecker’s booming laugh. “Standing for now, maybe. You’re gonna fall on your face as soon as you hit that icy patch over there.” He pointed toward the trail leading into the village, where the snow gleamed slick in the lantern light.

“Careful, or I’ll push you into it first,” Fives shot back, though the smile on his face softened the threat.

Crosshair, lagging at the back of the group, clicked his tongue as he adjusted his coat. “You’ll both fall if you keep flapping your mouths instead of watching where you’re walking.”

Rex couldn’t help but smile at the exchange, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. The banter felt… normal. Like the old days. Before everything had been taken from them.

His attention turned toward the village again, and as they began walking down the trail, his thoughts quieted. The snow underfoot was firm but not slippery, and the cold was sharp enough to sting his nose. He glanced around, catching the expressions of his brothers as they took in their surroundings.

Kix was walking with his head slightly tilted, his sharp eyes scanning the buildings for any sign of their local medical center—always assessing, always ready. Jesse walked beside him, hands stuffed into his gloves, his gaze drawn to the glowing windows of the cottages, where faint shadows of movement hinted at the lives inside.

Wrecker, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stay still as they walked. His grin was broad, and every few paces, he pointed something out—a particularly tall evergreen, a child’s sled abandoned near the edge of the road, a flickering lantern swaying slightly in the breeze. “Look at that!” he said, nudging Crosshair, who merely rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding.

Rex’s gaze settled on Cody, walking slightly ahead. His old commander’s posture was straight as ever, but there was something different in his expression. His eyes, usually so calculating, lingered on the village’s distant square, where a towering tree glittered with golden lights. Cody didn’t speak, but there was a faint crease in his brow that Rex recognized—thoughtful, maybe even wistful.

“You ever think we’d end up somewhere like this?” Rex asked, his voice low enough for only Cody to hear.

Cody glanced at him, his breath puffing in the cold. “No,” he admitted after a pause. “Not once.”

Rex nodded, his attention shifting back to the village. They were close enough now to hear the sounds of laughter and faint music drifting through the air. A group of villagers passed them on the road, carrying baskets filled with brightly wrapped parcels. One of the villagers—a boy no older than seven—stared at them wide-eyed, his gaze sweeping over their gear and their faces with unabashed curiosity.

“Evening,” Cody said, offering a nod. The boy’s mother smiled at them before gently steering her son onward.

“They’re not afraid of us,” Echo observed, his tone quiet but tinged with something hard to name—relief, maybe. “Not even wary.”

Rex knew what he meant. For years, their presence on a planet had been accompanied by war. They were symbols of conflict, instruments of strategy. But here, walking into a village lit with lanterns and filled with laughter, they weren’t soldiers. They were just… visitors.

The thought stuck with Rex as they entered the square. The towering tree at its center was breathtaking, its branches weighed down with ornaments of every size and shape. Garlands of greenery looped between the buildings, and wooden stalls lined the edges of the square, their shelves stacked with trinkets, steaming mugs, and warm pastries.

“It smells amazing,” Wrecker said, sniffing the air like a man starved. “What is that?”

“Likely cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves… possibly mulled wine,” Tech answered, his tone as clinical as ever. “All traditional holiday spices.”

“Traditional or not, I’m finding out where it’s coming from,” Wrecker declared, already scanning the stalls for the source.

Rex let him go, his attention drawn to a nearby shop at the edge of the square. Its windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and the faint glow of golden light spilled through the cracks of the wooden door. Something about it pulled at him, though he couldn’t say why.

Cody noticed. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Rex said, though his voice was distant. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Cody gave him a long look before nodding. The others moved on, drawn by the liveliness of the market, but Rex stayed behind. He stood there for a moment longer, watching the shop as if waiting for it to reveal something to him. Then, shaking his head, he stepped forward, pushing the door open with a creak, followed by the soft chime of a bell overhead.

Warmth wrapped around him instantly, a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. The air smelled of aged wood, faintly sweet spices, and something softer—vanilla, maybe. It was the kind of scent that invited you to linger, to breathe it in like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

The door eased shut behind him, cutting off the distant laughter and chatter of the village square. In its place was the quiet murmur of a crackling fireplace tucked somewhere in the back. Rex took a step forward, his boots sinking into a worn but colorful rug, and he paused to take in his surroundings.

The shop was small but overflowing with character, every inch of it thoughtfully curated. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books whose spines ranged from leather-bound tomes to tattered paperbacks. Trinkets and antiques rested on tables and in glass cases, everything from ornate clocks to delicate porcelain figurines. A cozy nook in the corner drew his eye, where a plush couch sat beneath a window frosted with snow, a small stack of books and a steaming mug resting on a low table beside it.

It was the kind of place you could lose yourself in. Not by accident, but because you wanted to. Rex found himself lingering near the threshold, his hand still resting on the door as though afraid to step any further, like his presence might break the spell of the room.

“Welcome,” came a voice from behind the counter, soft but clear.

Rex turned, and for a moment, he forgot to speak. The woman standing there—(Y/n), as he’d learn later—was leaning over a small box of ornaments, brushing her hands free of some glittering powder. She had a warm but easy expression, her lips curled into a natural smile that somehow felt like an invitation rather than politeness. Loose strands of chestnut-brown hair fell from her braid, framing a face lit with curiosity. Her eyes, a bright, striking blue, flicked up to meet his, and she tilted her head ever so slightly.

“Not many visitors come in and stop right there,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “You’re either deeply unimpressed or deeply overwhelmed. Which one is it?”

Rex blinked, his hand dropping from the door as he realized he’d been standing there too long. “Neither,” he said quickly, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, glancing around the shop. “It’s just… not what I expected.”

Her smile softened, and she gestured loosely to the shelves around them. “Most people say that. My father always liked to say this place doesn’t really feel like a shop. He wanted it to feel like… I don’t know, an escape.”

Rex nodded, stepping further inside. “It works.”

(Y/n)’s smile lingered as she watched him. He moved with a quiet presence, his posture straight but not rigid, his gloved hands brushing lightly over the edges of a nearby shelf. He wasn’t just looking at the items on display—he was absorbing the space, taking in every detail as though it might vanish if he didn’t. She recognized something in that—a carefulness that spoke of someone who wasn’t used to letting his guard down.

“Take your time,” she said, her voice gentle, before turning her attention back to the box on the counter. She lifted an ornament from it—a delicate glass star—and began tying a silver ribbon through the loop.

Rex’s eyes followed her hands briefly before he turned his attention back to the shelves. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—or if he was even looking for anything at all. But the atmosphere here, warm and alive in its quiet way, seemed to settle something in his chest he hadn’t realized was restless.

As he moved toward the center of the shop, his gaze caught on a table near the window. At its center was a snow globe, simple but beautifully crafted. Inside, a miniature version of the village square shimmered beneath a swirl of fine, silvery flakes. He hesitated before reaching for it, his fingers brushing the cool glass as he turned it gently in his hands.

“You’re drawn to that one, huh?” (Y/n)’s voice came from just behind him, light and curious. He hadn’t heard her move, and he glanced over his shoulder to find her standing a few steps away, the same easy smile on her face. “It’s a favorite around here.”

Rex looked back at the snow globe, watching the flakes settle. “It’s… detailed,” he said, unsure of what else to say. His voice softened. “It looks just like the square.”

“It should,” (Y/n) said, stepping closer. Her tone was quieter now, almost reverent. “My father made it. He was a woodworker and a craftsman. The base is carved from the trees up near the north ridge. He used to say every snow globe needed to feel like it carried a whole world inside it.”

Rex’s thumb brushed the edge of the wooden base, smooth but etched with subtle patterns. “It does feel like that.”

(Y/n) studied him for a moment, her gaze flicking to the way he held the snow globe—not casually, but carefully, like it was something precious. “There’s a story about that one,” she said. “They say if you hold it and think of someone, it’ll show you their heart’s greatest wish.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a skeptical smile. “Magic?”

“Maybe,” (Y/n) said with a shrug, her expression unreadable. “Or maybe it’s just a good excuse for people to imagine something they want to see.”

He held the snow globe a moment longer, the words hanging in the air between them. Then, setting it gently back on the table, he met her gaze again. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Her smile tilted, playful but soft. “I think there’s a little truth in every story. Don’t you?”

Rex didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the shop again, letting his gaze sweep over the books, the trinkets, the little pieces of other lives that filled the room. Finally, he said, “Maybe. Depends on the story.”

(Y/n) chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace in the back. But something about the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a pause in the middle of a song—natural, even necessary.

Rex cleared his throat and stepped back toward the shelves. “Your father—he must’ve been proud of this place.”

(Y/n)’s smile faltered slightly, though she recovered quickly. “He was,” she said softly. “He built it to be a place where people could find… something they didn’t know they were looking for.”

Rex glanced at her, her words settling over him like the warmth of the shop itself. “Maybe he was onto something.”

Lingering by the shelves as (Y/n) moved back to the counter, where she resumed sorting through the ornaments with slow, deliberate movements. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, but it carried the quiet weight of curiosity. Rex’s eyes drifted again to the snow globe resting on the small table near the window. Something about it stayed with him—maybe it was the delicate craftsmanship or the way (Y/n) had described it, as though it held a world in its fragile casing. Too whimsical for someone like him, he thought, but it tugged at him all the same.

(Y/n) caught herself glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she worked, drawn to the quiet intensity he carried. His movements were measured, his posture always alert, like someone who never fully let down his guard. Yet beneath that, she sensed a weariness that went beyond the physical—a heaviness that had settled into his bones and stayed. She’d seen it before in others, but not quite like this.

“You’re not from here,” she said finally, her voice breaking the stillness with the lightness of an observation.

“No,” Rex replied, turning to face her slightly. “Just passing through.”

“With your friends?” (Y/n) asked, motioning vaguely toward the door with the ornament still in her hand.

Rex nodded. “Yeah. We travel together when we can.”

“Close group, then.”

“You could say that,” Rex said. His voice grew quieter as he hesitated, as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, he added, “We’ve been through a lot together.”

(Y/n) looked up, her gaze locking onto him. She noticed the way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his hands flexed at his sides, as though memories were threatening to push past the barriers he kept so tightly in place. She recognized that look—it was the same one she’d seen in the eyes of the few villagers who had returned from the galaxy’s war. The ones who had left to help but had come back quieter, changed, heavier.

“We heard about the war,” she said softly, setting the ornament down. She kept her tone gentle, careful. “Even out here.”

Rex’s expression sharpened slightly, but not with hostility. It was reflexive—the instinct to assess and protect kicking in the moment someone mentioned the war. He studied her face, looking for the subtle cues people gave away when they talked about soldiers like him. Judgment, pity, fear… but he didn’t see any of those. Just quiet understanding.

“You didn’t see much of it,” he said after a pause.

(Y/n) shook her head, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms loosely. “No. Idelmor’s quiet. Tucked far enough away that it felt like we were watching the war from the other side of a viewport. We heard the stories, though. And a few of our people felt the call to help.”

Rex tilted his head slightly. “The call?”

“To fight,” (Y/n) explained, her voice dropping just slightly. “Or to heal, to build. To do whatever they could. Most of them didn’t come back.”

The words sat heavily in the space between them, though (Y/n) didn’t avert her gaze. She saw the flicker of emotion in Rex’s eyes—sorrow, perhaps, or something heavier. Guilt. It was brief but unmistakable, and it told her everything she needed to know.

“That happened in a lot of places,” Rex said finally, his voice quieter now.

(Y/n) nodded, her expression softening. She wanted to ask more, to learn the pieces of his story he wasn’t saying, but she knew that prying wouldn’t work. Some stories were only told when someone was ready. So instead, she stepped away from the counter, leaning her hip against the edge and letting the silence settle for a moment.

“I knew you were clones when you walked in,” she said gently, her voice measured, like she was testing the weight of her words.

Rex stiffened, though not entirely with surprise. He had wondered if the people here would recognize them, even in the absence of their armor.

“I see it in the way you move,” (Y/n) continued, watching his reaction carefully. “Not just you—all of you. There’s a purpose to it. A weight. But… that’s not all I see.”

Rex met her eyes, unsure what to say. He’d been stared at before, studied like an oddity or a relic of a war no one wanted to remember. He braced himself for the usual follow-up: the questions, the curiosity, the polite pity.

But (Y/n) smiled faintly and shrugged. “I see people,” she said simply. “That’s what matters to me.”

For a moment, Rex said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t believe her or because he didn’t know how to process the quiet sincerity in her tone. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing back at the snow globe. “Most people don’t see it that way.”

“Maybe most people aren’t looking close enough,” (Y/n) said, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t strike me as just a soldier. Not anymore.”

Her words landed in the quiet, not harsh or heavy, but matter-of-fact. Rex felt them settle in his chest, not entirely comfortable but not unwelcome either.

“You and your friends—are you staying in the village?” she asked after a moment, her tone lightening.

“Not yet,” Rex admitted. “We only just arrived.”

“Well,” (Y/n) said, a small smile curling at her lips, “I might have something for you. There’s a holiday cottage near the market square. It’s small, but it’s warm, and it has enough room for a group. A family used to run it, but they moved away a few years ago. I keep it up for travelers who come through.”

Rex raised a brow. “You keep a whole cottage just in case someone passes by?”

(Y/n) shrugged, her smile growing. “It’s a small village. We don’t get many strangers, but the ones we do usually leave something behind—stories, mostly. The kind worth keeping.”

Rex studied her for a long moment, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like you’ve made this place more than just a shop.”

“It’s what my father wanted,” (Y/n) replied, her voice softening. “I just try to keep it alive.”

He nodded, glancing toward the door as if he could still hear the voices of his brothers outside. “I’ll talk to them. It might be nice to stay somewhere that isn’t a starship for once.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” (Y/n) said, her tone as warm as the firelight flickering in the corner. “I can show you where it is if you’d like.”

Rex hesitated before nodding. “Thanks.”

As they stepped outside, the cold stung at his face again, but it didn’t feel as biting as before. (Y/n) gestured toward a narrow path leading off the square, explaining the location as they walked. Rex caught glimpses of his brothers in the distance—Fives and Jesse laughing near a food stall, Wrecker towering over a group of villagers, Kix examining a trinket in a shop window.

For the first time in what felt like years, they weren’t soldiers. They were just… people. Rex let the thought settle in his mind as (Y/n)’s voice carried softly beside him. Maybe that was the real gift this place had to offer.

***

The crackling of the fire filled the cozy sitting room of the holiday cottage, the warm glow casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. The boys had settled in quickly, their laughter and voices filling the space like it had always belonged to them. Jesse was sprawled on one of the couches, gesturing animatedly as he shared some tale from their earlier exploration of the village. Wrecker had already claimed the chair nearest the fire, his massive frame dwarfed by the oversized blanket he’d pulled over his shoulders, grinning as he polished off yet another helping of the pastries they’d brought back.

“Tell me that wasn’t the best pie you’ve ever had,” Wrecker declared, pointing at Echo, who sat at the table, carefully flipping through an old book he’d found on one of the shelves.

Echo didn’t look up. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Wrecker’s voice boomed. “That wasn’t just pie, Echo. That was a masterpiece.”

Fives, lounging in a chair near the window, smirked. “You call anything with sugar a masterpiece.”

“Because it is!” Wrecker shot back, though his grin was broad. “And if you don’t agree, I’ll eat yours too.”

Cody leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with the faintest tilt of amusement on his lips. “At least we’re not eating rations,” he said dryly, and a chorus of groans filled the room.

“You had to remind us,” Jesse muttered. “Don’t ruin a good thing, Cody.”

Rex sat apart from the others, perched on a chair near the window with his arms resting on his knees, his eyes distant. Outside, the village square was illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns and the towering tree in the center, its golden lights shimmering like a dream against the snow. The sounds of faint laughter and holiday cheer drifted in through the glass, mingling with the warmth of the fire inside.

It was… peaceful. And yet, that peace felt foreign, like a new pair of boots that hadn’t quite been broken in yet.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, his voice low but not unkind as he stepped closer to Rex. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, studying his brother with careful eyes. “That’s not like you.”

Rex shook his head faintly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “It’s nothing. Just… taking it all in.”

Cody hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. He straightened, nodding toward the table. “You’re the only one who hasn’t picked something out of the basket. Go grab a pastry before Wrecker eats them all.”

Rex huffed a laugh, though his heart wasn’t entirely in it. “I’m good. I think I’ll step out for a bit.”

Cody raised a brow but said nothing, only watching as Rex rose to his feet and grabbed his coat. The cold air greeted him as he stepped outside, biting at his face and ears, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It cleared his head, sharpened his focus. He pulled his gloves tighter and started toward the shop at the edge of the square, the light spilling through its windows as inviting as it had been the first time.

***

The bell chimed softly as Rex stepped inside, and the warmth of the shop wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. (Y/n) looked up from where she stood behind the counter, her hands busy with another box of ornaments. Her face brightened when she saw him.

“Rex,” she greeted, her smile easy and genuine. “Back so soon?”

He stepped forward, glancing around the shop. It was quieter now, the evening hours leaving it almost empty, but the fire in the corner still crackled, and the cozy atmosphere hadn’t waned. “I wanted to thank you again,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “The cottage—it’s perfect. The others are… well, they’re making themselves at home.”

(Y/n) laughed softly, setting down the ornament she’d been tying a ribbon through. “I’m glad. It’s been a while since anyone stayed there. It’s nice to know it’s being used.”

Rex nodded, his gaze drifting again to the snow globe on the table near the window. The swirling flakes inside caught the light just so, almost hypnotic in their simplicity. He hesitated, his hands slipping into his pockets, and (Y/n) noticed.

“Still curious about it?” she asked, her tone light.

Rex looked at her, then back at the globe. “It’s… interesting. The way you talked about it before, like it holds some kind of magic.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, stepping out from behind the counter. “It doesn’t have to be magic to mean something,” she said softly. “Sometimes it’s enough that it makes us think.”

She stopped beside the table, resting her hand lightly on the edge of the globe. “If you want to try it, you should. No pressure,” she added quickly, her blue eyes meeting his. “But if there’s someone you’re thinking about…”

Rex hesitated again, the weight of her gaze steady but not prying. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and reached out for the globe. It was cool in his hands, smooth and solid, and as he tilted it slightly, the flakes inside swirled to life, spinning in slow, mesmerizing patterns.

He thought of Cody.

The vision was instant, clear as though he were standing in it himself. Cody was here, in Idelmor, not as a visitor but as a cornerstone of the community. Rex saw him in the village square, surrounded by a group of clones—brothers Rex recognized and some he didn’t. They were laughing, their expressions open and free, and the villagers mingled among them as if there had never been a war, as if there were no distinction between them.

Cody stood taller than Rex had seen him in years, his posture steady, his face calm but content. He was a leader here, but not of a battlefield—of a home. There was no armor, no orders to give, just a sense of purpose that seemed to radiate from him. It wasn’t just Cody who belonged here, Rex realized. It was all of them.

The vision faded, the flakes settling back into place, and Rex was left staring at the globe, his chest tight.

“Rex?” (Y/n)’s voice broke through gently, pulling him back. He looked up to find her watching him, her brow furrowed with concern. “What did you see?”

He swallowed, setting the globe back on the table carefully. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “A future,” he said simply. “One I didn’t think we’d ever have.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly. “And now?”

Rex looked at her, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t know how to explain the ache in his chest—the mix of hope and uncertainty, the weight of what could be and the fear of reaching for it.

“Now,” he said finally, his voice steadier, “I think it’s worth trying to make it real.”

*****

The fire crackled in the hearth of the cottage, casting warm light over the room as Rex leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and his thoughts distant. The others were spread out in their usual relaxed chaos—Fives and Jesse were playing cards at the dining table, their banter loud enough to drown out most of the quiet outside. Wrecker had sprawled across the couch, snoring softly, a half-empty mug of spiced cider resting precariously on the armrest beside him. Tech and Echo sat together near the window, both pouring over something on a datapad, their low murmurs blending into the background.

Cody stood by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantle as he stared into the flames. His face was as stoic as ever, but Rex knew him well enough to see the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly. It was the posture of a man who had spent too much time thinking about things he hadn’t said.

Rex cleared his throat. “Cody, can I talk to you?”

The subtle shift in Cody’s expression was immediate—curiosity, edged with caution. He nodded once, motioning toward the kitchen. The two of them moved away from the others, their boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor.

“What’s on your mind?” Cody asked, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed.

Rex hesitated, the words tangling in his mind before they could take shape. He hadn’t told anyone about what he’d seen in the snow globe—Cody, standing tall and sure in a place like this, surrounded by brothers who had once been lost. It wasn’t just an idle vision; it had felt real, like a glimpse of a future they hadn’t dared to believe was possible.

“I’ve been thinking about this place,” Rex said finally, his voice low. “About what it could mean for us.”

“For us?” Cody raised a brow, his tone calm but curious. “You mean just us, or…?”

“I mean all of us,” Rex said, gesturing faintly toward the main room. “The others. The brothers we’ve lost touch with. The ones who never found a place to land after the war. This planet… it’s quiet, Cody. Safe. It could be a home.”

Cody’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “You’re talking about bringing more clones here.”

“Yeah,” Rex said, his voice firm but not pushy. “We’ve spent the last year scattered, trying to find ways to survive in a galaxy that doesn’t know what to do with us anymore. But here… here we could build something. Together.”

Cody let out a slow breath, his shoulders stiffening as he mulled over the words. “You’ve been here for one day, Rex. You think that’s enough to know if this place can handle more of us?”

“It’s not about the time,” Rex said, stepping closer. His voice softened, though it carried a note of urgency. “It’s about what I see here. The villagers—they’re good people. They’ve welcomed us. And this isn’t like Coruscant or some Outer Rim scrap heap. There’s room here, Cody. Room for them and for us.”

Cody met his gaze, his amber eyes sharp but conflicted. “You don’t know how they’ll feel if we bring more. A few clones, sure. But an entire community? You know how people are, Rex. We’re soldiers to them—symbols of a war they’re trying to forget.”

Rex frowned, understanding the weight of Cody’s hesitation but unwilling to let it stop him. “I’ve seen the way they look at us. They don’t see soldiers, Cody. They see people. And maybe, if we give them the chance, they’ll welcome more of us.”

Cody stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts clear in the tension of his brow. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his arms uncrossing as he leaned back against the counter. “It’s not just about them,” he said quietly. “It’s about the brothers, too. What if they don’t want this? What if they’ve given up on the idea of a home?”

“Then we invite the ones who do,” Rex replied, his voice steady. “And we let them decide for themselves.”

Cody was silent, his gaze drifting toward the flickering fire in the other room. Finally, he nodded, though it was reluctant. “Fine. We’ll send out a call. But if this backfires…”

“It won’t,” Rex said firmly, though he could feel the weight of Cody’s doubts. “You’ll see.”

***

It didn’t take long for the call to go out. Fives and Jesse worked with Tech and Echo to send encrypted messages to every channel they could find—old comms networks, secured frequencies they hadn’t touched since the war. The message was simple but powerful: There’s a place for you. Come if you’re looking for a home.

The days that followed were filled with quiet anticipation, each of them trying not to let their hopes rise too high. But then the first ship arrived.

And then another.

And another.

****

The first to step off the landing platform were the brothers they hadn’t seen in months—men who had drifted after the war, some tired, some wary, all of them carrying the weight of survival on their shoulders. Rex and Cody were there to greet them, their presence enough to ease the tension in those first hesitant moments.

Then, unexpectedly, a familiar figure emerged from one of the ships, her orange montrals unmistakable in the winter sun. Ahsoka smiled softly as she approached, her eyes filled with quiet relief. “Rex,” she said, her voice warm as she embraced him. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Rex blinked, surprised but pleased. “What are you doing here?”

“Word travels fast,” she said with a slight smirk, gesturing to the other figures descending from the ship. “I wasn’t the only one who heard. Obi-Wan and Plo Koon thought it might be time to visit, too.”

Rex turned, his chest tightening at the sight of Obi-Wan, his robe wrapped tightly around him as he walked toward them, his expression calm but warm. Plo Koon followed, his steady presence grounding in a way that reminded Rex of the days when the Jedi had been their allies, their commanders, their friends.

****

At first, the villagers were cautious, watching the growing influx of clones and Jedi with quiet curiosity. But as the days passed, that curiosity turned into something warmer. The villagers approached, offering food, supplies, even homes that had been empty for years. They asked questions—not about the war, but about the brothers themselves, their lives, their stories.

(Y/n) played no small part in this. Her shop became a hub of activity, her easy warmth drawing people in, bridging gaps that might have otherwise grown between the clones and the villagers. She met every new arrival with a calm smile and a welcoming word, and Rex found himself watching her often, struck by the quiet strength in her presence.

****

As more brothers arrived, the village began to shift, growing into something new. The clones settled in quickly, taking on roles within the community—builders, farmers, teachers. Cody, though reluctant at first, became a natural leader, his steady hand and calm demeanor earning the trust of both the brothers and the villagers.

Rex stood at the edge of the square one evening, watching the glow of lanterns and the laughter of brothers and villagers mingling together. (Y/n) appeared at his side, her arms crossed loosely as she smiled at the scene.

“You did it,” she said quietly.

“We did it,” Rex corrected, his voice soft.

(Y/n) looked up at him, her smile lingering. “So… what’s next?”

Rex didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the warm, growing light of the village. “We build,” he said finally. “And we make it last.”

****

The first thaw of spring came like a whisper, soft and slow. Snow that had blanketed the hills melted into quiet streams, feeding the rivers that snaked their way through Idelmor. The village square, once muffled and still under layers of white, began to buzz with life. Stalls returned, their counters piled with goods that hinted at the promise of the new season. Children darted through the streets, splashing in puddles with joyful abandon, while villagers emerged from their homes with smiles and hopeful energy.

In the midst of it all, Rex stood with Kix and Fives in the square. (Y/n) was nearby, chatting with a vendor as she purchased a bundle of fresh herbs. Rex’s attention wasn’t on the square or even on (Y/n), though he glanced her way more than he cared to admit. His focus was on Kix and Fives, both of whom had begun speaking at once, their ideas spilling out in a chaotic flurry.

“I’m telling you, Rex,” Kix said, his voice animated, his arms crossed over his chest. “The barn on the north ridge is perfect. It’s big enough for everything I need. We just need a way to get supplies and medical equipment.”

“And don’t forget the stories,” Fives interrupted, waving his hand. “We need a space where people can share them. Somewhere they feel comfortable—like a library, but better.”

“You’ve been here two months,” Rex said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re already trying to redesign the village.”

“Not redesign,” Kix corrected. “Improve.”

Rex sighed, though there was no real frustration in it. He had expected this. His brothers had always been restless, their drive to make things better undiminished even in peace. And though he sometimes envied their clarity of purpose, he couldn’t deny the flicker of pride he felt watching them dream.

Nearby, (Y/n) turned just in time to catch the end of their conversation. She stepped closer, the bundle of herbs tucked neatly under her arm. “It sounds like you’ve got big plans,” she said lightly, her blue eyes bright with curiosity.

“They always do,” Rex muttered, shaking his head.

Fives grinned, gesturing broadly as if he were presenting a grand vision. “It’s not just a plan. It’s a future. A clinic for Kix, a network for stories, and who knows what else.”

“Sounds ambitious,” (Y/n) said, smiling as she looked at Kix. “But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Kix gave her a grateful nod, his expression softening. “It’s not just about me. It’s for everyone.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, thoughtful. “If it’s supplies you’re worried about, I might know a few people who can help. Farmers in the area sometimes trade goods with traveling merchants. Medical equipment isn’t common, but I can ask around.”

Kix’s face lit up, and even Fives stopped mid-gesture to look at her. “You’d do that?” Kix asked.

“Of course,” (Y/n) said, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a small village. We help each other.”

Rex watched the exchange in silence, something warm flickering in his chest. (Y/n) had a way of making things seem simple—natural, even. But what struck him most wasn’t her offer of help; it was the way she looked at his brothers, not with curiosity about who they’d been or what they were, but with quiet respect for who they were now.

****

The barn on the north ridge was little more than a skeleton of wood and stone when Rex and (Y/n) first walked through it with Kix. Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the walls, and the air smelled faintly of hay and damp earth. Kix stood in the center of the space, his boots scuffing against the floor as he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This could work,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful.

(Y/n) smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’ll need some work, but it’s got good bones. And the view’s not bad either.”

Rex followed her gaze to the wide doorway at the far end of the barn, where the land sloped gently toward the village below. “It’s more than not bad,” he admitted. “You’re sure about the supplies?”

“I’ve already spoken to a merchant,” (Y/n) said. “He’ll be in town next week with a shipment of surplus supplies from one of the larger cities. And I think the villagers would be willing to pitch in with the repairs.”

Kix looked at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and quiet determination. “This… this is going to make a difference,” he said softly.

“It already is,” (Y/n) replied.

Rex watched the exchange, his gaze lingering on (Y/n) for a moment longer than he intended. There was something about the way she spoke, the way she believed in what Kix was trying to do, that tugged at him in a way he couldn’t quite name.

***

If the barn was Kix’s domain, the square became Fives’. He had a way of drawing people in, his energy infectious as he darted from stall to stall, chatting with villagers and brothers alike. It wasn’t long before he began setting up what he called “story circles”—gatherings where people shared tales of the war, of peace, of loss and hope.

(Y/n) became one of his strongest supporters, offering her shop as a space for the recordings he collected. She and Rex spent hours helping Fives sort through the recordings, labeling and organizing them with the kind of care that made each story feel important.

One evening, as they worked late in the shop, (Y/n) caught Rex staring at her. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rex said quickly, though his ears burned. “Just… you’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“At making people feel seen,” he said quietly.

Her smile softened, and for a moment, the warmth between them felt like something unspoken but shared.

****

Rex’s visits to (Y/n)’s shop became more frequent as the months passed. He told himself it was practical—there was always something to discuss, some plan to refine. But his brothers began to notice the subtle shifts in his behavior. The way he lingered just a bit longer than necessary when (Y/n) laughed. The way he’d fix small things around the shop—a creaky hinge, a leaky faucet—without being asked.

One afternoon, as they returned from helping Fives set up a recording session, Jesse nudged Fives with a grin. “You see the way he looks at her?”

Fives smirked, leaning back against the wall of the square. “Oh, I see it. The question is, does he see it?”

“He’s Rex,” Jesse said with a shrug. “He’ll be the last to admit it.”

“But he’s happier,” Fives said, his grin fading into something softer. “That’s what matters.

***

The warm embrace of summer blanketed Idelmor, bringing with it longer days, golden light, and the gentle hum of progress. The village square buzzed with the energy of change, laughter and voices mingling with the sounds of hammers and saws, of crates being unloaded and carried into newly restored spaces. The call that had gone out months ago had not only brought more brothers but their ideas, their ambitions, and their willingness to shape this village into something more than a haven.

And through it all, Rex found himself drawn deeper into the rhythm of this growing community. It wasn’t just the work—it was the people. His brothers, the villagers, and (Y/n).

Always (Y/n).

****

The barn on the north ridge had undergone a transformation. The broken beams had been replaced with sturdy wood, the walls sealed with care, and the wide doorway now framed a view of rolling hills and the distant outline of the village below. Inside, the space was alive with purpose. Shelves stocked with medical supplies lined the walls, and clean, white curtains separated small treatment areas. A desk, repaired by Tech and polished to a shine by Jesse, sat near the front, where Kix now worked tirelessly to treat anyone who walked through the doors.

The villagers came first, hesitant at first but warmed by Kix’s steady, reassuring presence. Then more clones arrived, those who had spent years fighting injuries they couldn’t afford to treat, limping into the clinic with quiet hope.

Rex stood just inside the door one afternoon, watching as Kix bandaged the arm of a farmer who had taken a nasty fall. Jesse was in the corner, sorting a pile of donated blankets with his usual flair for humor.

“Hey, Rex,” Jesse called, tossing a bright orange blanket into the air like a cape. “Think this color would suit Kix?”

“Depends,” Kix replied without looking up from his work. “Will it keep the patients warm, or just blind them?”

The farmer chuckled, and even Rex cracked a smile as Jesse mockingly clutched his chest, pretending to stagger from the insult.

Nearby, (Y/n) stood beside Echo and Tech, who were working on installing a small communications terminal near the back of the clinic. She watched their movements with quiet fascination, her hands clutching a crate of fresh linens she’d brought to donate.

“Do they ever stop?” she asked Rex softly, her eyes flicking to Kix, Jesse, and the others.

“Not really,” Rex replied, his voice low but fond. “It’s how they’re wired.”

“And you?” (Y/n) asked, glancing at him with a small smile. “Do you ever stop?”

Rex hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He looked down at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a pause. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”

“Well,” (Y/n) said, her voice teasing but gentle, “maybe you should.”

****

Meanwhile, Fives’ story circles had become a cornerstone of the village’s culture. What had started as small gatherings around a table in (Y/n)’s shop had grown into a full-fledged network. Fives now hosted weekly events in the square, where clones and villagers alike gathered to share tales of the past, their hopes for the future, and everything in between.

One evening, (Y/n) sat beside Rex on one of the benches near the circle, the glow of lanterns illuminating the faces of those gathered. Fives stood in the center, gesturing animatedly as he recounted a particularly daring mission from the war. The crowd laughed, some shaking their heads, others leaning forward with rapt attention.

“He’s good at this,” (Y/n) said, her voice warm as she watched Fives.

“He’s always been a talker,” Rex replied, though there was no annoyance in his tone. If anything, there was pride. “But he’s doing more than just talking. He’s building something.”

(Y/n) looked at Rex, her expression thoughtful. “You all are.”

Rex glanced at her, his chest tightening at the quiet conviction in her words. He wanted to say something, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he looked back at the circle, where Fives was now pulling Jesse into the spotlight to share a story of his own.

***

Further down the village road, an old granary had been repurposed into something entirely new—a school. It was Wolffe’s idea, born from his growing work with the children in the village and the small group of cadets who had arrived with the last wave of brothers. He had roped in Hardcase, Obi-Wan, and Plo Koon to help bring it to life, and together, they had built something remarkable.

Rex visited the school one afternoon, finding Wolffe in the middle of teaching a self-defense lesson to a group of children. Wrecker stood nearby, demonstrating a move with exaggerated flair, drawing peals of laughter from the kids. Plo Koon watched from the doorway, his presence calm and steady, while Obi-Wan helped Hardcase carry in a stack of wooden practice dummies.

“You think they’re ready for this?” Rex asked, leaning against the wall as he watched Wolffe bark instructions.

“They’ve got more patience than you’d expect,” Obi-Wan replied with a faint smile. “Especially Wolffe. He’s good with them.”

Rex nodded, his gaze shifting to the children. Their laughter filled the space, blending with Wolffe’s gruff encouragement and Wrecker’s booming cheer. It was a sound that felt out of place in his memories of the past but perfectly at home here.

****

Through all of it, (Y/n) remained a constant presence. She was there at the clinic, helping Kix organize supplies. She was there at the story circles, quietly encouraging villagers to share their voices. And she was there in the quiet moments, when Rex found himself lingering in her shop longer than he meant to.

One evening, after helping Fives carry a stack of recordings into the shop, Rex noticed (Y/n) struggling with a leaky faucet behind the counter. He stepped forward without thinking. “Let me take a look.”

(Y/n) straightened, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You don’t have to—”

“I’ve got it,” Rex said firmly, crouching down to inspect the pipes.

(Y/n) watched him work, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

Rex glanced up, raising a brow. “How so?”

“You lead an army, you build a community, and now you’re fixing faucets,” she teased, her tone light but warm. “What can’t you do?”

Rex shrugged, though his ears burned at the compliment. “Faucets are easier than people.”

(Y/n) laughed softly, and the sound settled something in him he hadn’t realized was restless.

****

Jesse and Fives caught the exchange from the doorway, both leaning against the frame with identical smirks.

“You see that?” Jesse whispered, elbowing Fives.

“Oh, I see it,” Fives replied, his grin widening. “He’s got it bad.”

“Think we should say something?” Jesse asked.

“Not a chance,” Fives said, crossing his arms. “This is too much fun to watch.”

As the summer stretched on, the brothers continued to notice the small moments—Rex lingering in the shop to help (Y/n) rearrange a shelf, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, the way her smile seemed to brighten when he walked through the door. And though neither of them said it, it was clear to everyone around them: they were falling for each other, piece by quiet piece.

***

As the leaves began to turn and the air grew crisp, the village prepared for the next season. The clinic was thriving, the story circles had become a beloved tradition, and the school had grown into a cornerstone of the community. Through it all, Rex found himself looking forward to one thing above all else: the moments he shared with (Y/n).

And though he didn’t quite know what to call the feeling yet, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Whatever it was, it had become as much a part of him as the brothers he called family, as the home they were building together.

***

The days grew shorter as autumn deepened, the crisp air carrying the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke through the streets of Idelmor. The village square buzzed with quiet industry as preparations for the season’s harvest festival began. Rex found himself drawn more and more to (Y/n)’s shop—not just because of the warmth it offered or the comfort of the books and trinkets that filled its shelves, but because of (Y/n) herself.

It had become something of a routine. After long days spent helping Kix at the clinic or lending a hand at the school, Rex would find his way to the shop. Some days, it was to talk through plans for the village. Other days, it was simply to sit by the fire while (Y/n) worked, her presence grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

****

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting a warm light over the shop as Rex sat in his usual spot near the window. (Y/n) stood at the counter, her sleeves rolled up as she carefully polished a carved wooden box. She worked slowly, her focus intent, but her movements lacked their usual ease.

Rex noticed. He always noticed.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low but steady.

(Y/n) glanced up, startled out of her thoughts. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just tired, I guess.”

Rex leaned back in his chair, studying her. He didn’t press, but he let the silence stretch between them, waiting.

Finally, (Y/n) sighed, setting the box down and brushing her hands against her apron. “I’ve been thinking about my father,” she admitted, her voice softer now. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “He built this place, you know. Not just the shop, but… the heart of it. He wanted it to be a gathering place, somewhere people could come and feel at home. He called it ‘a place for stories.’”

Rex tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Sounds like he had a clear vision.”

“He did,” (Y/n) said, her gaze drifting to the shelves. “But sometimes I wonder if I’ve done enough to live up to it. The shop’s still here, but is it what he dreamed it would be? I don’t know. And now with all the changes in the village…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It feels like I’m always one step behind.”

Rex let her words settle in the air before speaking. “I don’t think anyone here would say you’re behind.”

(Y/n) looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look around,” Rex said, gesturing to the room. “The people who come in here—they don’t just see shelves and trinkets. They see a place where they can talk, share, connect. Fives wouldn’t have gotten his story circles off the ground without you. Kix wouldn’t have half his supplies. And me…” He paused, his voice softening. “I don’t think I would’ve found half the things I’ve been looking for without this place.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The weight she carried, the worry that she wasn’t enough, didn’t vanish, but Rex’s words chipped away at it, leaving her feeling lighter, steadier.

***

(Y/n) stepped around the counter and sat in the chair opposite him, her hands folded in her lap. She studied him for a moment, her gaze steady. “What about you?” she asked gently. “What are you looking for, Rex?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For years, he had carried the burden of being a leader, of keeping his brothers together. Even now, in this quiet village where the weight of war had lifted, he found himself unable to let go of the questions that had haunted him.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low. “I guess… I’ve spent so much of my life being told who I’m supposed to be. A soldier. A leader. I didn’t think about what came next because there was never supposed to be a ‘next.’”

(Y/n) tilted her head, her expression soft. “But now there is.”

“Yeah,” Rex admitted, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. “And it scares me. I see my brothers finding their places—Kix with his clinic, Fives with his stories, Wolffe at the school. But me? I don’t know if I’m built for this. Peace, home, belonging… It feels like something meant for other people.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “Why not you?”

Rex looked at her, his breath catching. Her question wasn’t just simple—it was powerful. It cut through the layers of doubt and fear he had buried himself in, leaving him exposed but not vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve lost so many of them. Brothers who didn’t get a chance to figure out who they were beyond the war. I carry that with me, every day. And sometimes, it feels like… like I shouldn’t get to move forward if they can’t.”

(Y/n) reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. Her touch was warm, steady. “You carry their memory, Rex. That’s enough. But you deserve to live, too. Not for them, not because you’re trying to make up for what’s been lost, but because you’re here. You’re alive.”

Rex closed his eyes, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t pull away, either. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to sit with the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she was right.

****

The following morning, Rex found himself at the shop again, his excuse this time being a leaky pipe (Y/n) had mentioned in passing. She wasn’t expecting him, and when he walked in with his toolbox slung over one shoulder, she blinked at him in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, setting down the stack of books she’d been organizing.

“You said something about a shelf that’s wobbly,” Rex replied, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Figured I’d take a look.”

(Y/n) smiled, shaking her head. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Rex interrupted, meeting her eyes briefly before turning toward the back room.

She watched him go, her chest tightening with a mix of warmth and something deeper—something she hadn’t quite named yet. As she went back to her work, she found herself glancing toward the back room more often than necessary, her thoughts drifting.

Meanwhile, Rex look at said shelf, tightening a stubborn screw as his thoughts swirled. Fixing things was easy. Straightforward. But the way (Y/n) had looked at him last night, the way her words had stayed with him, was anything but.

***

Later that evening, Jesse and Fives caught up with Rex at the clinic, their expressions far too knowing for Rex’s liking.

“You’re spending a lot of time at that shop,” Jesse said casually, leaning against a crate.

“(Y/n)’s shop,” Fives added, smirking. “Or should we call it your shop now?”

Rex shot them a warning look. “You two need to mind your own business.”

“Business?” Jesse said innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s nice to see you smiling more. (Y/n)’s good for you.”

“She’s a friend,” Rex said firmly, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him.

Fives exchanged a look with Jesse, his grin widening. “Sure, Captain. Whatever you say.”

As the evening wore on, Rex couldn’t shake their words. But as he made his way back toward the shop, his steps slower than usual, he began to wonder if maybe they weren’t entirely wrong.

****

Through the growing closeness of their bond, Rex and (Y/n) continued to share pieces of themselves—small moments, quiet confessions, and unspoken feelings that deepened with each passing day.

****

The snow began to fall softly, coating Idelmor in a shimmering layer of white, turning the village into the winter wonderland Rex and his brothers had first discovered a year ago. The sight stirred a strange mixture of nostalgia and peace in Rex. He hadn’t realized just how much had changed since their arrival—not just for his brothers, but for himself.

And yet, it wasn’t Rex thinking about the transformation this time. It was his brothers, huddled together in the cottage late one evening as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

Fives leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his grin gleamed in the firelight. “Alright, let’s face it. Captain ‘I-Don’t-Do-Personal’ is head over heels for (Y/n), and he doesn’t even know it.”

Jesse laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, he knows it. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

“More like too scared,” Kix added, his tone softer but no less pointed. “He’s spent the whole year doing things for everyone else. He doesn’t know how to think about what he wants.”

“That’s where we come in,” Fives said with a gleam in his eye. “We’ve got to give him the push he needs. And lucky for us…” He stood, moving toward the shelf near the fire where the snow globe rested, its glass catching the flickering light. “We’ve got just the thing.”

Cody raised a brow from his place near the window. “You want to use the snow globe?”

“Why not?” Fives said, holding it up. “We’ve all used it. It’s only fair we use it for Rex. He’s done more for us this year than anyone. It’s time we returned the favor.”

“And what exactly do you think it’s going to show?” Wolffe asked dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

“Only one way to find out,” Fives said, setting the globe down on the table and motioning for everyone to gather around.

***

The brothers leaned in as Fives placed his hands firmly on the snow globe. He closed his eyes, focusing on Rex—not the soldier, not the captain, but the man they all knew and admired, the one who had been quietly building a future for everyone but himself.

The vision came quickly, blooming to life within the swirling flakes of the globe. At first, it was the village square, glowing softly under the light of lanterns and garlands. Rex stood near the fountain, his expression relaxed in a way they rarely saw. (Y/n) was beside him, her hand tucked into his, her laughter filling the space between them.

The scene shifted. The two of them were in a small house on the edge of the village. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was warm and alive, filled with soft light and the quiet joy of family. Two children darted around the room—one with (Y/n)’s bright blue eyes, the other with Rex’s steady gaze. The house itself felt like an extension of the happiness they shared, simple but full of warmth.

The vision faded, leaving the brothers in stunned silence.

“Did you see that?” Jesse finally whispered, breaking the stillness.

“Rex wants a family,” Kix murmured, his tone filled with quiet realization.

“With (Y/n),” Fives said, his grin widening. “I knew it.”

Wrecker, who had been unusually quiet, crossed his arms and nodded firmly. “We’ve got to make it happen.”

Cody let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously brilliant,” Fives corrected. “And you’re in, Cody. Admit it.”

Cody’s silence was answer enough.

****

The next few days were a flurry of activity as the brothers threw themselves into helping decorate the village for Christmas. Strings of lanterns and garlands were hung along the rooftops, while villagers worked together to set up a towering Christmas tree in the center of the square. Jesse and Fives took charge of setting up the lights, their banter echoing through the frosty air as they climbed ladders and secured decorations.

“Think this is bright enough?” Jesse called, holding up a strand of lights that practically sparkled.

“Not until the entire galaxy can see it,” Fives shot back, earning a laugh from the gathered crowd.

Wrecker helped carry massive bundles of evergreen branches to line the walkways, his booming laugh ringing out every time a villager tried to lift something too heavy. Even Wolffe, who usually avoided anything resembling festivities, found himself roped into overseeing the placement of the ornaments on the tree.

Through it all, Rex worked quietly alongside them, his focus split between organizing supplies and watching his brothers with quiet amusement. What he didn’t notice was how often they sent meaningful glances in his direction or how deliberately they worked with (Y/n) to draw him closer to her orbit.

***

The night before Christmas Eve, the brothers struck. (Y/n) had agreed to stay late at the shop to help organize some of the decorations, and Fives made sure Rex was the one tasked with delivering her dinner.

“It’s just a quick drop-off,” Fives said with a grin, handing Rex a small basket of warm food. “She’s been working all day. You should check on her.”

Rex frowned, sensing something suspicious in Fives’ tone, but he didn’t argue. “Fine.”

When Rex arrived at the shop, (Y/n) greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. “Rex. What’s this?”

“Dinner,” he said simply, holding up the basket. “Fives thought you might need it.”

(Y/n) chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. The shop was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the fire in the hearth and the glow of a few candles scattered across the counter. The warmth of the room enveloped Rex as he stepped inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air.

“I didn’t realize it was this late,” (Y/n) admitted, setting the basket on the counter. “Thank you. I could use a break.”

Rex hesitated, glancing around. “Do you need help with anything?”

(Y/n) tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Actually, I was about to head to the square. They’ve finished decorating, and I thought I’d take a look. Want to join me?”

He paused, caught off guard by the question. “I… sure.”

***

The village square was aglow with light, lanterns and garlands casting a golden hue over the snow-covered ground. The Christmas tree stood tall and radiant, its ornaments sparkling in the soft light. (Y/n) and Rex walked side by side, their breaths visible in the crisp air.

(Y/n) stopped near the tree, her gaze lifting to the lights strung across the rooftops. “The lights are beautiful.”

“Yeah, they are,” Rex said softly, though his eyes weren’t on the lights. He was looking at (Y/n).

She noticed, her cheeks warming as she glanced at him. “You’re not looking at the lights.”

Rex’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Neither are you.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them filled with unspoken words. (Y/n) shifted, her gloved hands curling around the edge of her coat. “Rex, can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he said, his voice steady.

“Do you ever think about what you want?” she asked, her tone gentle but searching. “Not for your brothers, not for the village—for you.”

The question caught him off guard, his brow furrowing. “I… I don’t know. I guess I’ve spent so much time thinking about everyone else, I never really let myself consider it.”

(Y/n) nodded, her gaze dropping to the snow beneath their feet. “I think you should. Because you deserve it.”

Her words settled over him, heavy but not unwelcome. For the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—not just about the future, but about the possibility of a future with her.

“Maybe,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “But sometimes, it’s hard to see it until someone shows you.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched at the quiet vulnerability in his voice, and she found herself stepping closer, her fingers brushing his arm. “Then let me show you.”

Rex didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he reached for her hand, his touch tentative but steady, and for the first time, the world around them seemed to fall away.

***

From the shadows of the square, Fives, Jesse, and the others watched the scene unfold, their grins wide despite the cold.

“Finally,” Jesse muttered, shaking his head. “Took him long enough.”

“I told you this would work,” Fives said smugly, crossing his arms. “You all doubted me.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Cody muttered, though even he couldn’t hide his smile. “It’s about time he got something for himself.”

As they watched Rex and (Y/n) walk away together, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the lights, the brothers shared a quiet sense of satisfaction. For once, their captain wasn’t carrying the weight of the world—and that was a gift worth giving.

****

The village square was alive with the magic of Christmas Eve. Lanterns and garlands strung between buildings glowed softly, their light reflecting off the fresh blanket of snow that covered the ground. The towering Christmas tree in the center of the square shimmered with ornaments and strings of lights, and a gentle flurry of snowflakes swirled in the air, adding to the enchantment of the scene.

Villagers and brothers alike filled the square, their laughter and chatter blending with the melodies of a small band playing near the tree. Children darted through the crowd, clutching mugs of warm cider and marveling at the decorations. It was a celebration of joy, community, and hope, and Rex found himself quietly taking it all in from the edge of the square.

(Y/n) was somewhere in the crowd—he’d caught a glimpse of her earlier, laughing with one of the children from the school. The sight had stuck with him, warming something deep inside that he hadn’t yet put a name to.

***

Unbeknownst to Rex, his brothers—and now, Obi-Wan and Plo Koon—were watching him from a discreet distance. Fives was grinning ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pointed toward a carefully hung sprig of mistletoe near the fountain.

“I’m just saying,” Fives whispered, elbowing Jesse. “If they happen to end up there, it’d be… poetic.”

“Poetic?” Cody said dryly, crossing his arms. “This is the most obvious scheme you’ve ever come up with.”

“And yet,” Plo Koon said, his voice calm but amused, “it’s oddly endearing.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, his arms folded as he watched the scene unfold. “You’re lucky Rex isn’t as perceptive about his own emotions as he is about battle tactics.”

Fives waved them off, turning to Plo Koon. “You’re sure you’re good with the timing?”

The Kel Dor nodded serenely. “The Force is subtle, my friend. But in this case… perhaps a little less so.”

****

Rex spotted (Y/n) near the fountain, her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm as she admired the lights strung above. The soft glow reflected in her blue eyes, and Rex felt his feet moving before he’d even decided to approach her.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice low but warm.

(Y/n) turned, her smile lighting up her face. “I am. The boys—and the villagers—really outdid themselves.”

“They’ve been busy,” Rex agreed, though his tone carried a hint of something unspoken. His gaze lingered on her face, the way the snowflakes caught in her hair and the glow of the lights softened her features. “It’s… good to see you smiling.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “It’s good to see you here,” she said softly. “Not just physically, but… here. With them. With us.”

Rex felt a warmth rise in his chest, but before he could reply, a light tug seemed to pull him forward. He blinked, glancing down at his boots, which had suddenly come to an unexplainable stop. Beside him, (Y/n) let out a surprised laugh.

“Did you just—?”

“No,” Rex said quickly, frowning as he tried to move his feet again. They didn’t budge. (Y/n) seemed similarly rooted to the spot.

From somewhere nearby, Fives’ voice rang out, overly casual and far too loud. “Hey, Cap! You know what they say about standing under mistletoe?”

Rex’s eyes shot up, following Fives’ pointed gesture. Sure enough, there it was—a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above their heads. He turned back to (Y/n), his brow furrowing. “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?”

(Y/n)’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, though she laughed softly. “Positive… maybe… probably.”

Rex glanced toward the group of brothers—Fives, Jesse, Kix, and even Wolffe—who were grinning like fools. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but before he could question their involvement, (Y/n) cleared her throat.

“It’s a legend,” she explained, her voice quick but light. “On our planet, mistletoe is supposed to bring good luck. If you stand under it with someone, you’re supposed to…” She trailed off, her cheeks warming further. “You’re supposed to kiss.”

Fives took that as his cue. “It’s tradition, Cap! You don’t want to mess with tradition.”

Jesse chimed in, his grin wide. “Yeah, Rex. It’s for good luck.”

Rex sighed, his shoulders stiffening slightly as he turned back to (Y/n). “And you’re sure this is… part of the celebrations?”

(Y/n) smiled, though there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “It’s… part of the legend.”

For a moment, they stood there, the snow falling softly around them as the world seemed to hold its breath. (Y/n)’s heart raced, her thoughts spinning. Rex, so steady and sure in battle, seemed almost uncertain now, his gaze searching hers for permission.

And then, slowly, he leaned closer.

Their lips met softly, tentatively, and for that moment, the noise of the square faded into nothing. The warmth of the kiss spread through Rex like the glow of the village lights, chasing away the cold and leaving only the quiet certainty that this—she—was what he had been searching for.

When they pulled apart, (Y/n) let out a soft laugh, her forehead resting briefly against his. “Well,” she said, her voice breathless but teasing, “I think we’re officially free of the mistletoe.”

Rex chuckled, his own voice low and warm. “I’m not complaining.”

****

From their hiding spot, Fives punched the air triumphantly. “That’s how it’s done.”

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Jesse muttered, though his grin betrayed his pride.

“It’s about time,” Kix said, crossing his arms. “He’s been mooning over her for months.”

Obi-Wan and Plo Koon exchanged amused glances, the former raising a brow. “Well, I suppose the Force has many uses.”

Cody sighed, shaking his head but unable to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s going to kill all of you when he figures this out.”

“Worth it,” Fives said smugly. “Totally worth it.”

***

As the snow continued to fall, Rex and (Y/n) remained under the mistletoe, the glow of the village lights surrounding them. For Rex, the moment felt like something out of a dream—one he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for. And for (Y/n), it was a moment that brought every quiet hope she’d held for the past year to life.

In the square, the lights sparkled, the music played on, and the magic of Christmas wrapped around them all.

****

The snow fell gently over Idelmor, blanketing the village in a pristine white that shimmered beneath the golden glow of lanterns and garlands. The square, once again transformed for Christmas, had never looked more radiant. Strings of lights crisscrossed the streets, evergreen wreaths adorned every door, and the towering Christmas tree at the square’s center sparkled with ornaments and ribbons that swayed gently in the winter breeze.

But tonight, the decorations weren’t the focus of attention. Tonight, it was Rex and (Y/n), standing hand in hand beneath an arch of holly and winter roses, surrounded by their brothers, villagers, and the Jedi who had also found peace on this planet.

The crowd gathered in the square was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. Obi-Wan and Plo Koon stood near the front, their expressions warm and proud. Ahsoka was nearby, her cheeks flushed from the cold but her grin wide as she stood beside Jesse and Fives, who looked far too smug for anyone’s comfort.

****

Rex stood beneath the arch, his green and gold tunic catching the glow of the lights, though his attention was entirely on (Y/n). She walked toward him slowly, her gown flowing around her like a dream, her eyes meeting his with a steadiness that made the rest of the world fall away.

When she reached him, they turned to face one another, their hands clasped tightly. The officiant—a cheerful villager with a deep voice and a ready smile—welcomed everyone before turning the floor over to the couple.

“Your vows,” the officiant prompted gently, stepping back.

Rex took a breath, steadying himself as he looked into (Y/n)’s eyes. “When I first came to this village, I didn’t think I’d ever find peace. I didn’t think it was something I deserved, or something I could even imagine. But then I met you.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing over her hand. “You reminded me that there’s beauty in the quiet moments. That it’s okay to hope, to dream. And standing here now, I know I’ve found my home—with you.”

(Y/n)’s lips trembled with the weight of her smile, tears glistening in her eyes. She paused, collecting herself before she spoke. “A year ago, we stood in this square, and I remember looking at these lights. I remember saying, ‘The lights are beautiful.’” She paused, her voice growing softer as her gaze held his. “But I wasn’t looking at the lights. I was looking at you.”

Rex’s chest tightened, emotion sweeping through him as the crowd around them fell utterly silent. The words hung between them, carrying the memory of their first steps toward each other.

“And now,” (Y/n) continued, her voice steadying, “I get to stand here with you and promise that you’ll always have a home. Not just in this village, but with me. With us.”

The officiant stepped forward again, smiling broadly. “Then, by the power vested in me by the good people of Idelmor, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Rex didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping (Y/n)’s face gently as he kissed her, the crowd erupting into cheers and applause around them. The kiss was soft but sure, a promise made under the glow of the lights and the soft swirl of snow.

****

As the celebration began, with music and dancing filling the square, Rex and (Y/n) found themselves wandering away from the main crowd. The snow was still falling, dusting their hair and shoulders as they walked hand in hand toward the edge of the square.

“Do you think we can hide from them for a bit?” Rex asked with a faint smile, glancing back toward the crowd, where Fives was already attempting to lead Wrecker in some sort of coordinated dance.

(Y/n) laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

They stopped beneath one of the lantern poles near the edge of the square, the glow from the light casting a warm halo around them. (Y/n) tilted her head back, her gaze catching on something just above their heads.

“Mistletoe,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing faintly.

Rex followed her gaze, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Let me guess. Fives?”

“Probably,” (Y/n) said with a laugh, though her voice softened as she looked back at him. “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?”

“Positive,” Rex replied, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe… probably.”

(Y/n)’s laughter was quiet but warm, and before she could say anything else, Rex leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. The kiss was slower this time, deeper, carrying with it all the love and quiet understanding that had grown between them over the past year.

***

From their hiding spot near the tree, Fives elbowed Jesse with a grin. “What did I tell you? Best. Plan. Ever.”

“I’ll give you this one,” Jesse muttered, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “But if they figure it out, you’re taking the fall.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, though his smile was genuine. “I believe they’re past the point of caring who orchestrated this.”

Plo Koon, standing beside him, inclined his head. “Indeed. The Force may have nudged them together, but it’s their bond that carried them here.”

Cody watched the couple from a distance, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shook his head with a faint smirk. “He deserves this.”

***

As Rex and (Y/n) returned to the celebration, the music swelled, the brothers raised their glasses, and the villagers cheered. The magic of Christmas wrapped around them all, a fitting continuation of a love story that had started under the same lights, in the same snow, just a year before.

For Rex, the lights truly were beautiful. But like (Y/n), he wasn’t looking at them anymore.

He was looking at his future as he craddled his hand over his wife’s growing bump.

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