#anyway i love nestle crunch!

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

he can make it work with nine fingers probably

(cw for blood and miscellaneous injuries)

[bimrwolf]

Let's Meet in the Middle

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 8,603 warnings: ermmm for once no smoot and not edited LMAO im lazy anyways summary: Secretly yearning for your friend and no one notices is a blessing and curse at the same time. a/n: oh boyyyyyyy i havent wrote in ages. im a lil rusty lmao

The twinkling milky stars stretched across the deep pool of midnight, casting an illuminating glow over Sugar Maple Park. It was the only park nestled in the small town of Hawkins. Four swings, a merry-go-round, and a jungle gym. In the corner there was a soon-to-be skateboard ramp under construction. 

You were laying on top of a wooden table, legs dangling over the edge, arms crossed over your stomach, and eyes closed. The crickets sang their summer song and from a distance you could hear an owl hooting. The sweet smells of maple and pine made you feel at peace.

There was the sound of tires dragging against the loose gravel, pulling into the small parking area, headlights glaring. And although your eyes were closed, the bright light made you squint. The car turned off and the doors opened. The engine running had been replaced with arguing voices. 

“I’m telling you, Michaelangelo is far superior than Leonardo. His abilities are out of this world.” 

“Dude, not only is Leonardo smart but he is the most disciplined and trained. Thus, making him the best.” 

Their footsteps made a crunch sound, getting louder as they approached you. You sat up, a little sad that the peace was over, but that didn’t stop you from greeting the two strangers– who were not really strangers– with a big smile. Steve and Robin continued their argument as Robin hopped on top of the table next to you, throwing her arm over your shoulder. Steve stood in front of you two, hands on his hips. 

“Are we seriously arguing over Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, again?” You had rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny that you were intrigued with what they both had to say. You nudged your foot against Steve’s leg. “I would think that nerd shit wouldn’t interest you.” 

Steve huffed. “Mutant Ninja Turtles is not nerdy. It’s badass.” 

You and Robin shared a laugh. You knew she didn’t actually care for the show, but she loved to piss off Steve as much as she could. “Did you bring it or did I sit out here for ten minutes for nothing?”

Steve looked over at Robin, giving her a pointed look, letting her know that the conversation was not over. Robin rummaged into the breast pocket on her shirt, pulling out a nicely packed joint. “Eddie promised us it isn’t the cheap shit this time.”

Steve threw a lighter towards you to light it. Robin was the one to take the first hit, then you, and finally Steve. “When will I ever get to meet this Eddie Munson?” 

They gave each other another look. The same look you had seen them give each other for five months since you had moved to Hawkins. The look full of secrets, too afraid to put you on it. Because what if it was too much? Or maybe because you wouldn’t understand. Either way you respected their decisions not to share whatever it was. 

You had met Robin and Steve your second day in Hawkins. Your father had been hired to help rebuild the town after a massive earthquake. Everything about the town seemed shady. It wasn’t just Steve and Robin who hid the secrets of the town. It was everyone. 

You should be upset. Agitated. Furious. But you weren’t. Well, to be honest, at first you were a bit irritated with the hushed whispers, but the more you got to know the duo, you realized it wasn’t to exclude you or to be mean. It was to protect you. 

And maybe the secret that bubbled inside you made up for it. 

You tried not to stare too long at Steve’s pink lips as he took a drag of the joint. The way he licked his bottom lip after he blew the trail of smoke out, sighing loudly. “Tough day?” You didn’t mean to make it aware that you were watching him. That you were paying attention. But like always, no one seemed to notice that your question was deeper than just a check-in. You quickly averted your gaze to the joint that had found its way back to you. 

“He’s had to work doubles all week because this guy Martin has mono.” Robin answered for him. 

“He’s lucky.” Steve grumbled. “The time off part, not the mono.” 

Robin elbowed you. “He’s lying. He’s so touched starved. He complained for an hour that he wished he had mono because it meant that he was actually–” 

“Okay, Robin. I think she gets it.” Steve grabbed the joint from your hand, fingers brushing against yours. Did you just imagine him pausing, looking at you endearingly? Must have because he turned away and walked to the swing sets. 

“Aw man, he could have at least left the jay with us.” Robin frowned, leaning back, elbows holding herself up. “Don’t mind him. He’s been in a pissy mood since Esther Clark called him a geek when he asked her out last week.”

“I didn’t know he was crushing on anyone.” You hoped you didn’t sound jealous. “I mean, because he doesn’t really talk to me about that sort of thing.” Nice save, you thought. 

But Robin didn’t seem to notice the waver in your voice. “Steve likes anyone with long hair and boobs.” She looked over at you, eyeing you from top to bottom. “Surprised he hasn’t made a pass at you yet.” 

You awkwardly laughed, eyes wide, and looked over to make sure Steve was still moping on the swingset. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. Me and him would… ha… it’s hilarious just thinking about it. He’s totally not my type.” 

Robin shrugged. “That’s what I love about you. The one girl who isn’t my friend to get to Steve.” 

You smiled weakly, looking at your fidgeting hands, something you always did when you weren’t exactly telling the truth. You had only lived in Hawkins for eight months, but it only took three for you to wake up in the middle of the night and realize you felt more for the brown haired boy. No one had caught onto you either, keeping it quiet, going on dates with random boys you didn’t care about. 

Robin grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the swing sets, letting go to plop in the one right next to Steve. She leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder. You felt a pang of jealousy on how easy it was for them to be friends. How they could put an arm around the other without it being weird or romantic. 

Whenever Steve even looked in your direction your whole world spun. 

You kicked the mulch, hugging yourself, softly laughing at a joke that Robin and Steve really only understood. Pretending was so much easier.  

***

Eddie Munson was erratic, eccentric, obnoxious, but probably the most real and down to earth guy you had met. He was hilarious, making your friends laugh more than you had ever seen them laugh. 

Robin and Steve finally orchestrated a get together that involved Eddie Munson. Steve picked Robin and you up, and drove about ten minutes out of city limits, pulling up to a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t help but feel your heart race. This was Robin and Steve’s evil plan all along. They spent these past months getting you comfortable when really they were trying to kill you. 

But then a man burst through. His hair was short and curly. You could see scars run up his face. It was clear he had a story, but that didn’t seem to matter from the huge, cheesy grin on his face. “My my my. Thought you guys weren’t gonna come.” 

Steve had his window rolled down, and you could see him roll his eyes when you glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Can you just get in? Don’t want to get you back past your curfew.” 

It confused you. By the look of Eddie, he looked well past the age to still have a curfew. 

Eddie blew out a raspberry, picked up a bag on the ground and strode over to the car. He must have not realized you were there until he approached the back door, brows furrowed when he saw you. You quickly scooted to the other side, thinking you were most likely in his usual spot. 

Eddie didn’t say anything as he opened the door and got in, throwing his bag on the floorboard. Or at least, never said anything to question your existence. He threw his head back and sighed. “Thank god you guys called me. My uncle was trying to convince me to help him with what to wear to his date tonight.” He rubbed his face. 

“No way, Wayne has a hot date tonight?” Robin turned to face him, a big smile on her face. “Is it JoAnn from Dolli’s? I’ve been telling him for months he should ask her out.” 

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, he stayed with her until the diner closed one night, and she calls him almost every day.” Eddie leaned over and patted Steve on his shoulder. “Sorry man. I bet it’s hard hearing that my fifty-something-year-old Uncle is getting more action than you.”

Steve let out a sarcastic laugh. You swore he glanced into the rearview mirror and looked at you. But his gaze left as quick as it came. You couldn’t help but look away, flustered. 

It was then Eddie finally acknowledged you. “And you must be the fair maiden that my friends have been spending so much time with.” He had a warm smile across his face. 

You told him your name, holding out your hand. He took it. “Name’s Eddie Munson. You can just call me Eds, or even good-looking if you want.” 

You let out a laugh that sounded more like a cackle. 

Robin reached over and his leg. “Put your dick back in your pants, dude. This is why we don’t introduce you to strangers.” 

Eddie seemed to have a permanent cheesy grin on his face. “Can you blame me? I’ve been on house arrest for almost a year. When I see a pretty girl, it’s pretty much an insult not to make a move.” He looked over at you. “Don’t worry, won’t do it again. I just didn’t realize when Steve said you were pretty he actually meant it.” 

You felt that flustered heat rise up again. Pretty. Steve thought you were pretty? You couldn’t react. You couldn’t let anyone know that your stomach was burning with butterflies. “House arrest?” You took the changing the subject route. 

Eddie sighed, shrugged, and pulled up his pant leg to reveal an ankle monitor. “You guys didn’t tell her she’d be hangin’ with a criminal?” 

Steve spoke up. “He’s not even a criminal… well… not the way people thought he was.” 

You should probably start thinking about how this was all a plan to kill you. But when you looked over at Eddie, the sincerity that gleamed in his eyes made you give him a small smile. 

The rest of the car ride was mostly filled with Robin and Eddie bickering back and forth. You would join in the conversation if needed. And once in a while you swore you would catch Steve’s eyes in the mirror, both of you quickly looking away. 

You had always been scared of heights. Something with the anticipation of potentially falling, landing with a thud. It made your knees wobble. You looked down at the creek beneath you, Steve looking up at you as you clutched the rope tightly tied to a branch above you. 

“C’mon, we’re not getting any younger.” Robin said behind you. 

You gave her a helpless look. “I shouldn’t have come up here. I can just climb back down.” Actually, the thought of you climbing down the steep hill of rocks made your stomach churn. 

You heard Steve call your name. “What’s wrong?” 

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Are you kidding? I am facing death right now. I can’t believe you and Rob convinced me to get up here.” 

You felt Robin slightly pull you back. “Here. I’ll show you how easy it is.” With no hesitation, Robin grabbed the rope, ran forward, and swung into the air. She let go and her arms flapped until she wrapped them around her knees. Her, Steve, and Eddie who was sitting on dry land reading a book, all laughed as she crashed into the water. 

Steve ran his hands through his hair, a playful smirk on his face when he looked back up to you. He took a moment as if thinking about something before he began to swim back to land. You watched as he quickly jogged to the edge of the hill. He joined you at the top. 

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled. 

He chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. It took me months to get over my fear of swimming places like this.” He motioned for you to grab the rope again. 

You did as you were told, giving him another pitiful look. “I’m going to die.”

“You’re not gonna die. I’m gonna jump with you.” He grabbed the rope, his hands beneath yours. 

“Are you crazy? The rope is going to snap in two!” Your heart started to beat fast when his bare chest touched your arm as he scooted closer. 

He rolled his eyes. “Me and Rob do it all the time. Do you trust me?” His eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. His deep pools were probably the only thing you wanted to jump into. 

You bit your lip, giving him a nod of approval. He grinned from ear to ear, backing up to get the momentum to run. “Why were you afraid of the water?” 

Steve looked at the ground. “That story isn’t ready to be told.” 

You had never really talked to Steve like this before. In fact, you never spoke to him alone. You leaned into him, bumping your shoulder into his. “Well, I’ll be here when that time comes.” 

He looked up, a glint in his eyes. “You ready? I’ll tell you when to let go.” 

The two of you ran forward. You shouted in fear as you swung over the edge. Steve then shouted for you to let go and you did. Your screams turned into laughter when you felt the wind kiss your cheeks. You felt like you were flying. 

Steve met the water first and you joined in not long after. When you resurfaced, Steve’s face was the first thing you saw. It was out of instinct. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Steve’s hands grabbed you by your waist, lifting you up into the air, making you squeal. “Look at her now. Facing her fears.” 

You laughed as he threw you back into the water. You splashed him before swimming back to land. The sudden brave act made your stomach rumble, and you decided to eat one of the sandwiches Robin made. 

Once you got your sandwich, you made yourself comfortable on a blanket right next to Eddie. He still had his jeans on but no shirt. You tried not to focus on his tattoos and many scars on his pale skin. You wondered if the story behind them had to do with the earthquake in Hawkins. If it had to do with Steve afraid of water. You leaned forward to see what book he was reading. 

You hummed, taking a bite out of your sandwich, watching Steve and Robin arguing about Ninja Turtles again. You did a lot of that, watching. 

“So, you ever gonna tell him?” Eddie broke your concentration on a water bug spinning around, making tiny ripples in the creek. 

You swallowed, furrowing your brows. “Hm?” 

Eddie wasn’t looking at you, his eyes still in his book. “You ever gonna tell Stevie boy you like him?”

You guffawed at the remark. “I- I don’t like Steve.” Panic washed over you. You wondered if maybe you were more obvious than you thought. “He’s like totally not my type.”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah. Okay.” 

You opened your mouth, but whatever was going to be said stayed on your tongue because Robin and Steve walked over to the two of you. Robin sat down next to you and laid down with her arms behind her head. “You guys, I’m so ready to get out of here.” 

Robin was going to college in a few months. She rarely brought it up knowing Steve was upset at the idea of his best friend leaving. You smiled, happy for your new friend. “I feel like I still have so much to learn about the place.”

Robin puckered her bottom lip. “Aw babe, it’s okay. At least you’ll still have Steve, and Eddie if he ever gets off house arrest.” 

You glanced over at the freckled boy, noticing a mole on his stomach which was right next to similar scars that Eddie had. Steve kicked the dirt a little, pouting. “Rob, why do you have to be such a buzzkill?” 

Robin had her eyes shut from the glare of the sun, but you could see her roll them beneath her lids. “You act like you don’t have other friends, dingus.” She smirked at a new thought that crossed her mind. “Can’t the girls in town keep you busy while I’m gone?” 

Your stomach knotted, and you felt Eddie look over at you, wiggling his brows. “Harrington has gotten older and wiser. He’s looking for a fair maiden to settle down with.” 

You knew if you reacted, Eddie would figure out you had a crush on Steve. Well, he already knew, but it would only confirm his suspicions. No one could know. 

Robin snorted, “At his rate I’ll graduate before Steve goes steady with anybody.” 

“Must you speak about me like I’m not here?” Steve put his hands on his hips. It was kind of cute when he got irritated, a small wrinkle appeared between his brows. “I’ll have you know I’m going out with Carol on Tuesday.”

Robin’s nose scrunched. “Didn’t you already go out with her? Said her breath smelt like tuna?” 

Steve shook his head. “No, that was Carol Dill, I’m talking about Carol Fists.” 

“Fists? I know what she can fist.” Robin and Eddie burst out laughing as Steve groaned in disgust, saying something about how Robin always ruins things. You pretended to smile at the joke. However, your stomach twisted. You knew Steve dated, but you never took into account the amount of girls he had gone out with.

Robin once told you he had only been in one serious relationship, but it ended badly. You didn’t know her name or what she looked like. A part of you wished you did so you could see what it took to stand out from the pool of girls. Were you that uninteresting? 

Robin and Steve asked if you wanted to join them in one last jump, but you opted out, saying you were tired. They both shrugged and made a bet who could get to the top first. You waited until they were far enough before you brought your knees to your chest, biting your bottom lip. “Is it that obvious?” You didn’t look at Eddie but you directed the question to him. 

It took him a moment to figure out what you meant. “Mm, only if you are one who observes the smallest of details.”

You let out a sigh. “Please don’t tell him.”

Eddie let out a laugh. “Sweetheart, I don’t kiss and tell. He probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway. He never thinks girls out of his league like him.”

There was an involuntary scoff that came out of you. “Don’t bullshit me. I am not out of his league.” You heard Robin scream, arms flailing as she fell off the cliff. Steve was bent over laughing which made you assume he had pushed her. He then ran and jumped off, making you smile as he cackled. 

“If you don’t want people to figure it out, maybe you should stop staring at him with that stupid smile.” You realized if this was the birth of a new friendship, Eddie was going to give you hell. He must be bored being under house arrest and all. 

***

Fourth of July at the Harrington’s was a big deal. The front door was adorned in red, white, and blue streamers. It looked like Uncle Sam had thrown up walking up the steps. 

Robin kept slapping Eddie, who had recently gotten off of house arrest, because he kept trying to unbutton his polo that Steve had let him borrow. It was the only way Steve’s parents would allow him for the festivities. If he looked presentable. 

But even looking presentable did not take his personality, eyeing all the wives and widows that walked past him. 

You on the other hand were secretly sulking because Steve was across the living room, his arm wrapped around the new girl he had been seeing. You think her name was Lacy? You didn’t talk to her too long because it was like talking to a brick wall with breasts. 

Robin scoffed when she heard Lacy laugh, clutching onto Steve. “Dear Lord, he’s really lowering his standards every day.”  

You cracked a smile, hiding it behind your cup of punch, catching Eddie looking at you with a smirk. You prayed he wouldn’t say anything. “I’m pretty sure I heard her ask if Rome existed during the Roman Empire while Mrs. Harrington was showing some painting.” 

You and Robin had to look away from one another, knowing you’d cause a scene if you laughed. It was like word vomit, jealousy had taken over you. “I don’t know what he sees in any of these girls. He’s like attracted to these non-spectacular bimbos just because they have big boobs.” 

You heard Robin whisper your name, and her elbow into your ribs. You laughed when you looked up at your friend but her eyes were full of panic, glancing at something in front of you. 

You turned your gaze to see Steve and Lacy in front of you. Lacy didn’t seem to realize who you were talking about. However, Steve’s jaw ticked. Lacy tried to get closer to him and he reacted by removing his arm from her and walking away. 

“Uh hello? You’re going to leave without saying anything?” She called after him. He didn’t reply as he made his way to the staircase that you knew led up to his bedroom. Lacy huffed, “Whatever.” She crossed her arms and stomped elsewhere. You kind of felt bed for speaking badly about a girl who had no clue about your feelings. But it felt worse knowing you had hurt Steve. 

You looked at your feet, ashamed of what you had said. “Didn’t Steve say his dad had a gun cabinet?” 

Robin smacked your arm. “Not funny.” 

“I thought the clueless look on non-spectacular bimbo was funny.” Eddie’s grin went from ear to ear. You and Robin looked at him with narrowed eyes. He put his hands up in defense. “Too soon?” 

You groaned, turning around, laying your forehead on the wall behind you. “I’m such an idiot.” 

“Jesus Christ. You like him,” Robin proclaimed. 

Eddie laughed. “Wait, you didn’t know?” 

You felt Robin roll her eyes. “She has literally never said or done anything that made me think… ugh this ruins everything. I thought you were different.” 

You snapped your head to face her, brows furrowed. “How does this ruin everything?” You noticed people looking over at you, listening to the commotion. 

“Maybe we should lower our voices,” Eddie mumbled. 

The scoff that Robin made sounded like Are you kidding me? “Girls never want to be my friend unless they want to get closer to him. Then you came along and didn’t immediately start drooling. I thought I had hope.” 

You opened your mouth to defend yourself but you snapped it back shut. Your lips pursed together and you swallowed a large lump down your throat. You didn’t mean to start liking Steve. She was overreacting. “You don’t know anything Robin. And what does it matter? You’re leaving in like three weeks.”

“Not the point,” Robin said through bared teeth. 

Eddie awkwardly steered some bystanders away, convincing them everything was okay. 

You shook your head, laughing in disbelief. “I get it now. This whole time you’ve been jealous.” 

“Excuse me?” Robin was fuming, almost nose to nose. 

“Admit it, you’re in love with Steve and can’t stand that he chooses all these boring girls over you.” 

You must have touched a sore spot that even Eddie was aware of because before Robin could do anything, he stepped between the two of you. He looked at Robin, giving her an assuring look before back at you. Immediately you felt desolate and little. You didn’t belong, because in only one look you knew Eddie was going to back up his friend. “Maybe you should…” he shrugged, motioning to the door. 

You looked between the two of them, Robin faced away from you, but you could see her glassy eyes, brimmed with tears. Your heart sank, wanting to take everything you said in only ten minutes back in your mouth. But you were too stubborn to admit you might have been in the wrong. “Screw you both.” You pivoted, and suddenly the picture of Lacy looked familiar as you stormed out of the Harrington’s house. 

It took you three days to find yourself at the front door of Robin’s house. You knew she would be home because she talked about it a few days ago. She would be packing for her move. When she answered the door, her face was expressionless. You held up a basket of banana muffins, her favorite. You smiled awkwardly. “Can I come in?” 

You could tell by the grip she had on the door that she wanted to slam in your face. Nonetheless, she sighed and opened it wider for you to walk through. “Sorry about the mess. Packing and all.” Her voice was quiet as she led you to her bedroom. Sure enough, clothes, boxes, and other items were scattered all over her bed and floor. “Just got done packing my voodoo doll of Steve,” she joked. 

You winced. One thing about Robin, she wasn’t beating around the bush on any confrontation. “Look, Rob. I didn’t mean what I said. LIke truly. I was the one that was jealous and always have been of your relationship with Steve. You two have all this history and I can’t compete with that.” 

Robin ran her fingers through her hair. “Steve and I have been through a lot of shit… like a lot. But it’s not like that.” 

You couldn’t help but perk up at the last part. 

She continued, “I just don’t understand why you never said anything to me. That you thought you had to keep it a secret.” She plopped down on the ground, her arms hanging off her knees. 

You followed the lead by also sitting on the ground, legs crossed. “I just didn’t want to be like every other girl I guess. I knew it wasn’t going to happen so I never said anything.” 

Robin thought carefully of her next words. “I can’t deny that you were right.” She started to mess with a loose string on her shirt. “I was sort of jealous.” 

Your face softened. “Rob, listen, I can get over him. It’s like a schoolgirl crush.” 

The brunette put her face into her hands and groaned loudly. “No… I didn’t mean I was jealous of you.”

“Of Lacy?” 

Robin bit her lip, looking away from you. Tears started to form at the corner of her eyes and she wiped one with the back of her hand. She sniffled and shook her head. “No.” She faced you again, “I was jealous of Steve.” 

Your brows furrowed. Why was she jealous of him? Your eyes widened. “Oh.” You tried your best not to react extravagantly. It was mostly a reaction of guilt and understanding why Eddie jumped to her defense so quickly. You swallowed something hard. Your cheeks started to heat up. “So the person you like…” 

Robin let out a breathy laugh, wiping her nose. “Not like where it consumes me but I can’t deny the idea crosses my mind once in a while.” 

You couldn’t help but leap and hug her. “Rob, I value your friendship so much. Thank you for being so vulnerable.” 

“I guess we both are good at keeping secrets, huh?” Robin asked once you broke apart. 

You smiled. “Eddie too. He figured it out the first day I met him.” 

She burst out laughing. “He figured out I’m a lesbian in like two days. For a man who won’t ever shut up he somehow sees things we don’t in a matter of minutes.” 

There was a beat. 

“Have you spoken to Steve?” You looked away shyly. 

Robin smirked, rolling her eyes playfully. “He’s fine. You just hurt his ego a little bit. I think he misses you.” 

You blew a raspberry. “Whatever.”

“Why do you think I was jealous? He definitely likes you and that moment I found out you liked him too, I knew it would be a matter of time.” Robin no longer looked sad, in fact she looked ecstatic. She blushed. “I think I only had feelings because you were the first girl who didn’t express feelings for him. That wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.” 

Your mind had so many things to address. “No, I’m sorry for not being truthful. There were many reasons I never said anything. Number one being I valued our friendship more than anything.” 

Robin reached over, placing her hand on your knee. “I don’t want to be the middleman. I’ve done that for him for almost two years. All I will say, he dates these uninteresting bimbos because he thinks those are the only girls who will ever like him. You should talk to him.”

You left Robin’s house two hours later. You both spent time packing, laughing about the summer, and telling her when you started having feelings for Steve. You both also cried because Robin was leaving. You had to convince her out of staying that college was meant for her. 

The next day Robin asked you to go bowling. What she didn’t care to mention was that Steve and Eddie would be there. However it didn’t surprise you. You were tempted with running out the door, however; but Robin grabbed your arm quickly as if she knew your plan and walked you to the lane. 

Eddie was facing you both, a childlike grin plastered on his face. 

“Well well well. Isn’t it the two fighting pussycats?” Eddie stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. 

You could only see the back of Steve’s head. He had chosen to wear a baseball cap to hide his hair. He didn’t turn around, but he peeked over his shoulder, quickly averting his gaze to the ground as he put on his bowling shoes. 

Robin walked up to Eddie, smacking him on the back of his head. “That was a gross comment, Munson.”

He rubbed the spot she had just hit. “Geez. Twas just a joke.” He then looked up at her, grinning. “I could’ve said it was kind of hot. But did I?”

Robin thumped his forehead this time. 

“You make me want to scream sometimes.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“That’s funny, your mom said the same thing to me last night.” Eddie and Steve burst out laughing. Robin looked like she wanted to strangle Eddie. Yet, she didn’t react. She plopped in the seat next to him and put her shoes on. 

You followed by sitting next to Steve, avoiding any type of eye contact. You noticed Eddie and Robin giving one another look. The awkwardness between you and Steve was too suffocating not to notice. 

Your mind raced if he knew your feelings or did Robin and Eddie not say anything? Robin did say she wasn’t meddling but nosey is Eddie’s middle name. 

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, to Steve, but he had already gone up to enter names and take his turn. You looked at your hands, defeated. 

And so it was like a tug-of-war. When Steve talked, he only spoke to Robin and Eddie. He wasn’t excluding you on purpose but whenever he spoke he never looked at you. Whenever you tried to enter the conversation or talked he’d act uninterested. 

You even tried to flirt, going up to him personally and saying what a good bowler he was and if he could give you any tips. He glanced over at the scoreboard, noticing you were in second place. “M’think you have the hang of it.” 

You could hear Eddie wince audibly for you. You shit daggers his way before turning around and rolling the ball down your lane. This bowling alley was not on your side because you somehow made a strike. 

“Good job! I guess the trick is to make you pissed off.” Eddie laughed at his own comment. Robin elbowed him in his side, whispering that now was not the time. 

“I’m not pissed off,” you defended, feeling your cheats heat up with embarrassment. “I’m fine, perfectly fine!” 

Steve still was not looking at you, rather the ground.

You stormed up to him. “Are you just going to ignore me the whole night? You won’t give me a chance to even apologize because you’re acting like a child.” 

He didn’t flinch. 

You threw your hands up. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings the other day. I can own up that I shouldn’t have said it. But dude, it freaking sucks when I see you wasting your time on people who don’t care about you.” You regretted speaking up now, mostly because of other people looking over in your direction. You pursed your lips, trying not to cry. “Thanks for inviting me, Rob, but I think it’s time for me to go.” You stopped her and Eddie before they tried to argue. 

You walked out of the building and sat in your car processing everything. Robin was moving away and now you had lost one of the only friends you had in this stupid town. 

***

You contemplated knocking on the front door to the Harrington household for nearly fifteen minutes before committing. You let out a sigh of relief when it had been Robin who answered the door. Almost immediately you wrapped your arms around her. 

“Hey, no crying. I told you that yesterday.” Her hug didn’t reflect her words as she pulled you in tighter. “Thank you for coming.” 

She knew you almost didn’t. 

Everyone was in Steve’s backyard, Robin told you, explaining that was the only way his parents allowed Robin’s going away party to happen if all the activities were not in the house. She even made a joke that his mom probably didn’t want them using the bathrooms. 

You felt nervous when you heard all the voices walking to the backyard. You didn’t recognize anyone. It didn’t seem to phase anyone when you appeared with Robin. Eddie was lounging on a chair, talking to a dark-haired scrawny boy. He called out your name, greeting you. It brought the attention of others, including Steve. 

He was in the pool, laughing with a girl you thought looked familiar but had no idea who she was. She was petite and shiny brown hair. This was the first time in weeks you had seen him, and he had actually acknowledged your presence. He smiled half-heartedly and gave you a small wave. 

Robin grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the pair. “Rob, I don’t think–” 

“Nance! I want you to finally meet who I’ve been telling you about.” Robin laid her arm on top of your shoulders. 

Nance smiled. It was warm and inviting. “Steve said you were pretty.” 

You peered at Steve who had begun to submerge himself into the water, his face still poking out. “It’s nice to meet you Nance.” 

She chuckled. “Actually, it’s Nancy. Nancy Wheeler.” 

You smiled at her. You normally found it hard to talk to new people, but she somehow seemed to make everyone around her comfortable. “How do you know Robin and Steve?” 

Everyone gave each other a look, silently saying something that you didn’t understand. It was the same look Eddie would also give them whenever you asked a too personal question that no one knew how to answer. It was like they all were hiding something. 

“We were close when the earthquake hit.” Nancy answered, smiling warmly. You felt not everything was being said but it didn’t matter. You knew you could trust there was a reason they didn’t say. 

The afternoon consisted of conversations with all of Steve and Robin’s friends. Most of them were in college or had moved off. Your favorite was a curly haired boy named Dustin who seemed to have a special connection with Steve. It was like they were complete opposites but also shared the same mind. 

Steve had spoken little to you, but it was a step up from ignoring you. It hurt knowing that you two were no longer friends. Yet, you accepted it. Even when you had gone to grab a drink out of the cooler outside, and Steve’s hand touched yours when he went to grab it at the same time. Or when you had found yourself sitting next to him, his shoulder still damp from pool water, brushing your bare arm. You swore when he laughed he leaned into you. 

It wasn’t until you had gone inside to use the restroom, finding yourself in one of the hallways looking at all the pictures on the wall. They consisted of wedding photos of his parents, family portraits, and a lot of pictures of Steve. That’s when you caught the picture of Steve and Nancy on the wall. Your heart plummeted a little as you realized why you recognized her. Granted, it was only from what you assumed to be their prom, but she must be the girl Robin had talked about. 

“That seems so long ago.” You jumped at the voice that came from behind you. Your shoulders relaxed when you peered behind your shoulder to see it was Steve. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t know you were there, that’s all.” You looked away from him, still embarrassed from everything that had been going on these past few weeks. You had made your apologies, and although you felt like he should apologize too, you just wanted your friend back. 

He stepped forward so he’d be shoulder to shoulder with you, but he didn’t say anything. At first. “Isn’t it weird we think we meet everyone we’re gonna meet when we’re young?” 

You looked back at the prom picture. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to meet me in high school.” 

He laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to meet me either. I was a true asshole.”

“What changed? A girl?” You motioned to the picture on the wall. 

Steve took a moment. You could tell he was thinking about what he would say next. “No. I was still a pretty big asshole. It was more of the break-up part that I decided I needed to grow up.” He looked down at you, but you avoided eye contact. “I guess I’m still not doing a great job.” 

Your face softened, finally catching his gaze. “You are. We all have moments when we're assholes.” 

“Yeah, but I never apologized for giving you the cold shoulder. After hearing what you said I had a lot of… self-evaluation.” Steve licked his lips. “I haven’t gone on a date in weeks.” 

You took a second to process. “How is that going?” 

He smiled, nodding his head. “It’s been good. I guess I was a serial dater because I was afraid of being alone.” His shoulder brushed yours. “I think I took my friendships for granted.” 

The warmth of his hand made your stomach flip. You needed to tell him. “Steve.” Your tongue felt dry. 

“Thank you for being patient with me. It’s nice knowing that even though Robin won’t be here I’ll still have a good friend around.” He patted you on the shoulder. You tried not to feel the disappointment in you. Of course he only saw you as a friend. 

Did you need to say something? Maybe you could grab him by the shoulders and kiss him. You didn’t, praying it would go away in due time. 

***

You understood why Robin was relieved when she had made a girl friend. Between the burps and jokes you started to miss her more and more. What was worse, you realized you were spending a lot more time with Steve. You began to notice he was getting older and stronger. The shirts he wore started to hug him. Mostly because he started going on runs again. He had told you and Eddie anytime he felt lonely, he’d just put on his sneakers and sprint out the door. He must have been running a lot. 

School had technically started in Hawkins. You felt lame because you didn’t apply to the community college like you said you would. Work at the museum was boring. However, you found yourself at Steve’s house trying to get in as much swimming before it got cold. Steve didn’t seem to mind. 

There was one particular day you, Eddie, and Steve were meant to go to the pond you had gone too with Robin. However, when you got to Steve’s house so he could drive, a downpour of rain began. You sat on his couch while he was on the phone with Eddie, saying that the three of you could go next weekend. Your eyes followed him as he walked over, plopping right next to you. He smelt like a mix between coconuts and bourbon. He put his arms behind his head, his bicep flexing. 

Your crush had definitely not gotten any better. “I guess I’ll head back home then.” 

Steve furrowed his brows. “What? Are you crazy it’s like a tropical storm out there” 

You kicked his leg. “I’m not defenseless, you know? I know how to drive.” 

“Defenseless, no. A good driver? Not according to those curbs you hit.” Steve’s eyes were closed, but his mouth broke out into the biggest smile. 

 When he had made that comment you had poked him. He poked you back. You returned by poking a sensitive spot under his armpit. He was then on top of you, tickling your ribs, making you cry of laughter. 

You both cooled down, the heat from his body more noticeable when you noticed how close his face was to yours. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, his rough stubbles poking around his face. You couldn’t help drag your finger across his jaw to feel them. You were unsure how it happened. Who kissed who first was the dilemma going through your mind as your lips melted together. 

He supported himself by having one hand by your head, the other hand cupping your face. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Your fingers played with his hair. He hated people touching it, but good friends don’t kiss one another. 

Your eyes shot wide. Steve made a grunt as you pushed him off of you, standing up quickly, feeling a little light headed from the blood rushing through you. Steve sat up on the couch, lips red and swollen. His hair disheveled. You saw him run his tongue behind his bottom lip. 

You held yourself, feeling so vulnerable. “I think the rain let up. Safe to drive.” Your voice was weak. 

His jaw ticked. “Oh.” As if on cue a roar of thunder shook his house, the windows lit up from a lightning bolt. He gave you a look that he didn’t need to say anything for you to understand. He didn’t want you to go, but he knew you weren’t going to stay. 

You walked out of the living room and to the front door. Your hand was on the door knob, ready to open it and run out. There was an urge to turn around and so you did. Steve had followed you to the entryway. 

“Why do you tell your friends that I’m pretty?” You asked him. 

Steve’s chest expanded and fell back to normal. “What do you want me to say?”

You raised your hands into the air. Your voice rose. “It’s not a complicated question, Steve. Why do you tell all these people that I’m pretty?” 

Steve’s tone matched yours. “Because you are?” He said it so simply. Like it was easy. 

Your arms fell to your sides. “Then why have you never told me?”

Steve was taken aback. The silence between you was full of palpable tension. “Haven’t I?” 

You scoffed. “No, Steve. You haven’t.” 

He swallowed hard, looking off to the side. 

“Listen, we don’t have to talk about this. I know you’re lonely since you haven’t been going on dates and we just got caught up in the moment. It’s fine really.” You were looking at your feet, your shoelaces loose, dragging on the floor. You thought about how last week they did the same thing and Steve had kneeled down and tied them for you. 

He said your name but he didn’t move to stop you as you bolted out the door. 

The next weekend you debated telling Eddie you were sick when he had called to ask if you were still down to go to the pond with him and Steve. If Eddie knew about the kiss, he didn’t say anything. 

Steve must have begged to pick up Eddie first or they were already together when they came and picked you up. You sat in the back of the car, arms crossed, staring purposefully at the rearview mirror. Eddie kept going on and on about how everyone from his old band, Corroded Coffin, had either left town or started a family. Eddie told you about after the earthquake he had lost everything, including his most prized possession— his guitar. 

When you arrived at the pond there was an awkward silence as everyone carried blankets and the ice chest to a spot that seemed suitable to sit on. Fortunately, the ground was dry from the few days of rain Hawkins had received over the past week. You could see trees beginning to brown, and wildflowers wilting, telling you that summer was slipping away. 

You looked over at Steve arguing with Eddie about forgetting to pack sandwiches. He had gone ahead and taken off his shirt. His muscles poked out and the hair on his chest was dark and unruly. Steve walked away from Eddie, mumbling that Robin never forgot to bring food. He caught you in the act of watching him, his face turning red. 

This was ridiculous. You spent weeks being mad that he was avoiding you. “You wanna race to the top?” 

Steve looked over at the hill where you could see the tan rope swaying side to side. He smirked. “I’ll give you a head start.” 

You didn’t take a beat to think before you pivoted and started to sprint towards the hill. It didn’t take long for Steve to catch up with you. He was going easy, keeping a steady pace slightly in front of you. You might have gone slower because you were distracted by how his butt looked in his swim trunks. 

You both climbed the hill, giggling as you almost slipped. His hand on the small of your back to hold you steady. You suddenly cried out, looking at your hand. Steve immediately went into action, eyes wide with concern. “What happened?” 

He adjusted himself to look at the problem. You went to show him your hand, but then you stuck your tongue out and quickly climbed faster to reach the top. Steve called out your name, calling you a cheater as you pulled yourself to the top of the hill. You laid on your back, catching your breath, laughing once you saw Steve dragging himself on the top. “That was not fair.”  He was on his arms and knees laughing almost as hard as you. 

It wasn’t even that funny but it felt nice to just laugh. With Steve. You sat up, your face hurt from smiling so hard. Steve’s eyes softened. They were hazy and he looked stupidly drunk. You nudged him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

He blinked a few times. He sat up, taking his finger and brushing your cheek. “I couldn’t help but think how pretty you are when the sun shines on you.”  

Your heart raced. Your words were struggling to form. You looked over at the pond, glistening underneath the sun. “I like you Steve but I can’t just be a fling to you.” 

He looked sad. You heard your name said under his breath. “I like you so much. All this time I didn’t know what I wanted and when I met you it just got harder to click with anyone or feel the way I do about you. It was hard to avoid those feelings. I never said anything because Robin was so happy to have a girl as a friend and I couldn’t ruin that for her.”

Your cheeks were hot and you covered your face with your knees. You weren’t sure how to react hearing the boy you’ve had a crush on likes you back. The end of summer breeze kissed your nose. 

His tanned skin was starting to fade, but you could still see all his freckles covering his shoulders. You leaned forward, placing your lips softly on his shoulder blade. 

“Have you been to Enzo’s yet?” Steve leaned his forehead on yours, a cheesy smile painted on his face. 

You messed with a loose string hanging off your swimsuit bottoms. You were almost too afraid to look him in the eyes. “Are you asking me on a date?” You had never been there. Someone told you it used to be the only nice restaurant before the earthquake. Most of the new residents didn’t go, leaving it to be a sacred place for the natives of Hawkins. 

“Didn’t I just confess I like you?” Steve chuckled and you could feel the vibrations from how close he was to you. 

You ducked your head, feeling flustered. “It’s intimidating to know I’m not the only person you’ve taken out on a date.” 

Steve was silent for a moment, hopefully thinking carefully over a valid concern. He placed his hand on yours, trailing his fingers over yours. He then used the same hand to lift your chin up. “I don’t take just anyone to Enzo’s.” 

Your heart fluttered. He was smooth. You tried to say something that Eddie was probably concerned the two of you had died or got lost. Steve disregarded it because his lips found yours. 

It was soft and slow. It felt just as nice as the first time you kissed. Except now, you knew how he felt. You felt kaleidoscopic. It was overwhelming and sexy. 

You hoped it would always feel like this. That anytime you felt the last moments of summer, you always remembered the beginning of a new season you had never felt before.

[lucysgraybird]

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ you'll just have to taste me too ˖ ࣪⟡˚.⋆

part 1 of the short 'n sweet series

CORIOLANUS SNOW (TBOSAS) x fem!reader

warnings: smut (18+), oral (f receiving)

You take down the curls that have been setting for the last hour and brush them out, pinning back the swoop of your hair with a delicate clip that Coryo had bought for you as a gift. As though you summoned him with your thoughts, he appears over your shoulder as you blot on your lipstick, the final step in your routine. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and settles his hands on your waist.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs, his lips still against your shoulder. His sleeves are turned up to his elbows. You frown.

“We have to leave soon, Coryo. Did you not like the cufflinks I set out?”

They were elaborate gold knots – understated enough to not be tacky, but not so far as to go unnoticed. Actually, they were ideal for a campaign event, and if he didn't want to wear them, he was going to have to explain why.

“They're perfect.” His voice rumbles low in his chest, and one hand creeps across your waist to your belt buckle, slowly tugging the leather tail free. “Just didn't want to have my sleeves down for this.”

Catching on to what he's starting to do, you laugh. “Oh, no, I don't think so, honey. I just finished getting ready and you are not–”

He cuts you off by nestling a kiss just below your ear, where he knows the skin is more sensitive. Your breath catches, and he uses the moment to tug your shirt free and slide his hands up over your chest. You are, of course, wearing a bra, and he just about growls in frustration.

“Coriolanus, we can't. We have to leave soon, and- Oh,” you moan as he tugs down the lace to drag a cold finger across your nipple.

“Do you really want me to stop, my love?” Coryo mumbles into the crook of your neck. His teeth graze ever so gently over the tendon there, and you shudder.

“I don't want either of us looking like we've been fucked, darling.” The vulgarity is odd in your mouth, and you know you're playing a dangerous game with it: there is something about an oath with your clipped, precise consonants and perfect vowels that Coryo finds irresistible. “My hair always–”

In one fluid move, Coryo spins you around and hoists you onto the bathroom vanity, then sinks to his knees in front of you.

“Then I'd advise you to stay very, very, very still.”

Each 'very' is punctuated by a kiss up your leg as he gathers your skirt around your hips, save for the last one. That one, he nips at the soft flesh at the crux of your inner thigh in a way that you know will bruise most beautifully. You press your hands into the marble of the vanity – you'd normally go for his hair, but everything is gelled into place and you don't want to disturb it.

He ghosts a finger along the center of your panties, a wet spot already blooming there. A shudder rattles through your body at the gentle touch.

“Mm…is this all because of me? Just from a few kisses?”

“No, it's from the other person about to go down on me,” you mutter. “If you're going to do this, Coryo, you need to get on with it.”

He looks up at you, a reprimand in his icy eyes. “You don't seem to want this very much, love. I can stop.”

He's teasing and you know it, because he presses his first knuckle into your clothed clit. It's almost cruel, the fabric just a little too rough against the thin skin there, but a little gasp works its way from your mouth anyways.

“No, I'm sorry. Please don't stop.”

Despite the time crunch you're under, Coryo maintains his slow pace, just mouthing at your core through your underwear. It feels good, there's no doubt about that: it's taking all your willpower not to tip your head back against the mirror and crush some of your curls. But it's not enough to keep you from thinking. You're making a mental note of all you'll have to do after this – change your panties, first of all, and it probably won't hurt to touch up your hair and makeup…you might have to find a new skirt, depending on what he does. The fabric of this one has a penchant for wrinkling. Did you pack your speech notes into your purse last night? It seems like something you would've done, but–

“Oh, shit, Coryo!”

He's pulled your panties to the side and closed his lips around your clit, sucking hard. It sends shockwaves through your body, the muscle fibres in your obliques misfiring in surprised pleasure. He looks up at you through ash-white lashes, a reprimand for your lack of focus on him in his eyes, before he delves back in, shoving his tongue into you while the hard point of his nose bumps insistently at your clit. It's not an unfamiliar mix, but it never gets less heady. Coryo's so attuned to your every tell at this point that he grins against your cunt when he feels you approach your finish.

"Close?" He intones without pulling away, knowing both the answer to that question and how much him asking it will heighten the sensation. When your hips buck involuntarily against his face, he braces them down with one large hand with a force that's sure to bruise.

"I want to try something," he says. "Tell me when you're right there."

"We're on a...oh, fuck! A time crunch right now, we can't-”

It's hard to protest when there's pleasure burning a hole in your low stomach, and the flick his free hand delivers to your thigh only eclipses your thoughts more.

"It'll be fast. Do what I tell you to do."

And with that, he dives back into your pussy with a veracity that you would couple with someone's last meal, practically making out with the sensitive skin. It's only a moment before you're winding a hand around his on your hip.

"Now, now, oh God, Coryo, I'm gonna fucking-"

It's not as if he gave you a lot to go on, but the feeling of three fingers plunged suddenly deep into you was not necessarily what you were expecting. Right as you tip over the proverbial edge, he crooks them just so, and you gush - literally gush - all over his hand and mouth. He laps your release up, soothing his tongue over your clit in a way that he knows is not soothing at all; he revels in the way you squirm before he pulls away. There's the wet sheen of your squirt all down his mouth and chin, his lips are red and slightly swollen as they wrap around his fingers and clean them off. He takes the time to wipe his mouth while you recover.

"Change your skirt, love," he says as he turns towards the bedroom, presumably to put on those damned cufflinks. "We really ought to be going."

And you would be annoyed, if it wasn't for that little spot on his collar that remains ever so slightly discolored. Easy to pass off for a bit of sweat, but you know. When that slightly-too-friendly campaign staffer hugs him for just a little too long, you're not jealous (not that you have reason to be). You've left a thousand subtle marks on him over the course of this relationship - anyone who knows him from now on will have to know you too.

[elizabethsnuts]

So I don't know if you've seen spy kids 3, but basically there's a scene where the mum has to go on a mission with her baby because she has no baby sitter and she just carries her in a baby carrier. The scene is low-key badass. Anyway, I was wondering if you could do something like that for winterwidows daughter. Like they have no one to babysit her and she has to go on the mission with her parents.

P.S. I love your work.

Family Mission

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Bucky have no babysitter for you so they have no choice but to bring you on a mission to take down a HYDRA base.

A/N: Thank you for all the support on my work! It really means a lot to me that others enjoy reading it. It was my one year posting on tumblr a couple days ago, happy late tumblr birthday to me!

———

The morning sun filtered through the Avengers kitchen, casting a warm glow around the room where Bucky was finishing his coffee. Natasha, who was already dressed in her black tactical suit, was adjusting the baby carrier strapped to her chest, inside the carrier was you, gazing up at your mother with wide, curious eyes, cooing softly.

Bucky approached the two of you, his metal arm glinting in the sunlight. "Are you sure about this, Nat? Bringing Y/N along on a mission?"

Natasha gave him a reassuring smile. "We don't have much choice, do we? We can’t just keep her here by herself. Besides she’ll be looking at me the whole time."

Bucky leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. "Alright, we’ll keep her safe."

———

You all quickly boarded the Quinjet, where Tony was pacing the floor. Steve and Clint were gathered around a large holographic display of their mission target: a HYDRA base nestled in the Siberian wilderness.

Tony glanced up as Bucky and Natasha entered, you looked over to Tony with your little legs swinging in the carrier. "Well, look who's here. And they brought a little guest." His tone was a mix of amusement and surprise.

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Y/N? Are you sure about this?"

"We don't have a babysitter," Natasha said with a hint of defiance. "We'll manage."

You were secured in your carrier, staring at the flashing lights and buttons inside the jet, your tiny hands reaching out to grab at the air. Natasha couldn't help but smile at your innocence. Bucky sat beside the two of you, keeping a watchful eye on both his family and the surroundings.

The Quinjet hummed as it sliced through the sky, descending towards the snow-covered landscape of Siberia. As they approached the drop zone, Tony ran through the plan one last time. "Alright, Natasha, Bucky, you're with me. Clint, Steve, Thor, you take the north entrance."

The team split into their assigned groups. Natasha and Bucky, with you securely strapped to Natasha's chest, moved stealthily through the forest. The snow crunched softly under their boots as they approached the base's southern entrance.

You played with the little beanie on your head, giggling quietly as you touched the fuzzy pom-pom. Natasha looked down and smiled at your happy mood, though her face had a hint of worry.

The team were able to hack into the security system, disabling the cameras and unlocking the doors.

"We're in," Steve whispered through the comms.

"Okay, Malyshka," Natasha whispered, adjusting the sound-dampening headphones over your little ears. "Time to be a good girl for Mama and Daddy."

You giggled and waved your tiny hands around as if you were part of the mission. You had no idea what was going on but you liked going on an adventure with your parents.

The three of you slipped into the shadows, Bucky’s eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement. Natasha moved silently, her skills honed from years of time in the Red Room. Your presence, surprisingly, didn’t hinder her. Instead, it seemed to sharpen her focus, giving her a greater purpose which was to keep you safe.

Inside the base, the corridors were eerily quiet while dimly lit. The team had done their job well, creating diversions and taking out patrols. Bucky and Natasha moved methodically, their silent communication seamless.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Natasha whispered to you, her lips curving into a smile.

As the central control room became closer into view, you began to babble softly, your eyes wide with curiosity. Natasha glanced down and smiled. "Almost there, Dorogoy," she whispered.

Bucky placed a small charge on the door, and they waited for the soft beep indicating it was ready. With a nod, the door blew open, and they rushed inside.

Alarms blared throughout the base. HYDRA reinforcements were closing in fast. Natasha and Bucky moved swiftly, taking down enemies with a coordinated dance of skill and precision. You in your carrier, just watched Natasha with a smile on your little face, your tiny hands clapping at the flashes of movement, oblivious to the danger.

With the last of the Hydra agents taken down, Natasha and Bucky quickly began gathering data from the computers. Steve’s voice crackled over the comms. "Status?"

"All clear," Natasha replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "We’ve got the data."

Navigating through the maze of corridors, they reached the exit quickly and ran back into the snowy forest.

“Mama!” You giggled, your little fingers tangled in her hair as flakes of snow hit your little pink cheeks.

Natasha laughed and kissed your head. “You did your first mission! You did so well!”

———

Back on the Quinjet, as they soared towards home, Natasha leaned back in her seat, exhausted but relieved. You, now sleepy, nestled against your mother's chest, your tiny hand gripping Natasha's suit.

"You did great today, baby," Natasha whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You babbled sleepily and closed your eyes, now feeling all warm in safe in Natasha’s arms. You loved the little adventure you had today.

[anxietycroissant]

So I’m doing something fun with @turbulenthandholding , per usual. We are exchanging prompts for sydcarmy stories. I’m going to post a bit from two. Please vote for the one you want to keep reading, and that will be my next story on AO3. Scroll down below the poll to read the stories before you vote!

Prompt 1: Syd finds out Mikey’s grave is near her mom’s. (I actually came up with this one for @turbulenthandholding but accidentally started writing it before I realized what was happening.

The Cemetery Story

Every year leading up to April 8th, she forgave herself in advance for not finding the time to come and visit her mom’s grave on the anniversary of her death. But like always, she somehow found herself here. She brought the same last minute bouquet of white flowers from Whole Foods to lay on her mother’s grave. She knew both that the bones of her mother rested quite literally six feet under where she stood, and that she wouldn’t feel her mother’s spirit. It couldn’t be found on top of or underneath this quiet stretch of grass. She didn’t know where else to go, though, so she came to this place, where she could rub her fingers across the carved letters of her mother’s name.

She allowed her eyes to look anywhere they liked, anywhere except at the dates of her mother’s life etched into her headstone. She had died so young. It was too sad. She sighed loudly, biting her lip. “Love you, mom,” she murmured under her breath. “My life is just as fucked up as when I stopped by last year. I own a restaurant now. Well, co-own, I guess?” she amended. What more was there to say, when you had so many things to say that nothing would come out?

She crouched, letting her fingertips brush the buttery flower buds nestled in the bouquet she’d brought. She tapped one finger to her lips, and then gently touched the headstone. It would have to be enough. Pushing off the wet grass with her finger tips, she stood up quickly at the sound of crunching gravel nearby.

She glanced into and through a large bush, and could just make out someone on the other side of it. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but then the guy started to speak. She knew the voice, had memorized every variation in tone and pitch that it could produce. She knew its whispers, and lately she had become very familiar with what it sounded like screaming in her kitchen. The voice now sounded soft, bereft. She couldn’t hear any specific words he said, which assuaged her guilt over being nosy. She turned around slowly to begin walking away, and then he spoke her name.

“Syd, um. Remember how I told you I was so afraid she’d leave The Bear?” She couldn’t see his face but she could hear him practically sucking on a cigarette. Their location was so quiet that she felt trapped now. She couldn’t leave without revealing herself. The most she could do was turn her face further away.

He cleared his throat. “She um. She didn’t… leave? Exactly? But she told me, that, you know… this real fucking prick, Shapiro- we worked together a long time ago. He’s not that bad I guess? Uh anyway, he offered her CDC at his new spot. She said she really thought about taking it but ultimately just couldn’t.”

He sat in silence for a minute, moving the gravel in front of his foot back and forth in the silence. When he continued, it was almost a whisper. “I fucking know it’s my fault, too,” he admitted. It was strange. She didn’t feel Mikey’s presence exactly, but the air felt thicker. “How do I tell her? That I have no- fucking idea how… to do any of it? Mikey, if you could meet her, you’d get it. She’s so, so good. She doesn’t need me. I have no idea why she’s staying. I’ve been such an asshole. To everyone, to her,” He sighed.

she heard rustling. “I never told you, but when she started at The Beef? I was so fucked up, and she- she, right away, I could see it. I knew her. I knew she was brilliant, to good for that place. Too good for me. Too good for anywhere. But I just wanted to keep her,” he scoffed. “Mike,” he whispered, sounding spooked. “She made this risotto. You would have died. It just… it just needed, like, the tiniest tweak. But, anyway I was a dick about it. But I could taste her future. Her talent is so much bigger than like, I can even comprehend.”

He was silent for so long that she had to peek to see if he was still there. He was. Elegant fingers messing up his own tangled curls, he was biting his lip with red eyes. “I wish I could tell her, Bear,” he said, his voice raspy. “I want to give her everything she wants. Everything. Probably too much. Even if I don’t know how,” he added, that last sentence slipping out in a rush.

She heard his jacket rustle as he shifted. She could hear him humming, almost as if he was reacting to something another person said. And who was she to judge? Maybe he was.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand worrying over his chin. Syd stared openly at Carmy as he marinated. She watched his face as different emotions danced across his finely carved features. She was pretty sure she saw sadness, frustration, humor, and maybe even a smidge of hope. Or maybe she was just a stalker.

“What would I say if she were here now? I- I don’t know, Mikey,” he admitted, choking out a meager laugh. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Syd, I’m sorry I’ve been such an unbelievable asshole to the one person I want to be better for? Oh, and yeah. I know you wanted to work together but I apparently never learned? And you should be the one teaching me?” He laughed bitterly, on a roll now.

“Or how about this? I tell her, “Oh and Syd, the thought of you working with Shapiro - that fucking prick, Jesus, Mikey, if she had actually said yes to that asshole I’d have never forgiven myself- anyway, the thought of you rather working with him than with me… learning that broke me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Syd. How do I tell you? How do I show you? How important you are? How do I do that without making you feel less than?” He had tears in his eyes.

The weak sunlight cast his hair in a golden glow. In that moment, he looked like an angel who would never be so cunty in the kitchen. She almost admonished herself for using that label. But, she reasoned, men could be cunty too. She almost laughed out loud, but slapped a hand over her mouth.

The gentle slap of her fingers over her open mouth was not what she’d describe as gentle or silent. It was, in fact, audible in the empty cemetery. The smile disappeared from her face as Carmy whipped his head around, his eyes finding hers. They widened first in recognition, then disbelief.

“Syd?” he breathed. “Is that you? What… what the fuck are you doing… here?” he asked quietly, gesturing between them to the bush. Having lost the ability to speak, Syd pointed at her mom’s grave. Carmy took that as an invitation to walk over to her. He stood next to her, and then kneeled down to read her mother’s name.

He smoothed his forefinger over the inscription reverently, just as she had done. He was silent for a long moment before doing something that surprised her. “Hi, Mrs. Adamu,” he whispered. “I’m Carmy. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said awkwardly. Syd’s heart swelled. “Your daughter… I know you’re really proud already, but… I wish you could see her now. She’s really something special,” he muttered, looking down at his feet.

“Carmy,” Syd said hesitantly after making sure he was finished speaking. “Can you look at me, please?” she asked softly.

He looked at her then, his piercing blue eyes meeting her own. She couldn’t swear on it, but she thought she could see his pulse making the skin of his rose flushed neck stutter. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “How much.. um, of that did you- did you hear?” His voice shook slightly.

Syd winced. “Once I figured out it was you, I tried to tune you out but I couldn’t. And I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but like, there’s no way I have left without announcing I was here,” she said simply. “So I stayed.” She twisted a ring around her finger over and over, smiling nervously. She took a shaky breath.

“I believe you, Syd. But uh, how much? Were you here the… the… all that time?” His eyes searched hers.

She nodded, unsure what to say. She moved closer to him. He startled, eyebrows raised. She curled her fingers into the soft cotton covering his shoulder. “Carmy,” she breathed. She nodded. “I heard it,” she confirmed. Carmy closed his eyes, nodding once. He opened his eyes again and held her gaze. “Is there, um. Anything else you… you wanna say?” They were so close now they were almost touching.

His answering nod was so small that she almost didn’t see it. “Yeah,” he replied, his lips all but disappearing into a thin line. “I wanted to say some of this… you know, at the funeral. But then the guy that made me this way was there. And I had to confront him. You know, he’s why, Syd. He’s why New York was so shitty, why I have panic attacks. Why I… why I can’t just be-“ he broke off, his eyes shiny.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I confronted him. He’s still a piece of shit. He will- never change. But then, later, you were gone. And I, I realized. I’m putting all of this shit on you. My shit. Ruining this for you, taking away all the good parts. The things about it you love. I made it all about me, like you said. Syd,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, for all of it.”

Syd wiped at her wet cheeks, taking deep breaths. Looking down, she saw that she had moved even closer to Carmy. She was holding onto the tips of two of his fingers.

Prompt 2: Syd and Carmy are catering a party for Jimmy, post -season 3, in a fancy high rise apartment. Maybe the review came out and it's not bad but it's not stellar and Jimmy is trying to figure it out, so he asks them to do this. Syd and Carmy get trapped in the service elevator with trays as they are cleaning up afterwards

The Elevator Story

The service version of anything was always- by design- less than. Service entrances were often discreetly located on the side or around the back. Service staircases were simply adorned, with no frills. Who would they be for, after all? Utilitarian double doors, forlorn potted plants, and overstuffed cigarette receptacles were some of the glamor one could expect to grace a service entrance. Likewise, service elevators didn’t claim to be anything they weren’t. They were just to get from point A to point B.

Syd, however, would argue that it was more like rising from point A to B on the Y axis. There was not a cute way mathematically to say that she was ascending vertically in a shitty service elevator in a fancy high-rise building in a gentrified, annoying little bubble of Chicago with her business “partner”. They had been down and up a few times, sullenly taking their gear back to the van. But anyway, if the Y-axis was this shitty elevator, shooting straight up toward this building’s event space, then the X-axis was the things left unsaid between herself and Carmy. Things on the x-axis weren’t great. They hadn’t been for a while.

She noticed him looking at her. He had a little smirk on his stupid face. His strong cheekbones and soulful eyes fucking pissed her off. With all of the bullshit he’d put her through, he deserved to have an actual asshole instead of a mouth. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” she asked aggressively, unintentionally flaring her nostrils. His eyes widened in surprise. He seemed to be in a perpetual state of surprise these days. How he could ever be surprised by the situation he found himself in, despite being responsible for it, blew her mind daily.

“Nothing,” he said in a low voice, sighing. “You were mumbling something about math. It was…” he stopped talking, catching sight of her expression. It was their day off, and she was in no mood for his shit. She had ultimately decided to reject Shapiro’s offer, but that didn’t mean much had changed. The big review that came out on the night of the funeral at Ever had been just decent enough escape the total wrath of Cicero. He still threatened them with data from Computer regularly. Hence the catering side job they had both agreed to do tonight. Everyone else had begged off, probably because the tension between Carmy and Syd was thicker than cold veal fat on a chilled plate.

“It was what?” Syd asked neutrally, daring him to say anything. “Nerdy?” She scoffed. She had heard that one before, although Carmy would never insult her in such an obvious way. He would insult her by excluding her. It was much more insidious, eating away at her one small bite at a time.

“It was fucking cute,” he muttered loud enough for her to hear. She could tell he didn’t mean to say it because his eyes grew impossibly wider. He cleared his throat. “Last trip back up there, I think,” he said quickly, clearly keen to change the subject. Syd was glad for the stainless steel utility cart in between the two of them. She’d take any distance she could get.

Syd rolled her eyes inwardly. Outwardly, she tried to keep a neutral expression. But had he truly called her cute? She was torn between smiling and being (even more) annoyed. She felt crabby, and he was picking at her. “You know what would have been cute?” she asked in a neutral tone. Carmy raised his eyebrows, looking earnest. He reminded her of one of those sad old men she saw who sat waiting for their wives on benches in the mall outside department stores. “It would have been a lot cuter and more cost-effective if we hadn’t done that fucking caviar station. But as usual, you didn’t listen to me. I don’t know why I’m even here anymore.”

Carmy had the nerve to look wounded. “Syd, where is this coming from? I agree with you completely! The fucking caviar thing was Cicero’s idea. You believe me, right?” he pleaded with her. She glared at him, one side of her mouth puckered.

“Forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” she said tonelessly. “You know what? Forget it,” she said, waving her hand. She wanted to avoid whatever arguments he desperately wanted to hold onto. “I don’t know why I bother anyway. Let’s just get this over with so we can get the fuck out of here.” At that moment, she noticed that they had been ascending very slowly for quite some time. How long had this little exchange been going on, anyway? They should have made it to the top by now. And she certainly hadn’t heard that whining mechanical noise during their last ascent.

“Carmy, shouldn’t we be there by now? This is taking for-” she broke off as the elevator slowed to a halt. They looked at each other. They heard and felt a grinding shudder below their feet before the elevator was finally silenced. “Fuck my life,” Syd uttered, sliding down to sit on the floor of the elevator. She just wanted to go home and mindlessly disassociate like a normal person. She couldn’t even look at her phone in this elevator; there was no signal.

Carmy held the call button for a long time until someone came on the line. He tried explaining their situation to the operator, but she could not have been less interested. “Sir, let me stop you there. This is a modern elevator. I can see your location in my system. I can also see the error code on the elevator. The motor has overheated. But the ventilation system appears to be in order. I’ll put in a work order for this elevator and call someone out to your location,” she recited robotically.

Syd huffed, sharing an incredulous glance with Carmy. “Um, sorry, but how long will that take?” she asked. Carmy’s brow was furrowed as he stared holes into the speaker.

The lady’s tinny voice responded almost at once. “Oh, no idea. I’ve called them out, but it’s late. I’m sending them to you, but the elevator will probably cool down before they get here. I’ll also alert the building’s management, but they’re not the most-” she stopped talking suddenly. Syd suddenly understood that this probably wasn’t the first issue this lady had logged with this particular building. She sighed.

“How long do you think it will take? Until either the elevator cools down enough, or the technician gets here?” Syd asked, her voice calmer now.

The lady’s tinny voice sounded once more from the speaker. “Thirty minutes to an hour is my best guess,” she said. “Just sit tight. Like I said, ventilation is working properly and this is a really minor issue. There’s nothing wrong with the motor or any other systems. You’re safe,” she assured them.

Seeing Syd’s dubious look, Carmy grimaced.

Ok I am tagging the blog names I can remember off the top of my head but I know I’ll forget some geniuses so please add them if you feel like it’s worth their time! ❤️

@turbulenthandholding @currymanganese @unbeweavvveable @moodyeucalyptus @bioloyg @sashafiercest @fpink202 @thoughtfulchaos773 @sydneys-adamu @purposechef @ciaomarie @amieraisposting @ambeauty @houseofevangelista @devisrina @angelica4equity @imliterallyjustablackgirl @inalltheirgorgeouscolors @laviejaguardia @kdbleu @mitocamdria @sydcarmy @sillygoose375

[chosetherose]

Bet: Seattle N2 surprise songs are telling us 1989 (TV) is coming 👀

Last night, Taylor played Message In A Bottle and Tied Tied Together With A Smile while wearing her orange set under her yellow dress.

It got me thinking of 🎃’s message in a bottle story so I started looking into it. That story was the 9th message from pumpkin. Ok, hmm. Then TTWAS includes the lyrics “The water's high, you're jumping into it” which immediately made me think of pumpkin’s 8th message cornered at the dock and jumping in the water. 8 and 9… Ok, wow. Then I realized she was wearing the orange 1989 set which is suspiciously pumpkin-y.

And for what it’s worth, these messages from pumpkin were both sent on 5/17, the only ones sent that day. Like they are a pair. And 5+1+7=13

I’m laughing. Taylor is wild for signaling this to all eight of us.

Cc @spade-riddles

Pumpkin’s 8th Message

🎃 Imagine this. You’re a selfish asshole. So much of your fear is your own. You wince at your cowardice like it is a gaping wound. You so often find yourself unable to meet your own eyes. You scramble into shadows like a black cat. Scared, even, of being scared. This is a moment where things shift. Your ship is docked too far out to sea. You’d swim to it, but the waters are infested with sharks. Your life raft is long deflated. Your team is cornered on the dock, surrounded by bad guys and bystanders. Each time they step forward, your crew is shuffled back, crashing waves and gnashing jaws behind you. You glare at the enemy protectively, blocking your beloved crew from view. The enemy twists a fluffy dandelion in their fingers, already a few florets taking off in the breeze. You whimper as you watch them go, and with a sneer of amusement the enemy offers you a deal. “If you jump into the water, we won’t lay a finger on anyone else. We won’t even take the rubies.” You step forward without hesitation, accepting the deal. The enemy just laughs. “Not YOU. Her.” Your lover steps out in front of you, ready to face the music. Ready to pay for your crimes. She was always the one who was ready. You were the one who was scared. The one who overstayed your welcome in this coastal town. The one who got everyone into this mess. And now the enemy who has chased you ‘round the seas finally has you cornered. And all they want is one final sacrifice. One final act of courage from the woman who has already displayed more than enough integrity. You kiss her goodbye. And step forward. “TAKE ME INSTEAD.” You assert. Not an offer. A demand. Lightning crackles in the sky, reflecting your emotions exactly. Your lover grabs your hand, yanking you back. Refusing to let you go. Not even to save herself. Not even to save the precious little gemstones nestled deep in her pocket. Just you. You tug against her grasp, mind made up. You are a selfish asshole, except for maybe just this once. To insure the safety of those you love, you would dive off the dock willingly. Ten times over and over. You would relish in the crunch of your bones between great white teeth. You have always craved destruction. Scrawled devil horns on photos of yourself. This is different. It has to be. The enemy accepts your deal, glee filling their eyes as if this is what they wanted all along. Perhaps it is. You are a coward, but you are not a fool. You make mistakes, but never the same one twice. You are not a hero. You never have been, and you never will be. You're a selfish asshole. But there are some people in this world worth breaking character for. And so in one swift motion, you replace the solid boards beneath your feet with rushing deep blue water. 🎃

Pumpkin’s 9th Message

🎃 Imagine this. You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you. The sun sets in muted colors. You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts. None of it makes sense anyway. You're sick of having to dilute everything so far beyond recognition. But a story told through metaphor is still a story told. Even the great poet Sappho is survived by stilted fragments and mistranslated lyrics. Maybe that is the beautiful curse people like us must all share. Perhaps loving someone the world doesn't approve of forces you to be clever. You scan your writing once over, brow furrowed. All you can do is hope that it is enough. Of course it’s not. It never could be. You know this. And yet you keep trying, trying, trying. Your image is ten times bigger than you are. You have spent your life living in your own shadow. Stealing your own thunder. Trying and failing, relentlessly, to fill your own shoes. You roll the parchment, slipping it into an empty wine bottle. You may have told the story inside out and backwards, and it may well sink to the bottom of the sea or fall on deaf ears. It may wash up on a sunny beach in Florida, or a rocky shore in the northwest. Either way, someone somewhere will know about that recipe card. And the warm safety you cherish within your fence. And the heist that stole more from you than you ever planned on stealing from the museum. And most importantly, they will know about the human heart. The flawed, scarred, angry, grateful, nonsensical heart. The one that hides deep inside glittering ballgowns. The one that questions everything, but mostly it questions if the world it has grimaced through so many smiles for would love it for what it truly is. You drop the message in a bottle into the riptide. You fight every urge to fish it out before it drifts too far. You watch it until the waves have swept it far, far away. And now it is just a matter of time. The dripping of candle wax. The ticking of a clock. 🎃

[amiedala]

SOMETHING HOLY

CHAPTER 4: Wreckage

WARNINGS: canon-compliant violence, mentions of PTSD, ANGST!

SUMMARY: Nova blinks. “What are you saying?” Her voice cracks down the syllable. 

“That neither of us are safe,” Din whispers. “That I cannot protect you. And that you are still a martyr, just waiting for her chance.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAPPY SOMETHING HOLY SATURDAY!!! i am once again asking you to forgive me for going dark for 3 months. this chapter is told in vignettes and it is deeply personal to me. i hope you love it <3

If you're new here, Something More & Something Deeper are the first installments in this series, available on here & ao3!

The feeling of falling is impossible to get used to. 

Fighting—that’s what Din Djarin knows. But this unfettered, unhinged fall? It terrifies him. The lurch in his stomach is the same one when he first fell for Nova, back in the stars, lurching toward an unknown destination, leaving his heart boundless and open in the wreckage. But that falling felt like hope. 

This falling feels like fear. 

The ship crashes through dead space. Bo-Katan’s sleepless face is deathly white. Grogu is—thankfully—still asleep in his cradle, nestled into a crook of the ship in the corner. Wedge is clinging to the wall. Nova is looking over at him, terrified, afraid to tear her eyes away. 

Din rushes forward, lunging at her. “Hold on to me, baby,” he whispers, cradling her head in the cage of his gloved hand as he spurs them rattling toward the wall, the floor, somewhere relatively safe in the grand scheme of this uncontrolled falling. Logically, he knows there’s failsafes—mechanisms that keep this particular starfighter from exploding on impact. Bo-Katan ordered it specifically—it’s why her ship’s shell is forged in part by beskar, melting old helmets and pauldrons and chest plates down for repurpose, to protect new Mandalorian warriors. 

He didn’t like it at the time. Thought it was a waste. He sure as hell likes it now. Nova’s eyes are wide, open, terrified. 

She mouths something. He can’t make it out. It’s desperate, her face frazzled, that rift between her eyebrows knitted tight. The ship chitters and grinds, screeching out into the crush of space around them, as they fall, fall, fall. 

When the impact comes, Din does something he hasn’t since he was a child. 

He prays. 

*

Nova wakes up with dust around her. It feels like a tomb. Immediately, she splutters and kicks, away from the armored weight on her legs. Her ears are ringing, loud and unsettling. She can’t hear anything but the pulse of her own blood through her veins, and that tinny echolocation that comes with crashing. Her mouth is so dry. She blinks, taking stock of her body. Her right side feels bruised, like she has a rib or two broken. Her left wrist is wrenched at a painful angle, trapped beneath some wreckage. Nova takes a deep breath before she yanks it free, feeling her bones crunch together, settling back into place.

Stifling a small cry, Nova sits up, disoriented and damaged. She licks her tongue around in her mouth. It’s as much of a desert as Tatooine is. For some reason, that fact makes her tear up. Around her are giant, hulking pieces of beskar, scattered across terrestrial, midnight blue, terrain. Nova inhales a stuttered, hollow breath, wincing as her ribs cry out. 

“I’m up,” she whispers sourly to the ringing in her ears, willing it to quiet. It’s a stupid notion, but she does it anyway, blowing air out of her pursed lips to move her messy hair out of her eyes. It’s dark. Nighttime. There’s no moon, which should be unsettling. But it’s the least unsettling thing out here. Nova looks up at the stars, trying to remember what happened, why the starfighter is laying in pieces around her. 

“Nova.”

The noise is coming from the metal blocking her legs. Nova kicks again. A low groan echoes out of the metal, and, panicked, Nova scoots backward, hauling the beskar off of her shins. 

“Ouch.” It’s pointed, gruff. Nova’s heart accelerates, and she scrambles forward across the ground, through the wreckage she just kicked away. The metal on the ground belongs to Din, not the starfighter. He sighs through the modulator, garbled and strange, when Nova pries the helmer free of his neck. Nova’s tears well up again as she skates her fingers across Din’s face, savoring the familiar shape of his lips, his nose, his browline. “You kicked me.” 

Nova stifles a small sob. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize it was you.” 

Din squints up at her through the darkness, then up further to the blinking, milky stars above them, then back to Nova with concern jolted across his bare, beautiful face. “Are you hurt—”

“Wrist is injured,” Nova interrupts, but circles it around. It hurts—probably sprained—but it’s not broken. “Ribs are likely fractured,” she continues, wincing as she tries to sit up straight and immediately dropping her shoulders back down. “And my ears are ringing. No head injury, though. You?”

“I’m fine,” Din says immediately, leaning forward to run his hands over Nova’s face. His touch feels like a live wire. She shivers, even though it’s not cold out here. 

“What happened?” 

Din looks at her strangely. She can’t read the look on his face. “The ship failed. We—we crashed, Nova. You passed out on the way down.”

Nova swallows. “We—” But her sentence is paused by Din’s panic. It comes up from the depths, seizes in his eyes. 

“Grogu.” 

Nova looks around. There’s so much dust. It swirls in the air, invades her lungs. The same panic is contagious. She hurls herself to unsteady feet, trying to sort through pieces of metal to find his crib. The corner of the ship he was tucked away in is gone, like the starfighter was bisected as it was coming down. Din and Nova were on one side, Grogu, Bo-Katan, and Wedge on the other. If they can’t find the two of them, either—hope and terror war in Nova’s chest. She winces, bracing her own hand against her ribs. “Din—”

“Where,” Din says, low and dangerous, “is he?”

“Din,” Nova tries again, “the ship isn’t all here.” She meant it to be reassuring, but it comes out horrified, something terrible.

 “Where’s the rest of it?” 

Nova blinks. “I have no idea,” she whispers. Both of them stare at each other in the silence. “But Bo and Wedge aren’t here either. So if they’re with the rest of the ship, Grogu is too. He was on their side. He was in his crib. Statistically,” she says, trying to emulate confidence even as her voice shakes, “he’s probably fine.” 

“Statistics aren’t good enough, Novalise,” Din says, and Nova cringes away from his tone. It’s not angry. It’s panicked, upset. But it hurts all the same. “We have to find them.” 

Nova checks her pockets. Empty. Nothing but lint and dust. “I don’t have Ezra’s holo message—”

Din’s face is razor-sharp and Nova’s heart lurches. “Ezra’s not the only one who’s lost out here.” 

Nova swallows. “Listen,” she whispers, but he looks destroyed. Hollowed out. “Din,” she manages, stronger this time, “Grogu’s new crib is made out of beskar. And he has the Force. He once got our ship down to safety. On Dagobah. Remember? He could do it for himself.”

“You have the Force, too, Novalise,” Din says, and his voice is cutting, cruel. “Look how that helped us.” 

Nova blinks. Once, twice, trying to urge her heart back to resting level. “That’s not fair,” she whispers, her voice shaking, and the look on Din’s face nearly breaks her heart again. Regret swells up in his eyes, blooming in that shade of brown that still feels like home, but he doesn't move toward her, doesn’t let the poison out. “You just told me I passed out. What was I supposed to do if I was unconscious?” 

“It’s a fucking wasteland out here,” Din spits, “and we’re chasing after someone who doesn’t even want to be found.” 

Nova looks at him head-on. It’s like looking at a dead star, all vantablack rage. “That’s not fair, either,” she breathes.

“I didn’t want this,” Din snaps. It’s violent and so quiet, and it sends her reeling backwards, ankle rolling as Nova stumbles away from him. “I wanted to stay on Naator.” 

“The galaxy needs my help—”

“The galaxy doesn’t deserve it,” Din says, his words a knife. Nova swallows. It’s so opposite to what he said hours before. She reels back, like whiplash. Everything around them feels cosmic and huge, devastating. The air itself cracks and glimmers with a force that they can’t access. It makes Nova dizzy. High. She feels high. She has no idea where they are, but wherever she and Din landed isn’t stable. Everything about it is affecting him, whispering poison in his ears, leaking venom into his marrow. “Have you thought about that? You’ve done enough.” 

“It will never be enough,” Nova whispers, through shards of glass. “Do you understand me? I have to save everyone from the darkness that’s coming. And you’re supposed to believe in me. You swore to me that you would be by my side—” 

Din surges forward. It’s all-consuming, a collapsing star. Nova finds herself sucked back into his orbit, his armor thrashing in the low light, his eyes black and powerful. “I will be by your side until all the stars burn out, Novalise,” he hisses. It’s angry. A sucking wound. “But I will not let you die in your hedonistic mission to save people who don’t want it.” 

Nova blinks, his skin on hers, his hands laced through her hair. “This isn’t just about Ezra,” she manages, “is it?” 

Din’s so close. It feels like a heart attack. Suddenly, everything is aching and hot. “This is about us,” he cuts, his breath warm so close to her mouth. “Our family.” 

Nova blinks. “Din,” she says, slowly, carefully, “I belong to you. But I also belong to something…more.” 

“Well, that’s where we’re different, Novalise,” Din bites, “you are my something more.” 

Nova’s heart races, burns a hole through her chest. Everything feels disorienting, desperate. Alive, in a strange, sucking way, like the air here is devoid of oxygen. “Look at me,” she whispers. He already is, but she means something deeper than that. “Look—” 

Din’s eyes roll back in his head. And then, just like their starfighter, he crashes to the ground. 

*

On the other side of the wreckage, Bo-Katan is seething. Wedge has her furious, lithe body slung over one shoulder, carrying her away from the crash, to higher ground. 

“This is stupid.” 

“It’s our only—option,” Wedge says heavily, wincing against Bo-Katan’s furious fists pounding against his sore back, reinjured in the fall, permabruised from years of being a Rebel. “Stop hitting me.”

“It’s not our only option. You’re being—purposefully obtuse.” 

“I’m getting us a better vantage point. You, on the other hand, are acting like a child.”

“I am a Mandalorian!” Bo-Katan screeches. She must hear herself, because she does indeed stop hitting him. “I don’t give up. And I don’t walk away.” 

“We’re not walking away,” Wedge says evenly. “We are getting to higher ground.”

“Fuck higher ground,” Bo-Katan growls.

Wedge looks skyward, trying to tether his patience. “You’re being super mature, Bo-Katan. So mature, it astounds me. You’re acting like an adult, not at all like a sullen teenager.” He sighs. “General Kryze, ma’am.” 

“Shut up,” Bo-Katan snaps, shoving his shoulder again. “Wedge, put me down.” 

“Are you going to run back down the mountain?” 

“No.”

“You’re lying. And Grogu is okay.” He sounds a hell of a lot more confident than she feels. “He got us to the ground safely. He’s probably going to find Din and Nova right now. So we need to get up higher,” he grunts, hauling both of their bodies over a moss-covered boulder, “so we can see where their half of the ship landed.” 

“We need to go back in case they’re looking for us, too—”

“This is protocol.” 

Bo-Katan’s eyes narrow into slits. “Who died and put you in charge?” Both of them stop, immediately. Wedge’s feet don’t budge. Bo-Katan’s fists don’t lift. “Wedge,” she says, softly, “put me down.”

He listens, this time. She slides off his shoulder, as gracefully as someone who’s been slung over someone’s back can manage. “No one died,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like a statement. It comes out raised at the end. “Right?” 

Bo-Katan looks at him. For the first time, she takes stock of the grey hair sprouting at his temples, the laughter lines carved in his face. Wedge isn’t that much older than her, but right now, he looks it. “No one died.” 

“She’s—”

“Nova is fine.” Bo-Katan lifts her chin. “She’s fine.” 

Wedge gazes down back at the wreckage. Their half of the ship split in the sky and landed in the canyon. Bo-Katan, whose legs were locked in his, had already passed out from the altitude drop. Grogu was waving his tiny little arms, trying to get their mess to the ground without losing any more pieces. And Wedge was curled against the chair, clinging onto Bo-Katan for dear life, trying to think of anything else than how scared Arokel and Piper were when they plummeted to their deaths the same way, nearly exactly thirteen years before.

“No,” Wedge whispers, staring down through the smog at the crash, feeling the weight of the stars above them, “she’s not.” 

*

“Din,” Nova whispers, her voice shaking. And then, like her chest is being split open, she screams. “Din!” Panic is white-hot in her chest, alive and pulsing. It whispers to her, sings her melodies, threatening to spill the pulverized pieces all over the dusty floor. “Wake up,” Nova whispers. “Wake the fuck up.” 

He doesn’t stir.

Nova screams, pulling him closer, closer. She tears armor piece by piece off his unconscious body, trying to find a broken bone, an open wound, something to signify why and how he just dropped. Something she missed before. 

“I mean it,” she hisses, into the moonless night. “I can’t—” she stops, hauling a pauldron over her shoulder, ignoring the angry clang it makes against the broken wreckage of the ship scattered around them. Finally, she reaches his neck. Nova inhales, bracing herself, trying to steel herself for what comes next if she can’t find a pulse. “I can’t do this without you,” she whispers. “You want to be angry at me for things I have no control over. Fine. I can take it. What I can’t take,” she says, exhaling through her teeth, “is you being angry in death. So wake up.” 

With one terrible, sharp inhale, Nova presses two fingers against his pulse point. Din doesn’t stir, but she can feel it, thrumming and thready, but there. She closes her eyes in relief, trying to calm her rocketing heartbeat. It doesn’t listen. 

Gently, she removes the last piece of armor—a reinforced steel plate over his liver, his spleen. Once, a stormtrooper Sparmau sent had wedged a poison dagger between his ribs. Now, Nova realizes, staring down at her husband’s unconscious body, she’s worried this poison is already in his lungs. 

A flash—to a wisp of a thing, a dream of a wasteland. Her spread out on velvet bedsheets, his spearing hands vantablack in the night. That wanting was dangerous, a viper in her belly. Coiled tight enough to strike. Nova tries to bring herself back to center. This planet—wherever they are—isn’t that grayscale universe, where morality isn’t just a memory, where desire wars with danger. Din is not dead. Nova is in one piece.

Wherever Grogu and Bo-Katan and Wedge are—that’s on the other side of the wreckage. Nova chews on her bottom lip, willing it to be true. It’s a prayer, a true prayer into the beyond—not to the spirits of years past, not to the Jedi of her own heart. To the universe itself. 

Nova isn’t sure if she’s praying on behalf of herself or Din. 

It’s an exercise in futility. It’s the same soul, anyway. 

*

The night is low and heavy around them. Nova finally dragged Din to shelter in the mouth of a giant, nearby tree. Gnarled roots reach down into the earth below, somewhere beyond sight. The sky, devoid of any light, smells like rain is going to pour down, to unleash itself upon them. 

Nova doesn’t have any tinder or flint to make fire, no flame in this wild. It’s hard to tell the shapes of the planet in the dark, but with so many trees, it’s still green, still alive. So different from the anathema wastelands of Primea and Parnassos, so opposite from the eternal crush of the Unknown Regions’ starry space. She rubs her palms together. It’s not quite cold out here, but it is alive, palpable. The air is charged, and when the wind kicks in, it’s unsettling. Not like a normal breeze, but something else entirely. 

She looks down at Din. His eyebrows are slightly knitted, even in his unconscious state. She tried to give him mouth-to-mouth, to gently clean his face with water and her now-grubby shawl, but he hasn’t budged. His breathing has gotten louder, she realizes. It’s a tiny victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless. 

Nova’s Mandalorian armor is back on the ship. In her bedroom, the one she shared with Din. It’s useless, now, gone down with Bo-Katan and Wedge’s side of the starfighter. Inwardly, Nova kicks herself for not wearing it constantly like the other Mandalorians in her life do. It would be nice to have a little extra protection in the fall. Her bruised ribs howl every time she moves.

Sighing, Nova hauls herself to her feet. Before the skies unfurl, she starts collecting the pried-off pieces of Din’s armor like gold, combing through the dirt in the dark until she can’t haul any more beskar. She gently dumps it at the open mouth of the giant tree—a redwood, she thinks, like the ones on Endor—and goes back for Din’s helmet. 

It’s sitting, discarded, at the bottom of a small rockpile. She tossed it, haphazard, when she was trying to get to the root of Din’s injury—one that she never figured out. Nova, by now, has inspected every inch of his skin. There was barely anything torn, and no bruises or welts to signify that Din’s bleeding internally. She’s become an expert in brute strength, now, but with him unconscious, there was nothing stopping her from taking her time in the dark, with only Din’s tiny flashlight to roam over the vast expanse of his tan skin. 

Nova lifts the helmet. Something in the air shifts. Slowly, like she’s being watched, Nova carefully notches the helmet over her own head. It’s not calibrated to her; the metrics and measurements are off. The helmet startles awake like it senses an intruder. It smells like Din inside—metal, gunsmoke, heat, winter, and, as always, the slightest touch of cinnamon. Her knees weaken, taking one tiny beat to feel the ache of it all, before she realizes what she has on. 

Din’s helmet.

Din’s helmet, which has a commlink built in. 

Nova raises her fingers to the button on her right side—the ribs that feel slightly less injured—closing her eyes as she presses it. 

Please, she thinks, and then repeats it aloud. “Please.” 

Static. And then, something else—it warbles, low and anguished. Proof. Proof of what, exactly, she’s not sure—just that something’s there. 

“Uh,” Nova breathes, “This is… I’m Novalise.” She pauses, unsure of what to say. Nova’s just now realizing that Bo-Katan’s comms could be on a different frequency if she woke up before they did. If the planet has an interceptor. If they’re both out of range. She doesn’t know how to work this one—it’s different from her own, more complex, much newer. “I’m trying to reach—” she stops. This could be dangerous. Nova releases her hold on the button, taking a beat to collect her thoughts, her wits. 

“This is Novalise,” Nova tries again, with a stronger voice than she thought she could conjure. Steadfast. “Orange Leader, Rebel Alliance. The starfighter Victory crashed on this planet’s surface earlier today. Five on her crew; at least two alive and relatively unharmed.” Nova pauses. “In search of the remaining three. I do not have landmarks or a location name, but we are here, at the last transmitted location,” she says, “surviving the wreckage. If any of our crew is out there—” Nova’s voice breaks, just a little, “—so are we.” 

It’s nothing. There’s no identifying information in there, nothing except her name and her voice, reassurance that she and Din are alive, and hope that the rest of them made it out, too.

*

“Maybe we should go back down.” 

Bo-Katan glowers. “Excellent idea. Almost like we never should have climbed up here in the first place.” 

Wedge sighs. “Bo-Katan,” he says, evenly, carefully, “we don’t know—” 

“We know enough,” she snarls. Everything inside of her is coiled tight, taut, like a live wire. Everything hurts—her ribs, her knees, her ankle, her heart. Her heart most of all. “We know enough,” she repeats, slightly softer, more blunted. Wedge can handle her spikes—one of three people left alive who can tolerate the serrated blade that Bo-Katan Kryze has become. “We know the ship split. I saw Din tackle Nova before we lost consciousness. They’re on the other side.” Wedge’s eyes open and then shutter slightly. It’s miniscule, but Bo-Katan knows him well enough by now. “What?”

“You…you lost consciousness?” His voice is small. Not bold and sure, not the tone of a Rebel leader. Not the easygoing timbre that Wedge usually carries, level where the rest of them are uneven.

Bo-Katan studies him. To his credit, Wedge doesn’t flinch. She softens. A little. “Yes.” 

Wedge nods. No. He doesn’t nod. It’s just a motion upward, a sharp jut of his chin. Something is—off. Bo-Katan can still feel it, hanging in the air. “Wedge,” she says, slowly, “were you…awake the entire time?” 

He swallows, the bulge of his Adam’s apple appearing and receding in the nearly-there light. “Yes.” 

Bo-Katan regards him. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. It comes out clunky, disjointed. She surges forward, reaching her arms up to gently brace them on his shoulders, tense and held close to his chest. “I can’t imagine… what that must have been like for you.” 

Tears, thin and avoidant, well in his eyes. “I’ve been in crashes before.” 

Bo-Katan cocks her head. “Not like that,” she says, softly. 

Wedge swallows. “No,” he concedes. “No, not like that.” 

Bo-Katan sighs, aware she’s been holding onto him for too long, aware that she doesn’t yet want to let go. Carefully, she presses her lips together, down to a thin line. It looks scary, venomous, especially paired with her eyes narrowed into slits, but behind the mirage is fear. “I know you probably wish the ship didn’t split the way that it did,” she manages, finally, “and that you were stranded with Nova instead.” 

Wedge regards her carefully. “I wish the ship didn’t split at all,” he whispers. 

Bo-Katan exhales through her nose, licks her dry lips. “No. But if it had to happen, I…understand that you would prefer being with her. Your best friend’s kid, who also has the magic ability to tap into the Force. Or Din, who is an expert at navigating hostile territory.” 

Wedge manages a weak smile. “You make a good point.” 

Bo-Katan feels her guarded heart sink. Just a little. “Yeah, I know.”

“But,” Wedge says, “You have the uncanny ability to make the world begrudgingly bend for you,” he says, a tiny twinkle in his eye. “And I trust you.” 

Bo-Katan’s stomach drops, burns. “Why?” she asks, a desperate plea of a thing. It slips out before she can rein it in. She’s spent so much of her life pretending no one else’s opinion matters to her. But Wedge is her friend, her friend that wasn’t thrust into this with her. Who chooses to keep being her friend, even amidst how sharp and dangerous she is, the poison she’s spit at him.

“Because, despite what you tell yourself,” Wedge says, “you’re a good person, Bo-Katan. You’re also a smart and deeply terrifying one. And I have faith that, with all those resources, we can find them and Grogu.” 

Something seizes in Bo-Katan’s heart, but she can’t tell if it’s reignited panic or the thrush of friendship. Both, she supposes. 

“What does protocol say to do next?” she asks, instead of returning the words themselves. Wedge knows what her concession means—she trusts him, too.

“We wait until light,” he says. “Go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch.” 

Bo-Katan would typically argue with him—she’s a night owl in the same way she was once a Nite Owl—steadfastly, without exception—but she’s exhausted, and Wedge is showing her kindness. An out. With a curt nod, she finds a divot between the mountain’s range of boulders, trying to find a comfortable position. Under concealed cover, Bo-Katan tries her comm again, too afraid to get Wedge’s hopes up.

All she hears is static. 

*

In the dark, one thing moves along the planet’s surface. It’s weightless, gravitational pull paused by sheer will, or engineering, or the Force, or something more. 

A small, ceaseless crib; the baby inside it. Speeding faster, faster, through the night, cutting the halves of this planet to find someone.

*

“When I was fifteen,” Nova whispers, “my parents died.” 

She pokes at the sad clump of sticks and leaves she’d been able to scavenge from the general vicinity. In between checking Din’s pulse, regulating his breathing, she’s been telling him stories. He knows all of them—words and secrets exchanged in the dark, always transcending currency, always signifying something deeper. 

“They died on a Friday.” He knows this, too. Her voice is hollow. “Bad things,” Nova sighs, “aren’t supposed to happen on Fridays.” She brings one knee closer to her chest, looking up at the sky above them. It’s not visible now, the cloud cover thick and obfuscating. 

“But what I haven’t told you,” Nova continues, “is that the morning they died—probably an hour before Sparmau struck, if that—I had the strangest dream.” She traces a tip of her finger over the familiar hook of Din’s nose, willing her touch to bring him awake. “Tanks. Rows and rows of them. Not like the ones that the Rebel base used to have in the medical center. Not…simple bacta tanks. These were…almost cryogenic. I looked inside one, and I saw this…thing. I didn’t know what it was. I still don’t. But it scared me to the bone. I woke up yelling, out of deep sleep.” She swallows, closing her eyes. “No one was there to check on me. My parents had left that morning, kissed me goodbye for the very last time, and I didn’t wake up.” 

Nova kicks at the dust with one toe, sullen, forlorn. “So much has happened to me,” she whispers, “to me—to us—and it’s been in such quick succession. Since I met you, everything has mattered in these…massive, unshakable ways.” She inhales a stuttered breath. “But…I had forgotten so much about how large my world felt when I was still Andromeda.” It’s barely-there, a ghost of a whisper. Nova feels like saying it too loud will cause cataclysm. Everything is so close to wreckage already. It’s scattered around them like dust, like stars. 

“Until everything happened with Sparmau, I locked it away. I soldiered on. But it’s like…this whole mission, finding Ezra, moving towards something so much bigger than myself…it feels like it connects back to myself. Not the person I am now. The girl I used to be.” Nova closes her eyes. “It’s like I am stuck in this time loop, and I can’t figure a way out, I can’t move past the obstacles. All I can do is… return.” She stares down at Din’s unmoving form. “I am not leaving you,” she whispers, and it’s both a mantra and a promise. “I am not leaving you. I feel like I have lost myself. Like I am lost out there, in that—” she gestures upward, to the stars she cannot see, “—blinking blackness, and the only way back to myself is remembering.” Nova draws her knees into her chest, folding herself smaller and smaller. “The problem is,” she whispers, “I think I’ve forgotten what to remember.” 

A noise pierces the air. Nova starles forward, panicked—until she realizes what the sound is. It’s coming from Din’s open mouth. He wheezes, coughs, and opens his eyes. 

“Maker above,” Nova stutters, heartbeat racing. “You scared the life out of me.” Sobering, she crawls forward, pressing her forehead against Din’s in the dark.

“Where—”

“We crashed,” Nova whispers, stroking her hand over his face, “the starfighter crashed. Bo and Wedge and Grogu—they’re out there somewhere—”

His eyes are a lightning bolt of panic. “Are you okay?” His voice is so concerned, so frenzied, she feels tears prick in the back of her eyes. Slowly, she nods. Din studies her. “No,” he says, finally, “you’re not.”

Nova looks down at the pieces of armor she’s scattered around them like bullets, like roses. “I—”

“What’s wrong?” Din isn’t expecting an honest answer right away. Nova will hide it behind her smile, her teeth, and wait for it to seize in the night. She always tells him the truth, eventually—but she tends to bury her hurt in the bottom of her chest, sinking it to the ocean floor until it erupts. Volcanic, her feelings. Wild, white-hot—always everything, all-consuming. But she can live in that silence until it threatens to burst. 

Not now. 

“I thought we were going to die.” Her face is impossible to read, but fractured.

“But we didn’t.” There’s something alive, pulsing, in the undercurrent of his voice. But this isn’t the place to press it. This isn’t the place to press anything. So Din just stares, reaching out across the stars through the lifeline in her eyes, and hopes that she can feel it. 

*

Wedge stares, too. Up at the clouds, storm-heavy, gathered above them. Rain has held off, but it teases, lingers. 

To the silence around him, nothing more—he can admit it. He misses Luke. That hope—that eternal, epic stardust that lives behind blue eyes—it’s desperate, magnetic. Luke has grown so far beyond the boy he once was, but he still has that gentleness, that hopefulness, held like something precious inside of his heart. 

Wedge Antilles, right now, needs a little hope. 

Bo-Katan is wide awake. “I can feel you sulking.” 

Wedge’s heart accelerates, shoulders jumping upwards. “You’re supposed to be asleep.” 

She moves into position behind him, poised and graceful in her silence. He almost can’t sense her—it’s remarkable, really. “I slept plenty. It’s your turn.” 

Wedge’s shoulders relax. He is exhausted. “Bo-Katan—”

“Are you thinking about Nova?” She asks, not cutting, not cruel, just a plain question. “Or Luke?”

He stiffens. His cheeks burn. No one knows about this—the love he’s spent years harboring; hiding down in his chest. No one except Nova, and she doesn’t know the full story—how his own adherence to the rules left Luke behind in the dust, how he dreams every night of the love he lost, how he has visions of losing Luke to flashes of angry, red light. That the reason Luke has relocated to Ahch-To in the first place is because of words he said in anger—words Wedge didn’t mean, never meant at all. His fear—it lives on him, palpable. He knows someone as sharp as Bo-Katan can suss it out, smell it on his skin, who he is. “I—” 

“I won’t tell.” 

Three little words—what a universe they hold.

“Besides,” she sighs, slinging herself down on the boulder beside him, “I get it. It’s not easy to be… different.” She swallows, shrinking smaller. For a second, she looks like a little kid. Wedge’s heart has already softened so much for the woman warrior dressed in Mandalorian blue, but now—now, he sees himself in her. The way they love—even in this galaxy, going on and on—isn’t always accepted, and isn't always treated as pure. Wedge watches Bo-Katan deflate with that admission, sinking beside him. It’s a blip, and then she’s puffing her chest out, looking as indestructible as ever. “That man still carries a torch for you.” 

Wedge blinks. “You’ve met him all of three times—”

“Nothing,” Bo-Katan says, gently, “is subtle about Luke Skywalker.”

Wedge’s laugh slips out, palpable in the night. 

“Wedge,” Bo-Katan continues, softly, “we’re going to be okay.” 

And for just this moment, this tiny star of honesty laid bare, because it’s Bo-Katan the realist, he believes her.

*

“Let’s go.” 

Nova stares at him. “Din, go where—you just woke up. You were barely breathing, we’re not going anywhere—”

“I was tired.” 

Nova’s eyes open wider. “You didn’t go to sleep,” she whispers, moving toward him, “you were passed out. I thought you were going to die on me.” 

“I didn’t die.” The words are clipped through the modulator. 

She wants to argue. She wants to cry. But Nova just concedes with one terse nod. She’s picking her battles, and this one is not the correct one. 

“We have to find them,” Din continues, no-nonsense, beginning to collect pieces of armor scattered around him like strewn stars, wincing only a little. “There’s no telling how long we’ve been here. Where are we, by the way?” 

Nova dusts off her pants. Leaning against Din, both of them haul themselves to their feet. “I have no idea,” she whispers, brushing ashen ground out of his hair. It’s such an intimate gesture. It swells up between the two of them, after all the harshness they knifed out earlier, and she swallows it back, the enormity. “I think something is wrong with the air.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “Take my helmet,” he insists, voice gruff. “Put it on.” 

Nova catches Din’s hand mid-air. He doesn’t even have his helmet in his palm yet—and something about that makes her chest tighten. “No,” she says, softly. “It’s not…toxic. The air is perfectly breathable—I ran metrics through your helmet when you first went down, just to make sure. It’s not like Parnassos. I mean… I think there’s something in the air that’s making us angry. Unhinged.” Unfettered, is what she means, but there’s an awful ache behind that word, something she can’t quite name but feels enormous all the same. “I think it’s meant to keep us at odds. We have to fight against it.” 

Din’s eyes crinkle, pained. “What did I say,” he breathes. Nova has to look away. He reaches out, seizing her jaw between his gloved fingers, keeping her suspended in his orbit. Nova feels her breath leave her mouth, loud and languid. “What did I say to you, before I passed out?” 

She blinks, swallows, stalls. “You don’t remember?” 

He shakes his head. That look in his eyes—haunted. It’s filled with ghosts, terrible ones, ones that threaten to swallow them both. 

Nova clears her throat, forces herself to meet his gaze. “It’s not important,” she says, sounding assured, determined. “Let’s keep moving.” 

Din’s grip tightens. Something like hunger swells in her lower body, heat flooding deep and intentional. “Tell me.” 

“That the galaxy doesn’t deserve my help,” Nova whispers, as flat as she can. There’s more, but that one is the most dangerous gut punch. 

Din closes his eyes, pained. “I didn’t mean that.”

“But you did,” Nova manages, “or you wouldn’t have said it at all.” 

For what feels like an eternity, neither of them move. Suspended, as if in amber, unmoving, locked to this strange, fallow ground; their love the only thing alive, only thing electric. 

“Let’s keep moving,” Nova repeats, taking his hand. This time, Din lets her.

*

Nightfall descends. It had already been night, stars glittering like motes of dust above them and the thin cloud cover, but there’s a significant line in the sand. It’s like the air is thicker, heavier, the skies above them darker. Nova moves forward, always forward, thumbnail slotted between teeth and tongue as she walks, ignoring the pain in her ribs, her feet, her heart. 

Din doesn’t speak. He’s catlike and sharp through the night. If Nova didn’t know he was behind her, she’d be convinced she was alone out here. For someone as built and strong as he is—adorned in all that armor, to boot—he makes virtually no noise. It’s unsettling. It’s endearing. 

They walk multiple klicks in that impending silence, the two of them so consumed in the battle inside their respective minds that words don’t resurface. As they move on, weighted by the armor and their injuries and the strange feeling of the air around them, the silence becomes palpable, loud. Unbearable. 

Nova turns around. Din isn’t paying attention. He walks smack into her. 

“Ow,” she says, pointedly. Din cocks his head to the left, reaching forward to smooth a hand over her face. Nova feels a flush rise to her cheeks, warm and rushing. “Listen—”

The skies open. All those stars above, hidden by the thin expanse of the cloud cover, are visible for a millisecond, and then the thrush of rain descends upon them, sweet-smelling like a hyacinth summer. Nova’s mouth gets stuck in an O, watching as the rain dances down Din’s armor, pooling over the silver. 

“What?”

Nova swallows. It’s like when the ship crashed, they did too. Both of them on either side of the wreckage, a line drawn in the sand. She doesn't know how to undo it, how to move them through this valley of suffering, this mass descent. 

“I didn’t crash the ship.” It’s not what she meant to say. She was going to apologize—for what, Nova isn’t sure. This chasm between them, maybe, this unholy ground they’re standing on. The past two weeks have been a time warp—one they’ve all almost died in. Now, Grogu is missing, Bo-Katan and Wedge are fractured off elsewhere, and the five of them are stranded on this planet in the middle of nowhere, with only a memory of a hologram to guide them, a hologram of a person who doesn’t want to be found. It’s cosmic, this situation, a cosmic sort of comedy, a humor that Nova doesn’t find funny but can’t help to laugh at regardless. “I didn’t do this.” Now she’s certain there’s something wrong with the planet, something in the air that itches at their skin, getting underneath, searching for the right chords to pull on to create that tension, that ache, that eventual snap. “Maybe it’s my fault we’re out here. Maybe we should have just stayed in bed. Maybe we should have turned around when we could, when Ezra first told us to. But we didn’t, and yes, it’s awful that we’re stranded here. It cuts me to know Grogu is out there, that Bo and Wedge are somewhere else, but Din, this isn’t my fault.” 

He stares, immovable in all that silver. “I never said it was.”

They’re both shouting over the rain, now. 

“Oh, but that doesn’t matter,” Nova spits, hair heavy as the skies pour down a deluge. She feels her words boil in her blood before they come out, an incineration. She doesn’t want it. She can’t seem to hold it back. “It doesn’t matter if you said it, because you’re blaming me for it anyway.”

He sighs, low and languid. Anger sparks up in Nova’s veins. She can’t explain it. In the base of her skull, in the basin of her heart—she’s screaming. The rational version of herself, the person she actually is, shrieking at herself to stop it. She can feel that line unhinge, the one that separates her from the Not-Nova she was in the dream, clicking those glittering teeth, blinking those black eyes. 

“I don’t blame you.” His voice is flat through the modulator, brimming with a kind of fury that hasn’t been set into motion quite yet. “For the ship failing.”

Nova lifts her chin. “But you do blame me for something.” 

“Yes!” The singular word is cutting, a knife. “Ezra told you he doesn’t wait to be found, Novalise. That it’s too dangerous. And, quite frankly, I believe him. So why are we out here,” he enunciates, gesturing at the planet around them with a closed fist, “when you’re having visions of how everything is connected? We could be home, on Mandalore—”

“You don’t think Mandalore is home.” 

“It’s a hell of a lot more of a home than this cesspit is.” Din’s yelling, now. “It’s where we’re safest, in a palace full of beskar and Mandalorians, instead of out here, looking for someone who has repeatedly asked you not to be found.” 

Nova stares at him. “Are you jealous?” 

Din snarls. It’s filled with vitriol. Nova stumbles backward. “Not of him.”

Suddenly, Nova feels weak, like her knees are about to give out. “Then what?”

“You are the patron saint of lost causes.” He says it so flatly. “And one of these days, it’s going to get you killed.” 

Nova blinks, staggering backwards like she’s been shot. “Din—”

“I was your lost cause,” he says, stabbing his chest with a finger as thunder strikes above them. “And then you saved me. And when I tried to keep you out of danger, you ran into it anyways, Novalise. Do you understand what that does to me? To watch you run into it, over and over, knowing that there’s only one of two ways it’s going to end?”

“I usually win!”

“What happens,” Din thunders, “when you stop winning?” 

Nova’s mouth is struck open as the rain intensifies. She wishes she couldn’t see Din’s form in front of her. This might hurt less. “You’re supposed to believe in me,” she whispers, barely audible over the crush of water around them, “you just told me that you wouldn’t let the darkness get me—” 

“And then we crashed out of the sky,” Din interrupts, and the anger is gone. He sounds stripped away, bare, “and I realize now that I cannot protect you.”

Nova blinks. “What are you saying?” Her voice cracks down the syllable. 

“That neither of us are safe,” Din whispers. “That I cannot protect you. And that you are still a martyr, just waiting for her chance.” 

Tears well in Nova’s eyes. Desperation and frustration war in her mind, and she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, hard enough to see stars. “I don’t know how to prove to you by this point that I am not trying to die.”

“I cannot lose you.” 

Nova closes her eyes, against that admission, that prayer, that plea. “Please don’t give me an ultimatum. I cannot choose between you and fighting evil. Especially when we’re all in this deep. We can’t stop. And I can’t lose you either. Please.” 

Din watches her, palpable and unreadable under that visor. “I need you alive,” he whispers, “and I am not convinced that you need that as much as I do.” 

“Din—”

“What?” 

Nova stares behind him. “There’s a cave—back there.” 

He whips around, hand poised on his helmet, focusing in on the entrance. “Has that been there the whole time?”

Nova’s mouth opens, listless. “I don’t know,” she manages, and then they’re running towards it, towards shelter, out of the storm. 

*

It’s not a cave. It’s a building.

The building is cavernous, though—more mineral than architecture, like it was built off the open mouth of a cave. Like it was built before anything modern existed. It feels ancient in a way that seeps through Din’s skin, sinks into his blood. It’s freezing in here, and something is off. Din can feel it, even through the armor. He looks at Nova, soaked through, shivering down to the bone. Shame and regret pools in the basin of his stomach. He meant it—what he said, the fear at the base of it all—but, as usual, it came out wrong, all wrong. Fucked sideways. The air on this planet is heavy with unspoken words, ones that he never meant to say, ones that he wishes he could take back. 

Nova forges forward, arms wrapped around herself, one hand at the hilt of her lightsaber, like she could pull it out to defend them, poised to strike. But she’s freezing. He doesn’t have a spare cloak, he doesn’t have anything he can wrap around her. Her own shawl is currently wrapped around his body, trapped under the armor. Her body is taut like a live wire, and Din doesn’t trust himself to touch her. 

He can’t make up for the lack of faith he just spoke aloud. Not with his hands. Not with anything. It is unforgivable, it is—

“Which way?” 

He startles. Nova’s looking back at him, her green eyes gray and hooded in the dark. She’s looking expectedly at him, at the fork in the road ahead of them. If Din Djarin was the kind of person who noticed metaphors, this one would smack him in  the face. “Right.” 

She studies him. He can’t decide if it’s a test. Nova simply turns around and walks off to the left, grip tightening around the base of her saber. Something about the notion usually looks strong, like she’s a warrior—right now, she looks small, uncertain. Din can feel his heart fracture, and then the anger builds up even higher—nothing has gone right since the second they stepped off Naator. He wants to take it all back, everything he said. It was true, his fear—but not like that. 

The tunneled hallway comes to an end, abruptly, opening into another cavernous room. Din watches Nova stop first, her shoulders tighten. 

“No,” she whispers, and the word is a lightning strike. The Darksaber lights up in his own hand, jumping forward to defend her, to protect her, to do something— “Look.”

Across the wall, there are rows and rows of empty, identical tanks.

*

“I don’t understand.” 

Nova closes her eyes. She knows this room. She’s dreamt about it. This is the place from her dream—the one she had the morning her parents died, these rows of horrible tanks. Everything is running together—the images from visions, both of hers and others’—but she knows this place, somewhere deep in her memories. 

It doesn’t feel like a coincidence. She doesn’t believe in coincidences. 

It comes to her—a jolt. “Grogu,” she whispers, and the word holds the weight of an entire world. Behind her, she can feel Din recoil. “This—these tanks. They’re cloning tanks, midichlorian tanks.” 

“I don’t know what that means—”

“It’s what Gideon was trying to harvest from him,” Nova whispers, sickened, distraught. “To take from him, what he would have taken from me. Midichlorians—I don’t understand, exactly, but they’re something anyone who’s Force sensitive has. In our blood. It’s powerful.” She swallows, feeling violated, just standing in this place— “Maker,” she manages, her voice shaking, nausea rising in her stomach, “there are hundreds of them, Din.” 

“What is this place?” He whispers, pained and awful through the modulator. “Is this—?” 

“Mass extinction,” Nova interrupts, bile swirling in the base of her throat, burning a hole in her esophagus. “This place—this place was used to kill Jedi. Strip them for parts and use those parts to create something…evil.” Her stomach twists. She closes her eyes against it, can feel the horror ringing through here, can feel the pain, the fear—it’s alive in her in the same way it was for all of them. She suddenly cannot bear it, the weight of discovery. It’s a metaphor for everything she’s been shouldering, carrying around so no one else has to. “This place is evil, Din.” 

He reaches for her. She pulls away. Nova can’t see his face, but she senses the betrayal. But it’s not about him. It’s about the fact that death is surrounding her, chasing her, hunting her and her people down—over and over again, there is a slaughter, and she is the lamb. She is not trying to die. But this place feels like the world is ending, over and over again, and suddenly, Nova doesn’t want to fight it back. She cannot hold this, she cannot fight back against an evil this deep. Defeat faces her, weary and comforting. An old friend. 

“Novalise,” he says gently, evenly, and even as Nova shrinks away, curling into herself, away from the tanks, “there’s nothing here.” 

Nova stares up at him, jolted. She stares at the wall; the tanks stare back. “That’s low,” she whispers. “I am not crazy.”

“No,” Din says, and he reaches towards her again, hands lifting her chin, catching the bend of her arm, anchoring her against him. “The tanks are here. This place existed. I believe you—your vision, what Grogu showed you. I mean whatever evil that was once here is long gone.” 

Nova blinks. “It’s not,” she whispers. “I can feel it.” 

Din doesn’t move. He doesn’t try to wrench her away. He seems to be battling something, warring something deep within himself. And then he stoops down to one knee, then the other. “I believe you.” He is lowering himself in front of her, making himself smaller. This hulking Mandalorian warrior—her Mandalorian—is shrinking, on his knees. This, too, is a plea—but it’s one that Nova is familiar with. He’s giving himself over to her. It’s a prayer.

“What are you doing?” 

“Destroy it.” 

Nova blinks. Once, twice. That’s not at all what she was expecting. “What?” 

“You said there’s horror here. Raze it to the ground.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You belong to something more,” Din whispers, through the darkness, “something I don’t understand. And I’m sorry for that, Novalise, I am. But just because I don’t understand it doesn’t make it any less real. I told you I’d get the kerosene. But you are perfectly capable of burning this down yourself.” 

Nova stares down at him. The helmet is so opaque. She licks her lips, darting her tongue over the parting, then lifts her hands to either side of the helmet, hooking them underneath the rim. Din doesn’t resist. He lets her pull it free. Something settles between the two of them as their eyes lock, that dark brown on her sage green, meeting somewhere in the middle. 

“There’s something wrong with me,” he whispers, his face fracturing, just a little. Nova knows the fault line. “Something…wrong with this planet. But you—”

She shakes her head. “No. There’s something wrong with me, too.” 

Din’s breath hitches. He grabs at her hand, yanks it to his face. His eyes shutter as she traces the shape of his jawline. There’s something holy underneath all of this, still—under all of the horror, under this uncertain ground. “Call it even?” 

She looks at him. “Until we get off this planet,” Nova whispers, “I won’t hold anything against you.” 

Din swallows. There’s a spark of something in his eyes—self-loathing, a flagellation—but he blinks, and it dissipates. Nova aches all over. She wants to take it all back, the words they hurled at each other out in the rain. She doesn’t understand any of this, how it all went so wrong. But she doesn’t say any of this aloud. There will be time for it later. Nova anchors one of his hands over his heart. 

“Whatever’s wrong,” she says, stronger now, “we will survive it.” 

Din nods.

“Get up.” 

He does, obedient. Nova points to the mouth of the entrance they just come out of, and Din moves back into the shadows, helmet slotting back over his beautiful, tortured face, resolute. She takes a breath, igniting the lightsaber. “Stay back,” she warns, “and don’t get caught in the crossfire.” And then she cleaves the yellow light through the tank in the center. 

It should feel more cathartic. Like a release. 

It doesn’t. 

Nova feels hypnotic, dangerous. In her mind, she is not here. She is in the clutches of Sparmau’s grasp. She is looking herself head-on in the vision of Yavin, corrupted and awful. She is a wildfire. She is standing in the pouring rain. She is watching her parents’ ship crash over and over and over again. She is losing everyone she loves, slipping through her hands. She is being left on Dantooine. She is the chittering pulse of a sinking spaceship. She is tracing the lines of betrayal on Din’s face when she returned to him after promising never to leave in the first place. She is watching Grogu’s terrified visions of leaving the Jedi Temple as it is being sieged. She is witnessing every single person she’s ever loved be cut down for their proximity to her, this Jedi light, this bright abomination. She is removing the crown on her head. She is not Novalise. Not now. She is not Andromeda. She is every Force sensitive person that has ever come before her, ripped to shreds, stripped down to bones and gore. 

Nova is Novalise until she isn’t.

Right now, she can’t find her body. She can’t find the tether to come back to. There is something haunted here, something she knows in her bones, something that knows her, too. She is looking into a mirror, and it is peering back, stepping into her body. She wants to be inhospitable. She is exhausted of being a conduit, but right now she is electric. This darkness, the horror here—it cannot survive Novalise. 

It cannot survive the light. 

She is ripping this place to shreds, incinerating it. There is fire all around her, the yellow pulse of her lightsaber spitting in tandem with the light of the flame. Over and over, Nova slashes, cleaving each tank in two. She hacks at the hissing, spitting water as it meets her ignited blade. She butchers the pieces of metal and glass until they’re splinters on the floor, something that cannot be magicked back together. There will be no evidence left of the danger when she is done. No one will enter this cavern and see the pain that the Dark Side caused. And maybe that’s selfish, erasing history, but Nova doesn’t care. People don’t need any more proof how evil the darkness is, how it takes and takes and takes. 

The galaxy has seen it, over and over again. It has born witness to the Sith, the Empire, Palpatine, the First Order, Sparmau, the man Ezra was trapped out in deep space with. It repeats itself.

Novalise will not let this particular horror survive. Gideon is dead. His ideas will die with him. And there’s a beauty in that, a satisfaction. She drags the yellow blade of her lightsaber through the last standing piece of equipment—the control panel in the middle of the floor.

It explodes. Nova has ripped absolutely everything to nothing, to shrapnel, herself included. She closes her eyes, engulfed in the avenging light. 

And then she comes back to herself. With a roar, she propels herself backwards, out of the fire, out of the flame, out of the firing zone. The horrific place she stepped into is razed to the ground. She does not die. Novalise is running from the danger, hand clasped in Din’s, both of them hurtling towards that gaping maw of an entrance, right before the flame swallows the entirety of the building whole. On the ground, Nova reaches towards Din, always towards Din. 

“I don’t,” she heaves, coughing splinters and smoke from her lungs, “want to die.” 

He stares at her, under the helmet. “I believe you.” Neither of them can tell if he’s telling the truth.

Right now, Nova doesn’t care. She believes herself, and that’s enough. Her eyes close. She doesn’t see the ship descending upon them.

*

Din does, though. He feels her lose consciousness again, this horrible day splayed on an endless loop. Everything hurts. Regrets pool like acid in the pit of his stomach. This whole mission—it’s impossibly fucked sideways. They never should have come here. It opened a wound he never though existed in the first place.

The starship creeps closer and closer, searchlight panning them in a perfect circle like a beacon. Din has no idea who this is—if it’s Wedge and Bo-Katan, come to save them both. If it’s an enemy. If it’s Ezra Bridger himself, descending upon them to close Nova’s loop of self-destruction. If it’s someone from Mandalore. If it’s someone who means them harm. Din braces himself on his knees, curled over the woman he loves, refusing to let her get caught. Not while she’s unconscious. Not when she’s not herself. He shields her from the incendiary floodlight of the ship above them. “Nova,” he says, urgently. 

She blinks up at him. It’s a beautiful, tortured sight—her sage green eyes spark in the warmth of the glow above them. 

“I’m fine,” she insists, but her face shutters like a slamming door. 

He stares at her, a blaze of light in the enclosing darkness, holding strong—even after all this. 

His Novalise—honey and vigor, danger and starlight, his divining rod. She’s flickering around the edges. 

And for the first time, Din lets himself think of the scariest thing he can imagine. In this dying thrash, her hand reaching up to the ship descending upon both of them—to hold or to fight, he’s not sure—Nova is not nearly as steady as she once was.

*

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*

i hope you loved it!! i sincerely apologize for disappearing again. for the first time since i started writing the Something More Series, though, it wasn't because i ended up in the hospital! i began a new full-time job, i've gone to see Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour, i've been traveling, reading, writing my own novel (gasp), seeing friends, spending time with my partner and our families, and overall living my life for the first real time since i was 18. i promise i am going to finish SH, but updates might be slower and shorter from this point forward. i'm not going to promise an upload date, but my hope is that it's very, very soon. thank you so much for still being here, if you are. i appreciate each and every single one of you!!!

CHAPTER 5 COMING SOON!

xoxo,

amelie

[rotworld]

30: Eternal Night

you grew up hearing that the relationship between a knight and their page should be harmonious, a bond of perfect understanding and mutual devotion. sometimes you feel as though you fall short of the ideal. unbeknownst to you, so does your knight.

->suggestive but not explicit. contains gore, blood drinking, implied self-inflicted bloodletting.

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.

.

Miwen wakes you at dawn, or when dawn should be. At home, within the safety of the Scarlet Demesne, daybreak is made with sunrise candles. Luminescent wax fills the halls with gemstone light, deep sapphire to brilliant topaz. Out here, there is nothing. The sky is a starless abyss. The Moon shares what light She can but the dark churns all around Her, a black tide lapping hungrily at Her silver edges. “Morning,” Miwen says, “such as it is.” 

Your camp is small and nestled in a quiet glade, stone ruins and old fence posts rotting in the earth. This was a town once. On this very spot stood an inn, maybe a house or farmstead, a place people lived. You keep finding things, half-buried in the dirt or caught in the gnarled arms of trees. Wagon wheels. Forgotten shoes. A sunhat with blood along the brim. A doll missing one button eye. The Unnova lingers here. It’s still in the soil, still thick in the air. When the wind is just right, you can hear sounds echo all the way from the past—weeping. Screaming.

The fire is indigo. Not as warm, but not as bright, either. Safer that way. Nor is already awake and cooking something, a thick broth bubbling in a pot over the flames. The steam wafts towards you with a pungent, tangy odor. “They’re not back yet?” you ask.

“Appreciate the peace and quiet while it lasts,” Nor says wryly, sitting cross-legged by the fire. He’s unusually tall for a page. His cloak drapes over his shoulders and pools in his lap, unable to cover his long legs. You can see his bony knees, his sandals, the bandages on his ankles and higher, disappearing beneath the red curtain of his cloak. He’s been filling his knight’s canteen. You see the waterskin propped up in his lap and a small, metal scarificator beside it with the crescent seal of the Order of the Lunar Tide embossed on the side, blades still extended. The fresh bandage he wraps around his hand turns watery red above his palm.

“So…what do we do?” you ask. “Just keep waiting?” 

“Not for too much longer,” Miwen says. She passes you for the fire, carrying a satchel full of alchemy supplies, clinking vials and dried, crunched up herbs. She curls up against Nor’s side, squirming until she’s comfortable, and starts assembling something medicinal. “It’s almost nine in the morning,” she announces.

“How do you know that?” 

“My knight taught me time-keeping,” she says, a hint of pride in her voice. “Ask yours, they love to show off. Anyway, they like to be back by ten when a hunt takes all night, but they’ll be here earlier than that. They’re extra punctual when we’re along.”

You’re restless, but you don’t want to stray far from the dim flicker of the campfire. The dark is terrible. It’s never this deep in the city, never so unbroken. Out here in these forsaken places, lands lost so quickly that the people did not even have the chance to run, this long night never ends. The Moon, try as She might to protect you, can only reach so far. There are shadows here far larger than they should be. There are lightless places deep in these woods, crawling with seething miasma that taints everything it touches.

“Stars and Moon above, stop your fidgeting! You’re making me nervous,” Nor says. He sounds exasperated but there’s a twinge of sympathy in his voice. Every page was new once. Everyone has had to learn that the dark is different beyond the safety of the city walls. “Come here and eat. You need this more than we do.”

Miwen scoots over so you’re nestled between them and they press into your sides, engulfing you in the warmth and softness of their cloaks and shared body heat. It’s better here, closer to the fire. The light is weak but it’s there, throwing its soft glow against your hands. Miwen hums as she tugs your hand gently from beneath your cloak.Your wrists and arms are littered in bite marks, throbbing and still-healing scabs across the indentations of beastial teeth. She begins bandaging the marks with practiced precision, not too loose or too tight, the wraps smelling faintly of herbal medicines. 

“Is it normal?” you ask. “For them to feed so often?” 

“It is for yours,” Nor says. He pours you a bowl of dark purple broth, a watered-down version of the stews they make at the Demesne to enable a page’s body to produce more blood. “In fact, I’d say he’s been underfeeding. Has he said anything about it?” 

“He doesn’t talk to me much,” you say. The broth is savory with a slight metallic tang. You drain your bowl and Nor refills it too quickly for you to refuse. 

“Can’t be your blood,” Miwen says absently. “You’re as red as it gets.” She’s moved on to your legs, urging you to turn and stretch out across her lap. You’re a bit embarrassed when she pushes your cloak back to examine your thighs. Those bites are larger, indicating a longer, deeper feeding. “He’s probably scared of you.”

“Scared of me?”

“Scared he’ll get attached,” Nor corrects. “You’re not his first page.” 

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m not?” 

Nor and Miwen glance at one another, something deeply uncomfortable flickering across their faces. “It’s not a question of ability,” Miwen says, and you can tell she’s choosing her words carefully, trying to be diplomatic. She pulls your cloak back down without bandaging the bites on your thighs. “You have one of the most capable knights in Rizhiyo. He didn’t lose them to anything in the wilds, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“He drove them away,” Nor says. Miwen looks at him sharply. “Not everyone agrees,” he admits, “but I don’t know how else to explain what happened. They just vanished. Snuck out of the Demesne and went into the forest alone. The only thing that ever turned up was their cloak.”

The thought turns your stomach. You can barely stand being here with a full hunting party. You can’t imagine being here all alone.The mood sours and the three of you fall into a tense silence, staring into the fire. Something in the dark makes a crooning sound and Miwen huddles in a little closer. You wonder if it’s true. If your knight was truly so horrible that he drove his old page to abandon him, their duties, even the safety of the Rizhiyo just to escape. Is his distance caused by guilt? Is that why he tosses and turns so much at night, and you always wake up crushed against his chest? 

A twig snaps. There’s miasma, sticky and hot like a coming storm, thick in the air. You bristle, sitting upright. Miwen is tense and Nor is already on his feet, putting out the fire with a flick of his wrist and a rush of magic. The dark shifts and an abomination comes slinking out of the shadows, lurching on mismatched legs. It’s a twined beast, pieces of human, animal, and starmatter twisted together in unnatural shapes, an arm dragging, another split at the elbow and branching into tendrils. It sloughs forward with a gurgle and a pained shriek, its body lit by dizzying Unnova colors, alien and hostile hues that make the trees recoil. 

It sees you, huddled in the dark together. It smells your blood and it drags its warped body closer. 

“How long can you hold a barrier?” Nor asks, his voice quiet and perfectly even despite the set of his jaw. 

It takes you a moment to remember to speak, reluctant to take your eyes off of the thing. Its head is a mass of earth, snaking roots, and throbbing flesh. There are eyes in the hollows and spaces, human and otherwise. They bulge against the rigid, sinewy cage, darting quickly between you, Miwen and Nor as it sizes up its prey. “Four minutes,” you say. “Five, maybe, but then I won’t have much left.”

“They’ll be back,” Miwen whispers. “I know they will.” She reaches beneath her cloak for the dagger strapped to her thigh. 

The abomination howls with a chorus of agonized voices and breaks into a horrifying sprint, half-slithering, half lunging, its maw open, its dozens of hands all reaching. 

It never reaches you. There’s light—and your breath hitches in your throat at the beauty of it, blue and sparkling and bright, the azure of familiar magic. Like a shooting star, it cuts across the dark of the night sky and hurtles to earth. There’s a powerful gust of wind that nearly knocks you off your feet, a flash of silver, and you see your knight descend with the swiftness of an avenging angel, plunging a spear through the back of the beast. The others are with him and they move in unison, a single predator with three bodies. 

They’re faceless, shrouded by their helms and the thick shadows of the night, but even like this, even dressed in identical armor, slate gray and lunar silver, you know Vashir. You recognize him through a shroud of shimmering magic and clinging miasma, the way the Moon glints on his lance as he tears it loose from the shuddering body of the abomination with a burst of sickly, Unnova-colored blood. You can tell him apart in the thick of battle by his movements. He isn’t as graceful as Nor’s knight nor as reckless as Miwen’s, but he is swift and ferocious, as at home in this forest as any creature of the wilds. 

Miwen’s knight heaves the twin-crescent blade of her polearm over her head and brings it down with a sickening crunch, beheading the abomination in one swift movement. The body continues to squirm and fight, claws flailing, far longer than any natural creature. Nor’s knight slits the beast open like a butchered carcass and only when its steaming entrails puddle on the ground does it finally collapse and die. The knights change when the fog of battle lifts, their stances changing, no longer hunched and predatory. 

The bickering begins immediately. 

“I told you one escaped!” Miwen’s knight growls. “I told you there were twelve to begin with, and we only killed eleven—”

“Are you quite done?” Nor’s knight says, wiping the blood from his daggers. “It is dead now. That is all that matters.”

“It almost reached camp because you two were dragging your feet!” Miwen’s knight strides into camp, a giant who towers over the three of you. She drops her polearm and it shakes the ground when it drops with a thunderous noise. Glancing back at the other knights, she raises her voice to a shrill falsetto. “‘Sahani, I’m tired. Sahani, I’m starving. Sahani, why are we rushing? We cleared out the nest!’”

“I don’t sound like that,” your knight grumbles. 

“You sound just like that when you start whining, Vashir.” Without a word, she plucks Miwen off the ground, throwing her over the shoulder cushioned with a tattered, blue cloak. 

“Sahani, you’re late,” Miwen chides her. 

“Not you too,” her knight grumbles. Their chatter fades as Sahani stalks off to their tent. Nor is gone soon after, called away with no more than a sharp nod, but you see his knight pause briefly to take Nor’s wrist and press it to his helm in a chaste, reverential kiss. 

Then it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of camp beside smoldering embers—you and your knight. 

Vashir takes a step towards you and then halts, as though losing his nerve. He always maintains an uncomfortable distance between the two of you until it’s time to feed. His face is still obscured in shadow and you don’t know what he’s thinking or how he’s looking at you. You swallow hard, shifting your weight nervously from one foot to the other. 

“Um—”

“I—”

You both start and stop again. The distance feels even greater. “Go ahead,” you say.

Vashir hesitates. He clenches his lance. Corrupted blood slicks the blade and most of the shaft, a prismatic shimmer of unnatural colors. A minute passes in tense, uncomfortable silence, and then another. Then he makes a frustrated sound, nearly a growl, and seizes your wrist, dragging you back to your shared tent. 

The camp is too small for privacy. You can still hear Sahani’s boisterous voice as she describes the hunt Miwen, and sometimes you catch soft murmurs from Nor and his knight. Vashir removes his helm and you finally see his dark hair and a flash of reflective eyes, gold like wolf. He still hasn’t said a word when he starts shedding the heavier pieces of his armor, shoulder pauldrons and fauld coming off in heavy, clattering heaps. 

Finally, he speaks the words you were expecting. “I’m…famished,” he says. The words come out with some hesitation, a low, gravelly mutter. You nod shakily and take a halting step forward. His hand engulfs your wrist but he stops short of dragging you to him. When he moves, he’s gentle, a leading tug rather than a harsh, painful pull. 

You’re not sure what to make of this strange timidity. Vashir is always decisive, always acting with force and certainty. But right now, he’s touching you like you’re made of glass, gathering you in his lap. Even seated, with you on top of him, he’s much larger. Tenebral knights are exposed to small doses of miasma from an early age, their bodies cultivated to grow to staggering sizes. You always feel small and helpless in his grasp.

He removes his gauntlets. His palms are rough and wrapped in scars, his fingers callused. He’s careful with your cloak when he removes it, lifting the fabric over your head. You’re bare beneath except for your bandages and his bites. Vashir studies you in silence, his expression unreadable. Finally, he asks, “Do you resent me?” 

You aren’t prepared for a question like that. You set your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself. “You’re…my knight,” you say, uncertain. “I swore an oath to serve you—” 

“Your heart is not bound by any oath,” he says, his gaze burning into you. His tone softens, fingers grazing your cheek. “Do you resent me, page?” 

“No. But…” You inhale sharply when he leans forward, urging you to bare your neck to him. The throat is a deeply intimate place to feed. The thighs, too, are for pleasure, but the throat holds different significance. More fondness than lust. “But I thought you resented me.” 

“No,” Vashir says quietly. He kisses the side of your neck, chaste at first, then more deeply, hungrier. “That you could even think that…Great Cosmos, I’ve not been good to you.” 

You’ve been here before, in the embrace of your knight. But something is different this time. You can feel his hunger, how he trembles, how greedily he palms your flesh and holds you against the grooves of his breastplate, but he takes his time. His nips are soft and playful, the scrape of his fangs igniting embers of want across your skin. This is what you tell stories about in shadowed corridors of the Scarlet Demesne, whispering to one another by candlelight—that someday a knight will touch you, will hold you, and you will feel the warmth the elders speak of when they talk about the Sun. 

“I’m a disgrace to the Order,” Vashir murmurs against your skin. “I don’t deserve you. Even now, I know we should speak. There are things I want to tell you, things I should have already told you. But,” he shudders, his teeth scraping your neck, “I’m so hungry I can’t think straight.” 

“Then feed from me,” you say. He shivers at nothing more than your offer, the eagerness in your voice. “We can still talk. I want to talk,” you insist, tangling your hand in his long, unkempt hair. “But you’ve been holding me at arm’s length for so long. I thought…I thought you didn’t want me.” 

Your back hits the ground and the fall knocks the wind out of you. Vashir pins you easily and he looms, his chest heaving, like a beast eager to devour you. This is improper, according to the teachings you grew up with. A knight is to keep the page above him as he feeds, to secure his hold and control every movement so as not to waste blood. This is clumsy, impulsive and animal.

It’s what you wanted all along. 

Vashir’s bite is heaven, pain and pleasure tangled together. He pins both of your wrists with one hand and the other holds down your shoulder, keeping you still through your writhing and whimpering. The feeding is wasteful. You feel some of your blood trickle down your back instead, slipping away before he can taste away, but neither of you care. You wrap your arms around him, fisting your hands in the softness of his cloak, and Vashir’s muffled, shuddering moans roll through you. He ruts against you mindlessly even with several layers between you. The sensation is uncomfortable and stiff with his armor, but you welcome it, grinding against one metal-clad thigh.

He stops before he’s had his fill, moving down your body to taste other parts of you. He trails his lips down your chest and nips playfully at your nipple. The next bite is shallow, fangs sinking into your hip. The bite he presses just beneath the still-healing marks on your thighs sends sparks of pleasure up your spine. You feel lightheaded, euphoric and giddy. Vashir is meticulous in worshiping every inch of your body, smoothing his hands along your calf as he kisses your ankle. You feel like one of the Demesne’s holy relics, revered and beloved. 

When he stops, you feel tingling and soreness. The bites sting and ooze slightly. Vashir drags his tongue along your inner thigh to catch one last bead of blood and then lifts himself, collecting you in his arms. You’re limp and comfortable in his arms as he bundles you in your cloak, resting your head against his breastplate. For some time, you say nothing, catching your breath together. Nor’s tent is quiet, but you hear breathy moans from Miwen’s. 

“How…” You bite your lip. You don’t want to overstep. This is the most you’ve ever heard Vashir speak at a time, but what if you say the wrong thing and he retreats again? 

Your worries evaporate when you feel his hand, firm but gentle, stroking your back. “Go ahead,” he murmurs. 

You swallow nervously. “How do you know what time it is out here?” 

Vashir is quiet. His touch stops, and then, slowly, with newfound softness, resumes. “The Order teaches us a few time-keeping methods.” 

“Could you teach me?” 

He’s silent for a long time. You squirm around in his grip so you can actually see his face, staring up and finding a smile. The first one, you think, that he’s ever given you. It’s lopsided, cut through the edge with a small scar, and the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. “Yes,” he says, his voice full of warmth and tentative, cautious hope, “I can teach you.”

[awaytobeunshaken]

Angstpril 2023 - Day 5: Memories Feel Like Weapons (alt)

It’s early, the sun barely cresting the horizon, but Will is already practicing, the dawn shadows rippling across his bare torso as the cherry blossoms float past him. He’ll never get tired of watching the way Will’s body moves, Orym thinks, fluid, then sharp, but never jarring. Part of him wants to join Will in the exercises they’ve done together since they were children, but right now he’s content simply to watch his beautiful husband.  

‘Husband’—and the word still evokes the little leap in his chest, same as it has for the past several days. Will turns, now, and though his attention is still clearly turned inward, he must have caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, because he drops out of his tree pose and walks toward Orym, bending to kiss him on the corner of the mouth.  

“How long have you been watching?” He smiles.  

“Forever. And I could keep watching you forever.”   

Will drops to one knee to meet Orym’s eyes. “Well, then, lucky you. You get to.”  

-  

“Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six.” Orym counts crunches as the scene plays out in his head. This is a good memory, normally one he would welcome, but now Will’s words in his head sting. Talk of forever, a forever they never got to see.  

-  

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Orym asks. “It’s our honeymoon. This is supposed to be a break. I’ve gotten so used to waking up next to you already; I missed you this morning, when you weren’t there.”  

ao3

“I’m sorry to abandon you,” Will teases. “Just felt like getting a quick workout in. Don’t want to be sloppy when we get back to work.”  

“I think we’ve been getting plenty of workouts in,” Orym says with a wink. “I’ve certainly been breaking a sweat.”  

“Oh, I’ll give you a workout.” And Will leans in to kiss him deeply before scooping Orym into his arms to carry him back to bed.  

-  

“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.” Orym flips over. “One, two, three... four...” Push-ups next. Not his strong suit. Orym didn’t have the broad chest and shoulders of his husband’s family, wasn’t built for upper body work the way they were. Not that Will minded… well, maybe a little…  

-  

“You comfy up there?”   

“Very,” He’s lying face-down on Will’s back, bobbing up and down as Will does his push-ups. “What’s wrong, too heavy for you?” Orym presses a kiss to the nape of Will’s neck and then nestles in between his shoulder blades.  

“Not at all.” Will increases his pace a bit, as if to prove it.   

“Mmm, you’re so strong. There’s no way I could do what you’re doing.”  

“Yeah… don’t think… this would work too well… other way around,” Will pants.  

Orym laughs. “Not quite what I meant.” He spreads his hands across Will’s broad shoulders, feeling how solid he is beneath him, then drags a lazy finger across Will’s neck.  

“Gah! That tickles!” Will collapses to the ground, sending Orym tumbling into the grass. “You are a menace,” he says, cupping Orym’s head in one hand and touching their foreheads together. “Enough slacking, though. You’re not going to get better at this if you don’t challenge yourself…”  

-  

He can almost feel the extra resistance of Will’s hand on his back even now as he finishes the set, the touch as firm as it had been all those years ago. He stands to start on his squats...  

The clatter of teacups in the basin. Shit, they were running late. “Just leave them,” Will says. “We can wash up later.”  

“Gods, I love you.”  

“Love you, too,” Will says with a smile, then takes off across the courtyard, leaving Orym scampering across the courtyard after him.  

The last morning. The last time he’d ever heard those words. “Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.” Why did his memory have to bring him here?  

More of the shadowy, grey figures appear as if from nowhere (ninety-eight, ninety-nine). Orym sticks his sword into one and it fades into nothingness, as though they’re not even real (one hundred twelve, one thirteen, one fourteen). They must be real, though, because he can see Derrig’s motionless body lying in the dirt even as he watches another of the figures run Will through.   

Orym screams and puts his sword through the figure, then collapses beside Will, pressing his hands desperately against the wound. But the heart beneath it is already still (one forty-six, one forty-seven). Lita will tell him later how the rest of the day went down, but for now Orym can only move through it like a dream. He tries to talk to them, knows that the words are important, to give them something to reach for, an anchor to follow back, and then the clerics tell them there’s not even anything there for their spells to latch onto.  

He returns to the cottage and sees the mugs still waiting in the basin (one hundred and eighty), and his mind is jolted back to reality. He strokes the rim of the cup that Will’s lips had touched that morning and to this day he can feel the texture under his thumb, can remember the exact pattern the dregs had formed in the bottom of the cups. He throws one mug across the room, then the other, where they shatter against the opposite wall, then he sinks to the floor.  

“One ninety-four, one ninety-five, one ninety-six,” and now his legs are screaming and he struggles to stand again, tipping backward onto his ass. He slaps at his thighs to try and get some feeling back into them, then rubs his hands across the skin to try and calm the burning muscles. Almost two hundred. Not enough; he’ll do more tomorrow. He has to. He’s not about to let these people down, too.  

[a-lil-strawberry]

I watched a YouTube video from Bailey Sarian (love her, highly recommend) about Nestle's dark deeds, and at the end she makes a comment about like "anyways enjoy your crunch bar!" Bc crunch is Nestle. Then I go to watch another video, and guess what ad I get that I've never gotten before to my memory? A crunch bar ad

[vi-trying-to-survive]

Hello again 😌 I was just wondering if you would be up for another Stephen Strange fanfic? Perhaps a Halloween themed one?! I’ve had this idea for a while but I wanted to fully articulate it before I sent it to you :) anyways, maybe they have a night in and watch horror movies, like Scream (that’s one’s my favorite) and they make popcorn and the reader jumps at all the jump scares but Stephen comforts her?? Or, alternatively, where they have a small little Halloween party and the reader dresses up in like the cliché nurses costume and Stephen finds it kinda sexy?? Like you don’t have to get super explicit or anything, but ya know ;) anyways, I leave it up you, you wonderful writer, to pick which one you prefer or whatnot :) have a stunning day, dear! <3

Safety In Numbers

Stephen Strange x f!Reader

Warnings: None, this is full of fluff 💖💖💖

Summary: Stephen and (Y/N) watch a horror movie for Halloween, but she is more terrified than she would've thought

A/N: I really hope you guys like this one :) And is you did please let me know, or if you have any ideas on how I can improve my writing :) I hope you guys have an amazing day 💖💖💖

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"Darling what are you doing ?", he questioned, mildly amused, as he raised an eyebrow at the woman stood by the light switches, deep in thought with her eyebrows furrowed, flicking them on and off, a resonating clicking noise filling the warm space. The room going from brightly-lit to pitch black in a matter of seconds, resembling a low-grade rave. He wondered how he even got himself to the couch without knocking into the furniture or getting dizzy, sinking down on the soft, fluffy cushions, sighing in relief, as he set down the bowl filled with puffed up kernels of hot, salty, buttery popcorn, toasted to the perfect golden, still crisp when he popped a few into his mouth, turning to fixate his gaze on her once more.

She sent him a pointed look, still unwavering from the task at hand, snapping the switch back and forth a few more times, peering at the different settings, a hand positioned thoughtfully on her chin, "Trying to set the mood ?", before turning them off, moving to nestle herself next to him on the seat next to him.

The faint glow of the television reflected onto their skin, painting them different shades, her arms wrapping around his torso, as she rested her head in the crook of his neck, a leg swung and tangled with his, humming in content at the subtle warmth. He couldn't help but press his lips together tightly in worry, leaning his head down to focus his gaze on her, blatantly stating, "This is a horror movie".

Shrugging her shoulder, she reached out to the bowl on the chipped coffee table, scooping a hand full of the fresh popcorn, stuffing it into her mouth, as she mumbled, "Its Halloween", the boisterous crunching sound dying down, her hands raised to gesture at the terribly unrealistic cobwebs she had stuck up, giving him a confident smirk, "If I don't make it scary, who am I ?",

"Whatever you say, but I would suggest keeping the lights on", he spoke, rolling his eyes lovingly, running a hand through his fluffy locks, waving a finger at her knowingly, "You know how scary movies make you feel".

Slapping him lightly on the arm, she protested, "But that's the whole point love", flapping her arms around dramatically to extenuate her point, causing him to chuckle softly at her antics, tugging her frame closer to his, using a hand to gently stroke her thick, wild locks, placing a sweet kiss on the crown of her head, the edges of her lips curling up into a wide grin.

Focusing her attention back on the television, she fished around the army of throw pillows, gasping successfully when she found the worn remote, handing it to the man she intertwined herself to, she wondered, "Oh by the way, what movie did you end up picking ?", as he flipped through the multiple options, finally settling on one.

"Scream", he answered nonchalantly, unbothered to tear his eyes from the illuminated screen, grabbing some of the popcorn, the familiar intro stirring a wave of excitement in his chest.

"Huh, I've never seen it before", she realized, snuggling into his side, eyes glued to the movie playing before them in curiosity, trying to ignore the jaw-dropped gasping look on her boyfriends face, eventually turning to face him, exclaiming, "What ?".

His eyes darted from the television screen to her luminescnt face, eyes wide in shock, "How have you never seen it before ?", mentally smacking his palm against his forehead at the women next to him, having formed an emotional attachment to the film over a course of time, "It's a classic !!".

"I don't know, maybe I was too terrified as a kid ?", she responded, confusion, eyes turned to the ceiling in thought, before shoveling another round of popcorn into her mouth, deciding to ignore the sorcerer, who was still giving her a strange look, "I'll be fine now"

Narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously, he huffed, "If you say so ?", moving his hand to lay softly across her lap, attempting to stifle the teasing grin on his face, feeling another playful punch at his side.

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

"Oh my- Stephen- No- Why-", she screamed, eyes growing as large as saucers, unable to tear them away from the flashing screen, clutching tightly onto the mans arms, feeling her nails dig into the skin, trying to ignore for a few minutes, forcing himself to glue his eyes to the screen, as she continued down her dilemma, "Why would you- No- I literally can't-".

Letting the scene end, he raised the remote, pressing down on the faded button, running a hand across his face in concern, fixating his gaze on her, questioning, "Are you feeling fine ?", her expression making it look like she was relaxed, but the sharp edges of her fingernails, carving marks into his forearms said otherwise.

Forcing a smile on her face, that ended up looking more like a painful grimace, she responded, "Yes what makes you say otherwise ?", quickly prying the remote from his fingers, hitting play again, curling the half-empty bowl closer to her frame, snuggling her head deeper into the crook of his neck. She hoped he was distracted by the movie again, too absorbed to notice how she flinched and shut an eyes as the killer walked into the room, clutching the large bowl like her life depended on it, her fingers still buttered and slippery.

"What in the-", she yelled, the bowl flying from her hands, littering the ground and couch with half-cooked popcorn kernels, fixating her gaze on the surprised sorcerers, who had moved from his slightly slumped position on her side, now perched at the edge of his seat, most likely startled by the loud clang that filled the space as the bowl hit her hardwood floor panels, sending him a sheepish grin, "Now there's popcorn everywhere".

He chewed the inside of his cheek, promptly breaking down and bursting into uncontrollable laughter, clutching his sides desperately, as the corners of his eyes became damp with tears. Sensing her furious glare, he urged his laughter to stop, reducing them to slow giggles, before accepting the bowl she shoved into his arms, the spilled popcorn piled into it, "It's alright", he tilted his face down to peck her cheek, before pushing himself to stand, the cold floor chilling his feet as he made his way to the kitchen, "I'll just go make more, with that obscene amount that you bought in the store", reaching into the cabinets to fish out more.

Rolling her eyes a little, she retorted, "First of all they were on sale", leaning across the back of the couch to watch him, eyes fleeting about the small space, suddenly feeling chills down her spine, causing her to throw off her fuzzy blanket, padding after him, her footsteps echoing across the stained, wooden floors, "Second of all, .... there's safety in numbers, so I'm coming there".

Reaching the man who leaned on the counter, she interlocked her fingers, behind his neck, resting her head in the crook of his neck, gently placing a kiss on the sensitive skin, as he chuckled lowly, pressing her frame against his, the sounds of the microwave buzzing filling the air.

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

"Darling- Love- Stephen-", she tried, her eyes having long since adjusted to the dimness that shaded the room, the unidentifiable shaped seeming much more malicious than they usually did, "Are you even awake ? How are you even asleep ?", driving her finger into his side aggressively, as she convinced herself that she heard unusual sound from the closet.

"It was just a movie (Y/N)", squeezing his eyes shut, he dug his face further into the comforting, silky pillows, moving the hand draped across her waist up and down, a futile attempt at consoling the women, which he mostly blamed on his lack of sleep, having decided to stay up into the night recently to indulge himself in some new spells.

Feeling her lips curve down into a frown, she shifted her body around to face him, causing the bed to creak tumultuously, her heart racing in response, as she hissed at him, frantically glancing at the room around them, "But there could be a killer here right now".

"Darling just go to sleep", he sighed, tightening his grip on her waist, to drag her closer to him, resting his head on hers, rubbing his cheek against her messy hair softly, "If anyone tries to hurt you, I'll protect you", yawning a little as he pulled the covers up to envelope them defensively.

"Stephen-", she began, raising a hand to cup his cheek, lovingly stroking, fighting the gentle smile that spread across her face, admiring his eyes, as they defeatedly opened. The striking blue still clear and visible to her, even in the inky darkness, the image memorized and stored away safely in her mind a long time ago.

"Yes (Y/N)", he mumbled, a part of him still deep in sleep, nestling his face into her hair, inhaling deeply as he hummed contently at the scent of sugar and cinnamon that he had grown fond of.

"I love you", she admitted, tilting her head up to connect their lips, brushing against his delicately, to which he was quick to respond, moving conscientiously against hers, even in his exhaustion, knowing exactly what to do to cause the airy sigh that he loved so much to leave her lips. Breaking the kiss, she ran her tongue over her lips, the taste of the sweet, salty caramel from the popcorn still lingering in her mouth, as she snuggled into him, letting her arms rest loosely across his chest, finally feeling safe, her legs tangling up in his, the heat and security calming her panicked mind, letting the steady thump of his heart lull her to sleep.

"I love you too", he spoke, pausing for a moment to admire her, even if her hair was a wild, knotted bush on her head, only dressed in worn shorts and a faded, torn college T-shirt, still managing to be absolutely stunning, as her eyes fluttered shut, letting himself drift of to sleep, pleased at the feeling of her in his arms.

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@thefluffypancake I hope you like it and that I got what you were thinking of :) 💖💖💖 and hopefully I can get to the other one too ;) 💖💖💖

[chromes-corner]

Hi, I love your writing! So I have an idea for some crk angst >:D So reader isn't originally from the cookie run universe, but they somehow managed to get there. Strawberry Crepe found them interesting and looks at them as an older sibling. One day they find out that reader might disappear without a trace (Not as in dying but as in [poof] and they're literally gone, a glitch in the system kind of thing) Can you make this an angst one shot? Thank you ^^

YES ANGST BACK TO MY ROOTS BABY!!!!!

took some creative liberties with this prompt, made it just a touch angst-ier too ;)

---

Ice

Strawberry Crepe & Reader

Notes: angst, not super intense angst, but angst nonetheless

Content Warnings: none

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble but it ended up being somewhere between a drabble and a full-length fic also just in case its unclear the dashes signify a jump in time :)

They found you lying on the floor, unconscious, born of the same frigid womb that had birthed them months prior. They kept their distance, halfway behind a cold metal wall, as they observed you shiver on the tile floor. The chilled fluorescent lights flickered and hummed in the basement space. Frozen figures, still nestled in their cryogenic pods, surrounded you like a silent jury, awaiting your judgement with cold regard.

You shuddered and lifted your head from the floor like a newborn fawn. You coughed and spat, excess water draining from your lungs and evicted through your burning throat. The room was bathed in a frosty blue glow. To your left, three pods clouded with ice. Another was at the far end, empty and cracked. To your right, a cart with tangled black wires running from one end of the room to the other, connected to a box with various switches and dials. The LEDs on the box blinked with a threatening red.

As you gained your bearings, still they watched. They watched your head snap from one direction to the other. They watched you look at your hands and recoil in horror. They watched you scramble backwards and scream. They watched you hold your head and sob against the pod from which you emerged. Still, they did not approach.

They did not approach for the several days that you remained in that room. You didn’t do much besides cry, anyway. They watched you day in and day out, sometimes in person, other times through a security console.

You did not question it when food and water were brought to you. Not that you paid it much mind, however. You only consumed enough to survive. Enough to satiate the claws that ripped through your throat and stomach.

Eventually, their boredom outweighed their fear. On the third day, they stepped into the doorway. You screamed again. That’s all it was with you, they had thought. Yelling and sobbing and curling up in the corner of the room like a trapped animal.

Maybe it was annoyance at your pathetic demeanor that made them approach. Maybe it was pity for you. Maybe it was their own undeniable feeling of kinship with you -- a sibling of the ice. Whatever the case, they tucked their ever-attentive Wafflebots away, and held their hand out to you.

---

“A— a cookie?!” you exclaim. “No, no no no, that’s not right… that’s not possible! Cookies don’t talk, they don’t— they don’t do anything!”

“Um, hello, have you looked in a mirror?” they respond, toying with some sort of remote. “Your weak legs and crumbly arms say otherwise. Your hair is dripping with frosting, too. Don’t even think about coming near my Wafflebots with that mess. Now stand still!”

They didn’t have to tell you twice. When the last of their calibrations were completed, they pointed the remote at you and pressed a button. The handheld device shook, then flashed with a surge of electricity. They yelped and dropped the device as a plume of smoke erupted from it.

“Ugh! Stupid thing!” they shouted and stomped on the remote. It crunched under their foot, bits of metal plating and electronic scrap flying outwards in all directions. “We’ll have to find another way to inspect your dough and see what you’re made of.”

“My dough. I’m made of dough,” you fret, running a flat hand through your sticky, gelatinous hair. “This can’t be happening.”

---

“Hmm, I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Your hand, it… flickered. When you moved it around, transparent doubles trailed behind it. You couldn’t perceive any sensory information with it, either. There was only static in your palm as you rubbed it against various textured surfaces.

“It’s like it’s phasing out of our reality,” they take your hand and inspect it up and down, forwards and backwards. “I theorize your universe is trying to pull you back to where you came from.”

“Uh, would that… hurt?” You wouldn’t lie, being back in your world would sure be nice, but you weren’t entirely sure how that would happen. This solution seemed less than optimal.

“Probably,” they shrug as your appendage returned to its normal state. “But I calculate that it’ll take another few years, judging by the frequencies I’m picking up from your hand. Now come on, there’s more I want to teach you about this place and my Wafflebots. You might as well be useful while you’re here.”

“I don’t see why it’s useful for me to know your favorite spots in the castle…” you mumbled.

---

You found them in the dining room, curled up and hiding under a tablecloth.

“Hey.” You sat down and lifted the cloth, joining them under the table.

They pouted and turned so their back faced you. “Go away.”

“I saw what happened out there, with those other cookies. Are you okay?”

They didn’t respond, and you didn’t push it, however uncharacteristic it may have been. You shifted and pulled something out of your pocket, something that caught their attention. A bag of jellies, scavenged from where the group of cookies — the same group that was now infiltrating the castle — had their battle with the large Wafflebot. The group must have dropped them in the panic of the moment.

They turned back to you and eyed the bag. You dropped it into their hands, and they wasted no time in digging in, like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. You were content to sit with them as they ate, until they waved their hand in front of you. They held a jelly out to you, and you took it. Your eyes met for a moment before they went back to eating in silence.

The two of you remained there long after the bag was empty.

---

Strawberry Crepe creeps through the abandoned halls of the Vanilla Kingdom. The air is stale and deathly quiet, save for the occasional mechanical buzz of a Wafflebot making its rounds. They poke their head into rooms they’ve inspected a thousand times over. Everything within remains the same — ornate and untouched, and covered in a blanket of dust.

They call for you, quietly at first. Then louder, as they traverse deeper into the halls. The only voice that answers is their own echo, bouncing off ancient walls decorated with banners and paintings.

“Where are you?” they fume, crossing their arms and scowling. “Come out right now! I don’t want to play this game!”

Still, no response.

They’ve been down this hall three times in their search. Every bit of unturned decor mocks them. Old vases shatter in their wake. They rip tapestries from the wall. They storm through the halls and upstairs, knocking over tables and paintings with their crepe fists.

They wipe away the hot, salty drip that runs down their cheek, paying it no mind as they tear the door of their room off its hinges. It needed to be replaced, anyways. They approach their desk and the swamp of tools and mechanical parts that are strewn haphazardly across it. Picking up a prototype and a screwdriver, they begin to work through the blur of tears that threaten to spill at any given moment.

Strawberry Crepe has their tools. They have their bots. They have their genius. They have all the time in the world to tinker, and all the parts they need at their disposal. Everything they need is within these four walls.

Strawberry Crepe does not need you.

Strawberry Crepe does not need anyone.

[songbirdsingingthings]

Warmth - Levi Ackerman x Reader

(can we take a minute to appreciate this gif omfg he’s too pretty)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Hajime Isayama

AOT Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.4K

To put it lightly, working as a scout in the winter absolutely blows. The wind would bluster relentlessly, causing chills to go down your spine, it would be snowing more often than not, and the winter uniforms that were parceled out to everyone didn’t do enough to block the cold temperatures. But, of course, since you were a captain you needed to block out all of the shivers that claimed your body, clench your teeth to stop their chattering, and stand strong in front of the cadets that were at your mercy for the day.

“Attention!” You shouted, causing all of the scouts in front of you to step into a salute, standing completely still like statues. You sigh before you start to give out instructions for their workout, which did include some heavy conditioning, but was shorter than normal. Honestly though, you would’ve preferred to be in their place. While they were going to be enduring hell for about an hour and a half, the movement from their bodies would generate heat, the thing you were currently lacking. You tried to nestle yourself further into the fur trimmed trench coat you were wearing and pulled up the burgundy scarf, grasping for any form of warmth that you could get. 

“You look like an idiot.” You turned around quickly, instantly recognizing the speaker's voice, and shot him an unamused expression. Bundled up and sat atop his horse, your boyfriend, Levi, looked down at you with indifference in his eyes.

“I can accept that insult if my looking like this keeps me warm,” you huff, turning back around to look at the cadets. Some of them even began to shed their layers opting to simply wear their white button ups. You dig your mittened hands further into your coat pockets, feeling even colder just from looking at them. You hear a crunch of boots behind you, signaling that Levi hopped off his horse, and came to stand beside you.

“Shouldn’t have done that Levi, now you’re gonna have to have me help you back up.” You quip, earning a glare from the captain. He simply scoffs and elbows you, hard, in the side. “Ouch, what the hell.” you grumble.

“How much longer do you have to be out here,” he asks, his eyes on the tired cadets in front of him. You begrudgingly take out your hand to check your pocket watch, but end up reveling in the fact that they only had about ten more minutes left. You tell Levi about the time and he nods, making no effort to move.

“Are you waiting for me?” You inquire, a small smile spreading across your face. The raven-haired captain says nothing but stays put. Your smile widens into a grin and you step closer to him, your hips almost touching. “Thank you.” Levi hums in response and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence as you watch the scouts finish up. When it’s finally time, you make every cadet put their coats back on (you’d be damned if they caught a cold due to negligence) and ushered them back into the main building to grab some dinner before they could retire to the shower houses and then to their barracks. As they begin to wander off, Levi swiftly grabs onto your arm and leads you towards the captains’ quarters. “Hey I haven’t eaten yet!” You complain, tugging your body back towards the direction of the dining hall.

“I’ll get some delivered to your quarters, you need to warm yourself up.” He says, a definitive tone to his voice.

“I’m perfectly fine, it’ll only take a few minutes,” you protest, still hell-bent on getting food for yourself. You were a captain, for heaven’s sake, you were surely capable of getting food for yourself. Levi pauses to grab both of your arms, somewhat forcing you to look at him.

“You need to warm up. You get cold way too easily and then I have to hear an earful about it later. So get you and your red ass nose into your personal quarters and take a damn bath.” Levi states. You eventually give in under his ‘don’t test me’ gaze and grumble all the way back to the captains’ quarters with him by your side. The two of you part ways when you enter and you follow his directions and immediately fill up a bath with the warmest water you could get. While you hated the cold weather with a burning passion, the feeling of your shivering body being enveloped by warm bath water will never cease to be one of your favorite feelings. You close your eyes and lean back, soaking up the warmth when you hear a door open. You panic for a second and try to cover yourself with a towel in fear that a higher up, or worse, a cadet has managed to make their way into your quarters.

“I-I’m not decent! Please wait outside!” You say, sounding a little strangled, but the door opens anyways. Thankfully it reveals Levi.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” He says, closing the door with his foot. You give him a glare, but your expression instantly lightens when you see a tray of food in his hands. He takes you in and lets a small chuckle escape his mouth. “Warmer?” He asks, setting down the tray on the little side table next to you. You sit up a bit in the bath and snatch the spoon from his hands, sinking it into the soup and bringing it to your mouth. You hum at the taste - for some reason, today they had splurged on the scout regiment and supplied them with beef and barley soup instead of the usual bean soup.

“Warmer.” you confirm, digging back into the soup and dipping some of your bread into it. “Good.” Levi says, standing up to press a kiss onto your head and exiting the bathroom, giving you a bit more time to yourself. When you were done with both your dinner and your bath, you drained the tub and gingerly stepped out of it, wrapping a towel snug around your body. You step out to see Levi in your bed, donned in his sleepwear, and a book in his hands. You smile as you make your way over to the wardrobe stationed in the corner of your room and take out the warmest pair of sleepwear you could find - a wool long sleeve that you used to wear before you became a scout, and a pair of long pants that just covered your ankles. You pad your way over to your side of the bed and climb in, quickly covering yourself in the blankets. Levi spares you a glance, gives a small smile, and returns his gaze to his book; not before he lifts his arm closest to you, giving you the signal that you could come close to him. You take the opportunity immediately and glom onto his side. For some weird reason, Levi’s bodily temperature always seemed to run hot while yours was consistently colder, making him just that more wantable to you. “Y’know sometimes I think you just use me as a personal heater and nothing else.” He remarks, setting his book down on the side table and blowing out the candle next to him.

“Yeah, and what if I do.” You mumble back to him, your eyes drooping closed, exhaustion seemingly taking over your body. You feel his body shift as he slides down to rest his head on the pillow and pulls you closer to him. His chin finds purchase on top of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist.

“Then fine.” He says, making you laugh a bit.

“You’d be fine if I was just using you for your warmth?” You quip back, snuggling your head further into the crick of his neck. He hums and rubs circles into your hip with his thumb.

“Anything to get you to stop complaining. It’s annoying when you do that.” He says, his own eyes closing now. The two of you didn’t say anything else, it wasn’t really necessary to. You understood everything Levi said and picked out its meanings through his own special language that you’d grown accustomed to throughout the years of dating him. His responses and remarks that sounded condescending in speech could easily be interpreted into a much simpler meaning. ‘I love you and I don’t want you to be cold.’

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Okay 1. I love your writing, 2. I love that people keep asking for more parts of come and get me (presumably for a happy ending) and you just keep giving us angst. MAKE ME SUFFER, I love it. 3. Pleaaaassseee give us a part 4 (presumably for a happy ending but I’ll also take more angst hahaha) 🥰🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️

Thank you so so much! This is so sweet! And thank you to anyone who reblogged or commented on the "Come And Get Me" parts (or any of my fics really) because it always makes my whole day reading them... but anyways! By popular demand! The thrilling conclusion! I hope you enjoy :)

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Cassian had always loved the holidays. There was just something about the twinkling lights and decorations. Something about the smell of pine and cinnamon all mixing together with too much sugar from cookies and sweets. Something about the crackle of a roaring fire swirling together with the laughter of his family all while the soft lilts of holiday music harmonized in the background. Something about the warmth of a house aglow and full during the holidays.

This holiday season is definitely different. For starters, it’s just Cassian and Azriel at home, picking at their plates in a too quiet house. He can’t blame Mor or Amren or even Rhys for wanting to spend this time with their significant others, but after everything with Nesta, it just seems to sting even more, like salt in a too fresh wound.

“Don’t worry. The party has officially arrived.”

Cassian looks toward the front door to see Rhys strolling through the threshold, a six-pack of beers in each hand. Feyre is laughing as she follows in behind Rhys, and Cassian can’t stop the way he perks up when he realizes it’s not just Rhys and Feyre, but then Elain is closing the door behind herself, clearly no one else behind her. She catches Cassian’s eyes as they all file further into the room, offering him a sad smile and a mouthed apology.

Rhys holds out a beer for Cassian to take, but he declines, quietly excusing himself. He grabs a jacket and yanks a hat over his head from the front room before stepping out the door into the winter cold. The bite of the night air is a welcome relief against his skin, like a douse of water over his limbs. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts walking, his feet easily leading the way through the winding neighborhood streets. He’s glad for the familiarity, glad he can walk amongst these lines of houses without much thought. Because his mind still feels like it’s wrapped in the tight grip of thick, curling branches, thorns blocking his escape, blocking the light as they creep in closer and closer.

Before he even realizes it’s where he was heading, Cassian finds himself in front of a fence he knows all too well, many of the planks weathered away and splintering at this point. He pushes through the gate and steps into the backyard, frozen earth crunching beneath his boots. It only takes a few strides and then he’s standing in front of the large oak tree that lives there, barren branches stretching up toward the moon. His eyes follow the trunk up and up until he takes in the treehouse nestled there. Although, treehouse is probably a loose term. It’s mostly just wooden planks laid down to form a platform and a railing around the edges.

With a soft sigh, Cassian starts the trek up the wooden beams nailed into the bark to create a ladder. When he crests the top, he finds Nesta sitting there, legs curled up against her chest and eyes glued to the line of trees, the starry sky beyond.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Cassian comments, pulling himself up the rest of the way.

Nesta doesn’t say anything in response, doesn't even turn to acknowledge him, so Cassian settles into the spot beside her, legs dangling over the edge of the platform. He isn’t sure how long she’s been up here, but her nose and the tips of her ears are tinged pink, small shivers wracking through her body with each minute that passes.

“You know it’s below freezing tonight, right?” Cassian asks, pulling off his hat and sliding it over Nesta’s hair, tugging it down so it covers her ears.

“Do you remember when you and Rhysand fought up here?” Nesta finally says, her voice quiet.

“Which time? The time I broke his nose?”

“The time he broke your arm.”

“I remember,” Cassian smiles wistfully as the memory floods back, at the way he and Rhys used to hate each other as kids. How far they've come. “Got a cool cast out of it. Although, you refused to sign it.”

“I was surprised your arm was the only thing that ended up broken.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that far down,” Cassian leans forward as if to prove his point, but then he takes in the distance to the looming ground below and frowns. How did he only break his arm?

“That was the first time I felt genuine panic,” Nesta admits. “Watching you fall.”

“Were you worried about me, Nes?”

“I was.”

The quiet seriousness to Nesta’s tone has the teasing smile falling away from Cassian’s face. He shifts slightly in his seat, folding his arms across the railing and resting his chin on them. Just past the line of trees he can make out the sparkling lights of downtown.

“Do you remember our prom?” Cassian asks. “You went with that dick, Tomas.”

“You hated him,” Nesta adds, a slight laugh underlying her tone.

“For good reason,” Cassian scoffs. “But I remember we all met up before the dance, and you came out in that red dress… and then you gave me shit for not knowing how to tie a tie and fixed it for me, and in that moment I swore I was going to pass out because I was not breathing. My whole body seized up and all I could do was stare and stare at you.”

She finally turns to look at him then, and he notices the bloodshot tint to her eyes, the dried tear tracks cutting lines down her cheeks. He wants to reach out, hold her face in his hands and use his thumbs to rub away any signs of hurt, fully erase any pain. He closes his hands into fists before he can, the bite of nails against skin grounding him. He turns his eyes back out toward the downtown lights, focusing on the different colors, the way they glow. He uses it as the strength he needs to keep talking.

“And I hated myself for not working up the courage to ask you first. That whole night and even still. Because I wanted to. I was just… gods, I was terrified.”

“That was three years ago.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Honestly, I was kind of hoping it was just me being a dumb kid, that maybe I’d get over myself, but…” Cassian lets out a humorless laugh. “Here we are.”

Another silence settles between them, and Cassian rubs a hand against his chest subconsciously. He feels like he should find blood there, his heart torn straight out and still beating as he holds it out for Nesta. It’s bruised and cracked at this point, but it’s still wholly hers. Always has been.

“I would have said yes, you know,” Nesta whispers. “If you had asked me to prom. I would have said yes.”

“You can still say yes now,” Cassian reminds her, turning pleading eyes toward her.

“We’d fight all the time.”

“We already fight all the time.”

“But I’m not—”

“If you’re about to say that you get grumpy, I know that too.”

Nesta’s eyes snap to his at the comment, and the scowl painted across her face is so reminiscent of before that Cassian’s chest aches at the sight.

“That is not what I was about to say, and I do not get grumpy.”

“Yes, you do. When someone interrupts your reading. And you get hangry. The point is, Nesta, that I know you. I’ve known you for sixteen years. Since you pushed Kallon down on the playground at preschool because he said something mean to me.”

“I stand by that. He was a bully.”

Cassian finally gives in to his own desire, scooting closer and framing Nesta’s face between his hands. She looks up at him with wide eyes, and under the glow of the moon overheard they’re so blue. He wants to drown in them. He wants to burrow under her skin and die happy there. If only she'd let him.

“I know you,” Cassian says. “I know you, and I love you, and there’s not going to be anything you say or do that’s going to change the fact that I’m all in here.”

“I’ve always loved you too, you know.”

“Then what the fuck are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

Cassian knows that this is it. This is the last ditch effort, the hail mary to end all hail mary’s. A lump of nerves is threatening to lodge itself in his throat, but he shoves it down hard, refuses to let fear win again, to let it keep him away from all he's ever wanted, from her. So he silences the voice in the back of his mind, tunes out the anxious ringing in his ears, and leans forward, gently pressing his lips against Nesta’s. There’s a moment where he feels Nesta freeze, but then she’s kissing him back. It's everything and more, the softness of her lips slotted against his own. Cassian moves a hand to her waist, pressing her down and back against the boards of the treehouse, and he kisses her and kisses her with everything he has as they press together. And in that moment, some ancient thrumming deep in his bones finally settles. It's like every slide of their lips is the only breath he’ll ever need to live, and when her fingers slip into the tangles of his hair, it’s like coming home.

Cassian breaks away from her lips to start pressing kisses along her jaw, making his way down the column of her neck. He revels in the soft gasp that tears from her lips at the ministrations.

“I can’t believe you said you’re okay with us always fighting,” Nesta says breathlessly.

“It will be even better now,” Cassian offers, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. “Think of all the makeup sex we’ll have.”

“Oh my gods,” Nesta groans, pulling his head back just in time for Cassian to see her eye roll. “I changed my mind just because you said that.”

Cassian just grins down at her. “Nice try, but you know I don’t believe in take backs.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.”

“Less talking. More kissing.”

Cassian leans in to do just that when the wood beneath them gives an ominous groan. He supposes having faith in wood that is old and most definitely decaying probably wasn’t their best idea. When, luckily, nothing else happens, Cassian slides off Nesta.

“More kissing safely on the ground,” he says, taking Nesta’s hand and tugging her toward the ladder.

Nesta laughs behind him, and after not having heard that sound for weeks, Cassian’s whole chest swells, that warmth of love continuing to bloom and grow until it's flooding his veins. He knows he’ll spend every day pulling that sound out of her, pushing for that small, soft smile she always tries to hide from everyone else but never from him. He’ll hold her heart in safe hands close to his chest, just as he knows she’ll do with his.

When they’re back on the ground, Cassian grabs Nesta’s hand again, threading their fingers together, and he knows that he’ll never let go.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Way Out

Based on this request: “Maybe you do love him/her/them, but you’re with me.“ by anon

Warnings: implied forced relationship, entrapment, general heartlessness/selfishness by Lee

Character: Lee Bodecker, The Devil All the Time

🚓🚓🚓

You looked across the dark country road, your suitcase open and face down, clothes strewn across the stretch of cracked tarmac. Lee kicked the old bag as he stomped over your possessions. He held your handbag and reached into it. He pulled out your wallet and slid out the wad of bills; the money you’d been hiding under the mattress for the last year. Your only hope nestled beneath you every night when you were forced to sleep next to him.

He pocketed the money and shoved the wallet back in your purse before he tossed it onto the ground. He neared and fixed his wide brimmed hat, the golden crest on its face caught the moonlight and glared in your eyes before the shadows sharpened his features. 

You held your neck as you leaned against the dented rear of your car, the front of his cruiser only scratched from impact. You groaned as he grabbed you and drew you forward. He tutted and spun you around so that he jarred your sore muscles again. He pushed you against the trunk and cuffed you swiftly.

“Maybe you do love her,” he snarled, “but you’re with me.”

“Lee,” you murmured, your head still spinning from how quickly it went awry.

“Sir,” he pulled your up like he would a savage criminal and turned to march you around the side of his car, “I tried to do it the right way.”

He opened the door and thrust you inside. You kicked out as you fell onto the seat and he slammed the door, barely missing your toe as he did. You strained to watch him out the window as he went back to your car and dipped inside to mess with the wheel. 

The engine turned and he directed it towards the ditch that divided the fields and the road. He stepped out as it rolled down the incline and sped up until its nose dove into the ditch and crunch against the wall of dirt and grass. The horn broke from impact and set off a blare.

Lee walked calmly back to the cruiser and swung himself into the front seat. He checked the time on his watch then glanced at you in the rear view. He smirked as he turned the key.

“Pity, a woman, driven off the road, robbed… missing…” he turned around and headed back towards the county, “And me, a grieving fiance,” he sighed, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Didn’t even know the bitch was thinking of leaving.” He chuckled to himself, “but they won’t know our little secret.”

You wiggled in the cuffs and sidled across the seat. There was no way out but your heart didn’t care, you wanted to throw yourself out but the door was locked and your hands crushed between you and the leather. You dropped your head back heavily and sobbed.

“Oh, it’s okay,” he said as he steered down a dusty old offshoot of the country escape, “this old place… ain’t no one been down there since the dust bowl, not that they’d ever know where to look anyway.”

“Lee--sir, please--”

“Too late for that, honey,” he shook his head, “don’t you worry, I made sure you got everything you need.”

🚓🚓🚓

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed.

[alby-rei]

[Arthur Week, Day 3] Midnight Snacks

a/n: in which MC (ft. accomplice Dazai) wants to make the resident flirt, Arthur Conan Doyle, jealous. Why? Who knows! But what I do know is that it ends up working in his favor rather than MC’s... wait, what?

a/n 2: changed the title cuz it was bothering me xD nothing else changed.

My entry for @scummy-writes​‘s Arthur Week! 

Day 3: Coffee and Fudge || Writer’s Block

[Pairing]: Arthur x You/gn!MC, (pre-relationship)

[Characters]: You, Arthur, Dazai, Sebastian

[Word count]: ~2300 words

[Rating]: T

[POV]: 2nd Person 

“...and all of a sudden, I hear Mozart yell ‘stop releasing chickens in my music room!’ but Dazai didn’t even flinch!” You brought a foam-covered hand up to your mouth to cover your laughter.

You and Sebastian were cleaning the dishes together after lunch time. You’ve made it a habit to catch up on your day and share observations with Sebas, as pretty much no one steps into the kitchen around this time.

Well, that is except—

“_____~!”

Except Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, naturally. He must’ve finished his writing session and been wandering around the mansion, as is his trademark since your arrival.

You closed your eyes, hoping the man would walk past the kitchen without checking. You weren’t exactly in the mood for flirty games with the mystery writer, especially not after dealing with a haughty music teacher in Mozart. Sadly, luck was not on your side, today.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” you wipe your hands with a towel. Picking up the tray of plates and cups to put them in their rightful places, you didn’t pay the writer any mind.

“After this I gotta find Dazai,” you said as you opened a cupboard. Your turned around to find Arthur leaning on the door frame, and your tone shifted dramatically, “Oh! Arthur, funny to see you here.”

Sebastian knew that tone very well. It was your sickeningly sweet voice that you dedicated to either (a) dodging conversation, or (b) planning something against that person.

“I’d say the same to you, ___, but you’re always in the kitchen. I couldn’t help dropping in to check on my favorite bird,” Arthur leaned against the door frame, flashing you a grin and a wink.

“Oh please, don’t talk about birds after what happened this morning,”  You caught sight of your target at the end of the hallway, “aaaand I have to go, see ya!” 

You duck under Arthur’s arm while his guard was down. He twirled around to follow you, but you evaded him, calling out to Dazai. Arthur stood in his tracks, as he watched the japanese author stop for you, and you beamed up at him.

“Dazai-san, I’ve been wanting to ask you for something, if you’re… free,” you noticed mid-sentence that the chicken that was still nestled in his arms.

“Hm?” His piercing yellow eyes brightened, “I’ll always have time for you, Toshiko-san.”

“Bawk!” The chicken… agreed, supposedly.

You laughed sheepishly, “That’s very sweet of you, I was actually interested in learning about your writing style and get some advice. I’ve been going through some terrible writer’s block.”

“I was working on a short story earlier, it’s in my room. Want to come with me?” He began to lead her towards his room.      

“I’m honored! I’d love to, Dazai-san.”

Oh yes, you were definitely planning something, Sebastian noted.

As the two of them walked away, Arthur stood glued watching the scene. Sebastian had been poking his arm the whole time, but he didn’t budge. Even shaking his entire arm didn’t spur any sudden movement from him.

“Sir Arthur. Earth to Sir Arthur,” Sebas continued tapping his shoulder and pinching his arm.

“Huh? Oh…” His gaze held an odd expression, one that Sebastian hadn’t seen from him before—a hint of sadness, maybe even frustration. But it was quickly replaced by his signature grin as he finally took notice of me, “Sorry, Sebas, I must’ve been blocking your path, got to go!”

And just like that, he scurried off.

After a moment’s pause, and after making sure the hallway was clear of esteemed residents, Sebastian did much the same, but in the opposite direction. He has notes to take, pronto. 

~*~

You and Dazai sat in the lounge room, having passed by his room, and Dazai collected his writing material.

“You have really pretty hands, Toshiko-san. I’ve heard you playing in Mo-kun’s piano room, you’re a wonderful pianist,” Dazai held your hand delicately in his, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“Thank you, it’s something I take a lot of pride in,” your heart swelled from the warmth of his compliment, “but I’ve been much more interested with writing as of late. Actually, I’ve always wanted to write a novel.”

“Oh? I admire your ambition. How can I help?”      

“Well well well, what do we have here?” A third voice chimed in.

Right on time, as you expected.

“Have I interrupted your little rendezvous?” Arthur walked slowly and purposefully, as if he had caught them red-handed doing something they shouldn’t.

Internally, he was trying his best not to jump to conclusions. That would be uncharacteristic of him, after all. You weren’t tied to him in anyway, so there was no reason to feel so jealous that you went to Dazai for writing help instead of him. He didn’t even know about it!

So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his head while his eyes were fixated on their linked hands?

Dazai withdrew his hand, occupying it with his writing pen instead. He shot Arthur a smile with closed eyes.

“Of course not, we were just talking, Arty.”

“…Don’t call me that,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “and second, I’d like to steal ____ now.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I want to talk with Dazai a bit to improve my writing.”

Being shot down so directly caught Arthur off-guard; his insecurities getting a hold of him. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for ways to turn the conversation in his favor. At the moment, if he persisted, and you kept turning him down, he wouldn’t be able to let it down for the rest of the day.

Instead, Arthur straightened himself, fixing his tie, “Well then, I’m heading to the pub soon enough to find me a pretty skirt for the evening. Have fun, you two, I know I will.”

He huffed childishly, going out with a wave. Dazai turned to you with a polite smile.

“Do you think it worked?”

“Oh, he is definitely salty, thanks for agreeing to this, Dazai-san.”

“Any time, Yoshie-san, what are housemates for?” He smiled fondly at you.

“You’re a great actor, didn’t even flinch!”

“Ah, but who said I was acting?”

He got up with his writing tools and stepped out of the lounge before you registered what he said.

“Wait… what?!”

~*~

Later that evening…

…Well, more like around midnight, you just happened to catch the insomnia bug and were heading to the kitchen, as all people naturally do when they’re insomniac. You switched on the lights, thankful for the dimness of the lanterns in the kitchen. Scanning your options, your eyes settled on the coffee pot that sat quietly in the corner. Thoughts of a certain mystery writer gnawed at you, but you darted them away and walked past the coffee pot to get a glass of water instead. You leaned forward, filling her glass with bleary eyes that refused to slumber but also refused to open properly.  

Suddenly, you felt a touch to your backside. Eyes cracking wide open, you spun around and swung your makeshift weapon of glass at your offender. The offending mop of ash blue hair felt the full force of the blow, and the glass shattered across the floor.

Well crap.

“Ow… If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were trying to kill me there, ____.”

For the love—.

“Arthur what the hell were you trying to pull?! Bloody hell! You made my heart drop.”

In a flash, his body was pressed against yours, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. The crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only sound in the room. You saw a small stream of blood start to fall by his ear.

“I was going to prepare myself a midnight snack with my coffee, but it seems I already found one ready for a taste test,” he licked the back of his fangs.

“At this hour??” It was well past midnight by now, and caffeine was the last thing you’d recommend anyone at this time. 

You felt his breath on your ear before he inhaled your scent. It was comforting to him as much as it was intoxicating to his senses.

He sighed, “____… I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter what I do.”

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you away from the countertop and flush against him, instead. All sorts of alarms were going off in your mind despite the drowsiness, with your instincts telling you to push him off.

“But then, you started avoiding me. And then… Sebastian and Mozart and even Dazai took you away from me,” he sniffled.

You pushed him off gently but still within his arms, as you stared at his face. There was a pink dust across his cheeks and a redness in the corners of his eyes.

“Arthur, are you… drunk?”

His frown flipped into a grin as he nuzzled his nose into your disheveled hair.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I may have been out drinking, but I can bloody well hold my liquor. Theo can vouch for me on that.”

(a/n: no, he can’t lmao)

The sight of him in a somewhat vulnerable state, as well as the smell of his cologne, made it hard for you to properly fight him. Plus, you felt bad for crushing a glass cup on his head. Speaking of which…

“Is your head okay?”

“Hm…” He brought a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling a dull pounding in its wake, “I must say, you got me good, even the most daring fools never landed a hit on me yet.”

Just how thick is his skull to endure that?! You were both dazzled and frightened by their realization. 

With one of his arms off of you, you took this chance to escape, but you slid on a shard of glass and would have fallen face first onto the floor had Arthur not pulled you against him and taken the impact of the floor to his own shoulder. He laid on his back, clutching you protectively against his chest. He groaned with pain, but he pushed it aside to check on you first.

“Clumsy tonight, are we, or are you seriously trying to kill me?” He chuckled wryly.

Before you could even blink, you felt your vision do a 180-flip, and you were suddenly beneath him, away from the glass shards that littered the floor. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses again, as he smirked down on you with a drunken lopsided grin.

“I was absolutely livid when I saw Dazai hold your hand. Was that part of your plan, darling? Well, I’ve taken the bait.”

You flinched, your body wide awake to every touch and caress of this man. You bit your lip to avoid playing into his hands. You were still in control of the situation, you thought. His lips descended to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, like he’s testing your limits. Instinctively, you sighed, unaware of the breath you’d been holding.

Ok, maybe you weren’t entirely in control, either.

“Arthur…” You commanded, trying to regain some semblance of control back.

This was not part of your plan, however, and you were quickly losing grip of all reason and logic. You needed to get him off and away from you before you acquiesced to his ministrations.

“But don’t worry, ____. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He drew back from you, staring down at you with an uncharacteristic tender look. He continued.

“The effect you have on me is not one I’ve felt with any woman I’ve ever encountered before. It’s confusing—maddening, even— and I can’t escape it… because I don’t want to,” he sighed in surrender, “I want you, ___.” 

It was a look of pure love and affection that shone in his eyes. His half-opened shirt invited your gaze to roam his body, and his thick-rimmed glasses framed his features in such an alluring glow that outshone the dimness of the kitchen. His hair looked softer than usual, too. Your hand twitched at the thought of running your fingers through those ash blue locks. Your mind was thrown into a whirlwind with the influx of new information, one that dented your rationality. Your desire to get closer to him wrestled against your impartial stoicism, threatening to crack the armor around the stone gates to your heart.

“Hey Arthur,” you started, twirling a lock of his hair with your hand. It was ever-so-slightly damp; he must’ve bathed in le thermae earlier.

“Yes, ____?”

Damn that seductive voice of his, you shooed away that thought as soon as it entered. You chose to focus on something much more pressing at the moment. 

“We need to get you bandaged up. You’re bleeding terribly from your head.”

~*~

It took a lot of convincing, but Arthur finally acquiesced to your persistent request.

“There, all done,” you stepped back from Arthur, who was sitting hunched over on his bed.

You were both settled in his room with his medical bag open on the desk and his equipment strewn all around. You didn’t exactly know what to do to treat Arthur’s wound, but you insisted on doing it for him… with copious amounts of instructions from him.

“I brought you some fresh coffee and fudge, as an apology.”

“At this hour?” He mimicked your tone from earlier. You rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“And here I am trying to make it up to you, and this is how you show gratitude?”

You huffed indignantly, ready to head out and leave the unappreciative writer to his own devices.

“Hold on, now,” he gripped your wrist before you could fully turn away, “you’re the one who smashed glass on my head, so you owe me a favor.”

“…a favor on top of tending to your wounds and bringing you coffee?”

“Oh, indulge me, won’t you? You did those of your own volition.”

You sigh, “Depends on the request, then.”

“Feed me,” he perked up with no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone.

You wanted to turn him down, to tease him about his child-like excitement, but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. Those eyes held a very powerful hold over you though you blame it on your own tiredness outweighing your better judgment.

“Alright…” You moved aside his things to sit next to him, leaning towards the table to drag the tray closer to yourself.

“Open wide, you incorrigible baby.”