#but YEAH I knew this day was going to be 'what skyline against some of the nebula brushes I haven't used in a while?'

[runefactorynonsense]

Melotober - Day 21 -Night Sky

Sometimes you just need to stop, and breathe

[jo-speaks]

Happy birthday!! Can I request 🎂 (keep reading, don't let me distract you) With quinn of course

warnings: smut below the cut!! mdni! oral sex (fem! receiving), yeah that's pretty much it

celly masterlist

You were lying on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a sports bra, nose-deep into a book Quinn had recommended to you a few days ago. You had gotten sleepy while watching the game, so you decided maybe a book would keep you awake. You were right. The plot was growing intensely in a way that made it impossible for you to stop your eyes from shifting left to right, processing every word and picturing everything vividly in your mind.

You were so focused on the story that you hadn’t noticed Quinn walk into the apartment. Not even the thud of his bag hitting the floor was enough to snap you out of your trance.

Quinn noticed your state of being when he entered the apartment. You had the blinds closed even though you had the perfect view of the skyline from the windows. The only light in the room came from the TV where you had some background music playing. He smiled when he noticed what you were reading, a sense of pride flooding his body as he recognized the familiar title.

He didn’t want to interrupt you, but he wanted to be close to you. He kicked off his shoes and stripped himself of his game-day suit, leaving him in nothing but his underwear before he made his way over to you.

No words were exchanged as he pushed your knees apart, finding a home in between your legs with his head on your stomach. You removed one hand from the book, moving it to mess with his hair. Smiling at the feeling, Quinn placed a kiss on your bare midriff, earning a giggle from you. 

“That tickles.” You mumbled, returning back to the sentence you had left off on.

Quinn smiled, “Go back to your book, baby. It’s a good read.”

He realized you already had when he was met with silence. His lips met your stomach again. And again.

It hadn’t been his intention to pull your attention away from the book. It genuinely was a good story, but he couldn’t help but trail his kisses from your navel to just mere inches from your core. Before he even knew what was happening, he was sliding your shorts and panties down your legs, letting them find a new home on the floor.

“Quinn?” You asked, voice trembling slightly as you lowered your book to see what he was doing.

He peered up at you, offering you a sweet smile, “Keep reading. Don’t let me distract you.”

You obeyed, trying to control your breathing and bring your focus back to the pages once again as he placed a soft kiss on your clit. 

His tongue lapped against your core in a tamed manner until a switch seemed to flip in his brain.  His once previously soft actions turned messy in a matter of seconds, beginning to eat you out like you were his last meal.

Whimpers turned into moans as you tugged on his hair, earning a groan from him, the vibrations translating perfectly from his throat to your throbbing clit. You couldn’t fathom the thought of picking the book up again, too distracted by his mouth to even remember anything you had read in the past hour.

“Fuck, Quinn. Don’t stop. Please.” You babbled, brain turning to mush as he shifted his tongue from lapping at your clit to prodding at your entrance. His nose replaced that sensation, the tip of it rubbing up perfectly against you, causing you to grind your hips against his face.

Quinn pulled away slightly to speak, “Cum for me, sweet girl. Let me get you there.” Once he got his words out, he dove right back into you as if you were his only source of oxygen.

It didn’t take long before you were crying out, the forgotten book sliding off your chest and onto the ground, as you arched your back, a wave of euphoria hitting you hard.

He didn’t stop his actions, helping you ride out your orgasm whilst sucking in every last drop of it. He wouldn’t have stopped had it not been for the palm of your hand pushing his head away from you. 

Quinn trailed kisses up your body, worshiping you silently before he reached your face, placing a loving kiss on your lips, the taste of you lingering against your tongue. 

“So much for not distracting me. I was getting to the climax.” You jokingly complained.

Your boyfriend snorted as he made himself comfortable on top of you, “And I helped you get there.”

[mapiforpresident]

Can you do number 40 with lia wälti please?

Quiet Pining

Lia Walti x Williamson!reader

As the sun dipped low over the London skyline, Arsenal was starting their second training session of the day, preparing for an upcoming champions league match. You were the team's main goalie and supposed to be focused intently on your current drills, but your attention kept drifting to Lia.

Lia was a couple of meters away, with the midfielders and defenders engaged in a lively rondo. You were supposed to be practicing with the strikers, but your eyes kept drifting over to Lia.

“Y/n, come on! Focus!” Alessia called out, snapping you back to reality. You chuckled sheepishly, trying to shake off your distraction.

“Sorry!” you called, your cheeks warming. Leah, your annoying older sister, glanced your way, an amused smile playing on her lips.

The drills progressed, and as the strikers took turns shooting at goal, you felt your palms getting sweaty. You were well aware of the pressure and that you needed to show your teammates that you were ready for the match ahead. But each time you tried to focus, you’d catch sight of Lia, looking absolutely stunning in the light from the setting sun.

“Come on, Y/n! You got this!” shouted Katie from the sidelines as a couple girls stood to watch the end of your drills.

Once the strikers wrapped up their drills, you saw the perfect opportunity for some fun. You exchanged a glance with Katie, who instantly knew what you were thinking. You both tiptoed over to the water station, grabbing two bottles with icy water.

“Let’s go for the midfielders!” Katie whispered, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Not Lia, though,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. You couldn’t bear the thought of embarrassing her like that, even in a playful way.

“Fine, fine. Just Beth and Viv, then,” Katie said with a mischievous grin. You nodded, and together, you snuck up behind your unsuspecting targets.

“Surprise!” you shouted, pouring the cold water down their backs.

“What the” Beth yelped, jumping and spinning around, her expression a mix of shock and laughter. Viv, also caught off guard, jumped almost a foot in the air and then glared at you two as you ran away laughing.

“You two are so dead!” Beth laughed, chasing after you. Viv just stood there glaring. You and Katie took off faster, dodging around cones and teammates.

After all the drills wrapped up, you collapsed onto the grass beside Leah, trying to catch your breath. The sun was getting lower in the sky, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, and you could see Lia chatting with Kim Little a few feet away.

Leah nudged you, smirk present. “That was quite the performance, Y/n. You might want to watch your back, though. Viv looked ready to tackle you.”

You chuckled, looking over at the two of them. “Worth it.”

“Speaking of fun, are you ready for the match against Roma?” Leah asked, stretching out her legs.

“Yeah, I think so. Just a bit nervous,” you admitted, your gaze still lingering on Lia. “I mean, it’s a big game, especially since we didn't make the champions league last year. I need to make sure I’m on top of my game.”

“Pressure is part of it, right? You’ve trained hard for this. You’ll be great! And anyways nothing is getting past me, so you don't have to worry” Leah said, her voice full of confidence to which you just raised an eyebrow.

You turned your head toward her. “What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down?”

“Hey, stop that! You’re not going to let anyone down. Just play your game and do what you know best. And remember, this is a team sport and we win and lose together,” Leah reassured you, squeezing your shoulder.

Just then, Lia walked over, her smile wide and inviting. “Hey, you two! What’s the plan for after practice?” she asked, glancing between you and Leah.

You felt your heart race, the sudden shyness enveloping you like a thick fog. “Uh, I don’t know... maybe just rest up for the match?” you managed to stammer, your eyes darting to the ground, avoiding Lia’s gaze.

“Sounds good,” Lia replied, “You should both come hang out later. We can go over game strategies and maybe watch a movie.”

“Definitely!” Leah said as Lia helped pull her up off the ground. You nodded, but your mind was spinning. The thought of being alone with just your sister and Lia, sent your heart into a wild rhythm.

As practice wrapped up, you gathered your things, overthinking everything that could go wrong. Leah and you hopped in the car, you in the passenger seat.

The ride home was filled with a silence, you couldn't stop thinking about Lia, and how she was way out of your league, not to mention your sisters best friends. As Leah drove, you kept glancing out the window, lost in thought.

“Y/n,” Leah broke the silence, her tone teasing yet serious, “you’re still thinking about Lia, aren’t you?”

You sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Maybe a little.”

Leah smirked. “You know, I’ve seen the way you look at her. You like her.”

Your heart raced at her words, the heat creeping into your cheeks again. “I don’t know, Leah. It’s complicated. She’s your best friend and what if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Or what if she does?” Leah countered, glancing at you with a knowing smile. “You won’t know unless you say something. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Making things awkward?” you shot back, but deep down, the idea of being brave lingered.

“Look, you’ve got to take a chance,” Leah encouraged. “I mean, come on! You two have this great chemistry. Just think about it.”

You mulled over Leah’s words, your heart fluttering at the thought of actually asking Lia out. What if it could lead to something beautiful? But then again, what if it didn’t?

“Maybe you could ask her out after the match when we win,” Leah suggested, her tone turning more serious. “you can have time to think about what you are going to say and you’ll feel more confident.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you said quietly, but the thought sent a shiver down your spine. Could you really do that?

When you finally pulled into your driveway, Leah parked the car and turned to face you. “Promise me you’ll at least think about it. I have a good feeling she'll say yes. Just ask her to go for coffee or something after practice.”

“I’ll think about it,” you replied, though your heart was racing at the idea. “But what if it ruins everything?”

“It won’t. And if it does, you’ll get through it together. That’s what friends do,” Leah assured you, her eyes full of sincerity. She really wanted you to be happy and she knew that you and Lia would do that for each other.

You went over to Lia's with Leah for a couple hours after dinner and you were very in your head the whole time. Especially when you sat in between them during the movie and Lia scooted closer to you.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned, the weight of your feelings for Lia pressing heavy on your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you could see her smile, hear her laughter. You imagined what it would be like to hold her hand, to go out for coffee, to just be together.

By morning, you were a bundle of nerves. The thought of the match against Roma filled you with anticipation, but it was overshadowed by the thought of what to do about Lia.

As you slipped into your jersey, you kept stealing glances at Lia. She was chatting with Beth, head thrown back in laughter. You really wanted to approach them, but the thought of actually talking to her made your heart race even faster.

The practice session began, and you pushed aside your nerves, focusing on the drills. The strikers took their shots at you, and you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as you dove to save each shot. You were in your element, and for a moment, the anxiety about Lia faded away.

During a break, you grabbed a water bottle and chugged a couple sips. Leah joined you, her expression curious. “So, have you thought about what you’re going to say to Lia?”

You sighed, as you redid your bun. “Honestly? I’m terrified. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Then you’ll deal with it,” Leah said simply. “But you won’t know unless you try.”

“I just don’t want to ruin our friendship. She means a lot to me,” you admitted, looking down at the grass.

“She means a lot to you because you’re friends. Think about it—if it doesn’t work out, wouldn’t you rather know than wonder?” Leah pushed gently.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Just then, you saw Lia walking toward you, a smile spreading across her face. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your palms grow clammy.

“Hey! What are you two plotting over here?” Lia teased.

“Just talking about the match,” Leah said smoothly. “And how amazing our goalie is going to be.”

Lia turned to you, her eyes sparkling. “You’ll be fantastic. You always are, especially in these big games”

“Thanks, Lia,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As she talked, you found yourself hanging onto her every word. The way she moved, she was intoxicating.

Lia smiled brightly, and for a moment, the world around you faded away as you stared into each others eyes. The sounds of the training ground faded, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble. But then Lia blinked and looked away as Leah cleared her throat. The three of you jogged back to the circle that was forming to discuss the next part of training.

~~~

Once practice was over you showered and got changed before finding your sister and starting the walk to her car, but once you got outside, Leah said, "I have a meeting about my next book, i'll see you later."

“Wait, Leah—” you called, but she was already jogging off towards the car, her back to you. You stood there, dumbfounded that she really just left you there.

Lia noticed and walked over, her brow furrowing in concern. “Why are you out here by yourself? Where’s Leah?”

“She sped off without me,” you admitted, forcing a laugh that felt hollow.

“Ah, classic Leah,” Lia said, shaking her head with a smile. “Do you need a ride home?”

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the offer. “Uh, yeah, that would be great,” you finally managed to say, your heart racing at the thought of being alone with her.

As you climbed into the passenger seat, the car felt small and intimate, even though it was a normal size SUV. The ride was filled with silence, both of you stealing shy glances at each other. You could feel the electricity in the air, and every time your hands brushed against the center console, your heart raced.

Lia seemed to sense the new atmosphere as well, her cheeks slightly flushed. “So, are you excited for the match?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, definitely! Just trying to stay focused,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Me too, I'm excited to be playing in the champions league again!” she said, her smile making your heart flutter.

The car pulled up to your flat, and you sat there for a moment, your mind racing. Just as you gathered the courage to ask if she wanted to hang out—just the two of you—her phone buzzed on the dashboard. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” Lia said, her tone apologetic. You felt a pang of disappointment as she answered the call.

“Hey! Yeah, I’m on my way,” she said, her eyes meeting yours for just a brief moment.

You felt the words catch in your throat, but the moment had slipped away. “Uh, bye, Lia,” you managed to say, your heart sinking as she waved goodbye, a mix of regret and longing flooding you as she drove away.

[suiana]

need more killer harem and organ seller

(yandere! killer harem x gn! organ seller reader) (first fic of 2024 oh em gee 😋😋)

"it's going to be 2024."

"yeah."

you reply to his statement as you stand motionlessly, staring up at the night sky as your provider for the day stands beside you. you tug at your turtleneck sweater nervously, avoiding his gaze as you attempt to ignore how he inches closer to you with each passing second.

you two remain silent after that, him staring affectionately at you and you standing awkwardly beside him. you nervously eye the railing you leaned against, watching as the crowd below you engages in merry discussion. gulping awkwardly, you play with your hands as you mentally curse yourself for deciding to accept his offer of watching the new year's fireworks with him. you should've known better than to accept one of your lovesick admirers hand in something so romantic.

plus, it's not like you did anything like this for any of your other partners. sure, you kissed a few, held some tenderly, indulged multiple on dates, maybe even fucked one or two... but you've never agreed to watch fireworks like lovers do! speaking of which...

it's almost creepy how each and every one of your business partners turn out infatuated with you one way or another. was it the air? was it because they were all mentally insane? you don't know and you couldn't bother to care. because the more you know, the deeper you fall into the rabbit hole of their lives.

so you don't know why you've decided to indulge this organ provider for today. especially since... he looks more deranged than the rest.

"hey, can i ask something?"

he asks, staring at you with that same creepy smile that sends chills up your spine. yet, you nod in response to his question. he simply laughs at that, turning to look at the night sky before mumbling softly.

"would you choose me out of everyone else?"

you pause, looking at him with narrowed eyes before shaking your head. you're not going to entertain any nonsense. you knew you should've left earlier-

"mn... that's too bad. i would've chosen you in a crowd of others. it hurts me to know you wouldn't do the same."

he holds your wrist tightly, mumbling in faux hurt as he smiles eerily at you. you freeze, not moving as you glare at your business partner. damn, you can't believe you actually agreed to be here with him in the first place.

"let go."

"nah. i like holding you."

you grit your teeth, but do nothing to break free as you continue to stare at him. he merely hums in response, smiling as he looks across the city skyline.

all of a sudden, he pins you to the railing, face way too close for comfort.

"mn... you're so cute like this... can i kiss you?"

you squirm under his grip, heart beating loudly as all you can focus on is his eager face.

"g-get off!"

you huff, pushing at his chest as you sweat nervously. shit, he could easily push you over the railing and you'd be mush like some of his victims- that's when you felt his lips brush against yours, kissing your cheek as his hands go to the back of your neck.

you stop in place, looking up as he pulls away only to realize that it was a new year. your fingers gently touch your cheek as you eye him. he didn't kiss you on the lips? what was he up to?

"haha! how silly you are. i just wanted to give you a new year's present. don't be so tense."

he gestures to the necklace around your neck. ah... so that's what he did...

"and there was ice cream on your face from just now. didn't tell you cause i thought you'd notice but you're much more clumsier than i thought! don't worry, i cleaned it for ya. free of charge~"

he winks at you before grinning.

"happy new year. i hope you'll make the right choice when the time comes."

he then waves at you before turning around, leaving you alone to you thoughts as the sound of the fireworks takes your attention. right choice huh... was this a sign that your business partners were planning something? you sure hope not...

you wouldn't want to have to make such a difficult choice. especially since choosing just one would mean you'd make enemies out of the rest. you sigh out, rubbing your temples before leaning against the railing again. oh well, you'll just enjoy the pretty display for now. after all, that's what you came for. you'll deal with the problems later.

"...happy new year, i guess."

yeah, what a happy new year this year will be :)

[dark-l-angel]

HIIIII! I don't know if you will ever see this but ...

I was thinking that maybe when batman was going on patrol with Robin ( Damian ) . they suddenly encountered black widow ( Reader ) , fighting some assassin on top of an abandoned tower or building . They don't know who they are so they come to investigate and just watch how black widow ( reader ) fights and when the battle is starting to really get bloody . All of a sudden batman and Robin step up in the fight . And when the fight was over the reader was ready to throw fist . Until she passed out of blood loss and too much injuries , and when she woke up she was suddenly in the Batcave . And the Batfam just started questioning her , Tim Drake Investigating her until he comes across of redroom the Notorious home for Men slayers . So when she woke up and started answering all the questions of how she ran how she got injured . And how she wants to free women and young girls from the redroom and prevent bloodshed and showed them her little bag with " Red dust " antidote for the mind controlled assassins . And she started her sad backstory . And for a month she stayed there and started getting closer with Nightwing (Dick) and Red hood (Jason) . Cause they have the same experience . The two are just starting to fall in love with the reader . ( just basically the Black widow movie but with a more mind blowing plot . )

Yeah and if you read this I'm a fan of your writing and sorry for my grammar english is not my first language ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ . If it's totally fine with you writing this . And I was hoping if you're totally okay with it them being poly and being a happy family with their Quadruplet kiddos ... And just being cute ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

It took time, but i hope it was worth it ✨ ❤

Echoes of Shadows

Batfam x blackwidow!reader (oneshot + headcanons)

The Gotham skyline loomed above, a jagged silhouette against the inky night sky. Batman and Robin, cloaked in shadows, prowled the rooftops with practiced ease. Tonight's patrol had been routine, until they stumbled upon a scene that shattered the calm.

On the abandoned tower's rooftop, a deadly ballet unfolded under the moon's cold gaze. A figure clad in black, swift and lethal, engaged in a desperate dance with a group of assailants. Her movements were precise, calculated—the mark of someone trained to kill.

Batman and Robin observed from the shadows, silent witnesses to the deadly elegance before them. As the battle escalated, with blood staining the concrete, they knew intervention was necessary. With the precision of a well-honed team, they descended upon the fray, striking with controlled force.

The skirmish ended in a blur of punches and kicks, the assailants subdued by the combined might of Batman and Robin. Amidst the aftermath, the mysterious woman stood, her breaths labored, wounds oozing crimson. She eyed the vigilantes warily, ready to continue the fight.

But exhaustion claimed her, a heavy toll of blood loss and injuries. She collapsed, unconscious, in Batman's arms. Without hesitation, they whisked her away to the safety of the Batcave—a sanctuary hidden beneath Gotham's veneer of darkness.

Days passed like shadows in the depths of the Batcave. The woman, now awake and alert, found herself under the scrutiny of Gotham's guardians. Tim Drake, the analytical mind of the Batfamily, delved into her past with relentless determination.

Tim's investigation unearthed a trail of deception and darkness—a trail that led to the Red Room, a notorious crucible for female assassins. The woman, known only as (Y/N), recounted her journey with grim determination, revealing her mission to free others from the Red Room's clutches.

"I've seen what they do to girls," (Y/N) spoke softly, her gaze haunted by memories buried deep. "The conditioning, the brutality... I couldn't let it continue."

Her revelation struck a chord within the Batcave's walls. Dick and Jason, each scarred by their own pasts, found empathy in (Y/N)'s resolve. They shared moments of camaraderie and quiet understanding, drawn together by the weight of shared experiences.

As days turned into weeks, (Y/N) became a fixture in the Batcave—a reluctant ally turned trusted friend. She trained alongside Robin, honing her skills under Batman's watchful eye. Her determination to dismantle the Red Room resonated with Gotham's protectors, each of whom saw shades of their own struggles reflected in her resolve.

Nightwing, with his easy charm and steadfast support, found himself drawn to (Y/N)'s resilience. Their late-night conversations carried echoes of shared pain and unspoken hope. Red Hood, with his fierce loyalty and unyielding nature, saw a kindred spirit in (Y/N)'s quest for justice.

Amidst the shadows of Gotham, (Y/N) found solace in the company of heroes—each with their own scars, each with their own battles fought and victories won. Together, they forged bonds that transcended the boundaries of vigilante justice, bound by a shared commitment to protect the innocent and defy the darkness that threatened to consume their city.

And as (Y/N) continued her fight against the Red Room's legacy, she discovered something unexpected—a sense of belonging in the unlikeliest of places, alongside those who understood the weight of shadows and the enduring power of hope.

Now to Jason and dick x you *I'll do headcanons

Jason Todd:

Jason Todd was not one to easily trust or open up, but (Y/N)'s presence in the Batcave stirred something within him. Her resilience and determination mirrored his own turbulent journey from darkness to redemption.

Jason recognized the haunted look in (Y/N)'s eyes—the echoes of a past scarred by violence and manipulation. Her unwavering commitment to dismantling the Red Room struck a chord with Jason, who saw shades of his own quest for justice in her relentless pursuit of redemption.

Despite his gruff exterior, he found himself drawn to (Y/N)'s vulnerability—a vulnerability she rarely showed, except in fleeting moments when the weight of her past threatened to overwhelm her. He admired her strength, yet felt a protective instinct that defied logic.

Their interactions were often marked by unspoken understanding—a shared language of glances and gestures that spoke volumes in the quiet of the Batcave. Jason found himself seeking (Y/N)'s company, drawn to the solace she offered amidst Gotham's relentless chaos.

Over time, Jason's admiration blossomed into something deeper—a fierce loyalty and an unspoken yearning that caught him off guard. He found himself wanting to shield (Y/N) from further harm, to stand by her side in the battle against their shared demons.

Jason's protective instincts, honed through years of survival on Gotham's unforgiving streets, surged to the forefront. He wanted to be her protector, her confidant—a role that defied his lone wolf persona but resonated with a primal need to keep her safe.

Dick Grayson:

Dick Grayson, the heart of the Batfamily, approached (Y/N) with a warmth and empathy that set him apart. His easy charm and unwavering support endeared him to (Y/N), who found solace in his steadfast presence amidst the shadows of Gotham.

Dick's charisma drew (Y/N) in from their first meeting. His genuine interest in her well-being and his ability to lighten even the darkest moments created a bond of trust and companionship.

He admired (Y/N)'s strength and resilience, seeing in her a kindred spirit who refused to be defined by her past. He supported her in her mission against the Red Room, lending his expertise and resources to aid her cause.

Both him and (Y/N) shared a deep-seated commitment to justice and protecting the innocent. Their conversations often revolved around their shared ideals, sparking debates and moments of introspection that deepened their connection.

Dick's role as Nightwing extended beyond vigilantism—he became (Y/N)'s emotional anchor in the storm of their shared battles. His ability to listen without judgment and offer comfort in times of doubt earned him a special place in (Y/N)'s heart.

As their friendship evolved, Dick found himself drawn to (Y/N) in ways he hadn't anticipated. His protective instincts kicked in, wanting to shield her from harm and offer her the love and stability she deserved.

☆ i hope you like it ☆

[kathlare]

good graces

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: On a rare day off in Rio, Amelie and Rozzi unwind in a smoky hotel suite, playfully teasing each other about relationships while passing a joint.

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Warnings: use of drugs, explicit comments

full masterlist // request over here!

November 15th, 2023 - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Amelie sat cross-legged on the plush sofa in the cozy hotel suite, a cloud of smoke swirling around her and Rozzi as they passed a joint back and forth. The sunlight was fading over the Rio de Janeiro skyline, casting a golden glow over the room. The tour had a rare day off, and after weeks of nonstop shows and rehearsals, Amelie was thankful for the break, even if she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

—So, Amelie,— Rozzi said, her voice slightly slurred as she took another hit from the joint. —What the hell is going on with you and that boy, Lando? You two are acting like a couple of horny teenagers again, huh?—

Amelie couldn’t help but laugh, rolling her eyes, though she knew Rozzi was right. —Ugh, don't even start, Rozzi,— she muttered, sinking deeper into the couch. Her head was already starting to spin a little from the weed, but she pushed through, still ready to vent. —I don’t even know what the hell is happening. It’s like we’re stuck in this loop of... of, god, I don't even know! It's like we keep circling each other, but neither of us knows how to break the damn cycle.—

Rozzi raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. —Cycle, huh? More like an endless fuckfest. Girl, last time I saw you two, it was in Argentina, and, damn, Alex and I could hear you two all the way from the next room. The moaning? The sounds? Please. You two were literally making animal noises.—

Amelie flushed, half-laughing, half-embarrassed, but she didn’t deny it. —Okay, fine, I won’t lie. That was... intense. But it’s not just that, Rozzi. It’s like we can’t stay away from each other, but we also can’t figure out how to make it work. It’s frustrating. We’ve been there before, and it went to shit. It feels like we’re just trying to patch it up with sex, you know? And honestly, I don’t know if that’s enough this time.—

Rozzi exhaled the smoke, watching Amelie closely. —Girl, you know I love you, but I’ve gotta say it... sounds like you two are, like, seriously addicted to each other. Maybe not the healthiest thing, but hell, it’s definitely some next-level chemistry. But... don’t you think you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak again?—

Amelie chuckled dryly, tipping her head back against the cushions. —Yeah, I keep thinking that too. Like, part of me wants to give in and just let it happen because it’s so easy with him. It’s like nothing’s changed, except that, uh... we’re both better in bed now.—

Rozzi let out a laugh, her voice mocking but affectionate. —Oh my god, better in bed? Babe, you’re gonna make me choke on this shit. Are you telling me this boy actually learned some new tricks? I thought you two were just fumbling around the first time, like, did he go to, like, fuckboy training camp or something?—

Amelie rolled her eyes dramatically. —No, seriously, though, he’s gotten better. Like, way better. I can’t even believe how much he’s improved. The boy’s definitely been practicing. I mean... that wasn't the case back in the day, but he's definitely learned a thing or two about hitting all the right spots.—

Rozzi laughed harder, slapping her knee. —Oh my god, Amelie, that’s wild. You two are fucking like you’re making up for lost time, huh?—

Amelie leaned forward, grabbing a cushion from the couch and chucking it at Rozzi, who was practically doubled over with laughter. —Shut up, Rozzi! It’s not like that... okay, maybe it is, but you don’t have to say it like that! And don’t you dare tell Alex any of this, I swear to god.—

Rozzi caught the cushion mid-air and tossed it back with ease. —Please, like Alex doesn’t already know. Babe, we heard everything. Like, everything. Walls aren’t that thick, Ames. You two sounded like you were auditioning for an R-rated nature documentary. Even Alex was like, ‘Are they okay?’—

Amelie groaned, burying her face in her hands, her cheeks burning despite the haze of the weed. —Oh my god, kill me now. I’m moving to another planet.— She peeked through her fingers, catching Rozzi’s gleeful expression. —You’re such a bitch, you know that?—

—And you love me for it,— Rozzi said with a wink, taking another hit and passing the joint back to Amelie. —But seriously, what’s the deal now? Like, are you two just... hooking up? Or is there some actual feelings shit happening here? Because, girl, from the way you’re talking, it sounds like you’re in deep again.—

Amelie took a long drag from the joint, exhaling slowly as she tried to put her thoughts into words. —I don’t know, Rozz. I mean, yeah, there are feelings. There’s always been feelings. But it’s so fucking complicated. Like, I’m terrified of letting him in again, you know? Last time, it all fell apart, and I was the one picking up the pieces while he was off living his life like nothing happened.—

Rozzi frowned, her teasing demeanor softening. —That’s valid, Ames. I get it. But... it kinda sounds like you’re still holding onto that hurt. And maybe you have every right to, but if you’re gonna let him back in, you need to figure out if you can actually forgive him. Otherwise, you’re just setting yourself up for more pain.—

Amelie nodded slowly, her gaze distant. —Yeah, I know. That’s why I told him straight up... I’m not playing games this time. He knows I’m capable of loving him, like really loving him, but I won’t tolerate any disrespect. If he screws up, it’s over. No second chances. I’ve been through too much to put up with bullshit.—

Rozzi raised her joint in a mock toast. —Amen, sister. Teach that boy some respect. But... I gotta ask, does he even realize how much of a chance he’s getting right now? Because it sounds like you’re bending over backwards to make this work.—

Amelie shrugged, a small, bittersweet smile playing on her lips. —I don’t know if he fully gets it yet, but I think he’s trying. Like, really trying. He’s different now, or at least he’s trying to be. But it’s still scary, you know? Like, what if we’re just doomed to repeat the same mistakes?—

Rozzi leaned back, puffing out a cloud of smoke. —Then write about it. You’re always better at sorting through your shit when you put it into music. Come on, let’s write a song about this mess.—

Amelie laughed, her mood lightening. —Oh my god, that’s actually perfect. Alright, Rozzi, grab your guitar. Let’s do this.—

Rozzi jumped up, grabbing Alex’s acoustic guitar from the corner of the room. She handed it to Amelie, who strummed a few chords absentmindedly, her mind already buzzing with ideas. They started tossing lyrics back and forth, giggling and brainstorming as the song began to take shape.

—Okay, okay, how about this,— Amelie said, her voice slurring slightly from the weed as she sang: —"When I love you, I’m sweet like an angel, drawin’ hearts ‘round our names and dreamin’ of... writing vows, rockin’ cradles."—

Rozzi gasped dramatically, clapping her hands. —Yes! That’s it. And then hit him with some real talk, like... "Don’t mistake my nice for naive." Oh, that’s fire.—

Amelie grinned, nodding enthusiastically as she scribbled the lyrics down in her notebook. —Yes! And then something about how if he fucks up, he’s out. "Like, You do something suspect, as cute as ‘bye-bye.’"—

Rozzi cackled, slapping her thigh. —Oh my god, savage. I love it. You’re basically warning him in the cutest way possible. And then throw in a little ‘boy, it’s not that complicated.’ You know, keep it real.—

They kept going, bouncing ideas off each other and laughing hysterically whenever one of them came up with a particularly brutal line. By the time they had most of the song written, they were both red-faced and crying from laughter.

Suddenly, the door to the suite swung open, and Alex walked in, holding a bag of food. He froze in the doorway, taking in the sight of Amelie and Rozzi sprawled out on the couch, giggling uncontrollably and surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

—What the hell is going on in here?— he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Amelie and Rozzi both turned to him, their eyes wide and glassy. —Alex! You’re back!— Amelie said, jumping up and running toward him. —Did you bring food? Oh my god, you’re the best.—

Alex held the bag out of reach, smirking. —You two are high as hell, aren’t you? Jesus, Rozzi, you’re supposed to be the responsible one.—

Rozzi shrugged, grinning unapologetically. —What can I say? It was a creative session. And don’t act like you’re not used to this by now.—

Alex sighed, shaking his head as he handed over the bag. —You’re lucky I love you both. But next time, try not to write an entire album while you’re stoned, okay?—

Amelie laughed, grabbing the bag and pulling out a sandwich. —No promises. Now shut up and let us eat. We’re starving.—

As they all sat down to eat, the notebook with the half-finished lyrics sat on the coffee table, a testament to the chaotic, hilarious, and unexpectedly productive day they’d had.

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

Vox making a sinner his housespouse Drabble

Tw: (50’s) Period typical views of the nuclear family, entrapment, manipulation, gaslighting nuclear “family”, threats of violence, noncon touching

@omniuravity

I can just imagine the look on his face one day when you walk into his establishment looking for directions to where you’re supposed to go. A new sinner, someone just trying to pull themselves up as quick as possible.

And so polite too!

He’d charm you with a welcoming air and a quick gesture into his office, trying to offer you jobs in tv while you turn each one.

Smart.

When you highlight some of your skills he feels a course of electricity jolt through him, something more human than hid metal, and wired bodies.

“Have you thought of maid services?”

It was the first thought to come to his mind and one he noticed you cringed at, but shrugged towards.

“What could it hurt?”

A grin grew up his face and for the first few months he had a car driving you from where ever you’d need to go, so long as you offered him company at the end of the day. A small chat in his office turned to nights at an old fashioned drive through, turned into dances under the darkest part of the pride ring.

Yet he could tell you weren’t impressed, so he broadcast you on television, your services, your personality, making offhanded remarks about how perfect your body was. All things you’d oullined you didn’t want when you began your services. All things he promised he wouldn’t do, so when you saw a 50’s cartoon drawing of yourself thrown up on screens you were naturally livid.

Bringing it up to Vox you made sure to outline your disappointment, and Vox seethed internally. He had you walking to your jobs that week before he called you one morning, your apartment exploding in both your tv, watch, and phone ringing.

“Vox?”

“Heyyy doll! Nice to hear from you- hey, I need a small favor if you can manage it?”

You bit your lip in worry, hoping he wasn’t angry enough to hurt you.

“Yeah what-“

“How about now!” He asked cheerfully, sounding a bit pressed on time, a tad unhinged. And underlay stood a more true sound.

“Im outside already.”

You grumbled a small yes before he ended the call with a giddy chuckle, waiting for you to get your rear outside. When you stepped out the souped up company car that he usually had driven for you was nowhere to be seen. Instead- in its place a bright blue Buick limited, trimmed with a shiny red, windows finished with a shiny white. His face grined out the main window, sharp, flat teeth blinking oddly in the red lights of hell.

“Jump on in!” He exclaimed- patting the white leather seats, and barely waiting for you to take a seat before snapping you into his can, fastening the two seatbelts wicked tight and hellblazing down the highway,

Any questions asked about where you were going were met with a flippant disregard and a question about how you would design a wedding.

It wasn’t until you met a bright blue skyline with fake ass clouds that you even attempted to leave the car, trying to pry the handles off before the handle fizzeled out of existence and about a hundred people came out like clockwork to water their brightly colored flowers and fake ground.

You felt like you were on the brink of a panic before the car stopped entirely, Vox zipping through the air to pull you up and out of the car into a pretty baby blue house, with a white picket fence and some off pink curtains.

It of course would get some taking used to as Vox replayed an existence he’d never lived through to a snapping audience but after months of him refusing to feed you and your stomach finally forcing you to move you knew it was time.

And so every question you’d asked about the friends you made were turned against you.

“Oh that’s nothing to worry about honey, they’ve all graduated and had children by now…”

And you were expected to believe that.

You were expected to believe when those seem people were threatened on the knives where Vox had to lock the chemicals up and send the knives away. Expected to believe that when you begged the other hellions on the street to help you and they tied you down until Vox came back around at the end of the day.

So it’d be easier now for him to keep you, trace a hand across your collarbones and whisper violence into your ear as you twitched away, constrained by a pure white, frilly set of handcuffs. Begging him to let you leave until the day the two of you broke during a fight, when he sputtered out an agictated ‘I hate you!’

Before you broke into hysterical laughter, sobbing and chuckling like mad at his feet while he tried to pick you up. Only able to get as far as an inch off the ground before he brought a pillow and blanket into the kitchen to let you rest out.

“All couples have their issues honey…”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Dinner is a surprise tonight Vox, what wine pairs best with Lamb?”

[saw3amanda]

miss missing you (now and then)

Clark collapsed against a parapet, catching his breath. Technically speaking, Clark never had to catch his breath, but it was nice to sit after the exertion of going up against Luthor. Luckily, there had been no kryptonite involved, but Clark had called in Batman just in case and wasn’t complaining about the extra help.

“You alright?” A modulated voice rumbled next to him.

Clark looked over to see Batman leaning against the short wall a few feet away from him. The two had only been working together for a short year (after a few very tense weeks of getting to know each other), and it was nice to know that Batman cared enough to ask.

“Yeah, just tired, I guess. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” Clark replied, getting to his feet and looking out at Metropolis from his vantage point. They were standing atop a dilapidated building, half destroyed and condemned from some battle months ago. The sun was just starting to set, streaking across the sky in yellow and gold, and the air was beginning to cool. Clark could feel the last rays of sunlight stretching to meet him.

Batman made a brief, inquisitive noise, and Clark had to play back their conversation to remember what he had said. 

“Oh, just had uncomfortable dreams, I guess. Not very conducive to a good night’s rest.” He laughed gently.

“Hm.”

Clark looked over and saw Batman still staring at him, as if he was waiting for him to continue. 

This was new, the active interest in each other’s lives. For the majority of their relationship, they contacted each other out of necessity. Clark’s comm would only ping in emergencies, when Batman had too much to handle (not that he would admit that), or he had new information for a case. But in months, they had started lingering when the battle was over. One of them would escort the other back to their respective city, carrying on a conversation in soft tones, or they would take a moment to recuperate with the other close by. Clark was never one to allow silence to reign for long, and he drew Batman into conversation again and again. When the recap of the mission had dwindled, Clark would start talking about anecdotes from his day, or point out areas he’d explored in his city. Batman eventually graduated from mumbled sounds of agreement to full sentences. 

It still managed to surprise him when Batman seemed interested in what he had to say instead of tolerating it, but he was beginning to appreciate their fledgling friendship. A bit too much, if he was honest. These inconvenient feelings kept cropping up, but Clark had gotten well versed in choking them down. So, if Batman wanted to continue talking, Clark certainly wouldn’t stop it. 

“Do you ever dream about someone you shouldn’t?” Clark asked, staring off at the city skyline. 

He could hear Batman walk closer and stand beside him, facing out just as Clark was.

“No.”

“Yeah, I guess not. I can’t even imagine you dreaming. You just stoically fall asleep, wake up two hours later, and you’re set, right?”

A muffled noise of amusement came from his right, and Clark had to stifle a grin.

“Exactly.”

“Well, for the rest of us,” Clark’s smile faded. “Dreaming can be more trouble than it’s worth.”

Clark allowed a warm quiet to blanket the moment, and reveled in it. 

“Who was it?” Batman asked. Clark almost jumped at his gravelly voice breaking the silence. 

Clark debated his next words. He could be honest, like he desperately wanted to be. He could feel the words swimming around his lungs, jumping through his veins as they had all day. But how much would be too much? What could he give away about himself and still feel confident in his secret identity? 

He could trust Batman; he knew this. They were in the exact same position, and he knew that if he asked, Batman wouldn’t dig too much into it. Besides, honesty was the foundation of any good friendship and he did want to talk about this.

“You’re gonna laugh,” Clark chuckled weakly, nerves roiling in his stomach, just like they did whenever he talked about him. “But, Bruce Wayne.”

A weird, hacking sound started, and Clark looked around to see where it was coming from. He turned to Batman to see the man furiously coughing into his elbow. He would laugh at how strangled the cough had sounded through the modulator, but he was more worried than anything at the moment. 

“Are you ok?” He said hurriedly.

“Fine.” Batman said as he straightened up and looked back over to Clark. He cleared his throat one last time. “Bruce Wayne?”

Clark felt his blood rise to his cheeks in a light flush and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, we actually一” Clark paused and made a quick decision. “I'm going to tell you something because I trust you not to look into it. I know you well enough that you wouldn't compromise my identity.”

He looked over, and Batman nodded, a slight smile on his lips. Clark threw a nervous grin back, and took a deep breath.

“Back in high school, Bruce and I…dated.” Clark said. He wanted to turn to Batman to see his reaction, but stared resolutely at the fading sun. “He had moved to my town to get out of the city, and we just clicked .”

Batman hummed a short, contemplative noise and Clark continued.

“We were together for a good while actually. Of course we weren't out to anyone but a select few, but we still made it work.” Clark said with a wry turn of his lips.

“What happened?” Batman asked, his voice as soft as the modulator would allow.

Clark let out a sigh. He had told this story so many times that he almost had a script for it. But this wasn’t just anyone asking about his first love. He didn’t have to run his normal lines. 

“He left. Isn’t that always how it always goes?”

Clark finally glanced over at Batman, who was looking down at his folded hands on the parapet ledge. The gloved fingers interlapped evenly, creating a neat pattern of shadows in the fading light. Batman finally turned to face him, and Clark couldn’t quite identify what the strange set of his mouth meant.

“So,” Batman cleared his throat. “The dream.”

Clark laughed a little, surprised.

“You are uncharacteristically interested in this, B.” He said, shaking his head.

Batman stayed silent, the whisper of gloved hands unfolding the only sound to be heard. He braced his hands on the ledge instead and Clark admired his flexed arms for a moment, then shook his head slightly. 

“It was nothing really that upsetting. He popped up as people do in dreams, and we just talked. We made fun of each other like we used to.” Clark sighed. “We actually apologized to each other too, I think.”

Clark let the melancholy of his hopeless dream wash over him for a moment. It hurt when he woke up not because it didn't happen, but because it would never have the chance to.

“You apologized?” Batman asked.

“Yeah, well, I've said and done some things after the break up that I'm not proud of. We met up twice afterwards, a year or two later and I just…fucked it up.” Clark replied. Shame flooded through him as he remembered every misstep he took after Bruce left. “I think I ruined any chance we had of building a friendship. Last time we talked, he essentially told me that we shouldn't anymore.”

Clark looked up and saw Batman turned to him. It was nice to say this aloud, he realized. 

“But it's ok, really. I don't blame him and it's probably better if we don't talk,” Clark continued. He felt like each word that slipped into the air between them carried a weight that had been released from his chest. He was lighter, despite the difficult topic. “It's just a shame, because I have so much I want to say to him. But I've made peace with the fact that I won't be able to.”

The last golden fingers of sunlight had faded into the horizon, and the two were trapped in the moment between night and day. It washed the city in purple, and Clark watched as street lamps flickered on.

Clark looked over to Batman and studied the way the shadows fell across his face. 

“I really appreciate you listening. I didn't realize一” 

“What would you say to him?” Batman interrupted. The words seemed to rush out of him, like they couldn't get out fast enough. “If you could see him, what would you say?”

Clark hummed thoughtfully. He didn't understand Batman's urgency, but the moment felt important somehow. He knew he needed to word what he said next correctly, because he wouldn't be able to take them back.

“I would tell him that I still think of him when I listen to Fall Out Boy, which is a shame because they're all I've been listening to for the past week,” Clark started. “He used to love them. I actually learned the words to Sugar, We're Going Down to impress him. 

“I would ask if we could just forget these past few years. If we could just pretend we haven't talked since we broke up.  I have made so many mistakes, and I've fucked up so, so many times. And I'm sorry.”

Clark took a breath before continuing, chest stretching the fabric of his uniform tight as he inhaled.

“I would tell him that I've dated four people in my life, and he was the only one I ever loved. I have been chasing that feeling for years, and he did it without even trying. And sometimes, I even miss the heartbreak. I miss feeling that strongly about someone. We fit together in a way that I've never experienced before or since, and goddamn if that doesn't make me angry. Goddamn if I didn't wish I loved someone like I loved him.

“And I wouldn't say this because I still wanted him. I wouldn't say this because I missed him. I'm not even sure if I do, to be honest. I certainly miss what we had, and even the people we used to be. But maybe the person I miss isn't so different from the person he is now. The point, if I ever said this, is that I still think about him sometimes. It's that he still pops up in my dreams every so often, and that he used to make me incandescently happy.”

Clark laughed, a short bitter thing. He looked down at his hands gripping the concrete of the parapet, cracks beginning to spread through the stone. Batman stayed silent.

“I wish I didn't fuck up for years just because I missed him, and I wish I didn't ruin the friendship we could've had.” Clark said softly. He finally turned to Batman. “But wishing never did anything.”

Batman stared at Clark, and for once, Clark wished desperately to see his face. To see his reaction, because reading his emotions through the turn of his lips wasn't enough. 

Clark suddenly felt exposed under the rising moon. He had said too much; he had been too honest. Batman and him had just started to be friends, and here Clark goes, whining about a love long ago.

He coughed, trying to ease the embarrassment in his chest.

“Anyway, it doesn't matter much now.” He said into the stillness of the air.

“It does.”

Clark threw on a weak grin.

“That’s nice of you, B, but it’s ok. I’m alright with this.” He took a few steps back from the short wall, looking one last time at the glowing city lights. “It’s getting late. Thanks for your help today. And for listening.”

Clark scrubbed a hand down his face. He was exhausted. That had to be the reason he rambled incessantly to Batman. He began to rise slowly, feet only a few inches off the ground, when a gloved hand reached out and grabbed his forearm.

“B?”

“Clark, wait.” Batman said, looking directly into his eyes. Clark dropped instantly to the ground, boots scratching slightly against the concrete. 

“What did you say?” Clark asked with wide eyes. He could feel his hands start to shake.

Batman stepped closer with determination written on his lips.

“Clark, I’m sorry.”

He started to back away from Batman, each step unsteady. How did he know? How long has he known?

“How did you..” He said, voice shaking slightly. “How do you know my name?”

Batman didn’t answer. He started reaching behind his head with both hands and Clark barely registered the snick of a latch opening before he saw the cowl fall away.

“Clark,” Bruce Wayne said, standing in full Batman regalia. “I’m sorry.” 

[desomniis]

to ask for your hand (I just pray that its mine) | Chapter 4 excerpt

After clinching his third career win at the Vegas GP, Carlos wakes up to a wedding band on his finger and his teammate, Charles, wearing the exact match.

WIP | 4/5 | 28,797 words | Accidental Drunk Marriage in Vegas AU | Fluff | Angst | Drama

Down below, the circuit was a bright outline against the night. Another season, another gruelling race in Singapore.

The skyline was an architectural marvel. It was stunning during the day, but at night? it looked like a rare jewel sparkling against the black velvet night. To witness such magnificence on top of the Marina Bay Sands—dipped in the infinity pool, no less—with no one else around was a indeed privilege.

In his mind, he traced the track, imagining his car passing through Anderson bridge, making the tight left at 13 to the Esplanade Drive. Then the apex at 14, then 15, 16—a splash from the other end of the pool startled him. Charles?

Carlos was pretty sure it was Charles, the rookie this season. They never really ‘talked’ before. Their conversations always happened in passing, going along the lines off, ‘How are you? Good? How’s your car? Not good on the tires.’ He knew little about him—only that he was from Monaco and that he was set to replace Kimi at Ferrari next year. A rookie replacing a world champion. Unheard of. This kid must be a huge deal.

“It’s a beautiful city, no?” Carlos ventured. He winced inside, remembering Papá's advice about small talk and F1 drivers.

Charles jolted, his hand flying to his chest, accidentally splashing water to his own face. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

Carlos chuckled. “You’re quite jumpy, eh?” he teased, settling on the ledge next to him.

“A little,” Charles admitted with a sheepish smile. “What are you doing here? It’s a bit late, no?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I didn’t get much sleep on the flight here.”

“Tell me about it. 20 hour flights are no joke.”

“True,” Charles said. “Any tips for tomorrow? I’ve never raced here before. My first time. So, I’m a little nervous.”

A smirk crept up Carlos lips. “Have you passed out in a race before?”

“Uh, no? I don’t think so.”

“Well, here, try not to. It’s almost guaranteed.”

”What? That’s impossible.”

“Also, you might drive blind on some corners.”

“Why—”

“Don’t even get me started about the rain. Singapore is a totally different race if it rains.”

Worry flitted through Charles' eyes, swallowing a lump on his throat. “Oh yeah?” he said, trying to hide his discomfort.

Carlos held onto his laughter. He nodded seriously, “yeah. Seven DNF’s last year.”

Charles visibly got more anxious, the horrors of last year’s race flashing in his eyes. “Ah, putain,” he muttered under his breath.

Carlos’ laughter eventually bubbled forth.

“What? Why are you laughing?” Charles questioned, his brows knitting together.

“I was kidding. It’s not that bad, I promise.”

“I—Oh… you were trying to scare me.” Charles smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Making fun of the rookie, I see.”

“Don’t worry,” Carlos wiped the tears from his eyes. “Vettel and Fernando did it to me in my rookie year too. Except they waited a day before telling me it’s not that bad. I remember not sleeping that night.”

Charles laughed, and Carlos was struck. There was something about his laugh that resonated deep in Carlos’ chest, like the melody of his childhood summers spent racing bicycles down sun-dappled streets, the wind tousling his hair as he pedalled faster. It was the echo of his first karting victory, the taste of victory sweet on his tongue as he stood atop the podium, trophy held high, amid deafening cheers and applause. It was Miguel’s call, on his last day, asking him to meet at the lake so that he could steal another kiss from Carlos. There was something in Charles’ laugh that made Carlos yearn to hear it more.

“Well, I guess I’ll consider myself lucky that it was not Vettel or Fernando then,” Charles said.

“Yeah. Lucky. Just sleep well and drink lots of water before the race and you’ll do fine. I’ve seen you drive. You’re good. I trust that you can make it.”

Charles's eyebrows lifted, his head tilting slightly to the left like a puppy hearing something strange. “Really?” he asked, “you think I’m good?”

Carlos can count in one hand the amount of times he complimented another driver. It wasn't that he didn't recognise talent in others—if he was being honest, there were plenty of drivers far better than him. But he rarely voiced such acknowledgements. It’s like offering your enemy an edge.

So when he did compliment Charles, it surprised him, almost catching him off guard. There was no logical explanation for it.

Perhaps it was because Charles was young and it was his first year in F1. He could vividly recall his own struggles as a rookie. Maybe, in his own way, it was him trying to help his younger self.

Or perhaps it was how easily Charles just opened up to Carlos. Paired with his dimples, the sheepish smile, and those earnest blue eyes pleading for advice. Carlos felt an instinctual urge to protect Charles.

Or perhaps, it was something else entirely.

“You don’t?” Carlos dodged the question.

"I do. It's just that... It's rare to hear it from another driver. Everyone else says I'm good, you know? 'You're so talented, Charles. So fast. You are destined to be in F1,'" he recounted. "But they say it from the outside looking in. They don’t really get it. But when another driver say it, it means a lot more. Because they understand. You understand."

Carlos nodded slowly, the weight of Charles' words settling on him. He knew that feeling all too well. The constant need to prove his own worth, that he deserved to compete with the best of the world, that it wasn’t all because of a privileged upbringing.

“Of course,” he said idly. “So, how does this feel? All of it—the hype, the pressure, the Ferrari seat next year?”

A hesitant smile touched Charles' lips, fleeting as the Monegasque breeze. “When I drove for practice for them last year, I felt like I was going to explode in the car. I felt buzzing in my ears and my hand couldn’t stop shaking. I thought I would crash. I’m quite happy that I didn’t.

“But what’s interesting was how it all felt strange to me. All my life I’ve dreamed of driving and winning in that red car. Not only me, my father and my godfather too. I carry all their dreams with me. Now that I have the chance to do that… it’s…” Charles trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Overwhelming," Carlos offered, a hint of longing creeping into his voice. "Being in that red car… it’s something else."

The last sentence hung heavy in the air, the weight of his secret, of his father's expectation, sat heavy in his gut.

Charles chuckled, a soft, nervous sound. "Yeah. It's like everyone expects me to be a champion overnight. But then there's the pressure from myself too, you know? Like I have to live up to all these expectations, not just mine but everyone else's too." He ran a hand through his hair, anxiety swimming in his eyes.

Carlos leaned back on the ledge of the pool, studying Charles. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that surprised him. This young prodigy, who seemed to have it all figured out, was wrestling with self-doubt just like everyone else.

"Hey," Carlos said gently, "You'll be alright. You're here for a reason. You have the talent, the drive... you'll get there eventually.”

A flicker of gratitude sparked in Charles' eyes. "Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate that. Coming from you, it means a lot."

The compliment hung in the air for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Carlos couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Charles disarmed him.

"Are you hungry?" Carlos finally asked, surprising even himself with the question. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"

Charles’ eyes sparkled and his lips curved up, making Carlos’ chest feel warm, like it was about to blow open. Whether it was a good or bad sign, it didn’t matter because there was only one thing he was sure of:

He wanted to see Charles smile again.

Read the whole chapter here. Ask me questions!

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Crossfire” pt.7

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The camp was quiet now. The chaos had died down into murmurs, tired footsteps, the clatter of armor being stripped off and stacked beside sleeping mats. She wandered through it like a ghost, feeling out of place but… not unwelcome. Not entirely.

She spotted him near the supply crates, still in his blacks, helmet off, hair mussed from the fight. Rex looked up as she approached, his posture straightening slightly like muscle memory kicked in before the rest of him caught up.

“Hey,” she said.

He didn’t smile, but his expression softened—just enough.

“Didn’t expect you to come find me,” Rex said. “Figured you’d be off the minute your boots cooled.”

“Yeah, well…” she kicked a rock with the toe of her boot. “Running hasn’t exactly worked out great for me lately.”

Rex folded his arms, waiting.

“I wanted to check on you,” she added. “See how you were holding up. After today.”

“After everything, you mean?”

She met his eyes. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, not uncomfortable, just… heavy. She leaned against a crate beside him and crossed her arms to match his posture, head tilted up to the stars.

“You still got that scar?” she asked casually. “The one on your jaw. From the skirmish on Felucia?”

He gave her a look. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things about you, Captain.”

She offered him a crooked smirk, the kind she used to wear like armor. Playful. A little bold. A spark in the rubble.

Rex didn’t return the smile—but the way he looked at her made her throat tighten.

“You think flirting with me is going to fix this?” he asked quietly.

She lost her grin.

“No,” she said. “It’s just… easier. Than everything else.”

His shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame even if the rest stayed knotted. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.

“I missed you,” she admitted, more earnest than she meant to be. “Even when I was running. Especially then.”

Rex looked down at her—really looked—and she saw the conflict written across his face like ink on skin.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said, voice rough. “Didn’t know if you were alive. If you were working for the Chancellor still, if you were working for anyone. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t know if they’re already gone.”

That one hit. She nodded, eyes flicking away for a moment.

“I was scared,” she said. “Of what I was doing. Who I was becoming. Of what you’d see if you looked at me too long.”

“I saw someone who gave a damn,” Rex said. “Still do.”

She looked at him then, and for a moment, everything else—Palpatine, the Council, Cody, the kid—blurred out into silence.

He stepped closer, just slightly. She didn’t move away.

“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” he said lowly. “But I’m still here.”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his hand, testing the water like she was scared it would burn her. He let her.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

They stood there for a while, in that silence. The tension still coiled, still unresolved—but different now. Softer.

The kind that might, with time, unravel into something real.

⸻

The shuttle touched down on Coruscant with a low hum, metallic feet clunking into the hangar platform. The ramp hissed open, revealing the cold blue glow of the Senate District skyline in the distance. She breathed it in—familiar and suffocating all at once.

Rex had disappeared into a sea of 501st troopers. Anakin and Ahsoka had gone to debrief. The kid—the kid—was somewhere out there now, no longer hers to protect, though the phantom weight of responsibility still clung to her shoulders like wet armor.

And Cody…

Cody had been quiet the whole way back. Not cold, not rude—just restrained. Professional. Distant.

She knew that look. It was the same one she wore when she was hurt but too proud to bleed out in public.

So she went looking for him.

The GAR barracks were quiet this time of day, most men off-duty or in mess. She spotted Cody’s armor first, piled neat outside a side room, the door half-cracked. She knocked once—light—and pushed the door further open.

Cody was sitting on the edge of his bunk, bare-chested, arms braced on his knees, deep in thought. He looked up, startled at first, and then his mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You look like you’re about to deliver bad news,” he said, voice low and wry.

“I’m not,” she said. “I just wanted to talk.”

He nodded, gestured to the spot beside him on the bunk.

They sat in silence for a beat. The air between them tense but not hostile.

“I don’t want things to be weird,” she said. “Between us.”

“Kind of hard for them not to be,” Cody replied, tone not sharp, just… tired.

“I know,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I’m trying. I’m done running. I just—I want to fix things. Or at least make it so we can be in the same room without all the oxygen leaving it.”

Cody huffed a small breath. “You don’t need to fix things. Just stop acting like you can flirt your way out of every mess you cause.”

That one stung, but she accepted it.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

He turned to her. His eyes didn’t hold anger. They held ache. And something else—something deeper. Something he wasn’t saying.

She opened her mouth to say more—

—and the door slammed open.

“There you are!” Quinlan Vos strode in like a tide, full of unfiltered charisma and absolutely no awareness of personal boundaries.

Obi-Wan followed, much slower, brow furrowed with concern. “Apologies for the intrusion, but we’ve been looking for you.”

Cody stood, arms folding tightly across his chest, clearly not thrilled.

She didn’t move from the bed. “I’m a little busy.”

“So it seems,” Obi-Wan remarked mildly, eyes flicking between her and Cody.

Quinlan plopped down on Cody’s empty chair like he owned the place. “The Council wants to talk. They’ve got questions. About Palpatine. About the kid. About you and your… pattern of disappearing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m constantly on trial.”

“Because you kind of are,” Quinlan said with a grin.

Obi-Wan sighed. “We’re not your enemies. But we do need to understand why you made the choices you did.”

She stood up now, shoulders stiff. “And I’m trying to explain those choices—to the people who matter to me. But you keep showing up like two banthas at a tea party.”

Cody, behind her, almost smiled.

“Can it wait?” she asked Obi-Wan directly.

He hesitated.

“…Fine,” he said at last. “But not long.”

He and Quinlan left with far more noise than they entered.

She sighed and turned back to Cody.

“…See what I mean? Never a quiet moment.”

Cody studied her, his expression unreadable. “You don’t owe them your soul.”

“No,” she said. “But maybe I owe them a piece of the truth. Just… not before I say what I need to say to you.”

Cody gave her a slow nod. “Then say it.”

She looked at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the words that clawed to the surface.

But for once—maybe for the first time—she let them stay unspoken. Let them sit there in the space between them, heavy and real and understood.

The door had long since shut behind Obi-Wan and Quinlan, the echo of their presence still lingering. But now, it was quiet again. Just her and Cody. And the weight of what she hadn’t said.

She looked up at him, heart hammering harder than it had in any firefight.

“Cody,” she began, voice low, almost unsure. “I need to say something. And it’s not fair, but it’s honest.”

He raised a brow, still standing a few feet away. Guarded, but listening.

“I love you.”

That stopped him. His arms slowly uncrossed.

“But—” she continued before he could react, “I love Rex too.”

Cody’s face didn’t shift. Didn’t wince. Didn’t soften. Just—stilled.

She took a step closer. “And I don’t know what that says about me, or what it means, but I’m tired of pretending I only feel one thing at a time. I tried to choose. I did. But every time I think I have, I see the other one and it just—breaks something in me.”

He let out a long, quiet breath.

“I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” she added quickly. “I’m not even asking you for anything. I just needed to say it. To stop lying about how I feel and hoping it’ll get easier if I just shove it down hard enough.”

A long silence passed.

Then Cody finally spoke. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“But it’s real.” His voice had softened, barely above a whisper. “And I’d rather have your truth than someone else’s lie.”

Tears burned her eyes, sudden and hot. She didn’t cry. Not for years. But this—this kind of vulnerability? This was harder than bleeding out in the field.

Cody stepped forward, gently touching her cheek with a calloused hand. “You deserve a love that doesn’t make you choose.”

She leaned into his touch, even as guilt twisted inside her.

“Rex deserves to hear it too,” Cody added after a beat. “But for now—just… thank you. For being honest.”

⸻

The Jedi Council chamber was quiet in the way only heavy judgment could make it.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the room where the Masters sat in their semi-circle. Windu, Yoda, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara, Kit Fisto, and Obi-Wan.

She stood in the center, still dressed in half of her mission gear, the other half forgotten in the chaos of being summoned straight off the landing pad.

Mace Windu leaned forward first. “We appreciate your cooperation, though your presence here is long overdue.”

“I didn’t think I was a priority,” she said dryly.

“You’ve been a priority since the moment you vanished with a Force-sensitive child under mysterious circumstances,” Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped.

She raised her chin. “I didn’t kidnap him. I saved him.”

“From whom?” Luminara pressed. “From the Chancellor himself?”

“No,” she lied smoothly. “From a bounty. Someone—anonymous—put a price on the kid’s head. I took the job, found the kid, couldn’t go through with it. So I ran.”

Windu’s gaze was steel. “You expect us to believe a bounty hunter with personal access to the Chancellor just happened to take that contract?”

“I was close to Palpatine,” she admitted. “He trusted me. I never asked why. But I’m not loyal to him—not anymore. I saw enough to know I was a pawn. I just didn’t know what kind of game.”

“And the child?” Yoda asked softly.

“I gave him up. To the Republic. He’s safer now than he ever was with me. But I won’t apologize for keeping him alive.”

Kit Fisto watched her with new eyes. Quieter than before. Maybe… less suspicious. Maybe not.

“You told me once you feared the Chancellor,” Windu said, looking at her directly. “Do you still?”

“I fear what he’s capable of,” she said. “But I fear myself more. I made too many decisions in his shadow. I want to start making my own.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then Yoda turned to the others. “Much darkness clouds the future, but truth… glimpses of it, I sense in her words.”

Windu nodded. “We will deliberate. In the meantime, you are not to leave the planet. Is that understood?”

“Crystal,” she said, and turned to walk out, her heart thudding.

She had told some truth, enough to avoid chains—but not enough to put the game to rest. Not yet.

⸻

The summons came before sunrise.

No official escort this time. Just a short, encrypted message on her private channel—a voice she knew too well, cold and commanding:

“Come. Now.”

She hadn’t slept anyway. After the Council interrogation, after saying too much to Cody—and not enough to Rex—her nerves were frayed like wires sparking against metal.

The Senate building was quiet when she arrived, its corridors dim and eerie. Palpatine’s chambers were even darker—lit only by the soft red of Coruscanti dawn bleeding through heavy curtains and the low hum of security panels locking behind her.

He was waiting, seated in his throne-like chair, hands folded, hood drawn low over his brow.

“You lied to the Council,” he said without preamble. His tone held no accusation—only satisfaction.

She didn’t respond.

“You said nothing of my involvement. Not a single hint. You protected me.” A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “That kind of loyalty is… rare.”

She shifted her weight, unsettled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“But you did it well.” He stood slowly, walking toward her with quiet, measured steps. “The Jedi are grasping at shadows. And now they trust you just enough to leave their guard down. Perfect positioning, wouldn’t you say?”

“I didn’t come here to be your spy.”

He chuckled. “No. You came here to survive. And you’ve done that—exceptionally.”

She said nothing, jaw tight.

Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back. “The child you so kindly spared… he will serve a greater purpose than you could ever imagine. The Force hums in him—volatile, angry, raw. He will be an excellent assassin one day.”

Her throat went dry. “He’s not a weapon.”

“He’s an asset,” he corrected coolly.

“He has a name,” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “Kes. His name is Kes.”

Palpatine paused. Then, slowly, he turned to face her fully. “Names,” he said, voice lower now, more dangerous. “Names are tools. Just like loyalty. Just like you.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“I spared him,” she said, steadying her voice. “I hid him. I protected him. That doesn’t make me loyal to you.”

“No,” he said, almost fondly. “But it proves you can be used. Even against your will.”

She flinched. Because it was true.

Palpatine leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “The boy will be trained. Molded. And when the time comes, he will take a life with his own hands. You will see.”

She met his gaze. “Over my dead body.”

The Sith Lord only smiled. “If necessary.”

⸻

She didn’t remember much of the walk back from the Senate building. The city buzzed around her, speeder traffic whipping by overhead, durasteel walkways trembling with the movement of life, but she moved through it all like a ghost.

Palpatine’s words still burned behind her eyes.

He will take a life with his own hands. You will see.

No. No, not if she could help it.

She barely registered her fists slamming against the barracks door until it opened. Rex stood there, still half-dressed in blacks and greys, fresh from training. His expression shifted from surprise to something more serious the moment he saw her face.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, pushing past him into the room.

He closed the door slowly behind her. “I figured.”

She paced the floor, hands on her hips. “I told Cody I loved him.”

Rex blinked, stiffening slightly. “Okay…”

She turned toward him, eyes sharp, voice louder now—heated. “And I love you, too. I love you, Rex. Not in some vague, flirty way. I mean it. I feel it in my chest like a damn explosion.”

He stared at her, caught off guard. “You’re angry.”

“I am angry,” she said, voice cracking. “But not at you.”

He stepped closer, expression softening as he tried to piece her together. “What’s wrong with you?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. The breath that came out after was shaky, jagged. “It’s the kid. It’s Kes. I don’t trust he’s safe.”

“I thought—he’s with the Republic now, right?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Safe? From him?” Her voice dropped. “He wants to train him. Turn him into some twisted weapon. He called him an asset, Rex.”

Rex’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“He’s not a tool. He’s a child. And I think… I might be the only person who can actually keep him safe.”

Rex looked at her for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes. “You still working for the Chancellor?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not in the way I used to. But I can’t just walk away from this, not now. I know too much. And I know what he’s planning.”

Rex reached out, gently taking her arm. “Then what are you going to do?”

She looked at his hand, then into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whatever it is… I don’t think I’m coming back from it.”

⸻

The barracks were still, the artificial lights dimmed to simulate night. Most of the 501st were out or asleep, and for once, no one was shouting over a game of sabacc or sparring in the hall.

Rex sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, her words echoing in his skull like distant artillery.

I love you, Rex.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. There were thousands of things he wanted to feel about it—pride, warmth, something like victory. But it came with a storm he didn’t know how to name.

She’d told Cody the same thing. She didn’t want just one of them.

He could’ve handled that. Maybe. They were soldiers—brothers—used to sharing everything. But this wasn’t a blaster or a battlefield.

This was her.

What kept him anchored to the floor, instead of pacing the room or sending a message to Cody to yell at him for no good reason, was the other thing she said. The thing that mattered more than love or jealousy or pride.

He called him an asset. I think I’m the only one who can keep him safe.

Kes. The kid. The Force-sensitive child she’d stolen, protected, run with, lied for.

And now she was talking like she’d disappear again. Like she had to.

Rex leaned back, exhaling slowly, head resting against the cool durasteel wall. He stared at the ceiling, mind ticking over the gaps. She hadn’t just been a pawn. Not really. She’d been close to Palpatine. Trusted. Useful. And now she was unraveling from the inside out, spiraling between duty, guilt, and love.

He didn’t blame her for loving Cody.

Didn’t even blame her for loving him, if he was being honest.

But what was killing him was the way she looked when she said she might not come back. Like it was already decided.

Rex sat forward again, elbows digging into his thighs. He could still smell her on his skin—warmth and dust and a hint of whatever Corellian brandy she’d drowned herself in last night.

He didn’t know what scared him more.

That she’d leave again.

Or that she wouldn’t.

And when she finally did make her move—when she ran headfirst into whatever hell she was walking toward—he wasn’t sure if he’d chase after her, or let her go.

But he was sure of one thing.

She didn’t have to face it alone.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

⸻

Cody stood in the shadow of the veranda outside the Jedi Temple. It was late. Not quite night, not quite morning—the sky caught in that soft, silver pre-dawn hue. And Coruscant, the city that never truly slept, hummed below like it didn’t care about anyone’s heartbreak.

He hadn’t gone back to his quarters. Couldn’t. Not after what she’d said.

I love you.

And then—I love Rex too.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the railing, the wind tugging at the edges of his armour.

The words weren’t what haunted him. Not really. He knew her. Knew how fiercely she loved—how wildly her loyalty curved into everything she touched. Of course she’d fall for Rex too. Of course it wouldn’t be clean, or easy, or fair.

He didn’t even blame her for it.

But it stung, deeper than blaster fire. Not because she loved them both—but because even now, after everything, she still looked like she was halfway out the door. Like her mind had already started packing bags she didn’t plan to unpack again.

Kes.

Cody’s fingers flexed on the railing.

The boy’s name hadn’t been spoken when she’d told her lie to the Council—but he’d heard the truth in her voice, beneath every beat of it. She’d kept him alive. Protected him. Cared for him in a way no bounty hunter had any right to.

Palpatine’s orders or not, she’d chosen the kid. Chosen to lie, run, risk everything.

That terrified him.

Because if she was willing to walk away from him for the kid… she’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

And he didn’t know if he could survive her leaving twice.

He exhaled slowly, the wind catching the breath like smoke. He could see himself from the outside—Commander Cody, poised, sharp, unreadable. A model soldier.

But inside? He was chaos.

He wanted to go to her room. Say something—anything. Ask her to choose him. Or don’t. Or promise to come back. Or stay.

But he wouldn’t beg.

She had enough people trying to pull her in opposite directions. She didn’t need another weight on her shoulders.

Still… he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about him now. If she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just as lost.

Don’t run again, he thought. Not from this. Not from me.

And if she did?

He’d find her.

And bring her home himself.

⸻

The air in her apartment was heavy.

It was always quiet before a storm. Before chaos. Before death.

She moved like a shadow, deliberate and silent, pulling her gear piece by piece from beneath the floorboards. Her knives. Her blaster. Her comm jammer. Her datapad with every possible layout of the facility burned into its memory.

She was going in alone.

There was no other way.

Kes was being held somewhere deep within the restricted levels of the Republic Intelligence Annex—a place so far off the grid it didn’t technically exist. He hadn’t shown up on any of the usual rosters. No holos. No files. Just whispers. Rumors.

She didn’t trust anyone else to get him out.

And the Chancellor… Palpatine.

She didn’t care if it was madness. She didn’t care if it meant her own death. The moment he’d looked at Kes like he was a tool, a weapon, an asset, something in her broke.

She wasn’t a Jedi. She didn’t have to play by their rules.

She’d already made up her mind.

The door panel chirped, breaking the silence.

She froze.

One hand gripped the vibroblade still resting on the kitchen bench. Her heart pounded hard, but her face remained unreadable.

Another chime. This time more insistent.

She took a breath. Stepped toward the door.

It slid open.

And there they were.

Cody. Rex.

She should’ve known.

Both of them stood just outside, dressed like they hadn’t had time to change out of their armor. Faces hard, eyes flicking past her to the gear stacked on the counter behind her.

Cody spoke first. “You’re leaving.”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. She turned her back on them both, walking toward her gear like she hadn’t just been caught mid-plan.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she said as she fastened her utility belt.

“We figured,” Rex said. “So explain on the way.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, steel underneath. “You don’t get to follow me this time.”

Cody stepped inside. “We didn’t follow you. We found you. Big difference.”

She spun, eyes locking onto Cody. “You don’t get to be the voice of reason right now, Cody. Not when I’m going to kill your Chancellor.”

The silence hit like a thermal detonator.

Rex looked at her like he hadn’t expected to hear her say it aloud.

Cody didn’t flinch.

“I’m going to get Kes out,” she said, quieter now. “And then I’m going to end this. Before it starts.”

“You think assassinating the Chancellor is going to stop what’s coming?” Rex’s voice was tight. “Do you even know what that’ll unleash?”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “He’s using that kid. He’s manipulating all of us. And the longer I wait, the worse it gets.”

Cody took a single step closer. Not threatening—just there. Solid. Like he always was.

“You’ll die,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”

Rex stepped forward now, voice low, fierce. “Then let us help. Let us at least stand with you.”

She stared at them both. Her throat tightened.

She wanted to say yes. Stars, she wanted to say yes so badly.

But—

“If either of you die because of me,” she said, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“We’re soldiers,” Cody said. “We’ve already made peace with dying.”

“But not with you dying alone,” Rex added.

The silence stretched long. Her eyes burned.

She turned away, back to her weapons. She was shaking, just slightly.

And then… she spoke.

“No.”

They both stilled.

She faced them now, eyes sharper than either had ever seen. “I can’t let either of you come with me.”

“Why?” Rex asked. “Because it’s dangerous? We live in danger. That’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not about danger,” she said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “It’s about you. About him. About both of you. I love you—both of you—and I will not be the reason your stories end in a hallway you were never meant to be in.”

Cody stepped closer. “That’s not your choice to make.”

“It is this time,” she said. “Because if I lose either of you, I don’t just lose a soldier. I lose the only damn thing I’ve got left in this kriffed-up galaxy.”

Neither of them spoke.

And then, gently, she picked up her blaster, slid it into its holster, and looked at them for what might’ve been the last time.

“You don’t have to understand it,” she said. “Just… let me do this. Alone.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t want to hear them fight her on it.

She just stepped out the back door, into the night.

And left them both behind.

⸻

She didn’t go to the facility alone.

Not exactly.

She had a contact.

Someone who didn’t care for the Republic, the Jedi, or much of anything beyond credits and personal satisfaction.

Cad Bane.

She hated him.

He’d say the feeling was mutual.

But she also knew he’d show up if the job was dirty enough, personal enough—and promised to make things just complicated enough to be interesting.

So, when she stood in the shadows near the Coruscant underworld comm relay, keyed in the frequency and said nothing but “I’m cashing it in”, there was a beat of silence, followed by his dry, smug voice.

“Took you long enough. Where’s the target?”

She sent him the encrypted drop zone coordinates, along with a note:

If I’m not there by this time tomorrow, I’m dead. Take the kid somewhere safe.

He didn’t respond. That meant he understood.

She climbed the side of the Republic Intelligence Annex like she had done it a thousand times before.

Because she had.

Not this exact building, no. But enough like it. Enough to know how their sensor blind spots layered. Enough to know the door panels ran off an old auxiliary power line she could override with a reprogrammed comlink. Enough to slip past the outer perimeter before anyone ever saw her coming.

The inside was colder. Cleaner. Sharp-edged metal and flickering overhead lights. It wasn’t meant to feel human. It was meant to strip identity. The place was surgical in its cruelty.

She moved like smoke. Swift. Silent. Lethal.

Floor by floor, she moved through the corridors.

Until she saw it.

The hallway. The black-glass door with the lock system coded to bioscans. The child’s name wasn’t on any sign, but she knew he was behind it.

She cracked her knuckles, pulled a thumb-sized detonator from her belt, and slipped it into the seam of the scanner.

A flicker. A soft click. And then—

Boom.

The door gave.

She sprinted in through smoke and static.

There he was.

Kes.

Slumped on the floor, eyes wide, body curled up like he was used to expecting violence. His force signature was alive—but dimmed. Buried.

She dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

He looked up at her. “You came.”

“Of course I did.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

She took out a stimpak and injected it into his arm. “We have to move. Can you walk?”

He nodded. She didn’t wait. She pulled him to his feet and wrapped his small arm around her neck.

The sirens started.

Of course they did.

Guards stormed the lower halls.

Blaster fire lit up behind them, but she didn’t stop. She ran, dragging the kid through maintenance shafts, down an auxiliary lift, bursting into the speeder bay just in time to hijack a transport and shoot out into the traffic lanes above the city.

She weaved and twisted through Coruscant’s sky, sirens behind her, and a fragile hope burning in her chest.

Kes was safe.

For now.

They landed in a scrap yard on the edge of the underworld district, just near the slums. The air was thick with fuel and metal and smoke. She tucked Kes behind a decaying repulsor rig and handed him a stolen ration bar.

“If I don’t come back by tomorrow,” she said, crouching beside him, “Cad Bane will find you. He has the coordinates. You run. You survive. You hear me?”

“You’re not gonna die,” Kes whispered.

She smirked faintly. “Kid, I’ve been trying to die for years. But you… you’re different. You’ve got a future.”

She squeezed his shoulder, then vanished into the shadows.

She had one more stop to make.

And Palpatine wouldn’t see it coming.

⸻

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t need to.

The side entrance to the Chancellor’s private chambers peeled open after her third override attempt, a hiss of smoke and whirring gears inviting her into the lion’s den. Every step she took echoed like thunder through the polished marbled halls, golden-red light casting long, terrible shadows over everything.

It felt wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone.

He never was.

But the throne sat empty in the center of the chamber—its occupant standing by the wide viewport, hands clasped behind his back, city lights dancing across his reflection.

“You’re late,” Palpatine said without turning.

She drew her blaster.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t hesitate.

She fired.

The bolt twisted in midair—curved—like the space between her and him had turned to oil. It splashed against the wall, leaving a crater, and Palpatine finally turned to face her, slow and measured.

He was smiling.

“Predictable,” he whispered.

Lightning surged from his fingers before she could blink.

It hit her like a wrecking ball.

She hit the ground screaming, bones screaming with her. Her blaster flew out of reach. Her limbs convulsed—vision swimming. The pain was like drowning in fire.

“You think yourself above your role? A pawn with a little sentiment?” Palpatine hissed, walking toward her, cloak dragging behind him like smoke.

He leaned down.

“I gave you purpose. I gave you everything.”

Her hand slipped to her boot. Blade.

“You gave me rot,” she spat, and slashed.

The blade caught his cheek.

He didn’t even flinch.

But he bled.

That was enough.

He threw her across the room with a flick of his wrist. She shattered a statue. She couldn’t breathe.

The alarms began to blare.

Corrie Guard. Jedi. Everyone was coming.

“You won’t get far,” he said, voice like thunder, like prophecy. “Run, girl. Run until the stars burn out. They’ll all be hunting you now.”

She didn’t answer.

She crawled, dragged herself to her feet, one hand clutching her ribs. She didn’t even remember how she escaped—smoke bombs, a hidden exit route, a chase through skylanes with every siren screaming her name. The Guard was relentless. She saw Cody. She saw Fox. She even saw Kit—his face torn between duty and disbelief.

She didn’t have time to process it.

She just ran.

By the time she reached the rendezvous point—blood in her mouth, cloak torn, and the weight of failure dragging behind her like a corpse—Cad Bane was already there. So was Kes.

“You look like hell,” Bane drawled.

“Bite me,” she rasped, grabbing Kes’s hand. “We’re leaving.”

Bane handed her coordinates to a small craft already programmed and pre-fueled. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t expect it.

They jumped into hyperspace an hour later.

⸻

The stars faded into the dusty pink of dawn as they crested over the hill that led to the farm.

It hadn’t changed.

Still crooked fences. Still half-dead crops. Still peace in its imperfection.

Kes looked up at her, his big eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“Why the farm?” he asked softly.

She breathed in the air, cracked and burned and hers.

“We have our Loth cat to find,” she said.

Kes blinked. “That’s… that’s it?”

She half-smiled. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

The war had followed her.

Death had nearly claimed her.

But for now, in this quiet stretch of forgotten land, with the boy she’d risked everything for beside her, she finally let herself breathe.

Just once.

Before the storm returned.

⸻

The silence in the Jedi High Council chamber was so dense it felt like suffocation.

The doors had shut behind Master Windu with a hiss. He remained standing for a moment before stepping into the center, his brow tight with what could only be called restrained fury. Around him, the Masters sat in their usual solemn arrangement—Yoda, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto, and the rest. The air was thick with tension, laced with the sharp edges of disbelief and bitter revelation.

“She tried to kill the Chancellor,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said first. Cold. Certain. “This is beyond treason. It’s an act of war.”

“She also escaped,” Master Shaak Ti added, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “From a secure facility. With a child Palpatine has repeatedly refused to explain.”

“The same child she risked her life to hide for months,” Kit said calmly, though his gaze flickered toward Yoda, seeking his temperature on this. “She did not kill him. She ran. Hid. Protected him.”

“She lied to this Council,” Mundi snapped. “On multiple occasions.”

“As do many who fear the truth will be used against them,” Kit countered.

Windu raised a hand. Silence reclaimed the room.

Obi-Wan leaned forward then, voice calm but lined with suspicion. “What was she doing in the Chancellor’s private tower in the first place? Without clearance. Without authorization.”

“She was summoned,” Windu answered.

That landed like a blow.

Even Yoda stirred at that, tapping his gimer stick once against the floor. “Truth, this is?”

Windu nodded once. “The Chancellor requested her presence. Privately. No report filed. No witnesses. Just hours before the attempt.”

A heavy silence followed.

“She did not go there to kill him,” Kit said. “Not originally.”

“She still tried,” Plo Koon said softly. “But perhaps not without cause.”

Yoda closed his eyes. For a moment, the ancient Jedi looked every bit as old as the war.

“Seen much, we have. But seen enough, we have not.”

“Agreed,” Windu said. “The fact that she is still alive… it complicates this. If she had truly wanted him dead, if she had planned this with precision—she wouldn’t have failed.”

“She wasn’t aiming to succeed,” Obi-Wan murmured. “She was desperate.”

“And she escaped with the child,” Shaak Ti added. “Which the Chancellor has referred to, multiple times, as an asset. Not a person.”

Yoda’s eyes opened.

“Uncover the truth, we must. Speak to the Chancellor… again, we shall.”

Mundi stood, disbelief etched across his face. “You cannot be suggesting that he is the problem.”

Yoda met his gaze.

“The Force suggests… many things.”

⸻

The barracks were quiet for once. No drills, no blaster fire, no shouting across bunks. Just the buzz of overhead lights and the low hum of Coruscant’s cityscape outside the narrow windows.

Cody sat on the edge of a durasteel bench, still in partial armor, helmet discarded at his feet. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like an hour.

Rex stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly. There was a long, bitter silence between them—one that came after too many emotions had been left unsaid for far too long.

“She almost died,” Rex said finally, voice low.

“She should be dead,” Cody answered without looking at him. “Attempting to assassinate the Chancellor? Alone? That’s suicide.”

“She’s alive,” Rex replied, softer now. “But she ran. Again.”

Cody let out a tired exhale, dragging a hand through his short hair. “She always runs.”

There was no malice in his voice. Just grief.

They were quiet again before Cody finally broke it.

“You loved her.”

Rex didn’t flinch. “Yeah. You did too.”

Cody nodded once, jaw tight. “I kept telling myself it was duty. Obsession. That I could let her go. But I never really wanted to.”

Rex stared at the floor. “She told me she loved me. Right before she disappeared.”

“She told me the same.” Cody gave a humorless laugh. “Then said she wanted both of us.”

Rex looked up. Their eyes met, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.

“And if things were different?” Rex asked.

Cody shook his head. “If things were different, we wouldn’t be in this war. We wouldn’t be soldiers. She wouldn’t be a target. That kid wouldn’t be hunted.”

Silence again.

“She was trying to do the right thing,” Rex said. “Even when it meant becoming the villain in everyone’s eyes.”

“Even ours,” Cody added quietly. “And now she’s out there. Hunted. Alone. Again.”

Rex stepped forward, tension rolling off him like a crashing tide. “I want to go after her.”

“So do I,” Cody said, standing.

The two commanders stared at one another—two halves of the same loyalty.

But they both knew the truth: chasing her meant turning against everything they’d been raised to serve.

The Republic. The Jedi. The Chancellor.

Everything.

“She’s worth it,” Rex said eventually.

Cody didn’t answer right away.

But the look in his eyes said everything.

⸻

The Chancellor’s office was dimmed, blinds drawn. Only Coruscant’s dull, flickering lights spilled shadows against the walls, mixing with the warm glow of red and gold decor.

Palpatine sat with folded hands, the lines in his face calm, unreadable.

Mace Windu stood at the center of the room, flanked by Yoda and Ki-Adi-Mundi. Plo Koon lingered near the window. Kit Fisto remained closer to the rear, saying nothing, watching everything.

“She nearly assassinated you,” Windu said. “And yet you still refuse to pursue her with the full force of the Republic?”

Palpatine offered a diplomatic smile. “She was misguided. Broken. This was the action of a lost, frightened woman.”

“Frightened women don’t break into highly classified facilities with bounty hunters and walk out with a Force-sensitive child,” Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in.

“Nor do they try to kill the Supreme Chancellor,” Windu added.

“Attempt to,” Palpatine corrected softly.

The silence that followed was sharp.

“Tell us, Chancellor,” Yoda finally spoke, his voice calm but piercing. “This woman. Long known to you, she is. Trusted her, you have. But trust her still, do you?”

Palpatine’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She was once loyal. Brave. Unafraid to do what others would not. I used her, yes. But perhaps I was mistaken in believing she could survive the strain of such secrets.”

“Secrets you still refuse to share,” Kit spoke for the first time. “You gave her access to military intel. Brought her into council-level missions. And yet she was never a Jedi, never Republic command, never even vetted. Why?”

Palpatine’s expression darkened, just for a moment. “Because she was effective. Because she could go where others could not. Because she understood what was at stake.”

“And now?” Windu asked.

“She’s dangerous,” Palpatine answered flatly. “And broken. Likely unstable. If she comes for the child again, she will be dealt with accordingly.”

“The child is safe now,” Yoda said.

“Is he?” Palpatine asked mildly. “With a mark on his back and half the galaxy looking for him?”

“You put that mark on him,” Windu said. “You sent her after him to begin with.”

For a moment, silence cracked like ice between them.

Palpatine didn’t blink. “That accusation is as reckless as it is unfounded.”

“We’re done playing blind,” Kit said. “You’ve kept her under your protection long enough. Whatever game you were playing, it’s cost lives.”

Palpatine stood. “I have no more information to offer you. If she resurfaces, she will be arrested. Until then, the matter is closed.”

The Jedi exchanged glances.

But no one believed that.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[lemongrovesandcloves]

sneak peak of chapter 11

Mime of Gotham City, only on ao3

*

The car was too quiet. 

Peter was sat in the back seat, eyes darting an unfamiliar skyline as streetlights flickered past them in golden blurs. Beside him sat a girl, her red dress almost shimmering under the dim glow of the lights outside. She was scrolling on a phone, her warm skin lit by the blue light of the screen as she typed out a text. And she was beautiful. Her hair flowed in gorgeous curls, her eyes bright and lips full. 

There was a shiny red car in front of them, set with a bumper sticker that read ‘I bought this before he turned out to be an asshole’ - fit with a decal of a hammer to label its brand. The car that Peter was sat within was old, that much he knew. The seats were a pale leather, no ports or details to separate the back seats in two. He could feel the fabric of a suit - stuffy and gritty against his sensitive skin - the press of a necktie around his throat. 

And though the details were familiar, though he knew he’d been wearing a suit last he remembered… it wasn’t right. 

Something was off. 

He wasn’t quite sure of how he’d ended up here. 

The last thing he remembered was the agony of bullets digging into his torso, of the cold and sharp stab as he stuck a scalpel through his throat. He should… he just knew he shouldn’t be here. A villain’s sidekick wouldn’t be in such a nice car, sat next to a pretty girl. He shouldn’t be being chaffered by an older man - hair thinning and greying but face still flush with liveliness. 

There was no music, only the honks of car horns and the usual thrum of tyres against poorly-maintained city roads. But they weren’t as rough and broken as the ones he knew in Gotham. 

“I’ve seen you around, right?” The man in the front spoke - his eyes locked onto Peter’s through the mirror. His brow was furrowed, gaze pensive. “I mean… somewhere. We’ve, uh… have we ever…? Because even the voice-”

“He does Academic Decathlon with me.” The girl spoke, eyes still locked onto her phone screen. 

“Oh.” The man nodded, eyes darting back to the road - just briefly - before they returned to inspect Peter. There was something about it, perhaps the dread pooling in his gut, that made him feel so very small. So utterly afraid. 

“And he was at my party.” The girl flashed Peter a brief smile as the man grunted in understanding. 

“It was a great party,” Peter’s voice broke out, though he had not felt himself open his mouth. “Really great, yeah. Beautiful house, lotta windows.” 

“You were there for like two seconds.” The girl’s eyes locked onto him - so bright and brown - as she offered a wry smile. 

“That was… I was there for longer than two seconds.” Peter’s voice stuttered.

“You disappeared.” The girl smiled, rolling her eyes fondly. 

“No, no I didn’t disappear.”

“Yes, you did.” She laughed. “You disappeared like you always do, like in DC, too.” 

The car paused at a red light. 

“Whew.” The man exhaled. “That’s terrible what happened down there in DC, though. Were you scared?”

The dread in Peter’s stomach twisted until it knotted. There was… something on that man’s face, some kind of burgeoning recognition. He looked to Peter with sharp eyes, voice cutting as he spoke again. 

“I’ll bet you were glad when your old pal Spider-Man showed up in the elevator, huh?” 

Something about the name… oh, he knew that name. He knew this Spider-Man, knew it like the call of an old friend. Like a wave from a window, an old shirt lost in a wardrobe that still fit perfectly. 

“Yeah, well, I actually didn’t go up.” His voice stuttered again, though Peter did not feel his mouth open. “I saw it all from the ground. Very lucky that he was there that day.” 

The man’s eyes remained fixed on Peter. He did not blink, did not shift to glance at the traffic lights nor flicker to spy the girl in the backseat with the beautiful hair. 

“Good old Spider-Man.” The man’s brows raised in mocking as he spoke, voice low and dangerous. 

For a moment, Peter was trapped under the weight of the man’s watching. Out of the corner of his eye, he knew the girl was looking between the two of them, but he could hardly see it. Instead, he remained fixed by that judging stare. 

“Dad,” the girl huffed, “the light.”

Peter’s eyes darted to it, almost wincing as they were caught by bright green. 

It was a shade he knew. Not only in the mundane, but in something far more deadly. It brought the rush of water to his ears - a pounding of his heart as his breaths grew shallow. The edges of the world flickered, dimming like a candle trapped in a jar. The car felt smaller, seats felt colder. And though Peter could hardly see anymore, though his vision was filled with that awful green, he could still feel the weight of the man’s stare - so knowing, so very amused. 

“Here we are.” It spoke over the roar of water, over the echoes of screams. “End of the line.” 

His cheeks felt damp, his hair soaked. His breath was ragged and dishevelled - arms slipping from by his side as he fell and fell and fell. He slipped through the green, through the stinging wet that he’d been born within. He slipped through the dirt, through the gravel and dust that he’d been buried inside. 

But finally, as his heart pounded so hard that he thought it might burst, Peter gasped awake.

*

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58015915

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Across the Ropes… a Zilla Fatu x OC Fic.

Chapter 4: Hope..

Zilla got up from his lounger and stepped back into the room, the faint glow from the Portland skyline casting soft shadows across the space. He moved to the bed and sat down gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from Dahlia’s face. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open just as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

To his surprise, her lips brushed against his in return, lingering just enough to make him pause. When he pulled back, her tired eyes met his.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice still groggy but warmer than before.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. It was a comfortable silence, but Zilla could feel the weight of the day still pressing on both of them. Breaking the quiet, he asked, “You hungry?”

Dahlia nodded slowly, sitting up as she pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Zilla grabbed the room service menu from the nightstand and opened it. “Alright, let’s see what they’ve got.” He scanned the options before smirking. “They’ve got chicken tenders.”

Dahlia perked up a little, a small smile forming on her lips. “I’ll take those. And a sweet tea.”

Zilla chuckled, shaking his head. “Babe, you’re not in Texas anymore.”

Dahlia frowned playfully. “That can’t be just a Texas thing.”

“It is,” Zilla teased, turning the menu toward her. “See? They only have hot tea.”

Dahlia groaned dramatically, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Well, pardon my French, but that is bullshit.”

Zilla laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness in the air. “Alright, alright, we’ll get you some chicken tenders and…uh, how about a Coke? It’s the closest thing to sweet tea you’re gonna get up here.”

Dahlia sighed, sitting back up and shrugging. “Fine. But I’m officially protesting this hotel’s beverage choices.”

“Noted,” Zilla said with a grin as he picked up the phone to place the order. “Chicken tenders, fries, and a Coke for the lady. And… I’ll just grab a burger.”

As he spoke with the room service operator, Dahlia leaned against the headboard, watching him. For the first time since she’d handed him the papers earlier, she felt a flicker of something like normalcy.

After placing the order, Zilla hung up and turned back to her. “Food’ll be up in about twenty minutes.”

Dahlia nodded, tucking her legs underneath her. “Thanks.”

Zilla sat back down beside her, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. “You’re welcome. And hey… you’re allowed to smile, you know?”

She gave him a small, shy smile. “I’ll try. No promises, though.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a wink.

For now, the weight of the world could wait. Tonight, it was just the two of them, a quiet hotel room, and chicken tenders on the way. And somehow, that felt like a good enough start.

—

The remains of their meal had been cleared away, leaving only the faint aroma of fried chicken tenders and ketchup lingering in the air. Zilla sat propped up against the headboard while Dahlia rested against him, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The room was dim except for the flickering light from the TV, Elvis playing on in the background.

Dahlia broke the silence, her voice soft but pointed. “Are you going to tell your mom?”

Zilla’s chest tightened at the question, and he stared at the screen for a moment, not really seeing it. “I haven’t thought that far,” he admitted, his voice low.

Dahlia shifted slightly, sitting up just enough to look at him. “At this point, I’ve already told who I needed to tell.”

That caught Zilla’s attention. “Who?” he asked, turning his gaze to her.

“Just Sabrina,” she replied, her tone casual, though her fingers stilled against his chest.

Zilla nodded, reminding himself of what he already knew—Dahlia had no family to confide in. No parents to call, no siblings to lean on. Just Sabrina, her best friend and surrogate support system.

“I hope she was happy,” he said gently.

Dahlia’s lips quirked into a small smile. “She wanted to be godmother,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “She also offered to give me some of her allowance from her sugar daddy so I can start buying things.”

Zilla raised an eyebrow at that, a grin tugging at his lips despite the heaviness of their situation. “Her allowance?”

Dahlia nodded, her expression still serious. “Yeah. Apparently she thought it might help me out.”

Zilla couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “You ever met him?”

Dahlia shook her head, leaning back against him again. “No. But from what I hear on the phone, he sounds nice. Polite, at least.”

Zilla smirked. “Polite sugar daddy. That’s new.”

Dahlia chuckled softly, her laughter breaking the tension in the air. “Yeah, well, Sabrina’s got her ways. She always lands on her feet.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of their earlier conversation still lingering. Zilla’s mind raced as he considered her question about his mom. He wasn’t sure how she’d take the news. His mom had been through her own struggles raising her kids, and he worried about her reaction—not just for himself but for Dahlia too.

Dahlia’s voice broke his thoughts again, this time quieter, almost hesitant. “Do you think she’ll be mad?”

Zilla looked down at her, his hand instinctively brushing against her arm. “My mom? I don’t think she’ll be mad. Surprised, yeah. But not mad. She’s been through a lot, so she might need time to process.”

Dahlia nodded, her fingers resuming their gentle tracing on his chest. “I guess that’s fair.”

He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer. “We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly, more to reassure himself than her.

—

May 6, 2025

11:21 AM

Zilla held Dahlia close, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling as they shared one last kiss. The airport buzzed around them, but in this moment, it felt like they were in their own world. When they pulled away, both were slightly out of breath.

“I’ll call you when I land, okay?” Zilla said, his voice low but steady.

Dahlia bit her lip, concern flickering in her eyes. “You sure you want to tell your mom over the phone?”

Zilla hesitated, his hands still resting on her waist. “I don’t have much of a choice. I won’t see her—or you—until the weekend of the 23rd. They’ve got so much lined up for me; it’s crazy.”

Dahlia nodded slowly, though the unease didn’t leave her face. “Okay.”

Zilla cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, we’ve got each other. That’s all that matters.”

“I just…” Dahlia hesitated, her voice trembling slightly. “I know how much your mom means to you.”

Zilla smiled softly, tilting her chin up so their eyes met. “Dahlia, she means the world to me. But now? Since you’re carrying my baby, you are my world.”

Dahlia’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. She blinked back tears, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “I just still feel like I’m putting everything on you,” she said finally.

“Don’t,” Zilla replied firmly, his voice gentle but resolute. “Things happen. Do I wish we’d had a few more months to figure things out? Yeah. But life has a way of showing you what’s permanent really fast.”

Dahlia stared at him, her heart pounding. “I’m permanent?” she asked, her voice filled with love.

Zilla nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah, babe. You are.”

Before she could respond, the crackling voice of the intercom echoed through the terminal, announcing the final boarding call for her flight. Dahlia’s stomach twisted as she realized it was time to go.

“Please let me know,” she said, her voice urgent but quiet.

“I will,” Zilla promised, his hand brushing hers one last time.

They kissed once more, a lingering kiss filled with unspoken words and promises, before Dahlia broke away. She grabbed her bag and fast-walked toward her gate, glancing back only once to see Zilla watching her, his hands in his pockets, a mixture of determination and longing in his eyes.

She then disappeared into the crowd, Zilla sighed and turned toward his own gate. His mind was racing with thoughts of the conversation he was about to have. For better or worse, his life was about to change forever.

As Zilla boarded his flight and settled into his seat, he glanced at his phone. The pre-flight announcement confirmed he still had a few minutes before takeoff. He let out a long sigh, staring at the screen, the name Mom glaring back at him. His thumb hovered over the call button before he pressed it. Better now than never, he thought, bracing himself.

The line rang twice before his mother’s warm voice came through.

“Hello, my son,” she greeted, her tone filled with the usual love and familiarity.

“Hey, Mom,” Zilla said, trying to keep his voice steady. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she replied cheerfully. “Just making some food for your brothers and myself. What about you? How’s everything?”

Zilla swallowed, his heart pounding. “That’s great, Mom. Uh… everything’s good.”

There was a pause, and then her tone shifted, the concern seeping in. “What’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice. Talk to me.”

Zilla exhaled deeply, rubbing his hands over his jeans. “You remember Dahlia? The girl I mentioned to you?”

“Of course I do,” his mom said, her voice soft but curious. “You seemed to really like her. What about her?”

“Well…” Zilla began hesitantly. “I didn’t tell you the full story.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, the concern growing.

“About two months ago, we met at a seminar where I was speaking,” Zilla explained, choosing his words carefully. “Afterward, we went on a date. I took her to this coffee shop and The Burger Bar.”

“Okay,” his mom said, prompting him to continue.

“Well, after the date, we went back to her dorm and… you know.”

His mom’s tone sharpened, cutting through the small bit of ease he felt. “Why are you telling me this, Zilla?”

Zilla’s grip tightened on the phone as he forced the words out. “Because… she fainted during her shift at the hospital, and when they tested her, they found out she’s pregnant.”

There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end of the line. Zilla could almost hear the gears turning in his mom’s head before she finally spoke.

“Isayah,” she said, her tone hard and filled with disappointment, “you’re telling me that after one date, you went and got this girl pregnant? Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

“Mom, I—”

“No, Isayah!” she cut him off, her voice rising. “You’re barely starting your career, and now you’re tied to this girl for the rest of your life? Do you even know her well enough? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Zilla admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “It wasn’t planned, but I’m not running from it.”

His mom’s voice softened slightly but remained stern. “You think you know her, Isayah, but you don’t. You’re going to learn real quick that she’s just out for your money, like all the others. You’re too trusting, my son.”

Zilla’s jaw tightened as anger and hurt surged through him. “Mom, if you can’t support me, then it is what it is,” he said, his voice steady but filled with finality.

“Isayah…” his mom started, but he didn’t let her finish.

“Bye, Mom,” Zilla said, his throat tightening. He ended the call, staring at the screen as it went dark.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. The pain of her words lingered, but he forced himself to breathe. It’s just you and Dahlia now, he thought, clutching his hands into fists. You’ll figure it out together.

The sound of the captain announcing their final descent back to his thoughts. Zilla took a deep breath and straightened up. Whatever came next, he knew he’d face it head-on. For Dahlia. For their baby. For himself.

—

May 20th, 2025

4:35 PM

Zilla stretched contentedly in bed, his body relaxed as he felt Dahlia shift beside him. Her breathing was soft and steady, her thick frame curled into him as she slept. The faint hum of the ceiling fan and the muted sounds of the bustling streets outside filled the room. They were staying at Sabrina’s summer apartment in Houston, sharing the guest room while they figured out their next steps.

Dahlia’s summer break had just started, and she was now working full-time at the Texas Medical Center. Despite the chaos of pregnancy and life changes, she was managing well—or at least she made it seem that way. Sabrina, her best friend, had been incredibly generous, opening her summer apartment to them without hesitation. Zilla appreciated her support, especially when Dahlia seemed so uncertain about her future.

Zilla glanced at Dahlia, her hair spread across the pillow as she slept peacefully. She had been rethinking everything—her last year of school, her career plans, their housing situation. He could feel the weight of her decisions pressing on both of them, but he didn’t push her. He knew they’d figure it out together.

He sighed and reached for his phone when it vibrated on the nightstand. The screen lit up with “Jey” displayed across it. Zilla sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Dahlia, and answered.

“Hey, Uce’, what’s up?” Zilla said, keeping his voice low.

“Hey, man. How you doing?” Jey asked, his tone light and friendly.

“It’s going a’ight,” Zilla replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

“You talk to Momdukes yet?” Jey asked, not beating around the bush.

Zilla sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “Not yet.”

“Come on, Uce’. You gotta do it sometime,” Jey said, the concern evident in his voice.

“I know, I know,” Zilla said, rubbing his temples. He wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet.

“Well, let’s forget about that for a moment,” Jey said, his tone shifting to something more upbeat. “Rhea bought a yacht.”

Zilla blinked, surprised. “Since when does a writer buy a yacht?”

“I know, right? It’s badass!” Jey said, laughing. “Anyway, she’s inviting you to the maiden voyage this weekend. You should come, man. Joe, Jon, everybody’s gonna be there. Take a break from all this serious life stuff.”

Zilla chuckled softly. “A yacht? Man, that’s crazy. Sounds like a good time, though.”

“It will be,” Jey said. “We’re leaving at 11 a.m. and getting back to the house around 10 p.m. You and your girl can even spend the night at Casa de Fatu if you want. What do you say?”

Zilla glanced down at Dahlia, who stirred slightly but remained asleep. A part of him hesitated at the idea of introducing her to the family so soon, but given the circumstances, he might as well.

“Well, damn, sounds like a plan,” Zilla said finally. “We will take an early flight in the morning on Saturday.”

“Bet!” Jey said, clearly pleased. “I’ll see you this weekend, Uce’.”

“Alright, man. See you then,” Zilla said, ending the call.

He placed the phone back on the nightstand and glanced at Dahlia again. She would probably tease him about living the high life on a yacht, but he knew she’d support him taking a moment for the two of them. With everything going on, he needed it. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to get his mind off the tension with his mom—at least for a little while.

[lewkwoodnco]

Hi I want to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song False God, I want it to be best friends to lovers, with the miscommunication trope. Like they were best friends and started falling for each other, and try to hide their feelings. Then then after a case they got into an argument, about Lockwood throwing himself in danger again and he kisses her, but she just gets even more confused and mad, she thinks that he only did it because he wanted to distract her from what happened, so she gets even angrier. The argument gets even more heated and they start even yelling at each other, then they stop talking to each other for days, and the reader just has enough and leaves and Anthony is heartbroken, and tries to find a way to get her back. The ending is happy. He gets her back, and they confess to each other.

I'm sorry this is very confusing. You can obviously add more things, so there is the miscommunication trope, and also, so the plot suits the song more. Thank you, you're amazing, I absolutely loved the I can see you fic, and it was everything I hoped for when I requested it.

False God - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: No worries, its not confusing at all! I'm really glad you liked the i can see you fic cuz its one of my favs too!! hope you like this one toooo :) 4k!

She groaned, shifting in her window seat, forehead fused against the window pane. It was too bright to be looking straight ahead at the glowing skyline, so she was staring down at the pavement baking in the sweltering heat. Summer was in full force, and today it took form by enveloping 35 Portland Row and every building in a five-mile radius with its heat. It was too hot to think straight, too hot to do anything but brood and stew in resentment. Even as she unseeingly looked out at the shimmering roads, all she felt was the same agony growing inside of her being reflected back into her eyes. Loving Lockwood truly was a special kind of hell.

It had been a funny sort of week. On Monday, Lockwood had used a napkin to wipe some sugar off her nose after she had bitten into one of Arif's doughnuts, and he looked just as confused as her when he realised what he was doing. On Wednesday's job, she tripped on a loose floorboard so badly that her knees buckled under her, leading to some very ungraceful stumbling in Lockwood's arms, and when she was finally able to find her feet she brushed past him, face beet red, mumbling an apology.

On Thursday, Lockwood was bandaging up a scrape on her wrist, and she had been so transfixed by his swift, confident movements that she hadn't even realised he was done until he snapped the first aid box close. Later that night, while they were scouting out a new location, his fingers drifted on the edge of her bandage occasionally, as if checking to see if it was alright. Part of her love-addled brain couldn't help but hope that he was checking if she was alright. He apologised profusely each time, stepping back in an attempt to at force at least some physical distance between them. She nodded absent-mindedly, trying to soothe the somersaults her stomach made when she felt his rapier-calloused fingers graze her palm.

So when they were dividing themselves up for Friday's case, a part of her knew it wasn't smart to team up with someone in front of whom she became a stuttering, vacant fool. It wasn't that she daydreamed about him or felt butterflies in her stomach, but there was something about him that short-circuited her systems when he got too close. But now, Lockwood looked so cool, so nonchalant. She couldn't avoid him forever. She had to work through whatever this was, and spending time with him was how she was going to do it.

"Yeah, sure, those teams sound great. Lockwood and I together works." But even as she raised her mug to take a sip, she briefly met Lockwood's gaze, and the look in his eyes triggered this sudden vision of the entire mission going up in flames. Her eyes darted away, and when she looked back, he was looking at something on the thinking cloth interestedly. She struggled to take a sip of her tea with the lump in her throat. Must have been a trick of the light. Not that it helped her get it out of her head.

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Lucy and George were starting on the first two floors, so Lockwood and her took the elevator up to the third floor. Two floors away, they could no longer hear George and Lucy's footsteps or voices, as if they were in an entirely different building. They split up, and she was relieved for the distance between them, the chance to finally think straight for a while.

However, they weren't having much luck. She ran her fingers over the walls for what felt like the hundredth time, frowning and straining her ears. Every time she felt like she had just gotten the right focus, Lockwood would shift somewhere behind her and break her concentration.

"Quit it."

"What?"

"The shifting. I can't hear."

"What shifting?"

She pulled her ear from the wall to look at Lockwood and immediately felt her spirits dry up. Lockwood was looking at her questioningly, not far from the position she had left him in, and right behind him was a Spectre a split second away from lunging at Lockwood.

It all happened so fast; even now she wasn't quite sure how she had managed to recover her wits so quickly. She barrelled towards the ghost, fingers closing over Lockwood's bicep as she closed her eyes and thrust her rapier in front of her, hoping her blade met the visitor before she did. There was a hissing sound, and then silence. She opened her eyes to see the Spectre gone, and Lockwood looking as pale and shaken as she felt. His lips quivered, forming amorphous words, and she feared she might break down if she looked at him being vulnerable for too long.

She turned detachedly, sheathing her rapier, considering the objects around them until she found one with overwhelming psychic charge. She pulled out her iron net and draped it over the source, and the temperature went up considerably. By then, Lockwood look mostly alright, if a little nervous.

They returned to the elevator, and as the doors shuddered to a close he tilted his head towards her, coughing awkwardly, though his eyes were still fixed to the floor. "You didn't need to...foolish t-to, what you did there...erm-"

"Lockwood, shut up. I'd die for you." She hadn't meant to sound so aggressive, but it made her heart stumble erratically when she saw him sprawled on the floor, moments away from certain death. It made her want to strangle him for being so stupid, then fling her arms around him and hold him close. For so much of her life she had felt like an island, alone and desolate, and she had so little, but Lockwood would forever be something for her to keep, even if it was only all in her head.

She looked up, startled by the dark look in his eyes, rushing to get the words out, but it was a bit too late. "And Lucy. And George." Even she could hear how flimsy that sounded, echoing in the starkly lit rattling elevator. Yes, she would lay her life on the ground for them, but with Lockwood, it was just...different. Anything to do with Lockwood just had to be complicated.

"I know. But still. Thank you."

She gasped, scrambling to her feet, hand clutching the sleeve of his coat before her brain caught up to what she was doing. It was almost comical, the way she had to blink at her hand and Lockwood's face before realising what she had done. She dropped her hand immediately, straightening, but Lockwood's expression didn't change. It was a weird mix of curiosity, contemplation and what looked to be worry. So it hadn't been a trick of the light.

She inhaled, raising her chin to meet his gaze. His eyebrows raised imperceptibly and she felt the air around them shift. She blinked hesitantly, much less confident than she was a few moments ago.

They silently boarded the elevator again, which was miraculously still working, and an uneasy feeling starting to grow in the pit of her stomach. For once, neither of them had made any effort to sweep the electricity between them under the rug, so now it hung in the open, the elephant in the room. It was pure insanity - no, idiocy, to acknowledge the charged air between them. She didn't know about Lockwood, but she was having a hard enough time dealing with the urges that compelled her to run to his side at the first sign of danger.

This was new territory, and these uncharted waters frightened her so. As soon as her attention drifted elsewhere and this tension between them took a backseat, she would look into Lockwood's eyes or feel him brush against her, and she would be certain that it was only a matter of time before she was pulled under. It made her head spin, and yet, she craved it.

Her hand trembled as she pushed her hair back from her eyes, and Lockwood reached out and interlocked her fingers with his own, still staring straight ahead at the dull metal doors. His stoic expression belied the intimacy of the action, and she felt the first strains of annoyance begin to bubble up. How could he just stand there so unaffected, as if he had every right to make her fight for her own breath?

The elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and not a moment too soon. The thick floors had meant that the two groups had no idea what was going on with the other group, and Lucy and George were fighting by the skin of their teeth to stay alive among the hoard of ghosts surrounding them. Lucy was keeping the visitors back while George ducked and rolled around the lobby, frantically looking for sources. Lockwood and her joined Lucy, and soon enough they had the upper hand.

Once the final source was neutralised, they sat in silence, only the sound of them catching their breath filling the room. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lockwood tugging at his rapier that was somehow embedded in the wall, before he suddenly stilled. He was looking in her direction, a familiar fear clouding his eyes. Somehow, a part of her realised exactly what was happening.

She turned, hand on her rapier, stopping short. She certainly felt the chill, and there seemed to be a haze in the air, but she couldn't quite make out anything tangible. She reached out, almost as if in a trance, before she had the wind knocked out of her.

One minute she was standing, and the next she was lying on the floor, a figure crouching over her, blocking her vision, as if shielding her. A few moments passed before the figure looked up and straightened, kneeling now, light falling on the gaunt face of Lockwood. George was sheepishly holding up a musical box draped in a silver net. "Sorry, missed a source. They should all be gone now."

Lockwood turned back to her, offering a hand to pull her up, but there was this weird sort of static buzzing between her ears now. She propped herself up on her own, shoving him, and walked away fuming while he toppled over in an undignified manner.

Fucking Lockwood.

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The air of the group was fraught with tension on the way back. She signed the report with such force that she ripped a hole in one of them, and she kept rebuffing all of Lockwood's attempts to try to talk to her. Now, they were back at 35 Portland Row. She went straight to the kitchen and started making tea, slamming the drawers, uncommonly violent. Lockwood stood a few feet away from the table, closer to the door, as if furiously working out what exactly he wanted to say to the floor. She saved him the trouble.

"What the hell was that?"

"It was a Phantasm."

"Yeah, I guessed. I mean the part about you rushing in without any equipment."

"I was out of flares and my rapier was stuck. I didn't choose to do that."

"No Lockwood, you did choose. You made that choice when you decided to run in-"

"What the hell was I supposed to do? Watch you get ghost-touched?"

"-throw all caution to the wind, playing the hero-"

"I only play the hero because I have to. You're all my responsibility."

"-because never mind the three people who work in your agency, live in your house, and care so deeply about you that they wouldn't know what to do with themselves if you died-"

"So I'm just supposed to stand around and watch the rest of you die?!"

"-but no, the great Anthony Lockwood has bigger plans, like being an absolute - you won't even look at me!"

She sat down at the table, cradling her growing migraine, muttering to herself. "God, I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Like what?" Lockwood gripped the chair opposite hers aggressively.

"This! You get so-so distant, like you couldn't be more disinterested in other people. In me. You detach yourself and step away and I know it's all a lie." She felt her heart rate further destabilise. "I see it when you look at me, like I'm some fresh, exciting thing to marvel at. You can get mad at me, or hate me, or strangle me, but I never bore you, Lockwood."

He bent forward by two inches, angling her head in his hand, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips. It couldn't have lasted longer than a second, but they were both breathless when they broke away, faces no further than a few inches apart. Her rage was barely quelled, if not aggravated. Her face was white with anger. Even now, all he wanted to do was distract her, as if he knew it wouldn't take much. In a brief flicker of panic, a part of her worried that he knew how she felt, that he knew all along, and all of this was some sick game to screw her over. She wanted to smash his facade, watch him come undone the way she was on the inside, goad him into feeling something. "Go on, then. Do it."

"Do what?" Her breathing was uneven. The past few weeks of fleeting stolen glances were bad enough, but with his face so close to hers, she could feel her brain turning into jelly. Part of her knew what she was about to do wasn't fair to him, but their relationship had gone too haywire for her to care. There was nothing fair about the way he consumed her anyways. Whoever said it hadn't loved anybody as hard as she loved Lockwood: nothing is fair in love.

"Get rid of me. Wake up to happier mornings where I'm not around, since I'm such a burden." She wasn't entirely aware of what she was saying, or if she meant it. She was grasping desperately for any respite from the brutal assault of her emotions, so all she could do was the one thing she did best - withdraw. She leaned back, welcoming cool, grounding air into her lungs as her tears threatened to spill over the ruins of their crumbling friendship. It was as though she had been struck for having the sin of hubris, for believing her and Lockwood were built to weather the storms of affection beyond platonic love. "Fire me, whatever. Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you? Being all official and important? Because all Anthony Lockwood cares about is being the biggest prat in the room, whether it be by throwing his precious life away-"

"So my life is 'precious', but yours is fair game?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't NEED TO!" Lockwood was gripping the chair so tightly he looked just about ready to smash it into bits. He took a few ragged breaths, as if physically trying to control his emotions. "Words only express so much-"

"But they express just enough for you, don't they?" she said bitterly. He set his jaw, hardening against the venom of her words. She placed a hand on her forehead weakly, stumbling out of the kitchen up to the attic. There she sat now, cynically judging the trees for being too green.

Over the next few days, she stayed in the attic, forcing down morsels of the food Lucy brought up to her, preferring to communicate non-verbally. After three days, she began to feel as cold and long-forgotten as that tea she was in the middle of making that day. She watched them gear up and lug their equipment into cabs from the window, but none did so as resolutely or with as much mechanical efficiency as Lockwood. She missed them, she missed working, but she wasn't about to go running down the stairs to Lockwood's room, begging for forgiveness. No; she had more pride than that.

Instead, she wiled away the hours staring at the clock and then staring out the window, until her eyes ached. It was so hot, time seemed to be slowing to a stop. The seconds hand ticked occasionally, when it felt like it, and her shirt plastered itself on her back. The heat was so oppressive and glued her eyelids shut, and it felt as though the whole room was submerged in molasses. It just wasn't the right kind of weather to reconcile.

Occasionally, her thoughts drifted to when she first joined the agency, and the words of advice Lucy had given her. "Lockwood, er, he's hard to read," she had said. "Best to leave him to it, most of the time. It takes a special kind of trust to really get to know him. You need a lot of blind faith, and it's certainly not easy terrain...but I think it's all worth it in the end."

Still, she couldn't live at the window forever. Which is why she went down to the kitchen after a fitful sleep on the third night, gingerly choking down some toast, when the rest returned from the job. Lucy hugged her from behind and George immediately set out four cups as he started to brew some tea. Despite all that, Lockwood still regarded her as stiffly as before, speaking into the distance rather than to her.

"I'm not going to fire you, if that's what you're waiting for."

In that moment, when Lockwood disowned any kind of feeling for her yet again, the last vestiges of her hope slipped away. She thought she knew him. Hell, she thought she loved him. But life was full of mistakes and disappointments, and this was yet another she had to contend with. "Fine. I quit."

Even Lockwood was momentarily stunned as she slipped past him up to the attic, blurrily throwing in anything that looked vaguely like hers into a her bags. Lucy had followed her, trying to talk some sense into her, but it all fell on deaf ears. Only George was in the kitchen by the time she was done packing, and he looked oddly forlorn as he waved at her distractedly. The door to the library was open as she shouldered past the memories of the life they had on her way to the front door. Lockwood was in his chair facing the fireplace, back to the door, glaring a hole into his book, looking as furious as she was just a few days ago.

She didn't have anything to say to him, which was just as well, because he clearly didn't have anything to say to her. She stepped out into the night, twisting sprigs of lavender in her hair, walking off into the night. George came up to the library, sighing loudly at the door, and Lockwood jerked up irritatedly.

"What?"

"Couldn't wait till after tea, could you?"

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Three weeks later, her memories of the three of them were more diluted than she would have liked. With the little savings she had, she managed to rent a cramped apartment which didn't leave much room for decoration, which was just as well, as she didn't have many mementos. She wasn't the best at preserving memories, so all she had were some odd photos on the few times she remembered her camera.

Lockwood was in the pictures too. As hard as she tried, she couldn't just cut him and his presence out of her life; they were too irrevocably tied together. Some nights, before sleeping, she would trace the outline of his face on the one focused photograph she had of him, and wonder if she'd still recognise his voice. In spite of herself, she wondered if he ever thought about her the way she dreamt about him.

The summer heat faded, and these days rain drizzled from the sky like a leaky tap. In her case, that also meant a leaking roof, and the constant drip of the water into the bucket drove her nuts. It was the little things like the leaking roof and the refrigerator with a loud hum that never allowed her to truly rest, always kept her on the edge, that made her new life distinctly more uncomfortable than her old.

She heard a faint disjointed knock on her door. She opened the door to see a gaunt and wane Lockwood, significantly paler than she remembered. She was speechless, not quite sure what to do, and he just seemed relieved enough to see her in person. He still stood the same way he did when meeting new clients, with an air of formality, and she half-expected him to shake her hand. Instead, he pulled her into a hug; a proper one, where his arms went all the way around her. The kind of hug that made you want to cry.

She gripped the sleeve of his coat not unlike the way she did all those weeks ago, and she was suddenly aware of how little the weeks passed meant. Nothing had changed between them, except for this deep yearning tainting the fervour of their grip on each other. He still felt this need to protect her but sucked at communicating, she still reached out to him instinctively in danger but yelled at him for not putting himself first. Strife and misunderstandings were still rife in their relationship, but she had never missed fighting and loving someone the way she had missed Lockwood.

"I'm sorry," he was mumbling into her hair. "I don't know why it took me so long to realise you felt the same way I did. I guess we just express fear in different ways."

"You always were slow."

He pulled back, softly smiling in a way that erased some of his wrinkles. But the smile slipped away, and she felt the worry tugging down the corners of his mouth. "It's just...I've never felt this way about anyone before. I don't know how to express it all the time so sometimes it just feels easier to convince myself it's not there. But it Smooths things over, you know?" He inhaled shakily, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. She could feel how hard it was for him to admit all this. "I felt it most when you were gone. It...it weighed on my mind. Never let me be fully at peace." His lips quirked into a small smile. "Much like you. I'd do anything for you, and I think that scares me."

"It scares me too. I guess the only way I could think of handling it was proving you were more scared than me. As if that would somehow make me strong and not...weak. Or vulnerable." She sighed, as if all the exhaustion of the past few weeks had all caught up to her in this very moment. "You make me crumble, Lockwood, but I've never felt stronger."

His eyes unfocused as his hand on her cheekbone slipped. "What if I can't protect you? What if I can't drive away every single visitor in time? What if you get hurt? How do people live like this?"

She held his hands, stopping his spiral. "I think I have enough experience driving away people who are more than a little obsessed with me."

He laughed, pulling her into a hug. What once felt overstimulating was now oddly comforting. The beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breath, the vibrations of his laughter...she wanted to feel that every day for the rest of her life.

"What I did...it really was different. You do realise that, right?"

"Yes."

"I had my rapier with me."

"You did."

"You didn't have anything."

"Hmm, I panicked." He continued hastily under her stern gaze. "What I mean is, I will try to be more careful. Promise." He put on his most angelic expression. She rolled her eyes. She took his hand as they stepped out in the final drops of summer rain. Life together wasn't always going to be smooth-sailing, or even remotely manageable, but she had a feeling that they would be alright.

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Friends

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings.

Word count: 985

Summary: She and Andy do the washing up after dinner with some old friends.

Masterlist

----

Jason followed Andy into Roy’s kitchen. Roy had given them strict instructions not to touch the dishes, which was cute of him. 

With unspoken agreement, they descended in tandem on the mess left from dinner. Through the kitchen windows the first stray stars of the night were glinting through ragged clouds above the Seattle skyline. Inside was bright and comfortable. The house might have been small but Roy had made it a home. It always made Jason’s week to see how well the two of them were doing. 

Roy was in bedtime negotiations with a now six year old Lian. Dick and Babs were in the living room deciding what movie the adults would watch. 

Andy rolled up her sleeves and started rinsing off dishes, while Jason filled the dishwasher. They moved around each other easily, exchanging crockery and lightly bumping hips. 

They were on day four of a much needed holiday. He never noticed just how tired he was until he left Gotham and took a moment to breathe, then it hit him all at once. He was just starting to recover from the initial exhaustion. 

Dinner had been great, with surprisingly little work talk, and not just for Lian’s sake. Andy and Babs got to talking about library funding and the general state of the education system with great passion. It turned out the two were closer than he realised, which he thought was great. They were quite possibly planning an infiltration of Gotham’s local council to redirect funds to public schools, which was terrifying. 

Lian asked if there could be more funding for silent reading time. Everyone agreed this was a very wise suggestion. 

She was such a cute kid. She hung onto Jason’s neck when they first got there and refused to let go, making him cart her around the house. Andy took a couple of photos, because they were adorable together. He knew. They put on their best smiles for the camera. 

They ran out of things for the dishwasher and Andy turned to what needed to be hand washed. Jason picked up the tea towel and got busy drying. 

Andy bumped his hip. He bumped her back, maybe a bit too hard. She gave him a look and flicked soap suds at him.

He squawked and cracked the towel at her backside. 

She yelped and burst out laughing. She brandished the scrubbing brush to ward him off. He smirked at her, and spun the towel to make it a better weapon. 

“You two better not be doing dishes in there!” Roy called. 

“Na, we’re drinking all your booze,” Jason yelled back.

“I knew it,” Roy said, stepping into the kitchen and ushering a pyjama-d Lian in before him. “Little Miss Pumpkin is here to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight! Goodnight! Goodnight!” 

Both of them got swift hugs. Then she was herded off to the living room to say goodnight to the others. 

Andy smiled at their retreating backs. She was good with kids, Jason privately noted. He focused on the gravy boat he was drying. 

Soon he was done, everything was either set out to soak and Andy was left scrubbing a casserole dish. 

Jason watched her narrow her eyes at the stubborn burnt bits, and set her shoulders with equal stubbornness. He smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder. 

She made a soft sound and tilted her head to rub against his cheek. 

“You enjoying yourself?” he asked quietly. 

“Yeah. It’s always good to see Roy again. And Lian is so much bigger than the photos.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too.”

She held the dish up to the light and examined it critically, focusing again. He stayed holding onto her, but raised his chin to rest on top of her head. 

“Those two have gone very quiet in the living room,” she said.

He hummed. Jason was sworn to secrecy, but Dick hid a diamond ring in his pocket. Technically those two weren’t on a holiday and were on this side of the country for work reasons, but he had plans to set up something romantic tomorrow before heading home. 

Jason highly suspected he wouldn’t last that long, Dick had been watching Babs throughout the night like a man seeing stars for the first time. Disgustingly saccharine, Jason called it, without a hint of sincerity. 

He was so happy for them. 

He tightened his grasp on Andy. He was happy just in general, in fact. It was unnerving. Good things didn’t happen to him, and when they did, it was just a pretense for something worse to get its claws into him. He was the sucker who kept sticking his hand on the stove and kept getting burned, over and over. 

Or at least, so he used to say. Somewhere along the way he had stopped believing it. 

Now here they were, welcomed in by an old friend. Telling jokes with Roy who was more stable than Jason could ever recall, who didn’t hide the old track marks in his arm anymore. With Babs who was more confident and powerful in her wheelchair than she had ever been before it, and Dick, who you would never know forgot himself after a bullet punched a hole in his skull. Andy, who was free, and Jason himself.

The enormity of it choked him. 

Andy made an inquisitive noise, even though he knew he hadn't said anything. She read him so well.

“Since when are we dinner party people?” he asked, a little disgruntled. 

“Since, hmm, about three hours ago?”

“Weird.”

She chuckled. She put aside the last dish, and leaned back against him a little. He kissed her hair. 

Funny, how you could yearn for what you already had. 

“Alright, baby?” she asked quietly. 

He wound his arms tighter, one arm resting over her heart, and the other across her stomach. He closed his eyes and relished her warmth. 

“Yeah. I’m… I’m good.”

Next>>

[openshanklygates]

Never Ashamed

Whumpril 2024 April 3, 2024 SHAME Alex Shelley/Chris Sabin Main Verse

Two hundred and eighteen days.

Alex Shelley had been the Impact World Champion for two hundred and eighteen days. For most people that would be a title reign to be proud of. He had faced off against and beaten some of the best in the world. Hiroshi Tanahashi, Josh Alexander, even Jonathan Gresham had stepped up to the plate and all had been sent back to the back of the line. He had led the Impact roster all the way into the new era of TNA. They were all honorable moments.

So losing to a cheat and a bully like Moose brought him so much shame.

The sun was rising against the Las Vegas skyline, but Alex had yet to go to sleep. His mind raced with the events of the night before. What if he had been just a little more aggressive? What if he had put just a little more of himself into the match? Would the championship still be sitting next to the hotel room television, reflecting the hotel room bed where he and Chris Sabin currently laid, his partner pressed into his side snoring peacefully.

Chris.

In his loss, Alex had almost forgotten to congratulate Chris on his historic win. It was officially the longest reign that Chris had ever had, his tenth as X-Division Champion. El Hijo del Vikingo was no joke for such a young talent and Kushida, well, Alex felt like it would be cheating to say anything more about this best friend. Alex was certain that Chris would have preferred meeting up with some of the other roster members for drinks and a laugh. instead, Chris had stayed behind to hold Alex until he fell asleep.

"You could do so much better than me," Alex murmured to his sleeping companion, pressing a kiss to the top of Chris's head. He attempted to get up, but Chris snuggled in closer and tossed a leg over both of Alex's to trap him there.

"Shuttup," Chris tiredly murmured, burying his head in the crook of Alex's neck, "'stoo early for this."

Alex gave a small laugh, "Go back to sleep. I'm just gonna-"

"You are gonna do nothing but sleep," Chris protested, raising his head to scowl at Alex. It would have been much more intimidating if he didn't have to squint at Alex to properly see him. "I don't wanna get up. I don't wanna have you get up. I think I earned it. Ch-"

Chris cut himself off, closing his eyes before Alex spoke up, "No! No, you're right! Champ's privilege. You earned it. You did so good."

"Yeah, but you-"

"Let you down, that much I know," Alex admitted, "I should-"

"Shut up and kiss me," Chris nuzzled the back of Alex's neck, "we are gonna lay in this bed til you go to sleep."

"I don't need sl-"

"I said we are gonna lay here til you get some sleep," Chris groaned a little more forcefully. He tightened his grip on Alex, who sank further into the mattress. He may have felt shame, but at least he knew Chris was here to love him through it.

[hergrandplan]

Hey Nina 💜,

I was wondering about 🌀❄️🌩️ for the writer asks.

Hope you're having a beautiful day!

Hi Sophia, I hope you're having a wonderful day too!!

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

Simply because @bigalockwood shared her end of the deal... (like hers, I am writing summary right now, no other part of this fic exists yett but... it will. this summary is a lot less long though so i apologize if you expected more sakldgj)

If there's one thing you can be sure about when it comes to a Simon Eriksson music video, it's that Wille's going to be in it, one way or another.

Or: despite growing protests of directors and producers, Simon and Wille do everything in their power to get Wille a cameo in every. single. music video

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

okay i took the longest time debating over what to share and mostly, whether im not plugging this fic that won't go up for months too much but.... have the first few passages of a fic that i'm way too excited about

“I’m going to the Oscars, of course I’m going to bring my best friend as a plus one.”

The video cut to a shot of Felice Ehrencrona, former-actress-turned-food-influencer, walking arm in arm with former Crown Prince Wilhelm, laughing at some joke the audience wasn’t privy to. Simon scrolled past it, onto the next video, the same trend but a different person. “I’m an older sibling, of course”. He closed the app, choosing to stare out the window, watching the LA skyline pass by instead.

Why the Oscars thought it a smart idea to also start inviting influencers, despite the backlash other award shows like the Grammy’s and even the MET gala had received over doing exactly that, was beyond him.

It’s not like anyone actually cared enough about them, and people would only complain about it online.

Plus, what right did they have to be there? It was an award show for actors and actresses. And sure, Felice had done some acting gigs in the beginning of her career, but that was years ago. Inviting influencers took the whole prestige out of it. And to bring the former crown prince with her on top of that? Ugh.

Simon already found it hard enough that he had to deal with actual celebrities who’d probably manage to complain about every minor detail, and now he had to deal with influencers as well? Who somehow had gotten the thought in their head that they were even better than anyone else?

And not to mention a former crown prince, who probably had everything that ever happened to him, every opportunity, just handed to him on a silver platter, and who had never been told no or what he could or couldn’t do.

Maybe Simon should also hop on the trend.

“I’m going to be working at the Oscars, of course someone is going to yell at me because I brought them a regular coke instead of a diet.”

What a glamourous life he had.

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

Simon sat down on the couch next to Wille, the widest grin possible on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. “I met someone. And I’m pretty sure he’s the one.”

“You said that about the previous guy. And the guy before that. And the guy before that.”

“Yeah, but this time I’m sure of it.” Simon fell back against the couch cushions, and ran a hand through his black curls. “He’s sweet, and considerate, and incredible in bed. I mean the way he–“

“Okay, okay, I do not need to hear you go on about your sexual escapades again, please. Where did you meet him?”

Simon’s hand got stuck in his curls, and he blushed. Actually blushed, and that’s how Wille knew the answer.

“Please don’t say the club.”

Simon didn’t reply.

“Simon, we talked about this. Not every guy you fuck is the one.”

Come ask me about WIPs! (and i have too many so repeats are fine)