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thyme-in-a-bubble · 4 days ago

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you’ll like it eventually

a/n: shout out to the booty lovers! this one goes out to you, babes!

summary: “remember, back in the basement, when we came up with that brilliant plan to draw at random who gets the honour of popping this cherry? Well, guess who the winner was.”

warnings: innocent!reader x frat!lloyd hansen, stepbro!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, college au, polyamory, corruption kink, pervy frat bros making y/n clean in a slutty maid outfit, kissing, clothed sex, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, impact play, pain kink, spit kink, crying, dacryphilia, oral, fingering, pussyjob, anal, loss of anal virginity, painal, oops it just “slipped” in, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, just a bunch of unrealistic details about anal (like no prep or anything) but this is just porn so it's okay

word count: 2384

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take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

“Hmm… yep… I’ve had this dream before.”

Tearing your gaze away from the dusty shelf, you’d climbed up on a chair in order to wipe clean, you glanced down to spot the guy who’d appeared and promptly leaned back against the doorframe.

“Sorry, Lloyd. I thought I’d be done with your room before you got back,” you sucked in a breath at his presence.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you in here cleaning my room?” he then tried to sneak a peek up your skirt, “looking like a fucking pornstar and everything.”

You’d come to learn that there were very few things in life that you despised more than having the guys be mad at you. It had been a few weeks since the incident with the Gamma Sigma Zeta boys and the consequential slap over the wrist that you’d gotten afterwards, but your stepbrother and his friends had still not fully forgiven you yet, and you couldn’t stand it.

So therefore, in your desperation, you found yourself doing anything and everything under the sun to crawl your way back into their good graces.

This time, it had just started as a throwaway comment yesterday about how much the unorganised and messy state of the fraternity stressed you out, to Steve promptly suggesting that if you had such a problem with it, then you were more than welcome to do something about it yourself.

Now, what you hadn’t expected was the tiny maid’s outfit that he handed you as soon as you came to do the deed. It was dangerously short and black, with a little apron and dark stockings to match. He’d even demanded that you hand over your panties, rendering you to roam around the house completely exposed if you so much as shifted an inch.

You wanted to protest and throw it back in his face, you truly did, but if a little humiliation was what it took to get him to smile at you like he used to, then so be it. You could take it.

“I just–… wanted to do something nice for you all…” you ended up saying, instead of the long-winded explanation, in hopes that it would aid your case, “but the get-up wasn’t my idea, that was all Steve.”

“I know. He bought it last month after that beer pong tournament when he found you down in the kitchen, organising the pantry instead of partying like the rest of us.”

“Of course, he did…” you sighed as you finished cleaning the shelves and crawled back down from the chair. Shifting under his stare, your eyes briefly darted back to him as you muttered, “did you wanna be alone? I can come back and finish later, if you want.”

“No, no, you go ahead,” he pushed himself away from the doorframe and slipped further into his room, “do what you gotta do, I’ll just enjoy the show.”

Watching as he settled down into the chair by his desk, whirling it around in order to face you, a sharp breath then filled your lungs as his stare ate you up, “…right…”

And as you then began to strip his bed of the dirty sheets, the slick sounds of his fist shamelessly stroking his fat cock found your ears before you peeked back at him to see.

“You know, I’ve got something you can polish up real nice for me.”

“Oh, I bet you do… but I’m kinda busy right now–”

“Aren’t you losing your fucking mind?” he promptly cut you off, ignoring your words completely as your task made it impossible for him not to stare directly up your skirt at your bareness, “none of us have banged you since that little stunt you pulled and we all know you don’t know how to take care of business by yourself,” he chuckled condescendingly.

“I’m okay,” you swiftly uttered before a lie rushed out past your lips, “I mean, yeah, I-I can’t do it by myself, I don’t know how yet, but I manage,” you fibbed, even though you hadn’t been able to stop making yourself cum, even since professor Richards gave you that little lesson a week prior.

“Well,” Lloyd then rose from his seat as he decided, “maybe you don’t have to just manage anymore…”

“What are you–,” twisting your neck, you cast a glance over your shoulder at him just before he kneeled down behind you and caught your hips. With your frame already bent over the mattress as you crawled to put on the fresh bedding, the frat boy barely had to do a thing to get his mouth on you, “oh my god…” you gasped as his insistent tongue swiftly parted your petals, though you still stayed cautious and rigid in his hold, “I-I thought you guys didn’t wanna–”

“The ban on not touching you lifted a whole week ago, it’s fine,” he muttered in between sloppy pecks as he began to bully your clit, “so what if the others are stubborn. Doesn’t this feel good?”

“Y-yeah,” your eyes promptly rolled as he suddenly took a detour and began to direct all of his focus on your other little hole, his tongue lapping at the little rosebud as if it was made of candy, “but–”

“No buts, don’t think about it,” his voice tickled your skin as he barely paused in order to talk, “just let me make you feel good, yeah?”

Peeking back at him, your fists curled in the sheets below as you couldn’t deny how fiercely you missed this, “…okay.”

Feeding himself on his obsession, Lloyd continued to eat you out, though mostly focused on that little untouched button of yours, till you were right about to cum.

But just as your thighs began to tremble and your eyes fluttered closed, his lips disappeared with a pop as he instead straightened up behind you, denying you of the ecstasy.

But just as you were about to complain, you glanced back to watch as he propped up a knee to rest on the edge of the mattress, his fingers enveloping the base of his dick before he tilted his hips and buried himself deep in your pussy in one fell stroke, greedily thrusting right past the tightness that had built back up over your brief patch of celibacy, and letting you simply huff and puff to try and take the sudden stretch.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this sweet little pussy of yours…” he groaned in your ear as he savoured the sensation a moment, the tip of his length nuzzling up against your cervix as he gently rolled his hips against your ass, before he reeled on back and snapped back in.

You were quick to scramble back to that sought after high, especially when Lloyd pounded your pussy like a man possessed. Though as you unravelled, the orgasm was so blinding that your cunt clenched down around his girth so severely that he was squeezed out completely. And as your cream now dripped from his thick cock, your body promptly flopped down to lay flat atop the bed.

Like a shadow, he followed you down. As his weight squished you further down into the softness, it also kept you in place as you began to squirm, the manner in which he didn’t hesitate to reach down to part your sensitive petals with his dick being nearly too overstimulating to bear.

But then as his movements grew sloppy, messily sweeping his hardness against you so crudely that he flicked all the way up to tickle against your puckered little asshole as well, soon a sharp stretch stung your senses and snapped you awake.

“Lloyd!” you gasped as the very tip of him breached, splitting open your virginal hole.

“Sorry, it just slipped in,” he lied as if it had been an accident, “it’s your fault, you’re too fucking wet,” he argued, pointing out the obvious.

“Ow, pull it out!” you panted as the unfamiliar and sudden intrusion made you tremble beneath him, but to your horror, he didn’t so much as move an inch, “Lloyd, stop! Pull it out!” instead the cocky bastard just bullied his way in a tiny bit deeper, “what are you doing? You’re not supposed to–”

“What? Fuck your ass? Actually, I am,” he proudly stated before nipping at the back of your neck, making your poor fuckhole clench around him, “remember, back in the basement, when we came up with that brilliant plan to draw at random who gets the honour of popping this cherry? Well, guess who the winner was.”

“No, no…” you muttered into the bed as your face promptly scrunched up at the dizzying burn.

“Oh, yes,” he only chuckled as he slowly attempted to move, though his unhurried speed had nothing to do with kindness but everything to do with the innocence of your tight little hole, “and I know, I know I should have probably taken my time, prepped and worked you open over the course of an eternity, but you’re just so fucking hot, I couldn’t stop myself…” he drove his fat length in even deeper, making you squeak beneath him in protest. However, as he then murmured, “come on, you’re a good girl, you can take it…” your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to your dream that had pushed you to prance around the fraternity in a ridiculous outfit and clean the entire abode. Perhaps enduring this could do the trick, even though the ache of the unfamiliar stretch was nearly too much to bear, if that was what it took for everything to revert back to normal, then you’d sure as fuck lay there and take it.

Catching your quivering hands, Lloyd trapped them at the small of your back as he then tilted back and sat up a bit to let his glance catch sight of the way he broke you in, “oh my god, your little hole is so tight,” he briefly pulled all of the way out, just to watch how it winked back at him, “it just snaps right back into place,” his thumb drifted down to brush over the quivering rosebud, though only for a moment before he stuffed you full once again, “god… it’ll be fucked up by the time I’m done…”

And with your palms entangled by his grasp just over the curve of your bottom, it not only held you in place, but also kept you from reaching down to tickle your clit, something that might have made the whole process a bit smoother.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed when he noticed the hot tears that soon began to stream down your cheeks, “tell me how it feels…”

“Hurts–,” you blubbered truthfully, though you tried your best to put on a brave face.

“Yeah? It hurts?” a grin lit up his features, “does it hurt?”

“Mhm,” a faint nod found your head.

“Well, that’s okay, baby. You’re doing so great,” his free hand came down to palm at your butt, kneading the cheeks and pulling them apart, “you’ll like it eventually. You just gotta keep taking it till you do.”

And the next thing you knew, before you could blubber another squeak, his broad palm had found the back of your head and shoved your face down into the mattress, muffling your soft whimpers.

Through the soreness, you ceased to notice the way in which your puffy pussy throbbed for attention. In fact, even before Lloyd’s hefty balls began to tap against your neglected cunt from the steadily increase of his pace, it had already begun to drip and leak from the new sensation you were experiencing.

“Hmm… must not hurt that badly, just look at that pussy,” he soon noted as sticky strings kept your bodies connected, the embarrassing webs only worsening with each zealous thrust, “she won’t stop drooling,” he groaned and your cunt clenched around nothing, “she’s just begging for some attention, isn’t she? Asking so nicely for me to stop and go back to her… well, too fucking bad… she can make all the mess she wants, I don’t care.”

When you then unexpectedly tumbled over the edge once again, your lonely cunt cumming so wickedly that a gush of squirt shakily showered the clean and rumpled linens below, nothing but the purest form of confusion possessed your foggy mind.

How could a sensation so strange make you cum so hard? Was it really so excruciating, or did the initial pain of Lloyd’s harshness just mask a whole world of euphoria?

“Fuck… that’s it… that’s a good little anal slut…” he moaned when you gushed around nothing, leaving you a shaky mess beneath him as he selfishly kept up his pace, fucking you into oblivion, “we just gotta keep going till you give in and start craving it… train this little ass, real good…”

Crudely, his wide palm then found your buried features and raised them back up, making your back arch as he made you blink up at him. And just as your hazy eyes locked with his, in the heat of the moment, he first let a drop of saliva collide with your face, before then prying open your lips with his broad thumb and spitting on your soft tongue as well.

“That’s my little hole,” his gravelly grunt vibrated in his chest and buzzed against your spine as he craned down to stare into your foggy eyes, “so fucking pretty…” his grasp stayed locked under your chin to curve you back, “it’s mine, right? Tell me that it’s my hole.”

“It’s your hole–,” you mindlessly mumbled, “I’m your hole–,” before he then ultimately came undone.

Pumping your little ass full of his hot cum, it first began to leak out once he’d caught his breath and rolled off of you.

“Fucking shit…” he briefly reached for your butt, spreading your softness apart to watch for a moment as his load began to drip from your sore little opening. But then, just as you expected his warm palm on you to sweep up and around you in a tender hold, it instead smacked your raw bottom before he got up from the mattress and exhaled, “alright… enough dilly-dallying. You still aren’t done cleaning the house.”

#lea’s writing #take her under your wing au #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #chris evans smut

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zairaalbereo · 7 months ago

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“This ends when I grant them my forgiveness, not the other way around.”

Actually, how about the empire gets down on its knees and begs James McGraw’s Flint’s pardon, and then he can decide if he’s in a forgiving mood, or if he’d rather kick them in the teeth. How about that?

Guys. Guys. I thought I would post my art into the doldrums! Instead I was blown away by the response. I’m so glad to see this fandom is alive and kicking! 🧡

Hiii! Hello! I’m Z. I obsess about fictional characters and their epic gay love affairs, and I deal by making a lot of art. I also mix up styles. Oops. Sometimes I even write, so, really, anything can happen.

And yesssss @ceraunos I have a lot of thoughts. So. Many. Thoughts. And so many feelings. Come and talk to me so I don’t have to talk to myself. Which I have absolutely been doing lol.

And I might draw other characters down the line, but I really, really love Flint.

#black sails #captain flint #james flint #James the-empire-can-bloody-well-apologise-to-me Flint #black sails fanart #toby stephens #and his damn face #like such a fantastic face #limited palette #my art #new obsession

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vespidclan · 2 months ago

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Um hi I’m gonna talk about 404 and the works 🚶‍♀️ this ended up longer than I expected oops

What is she?

If we’re going to talk about how 404 can do the things she can do, we need to first talk about WHAT she is. 404 is… not just a moth? She clearly is, but she is also the ‘player’! When she got corrupted by the game, she was also given every ounce of power from the game. This left the game pretty much ‘dead’ and her in control, which is why Clangen.exe and the Vespidclan file is still running despite being broken. Basically, her having 100% of power meant that her and the system have ‘merged into one’, but since the system was corrupting and breaking apart as Moththorn went against her programing… That same corruption took over her. Then came the metamorphosis ‘rebirth’ symbolism yada yada yada aaaaaand that’s how 404 was born! 🎉🎉

And being the player, she can do ANYTHING in the game! Aside from creating, but ANYTHING! This means she can skip moons and go back to previous moons (time travel… inevitably caused Heartflicker’s injury), give cats injuries and conditions (basically giving Snakevalley recurring shock and whatever goes on in OOB), playing around with death settings (“dead”: false while letting their “dead_moons” go on and on, keeping the them dead but with conscious still intact so they can feel paralyzing agony *cough* what she does to cats like Spark), and let me tell you this is just scratching the surface.

Why does 404 appear different sometimes?

Shapeshifting? Form-changing? Neither of those! What it really is that she’s splitting her conscious around into different vessels/copies of herself that she can manipulate at will. It sounds complex, but trust me it won’t be after I explain it like this—She’s pretty much just multiplying herself so she can easily communicate with the cats in-game. Think of it like copying and pasting but without it being an exact replica.

To do that she needs some kind of source in the game that lacks much organism code-wise but still able to move around, so there’s room to fit a bit of her code in it. Whether it’s some kind of animal or a manifestation she made herself. Vinepaw probably explains it better than me.

So these guys that have shown up in the comics are her, or maybe 80% of her. She can control them and they have her same thoughts, so it’s basically her with a different identity. One big difference is that her shadow copies can only appear as a ‘hallucination’ and directly in the mind, but mini moth 4 is a real physical vessel that any cat can see, it’s just her text box that’s hidden from a few cats. She grabbed a poor little moth, stuffed her code into it, and now it’s a free new body to possess. The only reason she’s doing this is because Vinepaw’s mind is a little tricky than others, which we’ll discuss later on.

“Can’t 404 just appear normally like herself?” In-game? Nah, she exists in the Out Of Bounds area of the game, which is restricted zone no cat in-game can enter unless they go far enough to bypass it. 404 can barely get out of it herself.

But there’s times where she, her actual self, HAS appeared to cats like Stonepaw or Snakevalley, but only as a hallucination-that-feels-super-realistic-and-real. This would be whenever I draw her in her red and black colors or it’s just straight up her in all of her massive towering glory.

“Why can’t she just do this all the time instead of making copies?” A lady like her is too busy managing OOB and terrorizing the cats there! She’d only show herself if it was a top priority to her, like pressuring Snakie or finding Vinny.

How can she lurk into the mind?

She can’t go to the cats in-game. We all know that. The solution? Enter the mind! The best way I can explain it is she’s ‘hacking’ into the mindscape with all the knowledge she has so that they can see/envision her presence. Sometimes they aren’t too severe like just seeing vague glitches or her text boxes, or they’re very severe where she’s literally in front of you. Sounds easy for an evil moth goddess right?

Well rummaging in the mind isn’t… It’s most easiest when the cat is asleep, has already seen visions of ‘the fourth wall’ prior, or when the cat is most vulnerable. Other times, she needs to really intensely seep into the cat’s mind with, breaking through the barriers intense. Every psyche is different!

Some really good examples come from Stone and Vine! Stone saw 404 while she was just a small lil kit. After that, she’d constantly have nightmares and scary visions of 404. 404 quickly caught on and decided to keep Stone ‘in line’ via stalking so she can have ‘use’ to her plans later, but we all know that that didn’t work out. Vine meanwhile is able to ‘block’ 404 from his dreams, because all he thinks about 24/7 is cupcakes and rainbows. 404 actually managed to get to him later on, but she needed to actually be there than to use a silly copy, because it wouldn’t be very effective.

If she can’t interact with the cats in-game, how is she dragging deceased cats into OOB?

That’s because she isn’t… physically anyways. What she IS doing is coding them out of Starclan and into Out Of Bounds the very moment they die. It isn’t that scary, unless you see it happening yourself. Another trick of the mind that can unfortunately happen if you stand by her radius… but that’s very rare! ;)

How does coding work?

It’s like this

Okay but really… Coding is just what you and I could do on the computer—changing up stuff! Editing, fixing, modding, she can do it all! (apart from… yk…) It’s actually super self explanatory so there won’t be much to go over.

She uses her dexterous claws on these! These are the files, the source of every cats life and blood… The cats in OOB call them ‘The Towers’, cuz these things are taaaaaaallll. They do have their own special area in OOB, which is farther away from the actual place and are set in a ‘black void’, but she can spawn them in when she needs to make a quick ‘fix’.

404 can also take apart the files and rearrange them however she wants. And she can ‘spawn’ pieces of the files to her hand so she can edit them portably without having to climb or bring the whole tower with her.

Usually when she gets her hands on a file it will slowly (or quickly depending on the damage done) start chipping away. It isn’t all that bad, but once it’s taken full effect and broke so much of it, then the cat is also now ‘broken’. Take Heartie for example—She changed her trait from bloodthirsty to loyal, except 404 hadn’t changed it quite perfectly, so now she has a trait that ‘doesn’t exist’ within the code.

Plus like, you can take a look at the Moththorn file and see it’s completely demolished. Wonder why.

That’s pretty much it all for now. Hope you learned something new about how 404 works and I definitely hope this clears some stuff up 🩶

#vspc lore #clangen #clan generator #warrior cats clangen

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emry-stars-oc · 1 month ago

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Now that mermay is over. I have more mermay content. Much thanks to my buddy silvermasquerade who I wanted to talk about a mermaid au with (specifically their twin oc girlies who feature heavily here) and who had a hundred good ideas because now I’m terminally obsessed

So what if there were merfolk dolphins and they lived in an aquarium that does shows and stuff and most of them have an assigned human “handler” to help manage things and maybe to perform with. I think the merfolk are mostly like rescues or relocations?? At any rate the current set up of humans they work with are largely tolerable and even likeable so that’s a plus 🙏 and yes I’m unlearning embarrassment so you get to see my whole sketchbook layouts

(In this specific au the list of names and animals on the top left (above) are the merms, the right side list is the reverse timeline but we’ll get to that later)

Anyway I’ll put some ‘who’s who’ + rambles under the cut, for now @silvermasquerade GET OVER HERE I HAVE YOUR CHILDREN AND SECRET OTHER ART

Ok so. The merfolk are: silvermasquerade’s girls Adaline and Alyssa, the two black haired dusky dolphins

Alyssa (ponytail)’s human is Bo, Adaline won’t take an assigned handler but if she needs an assistant for her performances she’ll borrow someone (usually also Bo). They’re beautiful and so much fun to play dolls with and I love them. I also love forcing Bo and Alyssa to get through the initial absolute refusal to cooperate bc once they figure each other out they are so funny to me

(The rest of these aren’t going to have pics accompanying them because I’m hitting image limit smh)

My contributions to the merms are Quinton, the spotted dolphin who’s (current) human is a yet un-designed and completely un-introduced dude named Rhydian (annoying, sometimes pretends that the merfolk aren’t as sentient as they are bc it’s ‘convenient for him’). Luckily I’m thinking Q eventually gets put with Kallistos instead, who’s one of his besties in canon. He’s also mercilessly, lovingly teased for not being overly subtle by merfolk standards with how intrigued he is by Alyssa’s handler

Estes, a nondescript seal who doesn’t perform atm but ended up taking to one of the employees (Lolo) who was therefore given defacto responsibility of Estes bc she’s so snappy with anyone else. Lolo also happens to be someone that frequently helps train new employees so when Taorna is hired, he also accidentally gets on Estes’ good side. Oops 💕

Mercer, the unreasonably large orca that was brought in who also doesn’t yet perform because they have no one to work with him on it. He’s not quite built for the elegant types of shows they put on anyway, if they ever do a pirate drama he’d make a great sea monster tho.

And Liana, the common dolphin with the yellow ribbon in her hair. Her handler is Ambrose (eyepatch guy) which means she’s almost immediately teased/razzed by the other merfolk for how well the two of them get along. “He’s handsome and kind and -“ “girl please. he’s a HUMAN” but you best believe they are the media darlings and look so cute in their matching costumes

One day I’ll draw them with their humans bc you absolutely have not seen the last of them, I’m obsessed almost to the point of concern, I also need to figure out how to get Betony in here fr. If you thought Mercer towered over them before oh boy

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orangez3st · 2 months ago

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I Know Who I Married

Commander Wolffe × F!Reader

✧ Summary: Wolffe, a commander of his men and your husband, finds himself trapped between two conflicts. And yet, the ending involves you being your forgiving self, followed by good news.

✧ Tags & Warnings: pregnant reader, songfic, forbidden marriage, a little angsty, domestic fluff, words of affirmation, one (1) mention of sex, maybe inaccurate pregnancy things, oops look at that word count my hand slipped, PLO'BUIR, Wolffe needs a hug

✧ Word Count: 6.8k

✧ A/N: Please accept this angsty-wholesome (and finally non-Delta!) fic bcs it'd be the last one for now! Delta Squad Week is drawing closer and I wanna focus on that, and then I'll get through the piling fic requests. Enjoy this one! (Also did I accidentally lorebuild the 104th and make a new clone OC out of this? Yes.)

Masterlist | Read on AO3

𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘

— That Would Be Enough - Philippa Soo, Lin-Manuel Miranda [X]

Wolffe swallows heavily as his footsteps, heavy, carry him to the war room. The grey of the venator’s hallways are neverending and ever gloomy as the distance between him and his destination draws closer. The overbearing burden as a leader has never felt so great after the recent campaign. He's lost so many men over false intel that neither he or his captains bothered to reassess.

His fault. He called the shots, even reassured his general that the campaign would run smoothly as planned. As usual. Then he became reckless. He wants to scream until his throat is scratchy and punch the wall until he crushes his knuckles. The warmth of the blood and the pain that'd occur and scratch along his skin would be worth it. Or maybe not even close—to the lives lost.

So many of his men. Wolffe is still able to recall their screams and desperate call for help over the comms as they were ambushed from all sides—and every time, he blinked and breathed through it as he covered the others in his radius to retreat. To fight for another day.

Until then, he must face whatever awaits him, his boots steadily and almost rhythmically resound across durasteel flooring of the ship, as if nothing's different. As if it's just the usual. Oh how he wishes it's the usual.

Two of his men adorned in 104th grey who guard the entrance to the war room spares him a glance, and a nod of respect about a second too late. Hesitance. Hesitance over his authority. Over his competence to lead. Fighting not to tilt his helmet away, Wolffe manages to tilt his focus away instead. He's lost so many men, but never because of his recklessness.

“Commander,” one of them greets, either with the usual respect or to defuse the disregarded tension. Wolffe bets on the latter as he strides past them, taking off his helmet in the process, and into the center of the room.

The holotable glows with field schematics of their next campaign. Wolffe has expected the Admiral, but now the man is nowhere around. Plo Koon always carries a strong presence in the room with his wisdom and perseverance, standing on one side of the table. The High Jedi General is trading a quiet discussion with someone—Wolffe notices the unmistakable ARC get-up and extra belt pouches, said attributes in 104th grey, with a marshal commander rank plaque on his left chest.

Wolffe snaps into attention, his helmet tucked under his arm. “General Plo Koon. Marshal Commander Brontes.” He's managed to quench his shock about three seconds before he spoke. What Brontes is doing here doubles and triples his anxiousness. Steeling himself still even after the Generals waves at ease, he swallows again, tipping his chin a little higher. “You summoned me, General?”

“Yes, Commander,” addresses Plo Koon, turning away from the holotable to face Wolffe. Blue light reflects on his features and his mask. “I wish not to waste your time. We'll be discussing the aftermath of our latest campaign.”

Shit. Direct reprimand. His worst nightmare. In front of Brontes, technically and structurally highest in command, only second after Plo Koon in the 14th Storm Corps? Even worse—much worse. He'd rather have a broken arm. At least he can still put up a fight equally well with the other one. But this? This is a fight he's never going to win in any time, in any scenario.

The General is waiting for him to speak.

“I…” Wolffe can't quite find his own words. Chaos that ensued in the comms a little over one rotation ago still haunts his mind, leaving it blank.

“Sir.” Brontes steps in. “Permission for a private talk with Commander Wolffe for a minute.”

Plo Koon trades a long look with the clone marshal commander that grows softer over time. Wolffe swears he can spot a slightest slump of the Kel Dor’s shoulders, and maybe a sigh that's rattling quietly out of his mask. “Granted.”

And with that, the Jedi marches away to the furthest viewport in the room, hands behind his back, watching the blur of hyperspace in uncharacteristically stiff posture that just settles more self-hatred inside Wolffe.

“Vod.” Brontes' voice next to him pulls him out of his stupor. Wolffe turns to the marshal commander with a look of dread that he doesn't realize himself wearing, until Brontes’ countenance visibly softens. “Wolffe, talk to me. As brothers. I know you're upset.”

“Seems like word travels fast, doesn't it?”

“Wolffe.” A look of warning. “Don’t deflect. You know better than that.”

“Everything that happened is purely my fault, Brontes. M’not even gonna defend myself. I'm ready to take the beating out of this.”

“Are you, really?” Brontes' scarred eyebrow lifts skeptically as he crosses his arms. “Because you look like you're about to burst off at the seams, vod.”

“Oh I didn't know that,” Wolffe grits his teeth.

Brontes sighs. “Save your shebs from blurting emotional and uncontrollable nonsense to the General by talking to me first.” He steps closer, voice lowered and mismatched brown and blue eyes sharp. “What the hell happened? You've never done reckless shit like this. You're always careful. I know you, ner vod. We ran into each other Kamino so many times that I actually lost count.”

Wolffe has come prepared for the speech. “I wasn't careful,” he relents with a sigh, “The war. It never ends. I just…”

Your luminous smile slips to the forefront of his mind. Then your sweet giggle, at something he said. An image where you are truly happy. The sun behind your head makes you glow and grants you a divine halo—an image committed to his memory while you glide through a warm and colorful meadow of beautiful Nabooian flowers. And yet, next to this graceful dance you commence for him, is your steadfast presence in his life. Your beautiful friendship with him, your kindness, and last but never the least, your loyalty.

Once upon a time it led to a secret ceremony of the bonding of two living souls. Marriage. It was done by Mandalorian customs. After uttering the riduurok and trading a kiss as husband and wife, you took him on this quirky yet meaningful idea to get inked around the base of both of your left ring fingers to mimic a wedding ring. Wolffe has your name on his, and you have his. It was perfect. A newfound bliss with a newfound meaning—this world now belongs to you both, and you will do anything to find yourself back in each other's arms despite the circumstances.

After all, you're a civilian. Wolffe is a soldier. His true duty is someplace else and anywhere else at the same time—anywhere in the galaxy where conflict breaks and harms like glass.

“...I just wish this'll be over soon,” Wolffe says somberly, longing for you terribly all of a sudden following those thoughts, that he has to keep the dam from overflowing.

But Brontes stares at him, all deadpan and unamused. “So you thought maybe you'd just chuck a live det in the dark and charge head on even though you know you're probably blasting at an absolute unit of a mutated rancor, which puts all your trigger-happy efforts as useless.”

Wolffe slowly closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “It was false intel.”

“That you failed to reassess!” Brontes hisses, “Our comms and intelligence are perfectly capable—they literally kill time by reassessing intel over and over again because that's what they do, but you didn't give the word! It was fatal, Wolffe!”

“We all know we shouldn't trust intel!”

“Doesn't mean to go completely ignored!” Brontes scrubs both hands down his face. “Prime help me. You sure we decanted in the same batch? And neighbors?”

“Wish we weren't, Three-Five.”

“The hell you meant by that, Three-Six?”

Wolffe looks down. “You're a lot more capable in various different fields including emotional control than I am, Marshal.”

The man snorts. “That your best attempt at I don't deserve it this week? Bantha shit. And you take that back.” Brontes points at him. Wolffe says nothing, his gaze secured on his boots still. Brontes sighs, firmly grabbing the other's shoulders. “Wolffe, vod, you're a good man. If you want this war to end as quickly as you prefer it to be, then do things the right way—the way you've always done it. Careful, methodical. Branch out your thoughts, make backups for backup, and most importantly; think about your men. They're your brothers. Cuun vode. They want this war to be over soon, like you do, too.”

He knows how to do it, goddamn it. He was only distracted by the thought of you. Actually no; the thought of sweeping the field as swiftly as possible in that fateful campaign—which was somewhat of a nuisance at the time than you are, occupying his mind—resulted in his apparent recklessness.

“And what are you doing here?” Wolffe asks.

Brontes shrugs. Wolffe quietly, defeatedly, observes the look of guilt in the other's eyes that slips through. “The General requested for me himself. So I took a fighter with me, left my battalion somewhere in Derilyn, and hit hyperspace the next hour.”

“Commander Wolffe,” Plo Koon’s voice booms in the midst of their sudden silence, “May I have a word with you, please.”

Both clones trade a look. Wordlessly, Brontes pats Wolffe in the back, even offering a barely-there smile, before marching to the door. When Wolffe makes his way up to the platform to meet his General, Brontes is already gone, leaving his mind once again preoccupied with haunting errors, along with the cries of his men that had echoed in the comms.

Wolffe lets out a breath. “General Koon,” he begins, “I am fully aware of my tactical incompetence in our last campaign. I'll be very careful that there will be no repetition. The party to blame is no one else but me, and I’m ready to receive punishment.”

The Kel Dor turns to face him. Nearly every time, his expression is completely unreadable. Though over time since Abregado, Wolffe finds comfort in both that—helps with his brutal objectiveness—and the constant presence of his reassurance.

“I’ve been aware of the uneasiness that’s been inside you for so long, Wolffe. Even now.” The sudden sidestep off the topic baffles the commander. Not even a direct nudge about the campaign. This is personal. “You're thinking about the future. About what, or who, awaits back home—awaits you.”

Your smile flits past his mind again.

“Yes, General,” Wolffe confesses, “But my sole focus is on this war.”

Your smile again. This time it's bittersweet, a little somber, but with immeasurable patience full to the brim in your eyes, your lips uttering how much you believe in him that he'll come home. Bidding your goodbyes as early as 0200 before he left for deployment in two hours. Your husband can only imagine you solemnly trying to catch your sleep again without worrying too much about him. He's a commander after all—surely he knows how to avoid death and ensure the best strategy applied in his battles.

“I don't doubt you, son—I never do.” Plo Koon places a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder, the weight only reminds him of the unnecessary death of his men. “And yet you let your inner turmoil overtook your judgement, and your actions afterward.”

Following such words, a hushed whisper ghosts his ear in your voice, “And look at the cost.”

Nearly flinching, Wolffe shakes it away. “Yes, sir,” he says firmly, his eyes holding so much shame, “I won't deny it.”

The General quietly watches him. “How long has it been since you last saw your dear wife?”

“It was during our last shore leave, sir.” Wolffe steels himself, trying not to crumble in the face of reality that feels heavier than mere moments ago. “Three months.”

The other man hums. “Then three months is enough.”

Wolffe's mismatched eyes snap up. “Sir?”

“I’m certain she longs for you very much. You need to be there for your wife.” Plo Koon turns around, facing the viewport once more, as if unable to bear the weight of the incoming decision. The azure lights of hyperspace make his earthy complexion shine in contrast. “You are granted one month of shore leave and will board a shuttle back to Coruscant.”

“What?” Wolffe can feel his heart drop to his stomach. Panic. Fright. There's nothing more that scares him than being sidebenched officially under order. “One month—?!”

“Take your mind off the battlefield, son. Recuperate, and reevaluate. You will be reinstated back on duty in exactly one month.”

Wolffe lets the silence slowly kill him. When no other words come from the Jedi, he takes a deep breath and gambles his chances. “General, with all due respect, my duty as commanding officer of the 104th—”

“Will be temporarily taken over by Marshal Commander Brontes per my request. That is why he's here.”

“But sir, please, my duty—”

He closes his mouth when the General raises a hand.

“Your duty now,” Plo Koon says, with a gentleness of a parent, “is to be with your family. You have a home that's waiting for you. A wife who's waiting for you to return home. The decision is final, Commander Wolffe, and the approval is already given directly from me. I issued the order myself. As soon as we leave hyperspace, you will be boarding the shuttle.”

It feels numb afterwards.

It feels like being stripped of everything he's known. His ranks, his purpose, his life. The thought of desertion has never even once crossed his mind. Battlefield is his home.

But… you are his home, too.

“Cease fighting today. Your wife needs you alive, son. She needs your care. She needs your presence.”

Marching out of the room with a new direction that is his quarters, he refrains saying a thing to Brontes. His helmet hides his expression as he merely nods in respectful greeting, but seemingly isn't enough—Brontes gives him a look that he despises so much. Pity. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need anybody else reminding him of his faults. It's embarrassing enough.

What would he tell you?

That he'd had his own men killed? His own brothers? Because he was distracted… by you?

No. He can't say that.

That he'd failed? Faulted, condemned, punished… blamed? His own men looked at him as if he's someone else. The respect remains—visible to the naked eye, stripped to merely ranks—and yet the reverence…

You'd see him as a failure too. The fear has a good, relentless grip on his heart. It aches. It aches to tell you. It aches to be confused.

“I find no comfort if one day I have to be the one knocking on her door to deliver the news that her beloved husband had perished on the battlefield.”

The ride to Coruscant is as quiet as it can be, save for the hum of hyperdrive. A squad of his men escorts him. Wolffe deems the space beyond the confines of his helmet lethal, as if the recycled air of the transport shuttle would destroy his airway and leave his lungs rotten by the time they arrive planetside. His own breath is hot with shame, his fists clenched, failure failure failure repeatedly ringing in his own ears, loud.

Everything makes him feel like a prisoner. A criminal on parole. The feeling worsens when the shuttle breaches atmo.

One month away from the war. A small part of him rejoices to see your smile again, to feel the reunion that would leave his body buzzing from pure happiness to day's end.

The circumstances, however…

“It’ll destroy her,” he’d said, unable to bear the thought of you mourning him. The thought of him leaving you, all alone.

Then the cab ride is just as quiet. The droid driver doesn't bother him—good. The state of the city around him beyond the filmed glass windows is the exact opposite. It's loud. Wolffe sits back, his helmet still on, his fear and utter shame still have a hold on him that if he takes it off it would become real. Too real for him to accept.

He brings nothing with him but armor on his back. He didn't even get to change, but at least he'd spent hours himself mourning in his flagship quarters while mindlessly rubbing over the same spot on his shin plate over and over again.

Just like how they cried over and over again in the comms.

“Love is a powerful motivation to one's spirit—to move them in a certain direction. If one takes it away, that person will never be the same again.”

Before your marriage, Wolffe spares his downtime growing stress lines on his face. He knew he had to provide for you but alas; he is what he is. His weekly stipend barely covers your daily meal, and that's just the sad truth. And yet the other side of such truth is a bright world filled with hope and everlasting joy where you truly want him—to be with him.

So you put your foot down; “This is my own dwelling, I have a steady job where people are constantly dependent on my industry, I love you and I want to be with you, so let's get married.”

It wasn't impatience. It was the fruit of his labor and yours working the relationship through regardless of any differences, the big one is of him being a clone—oftentimes looked down upon, deemed as nothing but patriotic wet droids that die for the people of a republic of nations they never personally know. But not you. Never you.

“Let's get married,” you'd said again—a soft smile, almost pleading and demanding for him to say yes, on your face. “With your customs, if you don't mind. I think I'd love that.”

Wolffe was dumbstruck by your flash decisions. “Are you sure?”

Your smile brightened. “Yes I'm sure.”

Something comes over him as the door of your—and his—dwelling comes into view.

A little different from the typical housing in Coruscant topside, the apartment is tucked away behind a series of office buildings and skyscraper shopping centers. It's a suitable place—perfect, even—for a couple married in secret, and that's all Wolffe would say if someone asks him. Not that he'd rat his own marriage out.

But.

Home.

“And I'm sure you love her very much—and she, you. Dedicate your time for your family, son. Just as much as you do, for the war.”

This place is where you and him make your pleasant memories. Some of them are first-times, some involving hot screaming matches. But you and Wolffe always make it through. Your patience and his resilience. It leads you, him, to all this.

He knows the key code. But he hasn't been home for a very long time, and all your work is done from home.

And now it just strikes him how much pain you're in, living in the void around you. The other side of your bed empty, the other dining chair empty, and even the little space in the shower stall where you take morning showers—empty.

“Because you have one to go home to.”

He rings the bell.

He waits, hands behind his back in a parade rest to formally accept your lash-outs. Your piling frustrations in the form of solid angry hits to his chest, and your tears. Three months is a long time, after all.

No answer. You usually don't take a long time to answer the door. You always refuse to wear earplugs when you're working, so that's not the case. His hand instinctively flies to his pistol.

He rings again.

“One moment!” Your voice. Oh, your voice. You're safe. You're inside.

The door finally slides open.

“Hi, sorry to keep you waiting—” You look up to be met with his gaze—or at least, his visor. But he's certain you’re piercing right through, and gone are his anxieties as if someone is pulling up the blinds. You always do, even since you first met each other.

You stand there just behind the doorway. Wolffe has already expected a slap to the face or hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

But you're… you're radiant. Always are. Your lips widen and stretch into the most beautiful smile he's ever seen—one of the reasons he let himself fall in love with you, willing to sacrifice his all and split his focus on you and the war efforts.

“Wolffe,” you breathe a laugh, stepping over the threshold to relieve him of the soldier's stance. “You’re home.”

It's when you grunt as you stretch your back before placing your hand over your belly briefly that he notices.

Your… inflated… huge belly.

Before he can get any word out, you embrace him, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing his scent.

Your husband reeks of sweat, fuel, and exhaustion, but the smell is intoxicating and tickling some parts of your brain. It's giving happy sensations for you, but the pregnancy hormones make the sight of him finally home and in your arms irks you greatly.

“Get this blasted helmet off your head, Wolffe,” you seethe, slapping his chest in the process. The mood shifts so quickly it makes him flinch. He quickly obliges, his head nods almost frantic, his defensive walls crumble and sink to the bottom of his stomach.

And now the reality is out to get him. It's all becoming real.

His misery and grief don't even get the chance to surface again the moment you rip his bucket out of his grasp. He catches a glimpse of you biting your lip as you chuck the blasted plastoid piece somewhere behind you before suddenly a sharp, burning pain erupts on the side of his face. His cheek. You just slapped him.

“You were taking too long,” you grit out. Wolffe can feel his heart shattering even more as he listens to your broken voice lashing out at him. “Forgot you're married and have a wife at home?!”

“I'm sorry,” he immediately says, looking away in shame. The shame, the guilt, the pain—it’s all gaining on him again.

“Doesn't cut it,” you hiss, tears brimming in your eyes. “Three months. Every time I called you, you always had the perfect reason to end it early—”

“I’ve always been occupied aboard the fleet—”

“It was just a single holocall!”

“Intragalactic transmission during a period of war campaigns for private fulfillment is supposedly forbidden—”

“YOUR GENERAL ALLOWED IT!” you shout at him, letting a single sob come out but as a strong woman that you are in his eyes, you hold on, taking deep breaths and wiping your fallen tears away. “He covered for you and you know it.”

You're right. He does know.

More added to the blame, and he only gets to hang on this far. He wonders when the dam would break, but… you can't see it. You're in too much pain already because of him. In this state, with such many burdens, he'd prefer grief in quiet.

“Cyare.” He tries—he wants to try. He has to win you back, even though you're still angry at him. “I know it doesn't cut it, but I really am sorry.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear again with the back of your hand before taking his hand in yours. His knees almost buckle at your soft touch, even so since he's still wearing his gloves. “Come inside. You can explain yourself then.”

The warmth of your home engulfs him like a snug blanket and makes him want to sink right there on the couch in the living area. He could ask you to join him there, or in the shower. Domesticity and love call for him as if this place, with you in it, is the only place he should've belonged, not the battlefield.

Alas.

“I… was too ambitious.” He doesn't wait until you've sat down. Wolffe ignores your invitation—a single, loud, demanding pat of the hand on the other side of the couch—and lets his fumes run dry as he desperately tries to still the anxious soldier inside him. This is worse than being confronted by his general.

“There’s always an end to a war and we’re only doing everything we can to erase the distance between us and that ending. I put my dedication and time in that war room with my superiors to ensure our future.”

“Apparently too much time.” You scoff. “Don't be a soldier, Wolffe,” you say almost boredly, glancing away from his rapid-fire reasoning. “You’re home. Be a husband.”

Wolffe shakes his head. “I stand by what I said. It's the truth. I know it's been three months and sometimes… sometimes I ignored that. I've been ignoring you.” His voice cracks. Your heart breaks a little more at that, your fists scrunching the fabric of your loose sweater. “But I'm here now, cyare,” Wolffe says again, “They sent me home because I made a fatal decision.”

You sigh shakily, pushing your forehead to the heel of your hand. “Good.”

Wolffe freezes. “Good?”

“When all means of good communication with you became outrageously impossible, I turned to your general instead,” you glower at him. Wolffe’s eyes shut, his chest heavy—blame blame blame. “I messaged him, begging him to send you home because I needed you here, Wolffe. Seems like he's found a way how to, and I'm thankful for that.”

Wolffe looks at you in disbelief, another fault added to his plate. Plo Koon might care greatly about his commander's secret relationship, but the fact you directly contacted his general without telling him first… you've crossed a line. There's a chain of command one is supposed to go through first, and you’re in violation of that.

“You did what?!”

“I'M NOT SORRY, WOLFFE!”

He watches you, eyes widened. Your hand falls to your belly again, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

“I needed you, but you were so far away,” you mourn, tears brimming in your eyes again, “I needed you and you weren't responding to my needs, and so I had to do something. I'm your wife.” Wolffe flinches at the way you say the word as your voice cracks with emotion. You take a faltering breath—your gaze, sharp and deadly, and yet hopeful for him to understand under such scrutiny. “And you're a commander in the army. You're driven, you're ambitious—as you said—and that's good. Really,” you continue, cadence growing mournful and sarcastic and disappointed the longer you go. “But you'll always fight until the war is done.”

Wolffe sighs. “The war’s not done—”

“And yet, here you are,” you cut him off, swallowing your mood swing again.

He closes his eyes. His throat bobs as he swallows. “It's a punishment.”

There's silence at first before your surprised tone, almost guilty, cuts through the tension. “What?”

“Plo Koon sent me away from the war.” He doesn't want to open his eyes. It'd be real—too real for him to relive it all over again. The burden is his and his alone, no one else's and especially not yours. Even though you had been the one constantly on his mind. “I was distracted in the last campaign and it was my reckless decisions and executions that… that killed so many of my men on the field.”

“Oh, love…”

“We lost. The cost was too great, it was entirely my fault. He sent me home and my marshal commander took my place. For a month.”

He looks at you. He's not even angry anymore. Resigned. “Did you have a say in that?”

“I did,” you murmur, “But I had no idea…”

The moment your frown fades out from between your brows and your expression softens, Wolffe releases a long breath, sounding almost like relief, as he carefully approaches you and kneels by your feet. “Don’t apologize. You have the right.”

Then, he looks into your eyes. Really looks. Your swollen lids for shedding tears at his unavailability, his failure as a husband. You're in so much pain—that, he is now aware of. The sight simply despairs him, breaking him over and over again, as if taking preparations to haunt him in his sleep.

Slowly, hesitantly and almost shakily as if he doesn't deserve it, he takes your hand and lifts it to his lips. Your knuckles are smooth along his chapped lips, the sensation of finally touching you—his beloved wife—is enlightening.

“Forgive me, ner cyare riduur,” Wolffe murmurs, softly pressing his lips onto your skin in-between phrases. “I've been horrible to you these past few months. You're always on my mind. I love you—always, you must know—and I hope… I hope you can forgive me.” His warm amber brown eyes that you love are glistening with unshed tears. Remorse. “I don't know what I'd do if you can't.”

His heart flutters as he witnesses a smile slowly pulling at your lips. “We’re married, Wolffe.” You squeeze his hand. “And even if we aren't, I can't, for the life of me, not forgive you.”

He kisses your knuckles again. “There's always a line.”

“Then let's hope we won't cross it.”

It brings a soft chuckle out of him—content, confident, safe. Your husband is famously known for his ultra rare smile, and seeing them so often in every moment you spend time together feels like an absolute honor.

You touch his hair at first, longing the feel of it in the tender palm of your hand. But he doesn't want to let you steal his opportunity—because he could enjoy your soft touches further and fall asleep right there and then—so he rises to meet you, still on his knees, leaning into you and props his forearm next to your head on the back of the couch.

Wolffe breathes in the sight of you. You, smiling up at him, your eyes still shining with remaining tears—happy tears. He caresses your cheek softly with his gloved knuckles before nearing your lips, testing the waters. Your smile broadens, accepting his kiss—a long-awaited one, one that both of you deserve all after those painful months of separation.

“Missed you,” Wolffe whispers against your lips, gently taking it again between his before leaning his forehead against yours. “So, so much. I'm so sorry.”

Your eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “I'm sorry, too. For your loss. Your brothers. But you're here now, Wolffe. That's what matters right now. I’m so happy you're here, really am,” you say to him. Wolffe leans against your touch, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “And I'm sorry I slapped you,” you pout, “My hormones are all messed up.”

He shakes his head in dismissal. “I deserved it.”

“Want me to kiss it better, love?”

“If I ever refuse, I want you to beat me to death.”

A small giggle erupts from your lips before you pepper his cheek with apologetic kisses, leaving no inch of skin untouched with your love. It's glaring red from when you slapped him, blame the estrogen and cortisol ganging up on your sanity.

Wolffe shifts his attention from you to your pregnant belly. It's been… lovely. All the pain and illness you've gone through seem worth it knowing that it's his children you're carrying. You hadn't found out until 8 weeks. You'd wished he was there at your first ultrasound when your doctor announced you're pregnant with twins.

“Are you feeling okay?” He places his hands gently on your belly. “This looks… painful.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Does he really not know? “This looks—” you parrot him but get cut off.

“Are you, cyare?” Wolffe asks again, firmer this time, and even more serious. “In pain?”

You stifle your smile. Gods, this man.

“Not really. For now.” And thus you roll out a new impish scenario, wondering how it'd go, and how long it'd go. “Well, okay; sometimes.”

“The diagnosis?”

“It’s fine, my love. Nothing's wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong?!”

You bite the inside of your lip, preventing a laugh coming out.

He goes on, eyes sweeping over your body. Your cheeks seem fuller, you gained weight. Other than that, you're healthy. You're glowing. But he can't seem to find out why. “Did you go to your usual doctor?”

“Yes,” you nod, “And um, another kind of doctor.”

Your husband frowns, hard, at your grin. “Another… kind?”

“Wolffe, for the love of gods.” He blinks cluelessly as you pry his gloves off him before dragging his now bare hands beneath your sweater and placing them firmly against your belly. “Here. Feel.”

He sighs at the warmth of your skin, his thumb having the mind of its own caressing them.

You scrutinize him. “Do you have any idea of what might be happening?”

“You don't look sick,” Wolffe analyzes, mismatched eyes meeting your gaze. “You look healthy, in fact.”

“Wolffe,” you giggle, clutching onto his hand, “I’m pregnant.”

In an instant, his eyes flash with clarity and total adoration. His lips part to gasp, the entire focus in his body now directed at your pregnant belly. In the joyful realization and perhaps feeling a little stupid for not clocking it earlier, Wolffe pours all his love into his touches, lifting your sweater to finally look at you. At first you hear what may be a sob, but his sniffle confirms it anyway. The joy of a father.

“So,” Wolffe sniffs again, “So this was when you complained about your late period before I got shipped off…”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, moving your hands into his hair and slowly scratching his scalp. “Y'know what, I think they might be afternoon delight kitchen counter babies. I couldn't forget that one.”

There's so much of that to digest, especially a comeback with that last one—which may be true because he couldn't either. He can't even let out a laugh, his ears already stopped listening at the plural word that you just said.

“Babies?” Wolffe marvels, “Twins?”

You smile, nodding. “Twins.”

And only then he finally laughs. It's not his usual boisterous one when you crack your lamest stupidest dad joke—it sounds wet, relieved, happy, and full of hope. You've talked about this—both of you have been wanting this for quite a long time. Wolffe’s thumb repeatedly brushes over your belly, as if caressing his babies’ heads through the flesh, and his face is leaning closer.

And now your wish is finally granted with not only one but two sweetlings. You've spent day and night thinking what traits they would take once you give birth to them, and once they grow up. Strong and resilient just like their father, you hope.

“Su'cuy, ad’ike. Ner kih’verde,” he murmurs against your skin, “I'm your buir. I’m sorry we're only meeting just now.” Wolffe presses a long kiss to your belly, and another. There are two of them, after all. You feel wetness—your husband's first tears upon knowing that he'll be a father to his own children growing in your womb.

You slip your fingers in between his face and your skin to wipe the trail of tears away from his cheek. “I think they'd understand that their father is fighting to secure their future.”

Wolffe nods weakly, contently. “That's right,” he says, resting his chin on you while meeting your gaze again, his expression curious and helpful. “So is it—are they… Boys? Girls? Both? Have you found out yet?”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Maybe we can find out together this week or next, if you want?”

So you've been waiting for him. His heart aches again—imagine if he refused to come home, ever. “Of course. I'll be there with you,” Wolffe says, a breathy chuckle falling off his lips. “How far along are you?”

“16 weeks.”

“Sixteen. 4 months.”

“Mhm.”

“A month before my deployment,” he repeats, and you nod, humming your affirmation again.

A small part of him that hasn't found resolve cringes—horrified. His previous thoughts are coming back to haunt him—the what-ifs.

“Hey,” calls your voice, cutting through the haze. Wolffe relishes the gentle smile that graces your lips, relishing how fortunate he is to have you. “I know what's going through your head right now.”

The weight in his chest has been crying out to be released. And you're his wife. His worries, his fears and anxieties, become yours, too.

“If only I threw a fit,” he slowly confesses, “I refused to come home, cyare. I would've fought the decision and convinced my general. But then, I wouldn't have known.” He could've flown too close to the sun. He could've died in future campaigns, leaving you alone with… with his babies. His children. They'd be fatherless, and you'd be exhausted to death caring for them alone without him. And they wouldn't know who their father was.

And he wouldn't know he'd be charging head on in the front lines for his children. He wouldn't know.

But then there's your presence again, so bright in his life. You lift his chin with a touch of your fingers so you can pull him out of the abyss of his past thoughts that are looming over him, and so there will only be you—his present and future—to gaze upon, to look at. Not the abyss.

“You're my husband,” you say softly, your thumb caressing his cheek again. “Val buir—their father, Wolffe. And I know that… every regulation out there isn't in our favor, especially now that we're having children—”

He looks guilty. “I’m sorry if this isn't what you imagined.”

Sighing, you pinch his cheek. “I'm not done yet, love. Stop apologizing about stuff that I already know, and I knew I'd go through this before I decided to be married to you. I love you for who you are.”

Wolffe blinks quickly—the corners of his eyes sting. You just… always know what to say. You're always confident, and he loves that.

“And that means I know who you are,” you continue, “I know where your heart and your spirit is. I'm not afraid, Wolffe.”

He sighs heavily. “I don't know—you don't know—if that's the right thing you should've said,” he says, “Don't want you to say empty promises, cyare. You know they do nothing to me.”

“These are all facts, Wolffe. They all came from here.” You grab his hand and place it over your heart. “You are a soldier, love, I can't take the battlefield away from you. But as long as you come home when I need you—for me, that would be enough.”

It's like fire. It's like love renewed, and it's burning bright, the light cleanses the dark in his heart—every strand that pulses insecurities and anxieties that shouldn't even be there.

“I promise,” your husband then vows, “I won't miss something like this ever again. You have my word.”

You grin teasingly. “Again? I haven't even given birth yet. Just how many do you want, Commander?”

Wolffe rolls his eyes. The gesture always makes you laugh, and he knows it. “Cyare, you know what I'm talking about.”

“I know,” you giggle, “Icebreaker.”

Wolffe’s smile is stretched so wide on his lips that he can feel it ache—his cheeks ache. He rarely smiles like this even in the presence of his brothers, but he doesn't hold back with you. He rises slightly to meet your lips, silently wishing to listen and relish your laugh. “I love you,” he mutters, pecking your lips in between phrases, “I love you. So much. So much, cyare, you have no idea.”

You laugh softly. “I know, my love.”

“I'll be here for you,” Wolffe says enthusiastically, and your smile grows even wider as you listen along. “Until you give birth. Maybe I can talk to my general to temporarily put Brontes on my post while I'm away—”

“Wolffe, udesii. It's okay,” you interrupt with a laugh, “I’ll need you more after I give birth. When I get into labor, too.”

He nods, your plea sounding like a superior’s command to him—heck, he almost said yes sir. “I’ll be there. No matter what. We'll do this together, I promise.”

Wolffe lets out a breath. His mind is already forming to-do lists that involve research and possible timestamps and predictions and scenarios to lie his way through military assignments just so he could be there for you, or in case anything happens to you. Maybe he could gamble his lucky attempts with his general.

He leans in to kiss your lips again. “In the meantime, you're gonna tell me everything you've been doing for the past three months?”

You smile. “The good and the bad.”

“Every bit of it?”

“Yes.”

Wolffe then kisses your knuckles, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Promise?”

Your giggle is a ripe melody in his ears. His source of joy. You lay your hand on top of his, still resting on your belly—both of your beloved children inside. “Yes I promise.”

Some backstory I didn't get to include: Sha Koon, Plo’s niece, regularly checks in on you so she could relay the information to her uncle because both Kel Dor care so much about your and Wolffe's wellbeing 🩷

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings @emmaw18 @leiopython-rat

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

#songfic #wolffe x reader #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #clone x reader #x reader #tcw x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars one shot #z3st reader fics

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szonyix6277 · 28 days ago

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.:Unrequited Love:.

a/n: completely forgot about this draft. oops! it was a struggle to conclude this one, it had about five different endings? xD some things just don't turn out the way you initially want them to... and that's totally ok.

pairing: Choi Seung-hyun x Fem!Reader (ft. Kwon Ji-yong and BIGBANG)

contains: angst, unrequited love, close friendships, language and alcohol use, no hard warnings

w/c: 3k

summary: You have been classmates with Dae-sung since first grade. One day he introduced you to his new friends and bandmates, BIGBANG. You soon learned that you shared the same birthday date, November 3rd, with Seung-hyun - he was a few years older than you. It quickly became a silly tradition that you’d grab dinner with him, just the two of you, on the day. But strings were quickly attached; unlike with the others, you could geek out over astronomy and art - some of the things you both loved - and you realized that you had a massive crush on him. I will tell him next time -you nodded to yourself. For weeks. Months. And next week, it was your birthday. Instead of going out, you decided to invite him to yours - you lived alone in a small, one bed apartment in Seoul - cook him dinner and finally confess your love. He agreed to meet you there and it was all good to go, however…

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“Wanna hang out tonight?” -Ji-yong asked you after their dance rehearsal.

At this stage, you were an unofficial member of BIGBANG, just chilling around. After Dae-sung introduced you to the band years ago, you quickly became friends with everyone and you liked to occupy a black couch in the corner, either reading or drawing.

“It’s my birthday, man!” -you responded, sitting up on the armrest.

“Oh, right, you’re hanging out with your twin!”

“Are you gonna confess or something?” -Young-bae nudged your arm, just being silly, but your face turned all red and you bit your lower lips. “Damn…”

“Shhs!” -you punched his arm. Lucky for you, Seung-hyun already left the room to take a shower.

“That hurt!”

“Good!” - you hissed.

“Are you serious?” -Dae-sung asked in a hush tone, as he popped down on the couch, a towel loosely hanging over his shoulder. “You and Tabi?”

“Don’t act like it isn’t obvious.” -Ji-yong rolled his eyes.

“Wait, really?” -you turned to him. “What does he do?”

“Not him! You!” -he cleared his throat and his voice went an octave higher, mocking you. “Tee-hee! Oppa, you look great in this! Oh, my, your rap is so badass! Tee-hee!” -he continued and started twirling his short hair.

“I’m gonna beat you!” -you warned.

“Please!” -he let out a laugh, his voice going back to normal. “You don’t even notice but you’re head over heels for the man!”

“Head over heels for whom?”

You all turned.

Seung-hyun just returned from his shower. His hair was still slightly damp, but he was all dressed, ready to leave.

“Lee Byung-hyun.” -you said the first celebrity name that came to mind. The three boys around you could barely keep their laughter back, exchanging looks. You knew they wouldn’t rat you out, but if one of them laughs, the other two will follow. You kicked Dae-sung, as he was the closest to you and gave him a death stare. Seung-hyun just frowned. He knew he missed something but he wasn’t gonna press.

“He’s pretty cool.” -he nodded. “What time does my birthday girl want to meet?”

“Hm, let’s say 7.30?”

“Sure.” -he gave you a little side hug and a kiss on your cheek. “See you then!”

“See ya!”

When he stepped outside the studio, the three finally laughed.

“Okay, screw you all! I gotta go, too!” -you said. You tossed your notes in your backpack. “Bye!”

“Good luck confessing tonight!”

“Go get some, girl!”

“Use a condom, we don’t need your pet semen running around!”

You cleaned the apartment and cooked the food. You even got out some candles to have a more romantic ambiance - and wine to ease yourself for the night. A big night! You let out a deep breath and fluffed the decorative pillows on the couch, for the millionth time, when you got a phone call. It was Seung-hyun.

“Hey, what’s up, birthday boy?” -you asked in a chirpy tone.

“Hey! Listen, um… something came up and I’m really sorry… but I won’t make it to yours tonight.”

“Is everything ok?” -you were worried something happened to his mom, or his sister, or one of his friends.

“Yeah, all is ok! I, um… I got asked out by this girl and I said yes.”

“Oh.” -so he cancelled to get laid?!

“You’re mad, huh?”

“No, no!” -yes, you were mad. Pissed. Beyond furious. “Enjoy your evening, then.” -you shrugged.

“I will make it up to you, (Y/n)! I promise!”

“Okay. Have fun!” -you said with a sour face, but you didn’t let him hear it in your voice.

“Thanks! Bye.” -he hung up.

You felt defeated.

If you grew a pair and asked him out sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.

You looked at the table. It was all set up, two plates, two candles, two glasses and a bottle of wine. You felt the tears stinging your eyes.

You poured yourself a glass, downing it in one swift swing and texted Ji-yong.

He cancelled T^T Wanna come over?

He cancelled?

Np, I’ll be right there

Bring the boys, too

Can’t - Dae is a homebody and YB is with Hyo-rin

I guess it’s just us then -.-’’

Hey, I’m a great company! >.<”

You smiled. He really is great company.

Soon, Ji-yong arrived, with another bottle of wine.

“I’m sorry.” -he hugged you when you opened the door. His eyes showed nothing but sadness for you. “What happened?”

“He’s on a date.” -you closed the door behind him.

“A date?” -he frowned. “With whom?”

“He didn’t give me the details, Ji!” -you snapped. You sat on your couch, pouring yourself another glass. “You can have some food and wine.”

Ji-yong got a plateful of your pre-made dinner and settled next to you.

You were watching a series on your laptop, eyes fixated on the screen but your mind was elsewhere. Ji-yong tried his best. He was talking to you, random stuff like usual, but all you did was silently nod, keeping your eyes on the screen - hoping not to give in to your feelings and bawl your eyes out.

Why did you even ask him to come over? All you were doing was ignoring him. You pressed the spacebar to pause the show.

“I’m sorry I invited you.” -you said quietly.

“Huh?”

“You can go home, if you want.”

“Nope!” -he threw an arm over your shoulder and hugged you. “I’m not leaving you here all sad and lonely on your birthday. What kind of guy would that make me?”

“Thanks.” -you smiled, getting cozy in his hug.

Two finished bottles later between the two of you, you passed out on your couch and Ji-yong on the floor. You nearly stumbled over him in the morning when you came to. It was sweet of him to stay - but you wished it was Seung-hyun. You still couldn’t believe he so casually cancelled on you, literally at the last minute! Where did he even meet that bitch?!

You didn’t go to any of their dance rehearsals that week. You tried to avoid Seung-hyun like the plague. You were so hurt - and he hasn’t tried to reach you either! So much for making it up for me! Until one day, you heard a knock on your door. You were surprised to see Ji-yong with a bright smile on his face. You weren’t expecting him - or anyone.

“What?” -you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re going on a double date in half an hour.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, get dressed!”

“S-slow down!” -you stuttered as he made his way in your apartment. “What are you talking about?”

“Seung-hyun invited me on a double date with his new girlfriend.”

“Okay, and why am I-… ? Oh!” -the penny dropped. Ji-yong wanted you to be his date for this. “Are you insane?” -you smacked his arm.

“What? We’d make a cute couple.”

“Yeah, but not a convincing one!”

“I’ll pay you dinner for an entire month if you come!”

“I don’t know, Ji…”

“You get to see the bitch he cancelled on you for.”

That did it. Your curiosity got the best of you and started to get ready.

Half an hour later, you were all dolled up in a low-cut, red top, jeans and red high heels.

“Okay, our story is simple.” -Ji-yong said when you two sat in a taxi. “We got together on your birthday. I confessed and you kissed me.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” -you huffed. “I look ridiculous!”

“You look hot.”

“Back off, Ji!”

“Hold my hand, when we go in.”

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, Seung-hyun was already there with her, sitting at a 4-seat table next to each other. Your heart sank. It was like someone saw your worst nightmare and decided to turn it into reality. She was all smiles - Seung-hyun must have said something and they were both giddy about it. She had long, brown hair. She wore a short sleeve, black turtleneck and a miniskirt with doll shoes. Still, when she stood up to greet you, she was taller than you in your heels. She introduced herself as Cha-Cha, her stage name, but her real name was Ho-Sook.

Seung-hyun was surprised to see you, to say the least. He didn’t expect you to show up with his best friend.

“I wanna go for a smoke before we order.” -Ji-yong didn’t even sit down. “Anyone want to join?”

“Oh, me!” -Cha-Cha stood up. “I wanna get all the juicy details about my new man.” -she winked at Seung-hyun -making your stomach flip. For fuck’s sake, just pee on him already!

As they walked away you opened the menu to keep yourself occupied.

“I didn’t know you and Ji-yong…” -he started, his voice smooth as ever. Your heart fluttered.

“Well, yeah, we are!” -you faked a smile, slamming down your menu. “Problem?”

“No, it’s cute.” -he smiled. That damn sweet smile. “A bit unexpected, but cute.”

Cute? Is that it? He believes it?

“Why unexpected?” -you asked.

“I always thought he sees you the way I see you. The way we all do.”

“Which is?” -you frowned.

“That you are our little sister we must protect at all costs.” -he brushed your cheek. You dropped your eyes feeling the heat rise to your face. He was kind but his words felt like salt to an open wound. It hurt. He practically family-zoned you! You didn’t have the slightest chance with him - no matter how cute you acted or how sexy you dressed. It was always going to be unrequited love.

“What did we miss?” -Cha-Cha came back with Ji-yong. Seung-hyun pulled back into his seat.

“Nothing, babe.” - he responded. “Just chatting.”

Ji-yong gave you a look of concern as he sat down. You got out your phone and texted him:

L8r - as in, you’d explain it to him later.

You all ordered your food and let Cha-Cha talk. She was a big talker. But at least you found out how she met Seung-hyun; apparently, they’ve been taking the same bus for the past 3 months. She was a 2NE1 backup dancer. That explains the crazy long legs - you thought. She hooked her arm under his and leaned on him as she told the story of how she asked him out. She gained the courage on the day of his birthday, because she forgot to buy him a gift. Bullshit, but whatever. Seeing them all snuggly in front of you killed your appetite but somehow, you powered through without letting your heartache show.

You were happy to leave when Cha-Cha suggested:

“Why don’t we go to a club?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” -you sighed.

“We can go home and freshen up and see you around 9?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun!” -Seung-hyun agreed. Great, more PDA!

“Okay, we’ll see you then!” -Ji-yong agreed in your place. The two of them left. Once they were far away, you hit him full force in the arm. “Ow!”

“Why would you agree?!” -you hissed.

“I’m sorry.” -he massaged his arm. “You’re really strong…”

“I don’t want to see them again.” -your tears finally escaped. “Not tonight! Not ever!”

“(Y/n)...” -Ji-yong sighed and hugged you. “What happened while I was outside?”

“I definitely don’t have a shot with Seung-hyun.” -he didn’t understand, so you continued. “He thinks of me as a little sister.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” -he asked, wiping a teardrop from your face. You shrugged.

“Whatever…” -you wiped your face. “Fuck it. Let’s get wasted.”

You were sitting by the bar, all alone sipping on a cocktail.

Seung-hyun and Cha-Cha were being late and Ji-yong texted that he feels sick from the food he had earlier at the restaurant. You just scoffed, turning your phone face down - you didn’t text him back. It was 20 past 9 and you were ready to call it quits, when Seung-hyun finally showed up. All alone and upset.

“Sorry.” -he said shortly and sat on the bar stool next to you. “Two shots of vodka!” -he addressed the bartender.

“You look awfully upset for someone who just got laid.” -you said in a sour tone, not even looking at him.

“What?!”

“You and Cha-Cha.”

“Fuck me…” -he cursed under his breath, running his hand into his hair. The bartender got back with his order. He downed both shots. Woah! Did I miss something? “It’s none of your business, (Y/n).” -he cleared his throat. “But for your information, we broke up.”

“Huh?” -you turned to him. “Wha-What happened?” -you asked. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look OK?!” -he snapped. You noticed. He’s got bloodshot eyes. He must have been crying and that’s why he was late. The last thing he needed was you bitching at him.

“Seung-hyun…” -you scooched closer to him, dragging the heavy barstool closer to him on the sticky floor, and rubbed his arm. “I’m so sorry…”

“Ji said you’re here alone so I couldn’t just bail o you, too.”

Him prioritizing you even now made you blush - lucky for you, the lights were too low to notice the change.

“Is there anything I can do?” -you asked gently.

“You’re already doing it.” -he gave you a tired smile, patting your hand. “You’re by my side, like nobody else.”

“Then I’ll make sure to stay as long as I’m needed.”

“You’re the best.” -he squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

It wasn’t the kind of relationship you wanted - but it was the type of relationship he needed.

You were dying of curiosity to know what exactly went down, and you didn’t have to wait long. After two more drinks, Seung-hyun told you exactly what happened -not fully coherent, but you understood the main point where it all went south. He escorted Cha-Cha back to her place. She started to complain about Ji-yong and you.

“Me?” -you asked in surprise. “What did I do?”

“She woz soooo fucking jealous of ya!” -Seung-hyun loudly slurred his words. “I woz tellin’ ‘er about ya… y’know? Like before… Cuz you’re like my best friend. Okay? You know that, right?! RIGHT?!”

“Right, I do know that.” -you reassured him, looking around the club as more people started to take notice of you.

“Right…” -he nodded a little longer than intended, then got back to his story. “She saw that I woz like… touchin’ ya face or sumtin’… at the restauran’ …I dunno… and she flipped out, man! Like… mental! So she tolds me to choose…. between ya, my bestest friend… is that a word… best-est… hehe… and her. Like bitch, wha’?! I tolds her we done, and I ain’t ruining my frien’ships over some hot pussy… y’know?”

“That’s admirable.” -you patted his back.

“No, for reals… if she go’ pro’lem wi’ my frien’s…. She can fuck… off! Y’know wha’ I’m sayin’?”

“Yes, Seung-hyun! The entire club knows what you’re saying!” -you hissed. He was practically shouting over the loud club music.

“Oh… “ -he looked around with glassy eyes. “Maybe don’ shout then, (Y/n)...” -he whispered and started to snigger. He was completely drunk. It was time to call it a night.

You got help from some guys at the club to carry him to the taxi, and then asked the taxi driver to help you carry him up to your place.

He was giggling as the taxi driver put him on the couch.

“Thanks again!” -you said and gave him an extra tip.

“Yeah, you kids have fun!” -he nodded.

You got a pillow and a blanket for Seung-hyun - and a bucket in case he decided to throw up the party.

“Right…” -you sighed.

“Huh…where-?... how-?” -he muttered as he was looking around, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe, Seung-hyun.”

“You really da best…” -he hiccupped. “I wuw yuuu!!”

You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“I wuw you, too.” -you got his messy fringe out of the way and kissed his forehead. “Get some rest, ok?” -but by then, he was knocked out. You gently rubbed his cheek and went to your bedroom - leaving the door open, if he needed you during the night.

The next morning, you woke up before Seung-hyun. Well, you didn’t sleep much to begin with. You replayed the entire day in your head over and over again. Until you realized not being able to be his girlfriend was actually a trump card you will hold forever. Drunk people tell the truth, don’t they? You were his best friend, his own words, and that’s not a title that could be taken away so easily. You could love him without ever breaking up. And this possibility really made your friendship with him even more special than before. It was a sort of closure. You felt a sense of peace and tranquility.

You didn’t bother waking him up - he had a rough night - and went to the dance studio. You haven’t seen Young-bae and Dae-sung since your birthday and you missed them. The boys were happy to see you. Ji-yong already filled them in, you didn’t have to explain anything.

“And where did you leave hyung?” -Ji-yong asked.

“He’s at mine.”

“Oh?” -Young-bae looked at you. “You told him?”

“Do we need to get you two registry gifts?” -Dae-sung cooed.

“I will punch you!” -you warned. “He, um… he can tell you his story, but me and him are never going to date. I’m cool with it.”

“But yesterday…?” -Ji-yong started, but you stopped it.

“I gained some perspective since... and I'd rather be his friend than his ex.”

The boys exchanged some looks but since you weren’t going to share more, they all went back to practice.

You took up your assigned spot on the couch, scribbling in your notebook. It was good to be back. If you and Seung-hyun ever dated and broke up, this would all be taken away from you. You wouldn’t just lose him. You’d lose all of this. All your close friends. Your favourite people. Your best friends.

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Taglist: @bettelaboure @flymetothexmoon @nerdydoll-com @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @cybertempo @breakmeoff @wcnderlnds @emmiesoverthemoon @berfgrimm @forevervibezzzz1 @youlikeex @moontabi

feel free to request to be added/removed from taglist

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p #bigbang #fanfic #top x reader #t.o.p bigbang

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kokostarbits · 3 months ago

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🌟🌷"The stars above are but reflections of the light you bring into my world—unfathomable and eternal."🌷🌟

----------

I’ve always struggled with adding light and shadow to my art — which is one of the big reasons most of my drawings end up as line art with flat colors (the other reason is… I’m a bit lazy 😅). My bigger pieces do have some shading, but I’m usually never fully happy with how it turns out, Sooo instead of running away from my art responsibilities - I decided to slowly start learning more about them! 🌱🌷

That’s why I made this piece! I tried to make the light and shadow more dramatic this time 🌟✨ I'm not totally sure how I did — now that I stare at it longer... I definitely see a few spots where the light and shading is a lil’ off (oops 🫣), but honestly… I’m still pretty proud of it!!!🥹💕🌷🌟💖

I hope you like it too!! 🥹🌸🌷💕

#meta knight #magolor #metalor #meta knight x magolor #meta knight fanart #magolor fanart #hal laboratory #nintendo #kirby #kirby series #kirby fanart #MORE METALOR!!!!#light and shadow #art study #I wanted to do one with Meta's mask and with without...#I hope you like it!💕🌷✨#fanart

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kurishiri · 10 months ago

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william v.s. darius . . . darius vogel epilogue 🪽

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: none, it’s actually pretty wholesome (for the most part).

Upon returning to the festival, we could hear the sound of bright music,

and the townspeople, in each of their own ways, were doing a folk dance.

Darius: Let’s go and dance too.

Kate: Ah——

The hand that held mine pulled me toward him, before making its way to my back.

And his rhythmic yet complex steps were enough to draw in the eyes of the surrounding people toward us.

Kate: I-isn’t this a ballroom dance...

Darius: Oh, oops, this is just the dance I am most used to, so that’s why. But...

The next moment, he let go of my hand before spinning his way behind me.

Darius: This type of dance seems much more fun.

Once again, our hands linked, and he looked to the townspeople around him, imitating their movements as he hopped about.

Kate: Hehe, it goes like this.

When I showed him a skip, Darius followed suit with mirth.

Darius: Something like this?

At last we were in sync, and the tempo gradually started to speed up,

and it ended up looking like I was being led by him.

Kate: Waah, so fast!

Darius: Ahaha, isn’t this fun.

(He picks up things very quickly. Which in turn makes teaching him fun as well.)

(But even so... somehow I feel like we’re sticking a bit too close together...)

I could feel the breath from his innocent laugh on my earlobe.

And I could feel his warmth on my back, which in turn caused my breathing to speed up and my body temperature to rise.

Just when I calmed my pounding heart, he spun so that he was in front of me, looking into my eyes.

Darius: Your ears are so red, miss fairytale keeper, it’s just so adorable.

Kate: T-that’s because your movements are so fervent that I’m breaking a leg here to keep up with you.

Seeing his honey-colored eyes so bright, my cheeks started to heat up as well.

Kate: ...But, even so, I’m glad you seem to be having fun.

Darius: .........

D: I suppose that’s to say I’ve yet to laugh from the bottom of my heart.

D: I wonder, if you also smile lots for me, will I be able to smile as well, perhaps?

His gloved fingers reached out to me, pinching my cheeks.

Kate: Uwah?

Darius: Ahaha, they’re so soooft. It reminds me of the plush you got for me.

While laughing, he stretched my cheeks out and rubbed them.

Kate: huu...

Seeing that innocent smile up close, I gradually lost the will to retaliate.

Darius: See, let’s smile, how about it?

And as a cherry on top, he pulled the corners of my lips upward with his index fingers,

showing a bright smile at the same time.

Kate: ...

K: ...heh, hehe...

K: For some reason, seeing you do this... I can’t help but want to laugh.

K: I wanted you to have fun here, and yet I feel like I’m the one having fun instead.

His eccentric actions were as interesting as they were odd.

My cheeks, having been pulled at by his fingers, started to relax.

Darius: .........

D: And I want to play with you a looot more, miss fairytale keeper.

D: Care to come along?

After that,

we would stop by at wagons our eyes landed upon, split snacks, played games——

He would pull me around here and there until I was utterly exhausted,

and by the time I returned to Crown, the darkness of night had long fallen.

(...haa, I ended up going all out.)

(I guess since I became an adult, I haven’t had much opportunities to play so hard like that.)

So, my body was tired, to be sure, but my heart felt full.

(...That said.)

In all the time we were together, had any of the smiles he wore been one from the bottom of his heart?

(If he did, I was having so much fun that they might have slipped past me.)

(...I wonder what Darius’ ‘true’ smile is like?)

And if I could get to know him more, would he show me the smile I wanted to see?

If I could, as he said, ‘get along’ with him, then——

Such a time may someday come by.

——Meanwhile.

Nica: Did you go out somewhere, Dari?

N: Come to think of it, I saw you out in the garden with the Spatzi and the ‘Self-Righteous Monarch.’

Darius: Indeed, you’re right. And after that the little miss human invited me to go out with them to town together, the three of us.

Nica: Hmm, and? Was it fun?

Darius: Of course it was. My king truly is wonderful, to be sure. All that said, I do think he holds some different views and ideals from myself.

D: Well, anyhow, if he were to become a part of my ‘family,’ I’m sure that will end up changing as well, yes?

D: ——Ahh, that’s right, and as for the little miss human.

D: I dragged her aaalll around, and yet she still went along with me, to the point she’s just so naïvely honest.

D: It’s the most odd thing.

Nica: So it looks like you had fun. Glad to hear it.

Now alone in the parlor, Darius looked out the window at London’s night sky.

His honey-colored eyes seemed to sparkle as though he were looking down from a place far away.

And when he calmly sat on the sofa, he felt something strange from his pocket.

Darius: Ah.

He took out the white leopard plush from his pocket, his eyes meeting with it.

Darius: .........

With his gloved fingers,

he pinched the white leopard’s cheeks, on nothing but a whim.

Fin.

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

← prev fin

END NOTES: darius definitely comes off as innocent, but he’s also very sharp — and two-faced as well. and knowing this, it sort of makes this story give off a bit of a different impression than the surface. like yes, the story is wholesome, but at the same time it kind of keeps you on the edge of your seat, yk?and the white leopard plush is interesting too, kate bought it for darius because it reminded her of him, and yet he is pinching its cheeks as he did with kate, so maybe to him, this plush reminds him of kate…

anyway, i hope this story may have spurred some interest in his character! i’d love to hear your thoughts if you have any as well!

full masterlist 🌹🪽

#ikemen villains #ikevil #イケメンヴィラン #ikevil darius #ikevil darius vogel #darius vogel #ikemen villains darius #cybird ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikemen series #otome game #otome #ikevil translation #ikevil translations

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taylor-titmouse · 2 months ago

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part 8, uncensored on: twitter | bsky | patreon | substar

phew, back on solid ground.

so i ended up redrafting the ending to this, which made it 21 pages instead of 19. oops. i have a problem and it's "enjoys drawing comics"

but speaking of drawing comics, if you haven't heard, i'm going to be doing porn comic portfolio reviews for the nib & ink festival with nero v o'reilly, whose comics i love and you should also love. if you make your own porn comics and want feedback, maybe submit! or just tune in day-of and see what you can learn.

#tt art #cadogan

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bemygunstomyroses · 1 year ago

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The Lost Boys riding in your car with you would include: Part 2

Summery: This is just unhinged, again.

Warnings: GN reader! Swearing, implying smut, the boys being like animals, we know the drill!

Read part one first before you read this one so ya understand it better! Love ya! ❤️

Alright, we're back in the car. Everyone is seated in their assigned spots. David is in the front passenger seat, Marko is on the right in the back, with Paul in the middle and Dwayne on the left. Double-checked and confirmed, right? Okay!

You and your boys are on the road again but this time you guys are going through the city.

Buckle up if you aren’t already because these boys are fucking maniacs once again!

The lights of Santa Carla are bright and bold as you slowly get stuck in traffic trying to reach your destination. Don't think you'll get bored because you won't. You have four dingbats with you to keep you occupied!

Marko is displaying road rage even though he's not the one driving.

“Come on! Pick up your lazy ass! We have places to be you asshole!” Marko would yell out the window with his head out making you embarrassed and keeping your head down from the eyes looking around.

Paul would probably join in the trash talk as well. Most likely will flip em’ off.

Your the kind that would keep a little basket of snacks in the back of the car in case you get hungry while driving, of course the boys are going to go through your stash and eat most of the snacks.

“Can one of you pass me that chocolate bar in the snack basket?” You ask pudding your hand backwards to get your treat. Meanwhile the basket is in Paul’s and Marko’s lap, digging through every inch of the tub.

"Oops, sorry babe, but we're out of snacks. Marko must have eaten the last one," Paul lied through his teeth, throwing Marko under the bus.

“No I didn’t you asswipe!” Marko yells, his voice booming in the car. This ends up with the two wrestling in the back seat, while bumping into poor Dwayne who is already smashed into the side of the door.

"You're both going to make me lose my temper! If you don't behave, I'll be forced to turn this car around!" You warned the two of them, shooting them a stern look.

They both mumbled a quick "Sorry" and then dove right back into snacking as if nothing had happened.

David’s hand is of course on your thigh, drawing little shapes and squeezing your soft skin, traveling his hand slightly higher making you a blushing mess.

"David..." you whispered urgently, making sure no one else could hear.

David leaned in close, tilting his head and whispering in your ear, "We can always throw them out of the car. I know I can make you fog up the windows." His teasing tone conveyed a mischievous confidence, and you could feel the smirk on his face.

You lightly smack his chest but he suddenly takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles with ease.

While you all are waiting for the never moving traffic to move (Which is doesn’t) the two blondes take this opportunity to hop out of the car and basically do stupid shit.

Running around the car. Hopping out in front of other cars, presumably giving everyone the bird, meanwhile, the people are honking their horns and getting agitated. (I wouldn’t blame them)

When everyone is back in the car, Paul takes this time to go through your CDs and cassettes and pick out the “good music” he said.

“Baby, you need more music taste! Remind me to take you to the store”.

Paul, I'm going to throw you out of this car!

If you get too tired of driving, David or Dwayne, you know good well Marko and Paul ain’t doing shit.

As David decided to drive, you might wonder who would be relegated to the passenger seat. In reality, no one; instead, they would accommodate you by making space in the back, provided the car is spacious enough. In some cases, if space is limited, you may find yourself seated on someone's lap. The concept of seatbelts becomes minor when you are in the company of vampires!

Dudes all probably gonna pop a boner

When you sit with all three of them they are smothering you in kisses, Paul tickles your sides making you squirm and laugh loudly and Marko pinching your sides.

Dwayne being a cuddle bug and pulling you into his chest. <3

David obviously can’t miss out so he’s reaching his hand back to touch you of course.

“Hey man! You’ve been touching them all night!” Paul whined and cooed at the leader.

“Fuck off, Paul.” David barks and refuses to stop holding your hand.

As the evening unfolded, you found myself resting my head on Dwayne’s lap, with your feet reaching out to Marko, and Paul providing support in the middle.

Dwayne playing with your hair with his slender fingers making you almost fall asleep. Paul playing with your fingers and Marko massaging your feet. It’s all very relaxing, that’s until David decides he’s getting bored and break checks the car and you all go flying forward-

“Whoops, break check”. Is all David would say with a grin on his face. You all don’t take it seriously and just laugh who the boys make sure you didn’t bang anything up.

After all, David navigates the car into an open field for you all to sit and enjoy looking at the beautiful stars. Dwayne Grabs a blanket from the trunk and places it on the soft grass. Paul puts on the radio some soft rock ballads and turns the volume up just enough to head the music.

You all cuddle up on the blanket and stargaze the night away, while all the boys are stealing passionate kisses on your lips.

“Hey, the shape of those stars are making kinda looks like a giant dick-“ Paul said out loud and for a moment everyone is silent, then you all erupt in laughter, Marko and Paul then tries to find more “stars” and pointing their fingers up at them.

“That one kind of looks like a heart”. You say and you point your finger. The boys share a smile on their faces. “You’re right”. David said and he kisses your cheek.

Paul began to say, "That one kinda looks like-" but was interrupted as Marko and Dwayne playfully tackled him, and they all ended up wrestling in the dewy grass.

#david the lost boys x reader #the lost boys #the lost boys fanfic #the lost boys imagines #dwayne the lost boys fanfic #tlb x reader #marko x reader #paul tlb #paul x reader #david tlb #david x reader #dwayne x reader #the lost boys fanfiction #fluff #lost boys #x reader

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juniper-sunny · 8 months ago

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The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 4

Silco’s not exactly an uninvited guest, but your first sleepover together is still much more than you bargained for…

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 3.0k

beta reader: @silcoitus <3!!

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

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Silco repeatedly insists that he shouldn’t impose on you during the entire walk. You’d normally persuade him with words, but it’s been a long night; you’re tired and cranky and have no intention of holding on to incriminating evidence for longer than you need to. So you threaten him at umbrella-point, and he finally accepts.

Despite its name, Lower Piltover is populated by a decent amount of Zaunites. Most of them are like you, working in professions that earn good money. Not enough to move into Topside proper, but enough to literally lift them out of the fissures and the fog. It’s also a convenient place to live for people who make frequent trips to both Piltover and Zaun. To go Topside, it’s a walk through the Alcove District and then crossing the river by bridge or boat. To go to the Undercity, there are the nearby elevators and the bathysphere.

You make your home in the Promenade Apartments, one complex of many that line the narrow, sloping cobblestone streets. The lodgings are small and modest; Councilor Salo’s dining room alone is twice as large and luxurious as your studio apartment. Still, it has a sturdy roof and you can see the sky from your window, which is more than most Zaunites have.

When you and Silco cross the threshold of your home in the dark, he accidentally knocks something over with his foot. It thunks onto the ground, rolling and rattling away loudly.

“Oops,” you wince. “Sorry about that.”

“The fault is all mine,” he says. He bends over to grope around for the thing while you switch the lights on.

If you had known you were going to be hosting guests today, you would have tidied up. As it is now, your apartment is messy all around. The thing that Silco had knocked over was a glass jar full of paintbrushes that you had meant to put away with the rest of your supplies, but somehow ended up by the front door. It’s just one jar of many dotting your apartment like mushrooms in a forest. If they’re not filled with even more brushes, then they hold coins, tubes of paint, or eating utensils. Other larger supplies like paint cans and easels litter the place like debris.

You quickly sling your purse over your shoulder and crouch down to the ground, scrabbling to pick up the fallen jar and brushes. Silco steps aside to make room for you. As he deposits your umbrella in an umbrella stand, you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He drinks in the sight of your apartment, and it makes you self-conscious. One paintbrush slips out of your grasp, and you accidentally kick it across the floor. It clatters merrily away, as if to draw even more attention to how you haven’t scrubbed the ground clean of paint in a while.

Instead of chasing it down, you stand straight and sigh. You put the jar and brushes in your pocket for now and turn to your companion.

“Can you wait here a second?” you ask.

Silco nods. You quickly hang your coat on a rack and strip off your boots. He pulls off his own shoes as you speedwalk to your bathroom. You return with a large towel and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he smiles. He starts toweling his hair slowly, doing his best not to send water droplets flying everywhere. “Your home is quite cozy.”

“Thanks,” you say. “I think I have some extra clothes you can change into, hopefully they’re your size.”

“That won’t be necessary—” he protests.

“You’re soaking wet, Silco; you’re going to get sick if you don’t get dried off. The shower is that way,” you say, pointing in the direction of your bathroom.

“I can’t take advantage of your generosity like that,” he says worriedly.

“Silco, you’re going to take a warm shower and get changed, or else I’ll stuff you in the dryer along with your clothes,” you warn him.

“You’re already doing too much for me—”

“Fine then. I don’t want you getting any of my stuff wet. Does that make you feel better?” you ask. Actually, you couldn’t care less if he did, but his stubbornness is wearing your patience thin.

He hesitates, then finally nods. After putting his backpack down on the floor, he strides over to your bathroom, draping the towel around his neck. You grab a towel from your kitchen to wipe up the trail of water behind him.

Silco pulls the bathroom door closed behind him. As he turns the water on, you put your purse down on your kitchen table carefully, conscientious of its precious cargo. You’re about to start pulling out its contents when Silco calls out your name.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“Would you like to take my clothes now or later?”

“I’ll take them now, thanks.”

“Not at all.”

When he cracks open the door, you expect him to toss them onto the floor. Instead, his hands reach out to you, cupped to hold the bundle of clothes high above the floor.

You stand and stare at his hands, reluctant to approach. Of course he would have to strip naked to shower. For some reason, that thought hadn’t fully sunk in.

And now you’re thinking about him being fully nude in your home.

You dash forward before the door can swing open further to reveal your blushing face. As you swipe the clothes, you tell him, “Feel free to use as much hot water as you want. Go ahead and use the soap and stuff too.”

His thank-you is cut off as you gently push the door shut. You try to put your embarrassment away along with the clothes as you stuff them into your washer. After getting a cycle started, you walk over to a closet and pull out a duffel bag of clothes. These were from a clothing drive hosted by a friend, and she had asked if you could wash them for her. It was lucky that you had already done so this morning, and that there’s a full outfit close to Silco’s size including some boxers. You fold these neatly and leave them outside the bathroom on top of a stool.

As you resume pulling photos out of your purse, your eyes drift back up to your apartment, wondering what your home looks like from Silco’s perspective. All your shabby wooden furniture was bought used: a twin bed shoved into a corner, a large wardrobe next to it, an overstuffed bookshelf, a kitchen table, a cabinet, and two stools. By far the nicest piece you own is your drafting table, always kept in good condition because it sees the most frequent use. Your stove, dishwasher, refrigerator, and stacked washer-dryer are dingy but still in good condition. Everything is covered in specks or smears of paint; you try to stay on top of cleaning those off as much as possible, but at a certain point you just stopped noticing them altogether. Hopefully Silco doesn’t think your home is grubby.

Then there’s the matter of all your canvases. Most of the floor space in your apartment is taken up by crates filled with them, some blank but others are old paintings or studies that you hadn’t gotten around to discarding or selling off. You hastily stuff your closet with two boxes, fighting with a third to stay inside without sticking out. When you give up, you resort to tucking the rest of them next to your wardrobe. Everything else gets stacked or shoved up against a wall to clear the ground as much as possible.

You wonder if your cluttered walls make the apartment feel messy or cramped too. They’re covered all over with a few of your own landscape paintings, but mostly papers of studies you’ve done. Most of them are of hands, but some include faces, clothing, or shading studies.

Hopefully Silco won’t peek in any of your sketchbooks on your bookshelf; that’s where you practice drawing nudes.

The shower shuts off, and after a moment the bathroom door opens. Silco almost calls out to you but stops when he sees the clothing you’ve set out for him. He grabs them and shuts the door again. When he reemerges wearing the new clothes, he walks over to stand next to you.

“How was the water?” you turn to him and ask.

Some of the clothes you brought him are just a little too big for him, the wide neckline of his shirt exposing the entirety of his collarbone and a sliver of his chest. Large sleeves hang freely around his elbows, softening the sharp angles of his body into something smoother. At least the pants fit well enough that he doesn’t need a belt for them.

“The water was perfect, thank you,” he says gratefully.

“How about the clothes?”

“They’re quite comfortable. I’m tempted to steal them from you,” he chuckles.

“Go ahead,” you smile. “You can pay me back when you’re done with them.”

“Of course.” Silco crosses his arms as he looks down thoughtfully at the photos, studying them intensely. He picks one up to read it, holding it delicately. He’s so careful with it, handling it with a light touch as if it were made of gossamer. When he slaps it down on the table decisively, his triumphant laugh startles you.

“You have my congratulations on a job well done,” he says excitedly. He claps a hand on your shoulder, still warm from the shower. “What would you say to joining me on my future ventures?”

“No thanks,” you say immediately. You shudder at the thought of another frantic, improvised heist. “What did you need all this stuff for anyways?”

Instead of answering your question, Silco turns to face you, squeezing your shoulder to gently steer you to do the same. He leans in as he raises another hand to your other shoulder. His eyes shine brightly, an earnest passion burning behind them as he says, “I’ve already asked too much of you. But I’m asking for your help again. Not for me but for all the underground. If we are to become united, the Undercity will need everyone to fight for it.”

“Silco…” you say hesitantly. Your eyes dart back and forth between his.

“We’ve accomplished a lot together. And there is more yet to achieve. I hope you can remain a part of it,” he implores. Silco speaks humbly, but his gaze is unblinking and focused solely on you, the turquoise whirlpools of his eyes pulling you in.

Overwhelmed by his attention, you look away. You swallow and clear your throat to buy yourself more time. In an attempt not to disappoint him, you speak gently but firmly, “Silco… this was just a one-time thing. You can keep the clothes and the photos, and I can help you with anything else… but I’m not doing anything like that again.”

Silco’s stare softens. For a moment, you wonder if you spoke too softly for him to hear. But he lets go of your shoulders and steps back, a sad smile on his face.

“I understand,” he says. “You’ve done more than enough to help our cause tonight. History will not forget your contribution.”

“Feel free to keep my name out of it. I don’t need Councilor Salo thinking I’m a spy,” you tell him before making a sweeping gesture at the array of pictures. “Are you going to tell me what all this is for or not?”

“Both Councilors Salo and Hoskel enjoy Noxian wine. Unfortunately for them, they’re considered an illegal import,” said Silco. “We weren’t sure who was responsible for importing the spirits—and now we know.”

He reaches over and taps two different photos; one looks like a shipping manifest while the other seems to be a trip itinerary with a list of supplies. “There’s a discrepancy here. By all accounts, this airship is only carrying a modest number of shipments. So why does it need to be over-fueled? And where are the details on the cargo’s origins?”

You try to recall if you saw any documents describing that. Silco watches as you move some of the pictures around, skimming them briefly. “I don’t remember seeing anything like that written down. Did I miss something?”

He shakes his head. “The councilor is hiding something.”

“How do you know it’s the Noxian wine?”

“We don’t have complete certainty,” he admits. “But look at when this shipment is being unloaded.” Another photo is pointed out to you; this one is a schedule with a short list of names. “Midnight, with a skeleton crew. It’s suspicious. Whatever it is, it must be quite valuable. And we intend to get our hands on it.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” you ask.

At this question, Silco stands straight and proud. With a grin, he says, “The Children of Zaun.”

You look at him in wonder. It somehow doesn’t surprise you that Silco is a member of the renowned rebel group. Most people from Zaun hate Piltover, but only the loudest and proudest of radicals join the Children of Zaun. The organization spearheads the Undercity independence movement, and its members will do anything to hurt Topside. If Silco is one of them, then it makes sense that he would have taken personal offense at you mentioning Piltover in any kind of positive light, much less working for their government officials.

“So… what are you guys going to do? Just… spy on the airship or something?” you ask slowly.

“Piltover has stolen from the Undercity for too long. This is our chance to take something back.” He clenches a fist, pressing it against the table. “Ideally, it will be something we can use for ourselves. If not, we can still blackmail the councilor. Use it to bend him into submission.”

You’re no fan of Councilor Salo either, but you know he’s smart enough to have all his warehouses and ports staffed with armed guards. The Children of Zaun may have spirit, but they probably don’t have money; they won’t stand a chance against Topside’s superior firepower. Enforcers could mow them all down without a second thought.

“Aren’t you scared? You could get killed,” you say weakly. Your arms rise unconsciously to hold yourself.

Silco waits until you look up at him again to answer. “At least, we would have the solace of knowing we died fighting for our cause.”

There’s no trace of fear or anger in his face or voice when he speaks those words. He means it as a fact, that he and his friends are ready to give up everything for the Undercity.

If those words were meant to be comforting, they have the opposite effect on you.

The simmering unease in your veins boils over into fear. You hug yourself tighter as you sit down. You were aiming for a stool but you miss, wincing as your backside collides with your stove. Instead of standing up, you ooze slowly down to the ground, succumbing to the building fatigue of the night. Your bones are heavy as you slouch, deflating with a loud sigh.

Silco swiftly kneels down next to you, calling out your name in worry.

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. It’s hard to resist the temptation of curling up on the floor and just falling asleep right then and there. When you try to stand up again, your legs twitch weakly in protest.

“Can you sit next to me?” you ask Silco.

He nods and obliges immediately, sitting cross-legged. Concerned, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer right away. It’s hard to put together the words to articulate your feelings, exhaustion making your thoughts swim away like fish slipping out of a net. Something tells you that even if you were wide awake, it wouldn’t be easy to sway Silco from his convictions.

That he shouldn’t give up his life for the Undercity. That it’s too high of a price to pay. His selflessness is admirable, but he shouldn’t be so reckless either. It’s one thing to dedicate himself to the freedom and independence of Zaun, but the disregard for his own safety borders on carelessness.

And he’s no good to anyone if he’s dead.

Maybe he’ll tell you it’s none of your business, that it’s his life to live and he can do whatever he wants. Just because you helped him, that doesn’t mean he’s going to listen to your advice.

If a direct approach won’t work, then hopefully an indirect one will.

“Silco… I want to cash in a favor,” you say slowly.

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. He scooches closer to listen better.

You lock eyes with him, trying to imitate his steady, magnetic gaze. “Promise me you’ll come back alive. And that you’ll stay safe.”

His eyes widen in surprise. He leans back, mouth fallen open.

“That includes your friends, too,” you add. “And don’t kill anyone you don’t have to.”

He stares at you, then shakes his head in wonder. “That’s more than one favor. If I may make an observation, you’re being quite greedy.”

“Fine then. You owe me more than one anyways.” You quickly do some mental math and count on your fingers. “Saved you from Enforcers, saved you from Salo, got you these pictures… I’ll cash it all in.”

You stand decisively, your strength returning in a sudden burst. Silco scoots back, alarmed by your abrupt movement. You stare down at him and offer him a hand.

“Promise me that you and your friends will come back alive. And don’t kill anyone you don’t have to,” you repeat yourself. “Do all that and we’ll call it even.”

He stares back at you, then grins roguishly. As he clasps your hand, you’re forced to use your whole body to pull him up, leaning back as he gets to his feet.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he says. “But I always appreciate a challenge.”

“I need to hear you say it,” you insist.

His gaze now is soft, cool waters of his eyes soothing you like rain after a forest fire. He squeezes your hand reassuringly, a comforting point of contact that you anchor yourself to.

“I promise.”

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 5

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco x Reader #Silco #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH

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