#if any of this is messed up or looks ugly not its not and keep moving pls.. brain is mushy

[fishnapple]

What attractive about you

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

AVENTURINE 

You have an emotional intensity that can elicit fear and awe at the same time. Some people might be too intimidated by you, not because you're loud and aggressive, but they're intimidated by the emotional storms that are brewing in you, yet you appear utterly calm, like the eye of the storm. They would wonder what it would be like to get dragged into it, to be swept off their feet. Your bravery and serenity are like wings that let you soar high or plunge down to any depth. You are a dichotomy of light and darkness. Like a solar eclipse or bright starry night.

I think you have a certain inclination or feel a pull towards the painful and ugly sides of humans. You want to stare them in the eyes, crush them, rise above them, conquer them. It's very daring and methodological at the same time. People would feel that they can be an utter mess in front of you, you won't shoo away the ugliness of their heart, but you hold it in your hands and transform it. They know that you're not invincible, that you have wounds just like everybody else. But you always look up, beyond any prison that humans subject themselves to. Many people would have their lives changed by you, just by being in your life.

But you're not just intensity alone, you also carry lightness. You can be cut throat and ruthless in one setting, but generous and merry in another. Your mind is full of magical stories, fairy tales that span far into the future. You keep your daydreams to yourself and only reveal them at the most unexpected moment. Render every witness speechless and in awe. That rare moment of tenderness will haunt people's minds, making them seek for more. Your silence acts as a backdrop for the twinkle in your eyes. Your apparent simplicity in the way of life is the sign of devotion to only things that are meaningful. 

ROSE QUARTZ 

This might sound weird but it's your nervous energy, when you're worried or anxious about something, when you're being fussy. This seems oddly adorable or cute to some people. You might be a worrywart, who tends to speak a little faster when you're nervous. This rouses the desire to calm you down in other people. 

Your calm state is also very attractive because you're being present, you know how to enjoy the small things, to appreciate the sensory pleasure of the five senses. When you're worried, you can forget about this energy for a while, but once you've calmed down and regained your serenity, you're very soothing. Like a lake regaining its smooth shining surface after being disturbed by the rain. With your appreciation for the five senses, you have a talent for handcrafts, anything that requires the skills of hands and good eyes for aesthetics. When you're set about organising something, you do it with great efficiency and tact that one can't help but exclaim 'flawless'. Maybe that's why you're prone to nervousness, because you're such a perfectionist and people around you love that energy so much.

When you speak, you deliver a message, not empty words that can be ignored. When you're passionate about something, you can be very fluent and persuasive, like a wise teacher. The things you choose to pursue might seem too daring or shocking to some, but you're steadfast in your track and unknowingly get a few followers along the way.

RED JASPER

Right away, people can see your ambitions, to go far in life. This group is quite masculine in energy, very lively and energetic. A lot of people would find you very attractive when you assert your will, when you go after what you want without any fear or reservation, like a warrior, a pioneer. But you're no fool, you don't charge forward blindly, there's strategy in your moves, like a hunter. When it translates to romantic situations, they wonder what it would be like to be pursued by you, to be the target of your desire. Only the brave can rise up to meet your challenge. So I think you also attract masculine people. Those who are equally strong and ambitious. 

You're also very attractive when you're protecting something or someone. When you show your compassionate side, for a cause, a greater goal. You show your support by concrete actions that get results, not just comforting gestures. You have a fierce love for the underdog, the weak, the unfortunate. 

Your vision of a better world can be your greatest motivator. You live your life with idealistic visions, but you don't just dream, you also do. Your appeal is the power you wield, over yourself and your surroundings. You're willing to work hard, as long as you deem it necessary. Maybe you're a touch workaholic, but you work towards a goal, not just a mindless grind. The sense of direction is very clear. If you believe in past lives, you can say that in the past, you were a soft, passive person who relied on others for support. But in this present, you're your own power, your own supporter. This independent energy is very attractive.

A little random thing, you might have a favourite comfort food that others find very endearing. It adds a touch of softness and joyful air to your otherwise strong energy.

TIGER'S EYE

You're the kind of person who people would want to have in any community. You can be a people magnet without realising it, without any conscious effort, maybe the only conscious effort that you have is to be yourself, to live life authentically. You attract people simply by being yourself. Your light is very visible, the natural confidence is vibrating through the air.

You're disciplined and responsible, but you're also gentle and kind. You're confident, but you also encourage the same attitude in people. People can feel that you would make a good parent, a good friend, a good neighbour. You're caring and want to protect and help people, but you do it with practicality. You don't just offer empty words, you back them up with actions. Being with you is both safe and inspiring. You inspire others to take more care of themselves, to stand up for themselves, you help people become more independent and come into their own powers. All these just through you chasing your own path. You have a strong sense of purpose, the person you believe in the most is yourself, and that makes people want to believe in you too, even when you haven't achieved your dreams yet. 

Talking with you is never boring. You can tell the most silly jokes, you can recount the most bizarre adventures, you can recite the most romantic poem or muse some really intense thoughts that surprise people. But you're also an avid listener, you listen with intensity, with childlike curiosity, you can even weep along the story, feel the pain and happiness behind every word. You make people feel heard and give them the compassion that is rare to find.

[nothomegal]

HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!

I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.

Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)

Welp, let's start the story!

"Innocent lamb"

(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest... But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place. But he meant no harm to you. He likes you. He wants you. He needs you. And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.

Word count: 4.2k

The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.

But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.

They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.

Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.

He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.

So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.

At first it was all jokes and gags;

'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'

'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'

'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.

But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.

They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.

That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.

Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.

Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.

The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.

Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.

Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?

What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-

A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.

They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.

The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.

—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.

—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.

—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—

—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.

—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.

The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.

—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—

Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.

For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.

(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.

Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.

They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…

—“WATCH OUT!”—

(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.

—“Holy-...”— she mutters.

Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.

They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.

His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.

The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.

The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.

It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?

So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.

Two done! Tree left.

A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.

However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.

A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.

What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.

With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.

They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.

Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.

David is down.

And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-

They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.

They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.

As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.

After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.

—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.

He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.

—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—

Huh? What-

As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.

The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.

They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.

—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.

(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.

Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.

Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-

—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—

They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.

David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.

—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—

As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.

Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.

They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…

The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.

They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.

This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?

(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.

—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.

The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.

Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.

—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—

Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.

The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.

Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.

(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.

Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...

Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.

But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.

Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.

They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.

Feng was caught.

It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...

And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.

He's down... Which means that-

Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.

He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.

(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.

Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.

(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.

It would be just that.

Just this bizarre staring contest.

...Right?

WRONG.

The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.

Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.

And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.

Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.

It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!

—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—

(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.

They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.

But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.

The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.

His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?

(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.

Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?

The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.

A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...

The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.

Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.

But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.

Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.

This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?

(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.

He must keep them...

He wants them...

W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝

As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).

The trial... Is over.

And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.

Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.

To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?

As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.

It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.

And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...

They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.

Poor (Y/N)...

[cybershock24601]

Building on my post from last night but I feel like Teia and Illario are so confused by how sexless Rook and Lucanis' relationship is. Not to say those two don't get down and dirty but they put a lot greater weight on emotional intimacy and most of their PDA is downright PG with them holding hands and cuddling and exchanging quick pecks and kisses on the cheek, anything else is kept firmly behind closed doors because they're both pretty reserved.

Now that Lucanis is actually in a relationship, I feel like Teia and Illario are way overly invested in his sex life and keep trying to talk to him about it. For example, Rook and Lucanis go on a date to the Opera House and the next day Teia and Illario are asking how it went, voices laced with innuendo and suggestion and Lucanis just starts talking about what he enjoyed about the opera and what Rook liked about it and Teia and Illario are like, "wait, you actually watched the opera?" and Lucanis goes, "Of course, why else would you go to the opera?" and Teia and Illario are exchanging glances before going "uh, sex?" and Lucanis just gets this look on his face before replying "why would you have sex at the opera??" and Teia and Illario launch into a whole thing about how having exhibitionist semi public sex in the private boxes at the Opera is practically Antivan tradition before kinda switching to swapping stories while Lucanis just has his head in his hands and Spite is perking up because claiming their Rook in a public space like that does sound appealing.

When things with Lucanis don't progress, Teia decides to corner Rook for some Girl Talk (Illario isn't involved in this because no way would Rook ever tell him shit) to try and get some information out of Rook. Teia keeps trying to tease information out of Rook and also tries of offer suggestions and relationship advice. Teia even suggests they try taking a bath together to which Rook says they do that already. Teia feels like the cat that caught the canary before Rook goes more into detail about it and Teia realizes that all they do is just lounge together drinking wine and talking and washing each other's hair. Teia is honestly a little disappointed that she's not going to get any of the juicy details but it does track with what she knows about Lucanis and is learning about Rook.

What Rook doesn't mention to Teia is how she did in fact finger Lucanis open before preceding to fuck him into the bed with the strap that Neve had gifted them (which was honestly mortifying to receive but still received a lot of use in the bedroom) because Lucanis strikes me as vers and enjoys giving as much as receiving and Rook likes to spoil her man and also see him unravel from pleasure until there's not a thought running through that pretty little head of his while Spite takes advantage of Rook's newfound ability to hear him to hiss instructions at her about how best to reduce Lucanis into a mindless puddle of pleasure.

Things continue like this for a while with Teia and Illario absolutely unable to get anything out of either of them. It's a little infuriating to be honest. And baffling because who doesn't have sex? Viago is so done with the two of them and honestly a little confused and concerned about why they're so invested in Lucanis' (and Rook's by extension) sex life. There's also plenty of back and forth about how the demon might play into the situation.

Anyways, by the time Illario and Teia are convinced that the two of them are some sort of abstinent freaks, they (plus Viago because its fun to have him suffer) walk into Lucanis' office only to find him going at it with Rook on the ugly green couch that's now a mainstay in his office (yes it is the one from the lighthouse). Rook's make up is a mess, has a pearl necklace forming on her neck and a bunch of older hickies on her skin too, and is topless with her tits out (and Rook is absolutely not beating the big titty goth gf allegations btw) with her skirts pushed up to her waist with Lucanis's face buried in between her thighs. Lucanis for his part is topless too and covered in lipstick and bite marks (Rook's a bit of a biter) and has the wings out (which raises a whole bunch of questions Teia and Illario are a little afraid to ask about) and when he raises his head from where it's buried, his mouth is covered in smeared black lipstick and his beard is drenched and glistening.

There is complete silence for almost a full minute as everyone just sort of stares at each other but then Teia breaks it as she turns to Illario and says "I told you they were doing it. Pay up Dellamorte!" and Rook has her head in hands completely red faced and making this high pitched keening noise of mortification while Illario starts arguing back thats it not like he said that they never did it while he tries to weasel out of giving Teia money and Lucanis is still blue screening so Spite takes over to hiss "Get out! Don't. Look. At. Our Rook!" and Viago finally gets his ass in gear and drags Teia and Illario out and says something about rescheduling this meeting for tomorrow.

[cumikering]

Gym bro Soap x reader 3 (end)

3.7k | fluff You never had to ask again (part 1)

It was close to three months before you saw each other again.

Johnny was on the incline bench with his weights when you called his name. He froze. Nobody needed to know that soft voice still made him weak.

“H- Hi.” He turned to you, placing his dumbbells on the ground before searching your eyes. “I hope you’ve been alright.”

It felt forever ago, since the last time he saw your smile or heard you laugh at his lame jokes, since the last time you made tea at his. It had been forever since you wounded his heart.

“I have. I hope you are too.” Your gaze dropped to your feet.

“Aye. I’m fantastic, of course.”

“Right. Um- well, I didn’t mean to disturb.” You took a step back. “Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

You walked away before he could protest. He took a beat before picking his weights back up, surprised by the wave of emotions that rushed back from the innocent exchange.

He wasn’t facing the door so you could have walked out if you wanted to avoid him, but you went out of your way to greet him. Were you trying to be friendly? Why was it only a hello before you rushed away? Did you change your mind?

It was stupid, but he would be lying if he said he’d stopped thinking about you, let alone missing you. He wondered about how you were doing, about work and your fitness progress. How had you been shopping without him driving you? It was too far of a walk to carry your groceries.

But you must have already found someone. Any man would want you, and would claim you as his you as soon as he could – the way Johnny never had the balls to. He should have spat out the flickering hope out of his mouth and extinguish it under his heavy boot, so why was he walking over to you on the elliptical after he finished his set?

“I was wondering if ye’d like to get dinner? Just to catch up a bit?”

You should tell him he was insane, and break his heart once and for all. Maybe then he could finally let go.

But you smiled so gratefully at him instead. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Did he hear you right? He wasn’t helping himself, but he was a hurting man with a hole in the shape of you in his chest.

You spotted each other. It unwedged something from his chest, like a dead clock finally moving its rusted hands once more. Working out alone could never compare, and the satisfied smile on your face after each set still made him swell with pride.

Half an hour after the session, Johnny knocked on your door before strolling to the nearby kebab shop. He willed himself to not get ahead of himself, for his heart to stop fluttering as he pondered what the dinner meant – the dinner that hadn’t happened yet.

“Have you got a deployment coming up?” You glanced at him.

“Not yet. I just came back last week, was away fer almost a month.”

“And you’re alright? Not hurt?”

“Bruises here an’ there, but nothing time can’t fix.” He clasped a hand over his chest.

“You got a new haircut,” you noted, nodding at his hair.

“Och, aye.” He ruffled his short hair with a chuckle. “I… I needed the change. Somethin’ easier t’maintain.”

He used to enjoy standing out with his mohawk, but if you weren’t looking, it didn’t matter. He only wanted your attention.

“The beard too?”

He’d forgotten he’d let his stubble grow out. Was it ugly?

He rubbed a self-conscious hand down the side of his face. “Just tryin’ things out. Not sure I’ll keep it.”

“You look different, but I like it.”

He averted his gaze from your reassuring smile and continued his steps.

He let you split the bill that night, already thankful you said yes to dinner. At the table in the far corner, you popped open your meal.

”Erm- I finished the papercraft. I messed up a few times and had to paint over some parts so it took forever.”

“I hope you like how it turned out.”

“I do. It’s real pretty. I can take a photo fer ye.”

“I’d like that.”

That smile made his stomach flip again so he shoved another bite into his mouth. What kind of voodoo hold did you have on him? Someone please smack Johnny across the face, because how dare he fantasise that this was another Friday night date with his missus when before this, you hadn’t even spoken for over two months.

He cleared his throat. “Hav’ ye been? To Edinburg Castle?”

“No, which is weird come to think of it.” You laughed. “I love castles and Scotland isn’t even that far.”

“How so?”

“Oh, I guess I just never had a reason to go.”

“Well, it’s beautiful this time of year. Maybe my maw’s stew can be it,” he pretended to tease. Pretended, because how mad would you be if you knew he meant it?

You let out a small laugh as you held his gaze. “Maybe.”

Did you miss me too? The words threaten to claw up his throat and he forced them down with another sip of his drink.

You probably only spoke to him because it’d been long enough, thinking he’d have moved on. You wouldn’t think he was pathetic if you knew the truth, would you? That he was close to tears from how much his bones hopelessly ached for this, and how natural it was to be with you even after the void.

After the meal, he dawdled. Would time sit down and catch its breath? It didn’t have to hurry, really. His chest had just stopped bleeding, and he wanted to be here a little longer before it poured again.

He told himself to not think that maybe you lingered too. That you leaned back with that shy smile and toyed with the straw of your empty cup, pretty lashes flicking as your gaze went between his eyes and the floor… Like looking into his eyes too long would shift the stars and make you change your mind.

He didn’t mind at all.

Alas, the shop had to close. Johnny let out a resigned sigh as he pushed the glass door open of you, accepting that the magic would vaporise with your exit. At least he’d had another taste – his last. Maybe it would be easier now. Maybe in a few more months, it didn’t have to hurt anymore.

He dragged his feet to yours, bracing for the finality of the goodbye. His chest had started to ache again. The way you looked at him with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes – was that sympathy? Like an unspoken agreement that this was a bad idea all along, like this was only dragging the pain on.

Still, to him, it was not one to regret.

But the doormat squelched when you stepped onto it.

“Erm- hen?” He pointed at the puddle seeping from under your door.

You gasped and promptly unlocked your door, only to discover your flat pooled in an inch of water.

He hurried to the bathroom, learning that a trickle of clear water poured from the ceiling. “Shit, I think yer neighbour’s got a burst pipe or somethin’.”

“Oh, no, no no…” You ran a hand over your face. “I can’t afford the repairs.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, eyes trained on yours. “Hey, it’s not yer fault. Call the landlord.”

Meanwhile, Johnny got your belongings off the floor. Thankfully, the water hadn’t ruined anything apart from the carpeted floors.

Your landlord lived a few floors down and promptly inspected the flat above yours. Your neighbour wasn’t home, but his sink’s pipe had burst and flooded his place too. The landlord assured you that the building was insured and that you didn’t have to pay for damages. If any, you were covered for yours.

She moved you to another flat, a bigger one for the same price, for how bad she felt. However, it was freshly renovated so it needed a major clean and some furniture hadn’t been moved back in yet.

You figured you could spend another night in your soggy flat, but Johnny insisted it couldn’t have been good for you, especially not in the weather. He promised to help you move the day after.

He could tell you wanted to say no, but the exhaustion gripping your shoulders made you pack your necessities for the night without a fight. When you said you’d take the couch, he firmly told you to take the bed. How could he let you have anything less than the best? It was the least he could do in such a misfortune.

While you cleaned yourself up, he hurried to tidy his room and change his sheets. Later when he emerged with a bundle of dirty sheets and shirts he’d picked up off the floor, you were at the kitchen counter, your back to him.

“Sorry fer the mess, but the room is good t’go now.”

You turned with a smile. “Thanks, Johnny, really. Here, I made you tea.” When you placed his mug on the table, you paused, gaze fixed on it.

When he realised what you’d seen, he sprinted to the dining table where he’d been sketching that afternoon. He didn’t plan on meeting you today, let alone have you in his flat.

“Aw, no, no- fuck.” He scurried to shut his sketchbook, clutching it to his chest with hot cheeks. He looked up at you, a stunned or perhaps even pained expression across your face. “I- I swear it’s nothin’ weird! I can throw em’ out-”

“Who’s that?”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“Who’s that, that you drew? Is she…” Your eyes darted to the ground before you continued in a small voice, “Are you seeing her?”

He blinked. Did you think it was someone else?

“I fockin’ wish I was!” He tilted the sketch he was working on towards you, the one where he was supposedly cupping your smiling face, mindless doodles of hearts piled in the corner of the page. “It’s you!”

“No, I don’t look like that… It’s not me.”

“Did ye just insult my drawing prowess?”

He flipped back to a page of smaller sketches from your last dinner. It was the night his lovelorn mind kept drifting off too, the only time you dressed up for him, the closest he had been to having you.

He did a full body sketch of your outfit. Next to it, you at the table across him with the prettiest smile. He drew each dish, even the one you didn’t like, as he didn’t want to forget a thing from that perfect moment.

“She’s beautiful,” you muttered, eyes softening as you took in the illustration.

“Because you are. I love looking at you. I love drawing you,” he confessed. “But I guess yer too busy avoiding me to care.”

Your eyes met his blue ones as your shoulders sagged. “Johnny…”

“M’ sorry. I wasn’t trying to make ye feel bad.” He closed his book again with a sigh. “But if I’m honest, it hurts. A lot. But at least yer not leading me on, so I’m just… trying to forget.” He chuckled humourlessly as he shook his head. “It’s stupid how I can’t stop liking ye.”

“You like me?” you repeated.

His brows furrowed. “Isn’t that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“No! Oh God-“ You held your hand over your mouth. “I was… I started liking you too much and I had to stop before it was too late, because you don’t like me like that.”

“Me? I don’t like ye!?” He pointed at himself. “Who the fuck said that?”

“Well, no one, but-“

“I can say with certainty ah’ve never not liked ye.”

You paused before your gaze shifted to the mug in your hand. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.“

“Of course it matters, hen.” He rounded the table and placed his hand over yours, lowering the mug onto the table. “It hurts, losing ye like tha’.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I didn’t mean to,” you mumbled.

“So do ye still like me or not? Because I like you a lot.”

You couldn’t meet his baby blues, but you gave a small nod as you supressed a smile.

He set the sketchbook down, a grin forming on his lips. “Will you finally let me hug you now?”

You reached out for his hand, your touch feather-light as you stepped in. He wrapped his arms around you with a content sigh. You felt better than what he’d always imagined – softer, warmer. He didn’t let go for a few moments as he smiled to himself, still not believing his mind-boggling luck that you liked him.

With his lungs full of your scent, he pulled away to cup your smiling face, just like in his last sketch. It was perfect in his rough hand. Was he allowed to touch something so beautiful with it?

He didn’t expect you to lean in as your eyes locked with his, but it was second nature to pull you closer. Your lips against his made his knees tremble. When your hot tongue swiped across his lower lip, goosebumps broke out on his arms. You lit him up with a zap up his spine.

His lips parted as he let out a noise, something between a gasp and a moan. Another pathetic whimper escaped him when his tongue swirled with yours. He could only hold onto you tighter as he melted against you.

This was how it was supposed to be like all along.

When he pulled away, he couldn’t help but bring his fingertips to his wet lips. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Was tha’ real or am I dreamin’?”

“Kiss me again, Johnny,” you said breathlessly, cupping his bearded jaw.

“You never have to ask again.”

Johnny didn’t think it would ever come to this, but you and him became the gym couple.

“Can I get a kiss for every sit-up, hen?”

“Bon, let’s make out between sets.”

“Do ye want to see how many times I can hip-thrust yer weight, love?”

You’d giggle, swatting his arm as he gave you a smug grin. But you were the one he pressed up against the far wall of the deserted gym, your hips squirming against his.

“So glad there’s no cameras here,” he muttered between kisses.

“I still would prefer no possibility of someone walking in.”

“Everyone knows not to walk in when we’re here.”

It was true. People didn’t take long to learn to give you space, lest the muscular Scot stared them down. That, and he imagined it was rather awkward to witness him smack your butt not-so discreetly.

You laughed against his lips, pinching his ass lightly.

“Ye know I like it when ye do that harder, bon.”

He should start wearing oversized shirts that hung past his groin again. He didn’t need a compression shirt anymore when he could rip his shirt off anytime to tempt you now that you were his - in the privacy of his or your flat of course.

Before his next deployment, Johnny gave you his key and let you drive his car in case you needed it. When he came back two weeks later, you greeted him with a new papercraft kit. He didn’t have enough time to thank you because he dove right into your lips. Did you have any idea how much he missed you?

Spending time at his sketching or crafting became a nightly routine as you joked and chatted about the day.

Across him, you hunched, laser-focused on attaching the conical roof to one of the castle towers with a pair of tweezers. The way you furrowed your brows in concentration always made him smile.

“Hen,” he said again, finally gaining your attention as you looked up at him. “I said I can take a leave next month.”

“Oh, how long? Have you got anything planned?”

“I wantae take ye t’see the real thing.” He nodded at the half-built Glamis castle in the middle of the table.

The smile bloomed on your lips. “Are you serious?”

“Aye, of course.”

“That would be wonderful.”

He shifted his attention to the piece of paper in his hand. “Ye know, I could- if you want to see my home, meet the rest of my family… Maybe have my maw’s stew.” When you didn’t respond, his eyes flicked up to your warm ones.

“I’d love to, Johnny,” you muttered.

He gave you a relieved smile and you continued the activity until you called it a day. You washed the tea set as he put away the papercraft.

He watched you for a moment, your back to him at the sink wearing one of his shirts. It was a familiar sight, you in his flat. It was silly, but even after hours of being with you, he grew clingy when it inched closer to bedtime on weekdays as it meant you had to go back to yours.

While he was grateful for each night spent in each other’s arms, it was never enough. These walls had never been this much like home before you. It was your home too, wasn’t it?

He shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but his heart belonged to you. How could he not be honest?

“Love,” he placed a gentle hand on your hip. “Would you consider moving in with me? It doesn’t have to be anytime soon, but later on. In the future, whenever you want to.”

You turned to him with a teasing smile. “You sure you won’t get sick of me?”

“Never, bon,” he said under his breath. “I’ll take care of rent, and you can use the savings to take that course you always wanted.”

You held his gaze for another beat. “I’ll only consider if we split rent.”

“In that case, I’ll just have to find more ways to spoil you.”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, making you smile. He’d make sure you’d never think of him as anything less than the best boyfriend.

Johnny couldn’t stop bouncing as you boarded the train to Scotland. He hadn’t been able to wipe that grin off his face either.

“I’m so excited, bon.” He gripped your hand with two of his, holding it against his chest as his eyes sparkled. “My maw’s going to love ye.”

Under the clear blue skies, the city tapered into a line as the train bolted through vast grasslands.

You turned to him with a small laugh. “Why are you saying that as if I don’t know her, like she hasn’t been giving us cooking lessons on video call?”

“Ah, well, that’s true.” He shrugged. “But she’s gonnae love ye even more. And my niece and nephews.”

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

“They grow so fast, some could only sit on my lap last year. Don’t know if they still can this time.”

“What if I also want to sit on your lap?”

He grinned. “There’s always space for ye between my legs.”

Johnny took you to his nan’s to meet his extended family, which included his niece and nephews who were devastated that their favourite uncle didn’t have a mohawk anymore. Looking at the dejection in their little cute faces, of course he promised he would return with it next time.

His mum and aunts gushed over how sweet you were together. His cousins included you in the conversation, asking about your itinerary in Scotland and recommending spots to check out. Of course they’d also asked how you two met. They weren’t surprised you found the rat in the gym.

After lunch, the energised kids took Johnny and you by the hand to the backyard to play. Because he’d been bench pressing you, he could swing the kids around as they latched onto his arms and legs, shrieking in glee. The others formed a line for their turn with a giggle while you gave his niece a piggyback ride.

Before heading back home, Johnny gave you a tour of the town. It was quiet, but he showed you his schools, the hip places he and his friends frequented as teens and the football field he used to play on. Lastly, he drove past his first ever gym - the one that started it all.

“Tha’ fine summer day when I was 15th, I decided I needed t’carry all my maw’s shoppin’ in a go,” he lamented in front of the small building. “Mr. Russel’s the owner. He was always so nice, gave me free protein shake every Saturday. He was so proud when SAS accepted me.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Wha’?”

“I know you’ve been itching to lift. Come on.” You climbed out of the car.

He followed with a grin. Perpetually dressed in athleisure clothing had its perks. “This is why I love ye, hen.”

Mr. Russell was scribbling behind the desk when the door swung open.

“Hiya, welcome-“ His face lit up when he saw the sergeant. “Johnny!”

“Good t’see ya, Mr. Russell.”

The middle-aged man patted his shoulder firmly, looking him over with pride. “Looking huge, pal. Are you following a new split?”

“Ta, mate, but it’s the same as always.” He grinned. “Giza day pass, would ye?”

“Don’t be daft, Mactavish! Yer free t’walk in whenever.” He swatted his hand and turned to you. “An’ who’s the lady?”

“Och, sorry, this is m’friend.“ He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and shot you a teasing smile.

You frowned, but immediately recovered with a smile. “We’re super best friends actually, and flatmates. Nice to meet you.”

He laughed, his thumb rubbing your shoulder. “No, she’s ma pretty burd. We’re staying fer the weekend.”

“Hope ye enjoy yer stay, miss.” Mr. Russell chuckled along. “Go ahead then. Have a good session ye two!”

Past the turnstile gate, your hand slipped down to pinch his butt making him jump.

Yeah, he should stop teasing you in public, or at least wear baggy shirts when he did it.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :D I'm grateful for the support this fic has got, always enjoy writing for you guys. Hope to see you around again. Take care!

@tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @marvelssssssss @mydaiilyescape @teranyaa

@noicedog @wannabhere @devcica @loveergirll @vmaxis

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@lovebookbunny @sil-ver-shadow @illegirljoonie @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

[the-californicationist]

Cali Cali bo-bali banana fana fo-fali me my mo mali! Cali!

I'm three Budweisers in and got an itch for alpha Price with a sudden need to breed (yay! Surprise rut!), and there's his sweet smelling omega neighbor who he's been keeping at arm's length because he's a professional dammit and has complete control of his urges, thank you very much.

Honestly, I just wanna see Mr. "I'm Married to My Job" lose it and show back up on base abashed and mated, and also ridiculously proud of his lil omega's claiming bite, because "she turned into a wildcat, lads. I couldn't stop her." *wink-wink*

Or not. I'm happy with any smutty Price fic you bestow on us, really. I'm just being weirdly specific because— alcohol = horny thots. 🍺😏🥴🫠

Drunken hugs 🫂 from Random Thot

RTG!! You are the most amazing person, and every time I see your pfp on AO3 or tumblr, I just get all gooey inside. Thank you for the ask! I wrote (and fully deleted) this fic three times because I wanted to get it right. I just pray that I could deliver. <3 <3 Hope this is what you were hoping for!!

MDNI/NSFW -- TW: damsel in distress, ABO dynamics, knotting, fuck-or-die scenarios, CNC, fluids, PIV sex, female OC

Glory, Glory

It was his last beer of the night, and he was ripping it apart. Curling, soggy shards of the torn label were stuck under his thumbnail, darkening the translucent edge and making it look dirty. They littered the sticky, lacquered bartop like ugly snow, falling in a tiny, chaotic mess. His hands were more than just dirty, the captain thought to himself as he used his wide thumb to itch at the glue-covered glass, rolling little, paper shards away from the smooth surface to reveal the amber liquid swirling within. The captain’s hands; they were covered in blood. Not innocent blood, but blood all the same. They’d never be clean again. 

But, that was the job, and he was good at it. His hands were a direct reflection of his hard work. Killing evil bastards kept the world safe. Some poor sob in a factory could clean out the glue-painting machine that pasted these fuckin’ labels on all of these bloody beer bottles because of one unshakable truth: John Price was good at killing evil bastards.

Unfortunately, the killing would need to wait until after the mandated leave window closed again. His argument with Kate still grated inside of his head. He could almost hear her harsh, Yank accent in his ears.

“What do you want me to tell payroll, John? You can’t be here. You’ve got too many days. Go home. See your mom.”

“I see her plenty, Katie. Let me run that ops gig with Keller. C’mon. I’ll do overwatch,” he tried his best to weasel his way back into a bit of active duty.

“You’d be the world’s most expensive overwatch. Hell no. Here’s your ticket,” she shoved an envelope in his hands, “...and your money,” another envelope, “Go the fuck home, Captain. That’s an order.”

An order. More like a toothless threat. 

But, alas, here he was, staring at a freshly shaved, buzzcut version of himself in a filthy pub mirror, undressing bottles left and right. 

“Another, mate?” The barkeep pointed to his almost-empty drink, making a slight grimace at the paper graveyard that was sprinkled across his bar.

“No,” John sighed, pulling out a few notes from his wallet, “I’m off.”

“Happy Christmas,” the barkeep took the bills and didn’t bother to look up again, setting himself to sweeping the torn strips off of the surface, preparing for the next paying customer. 

“You, too,” John muttered, tugging his black wool beanie over his ears before braving the classic cold, wet, and windy Liverpudlian night. 

He didn’t live far. John’s mum had kept up his loft down by the docks, but it certainly didn’t feel like home. Home wasn’t real. Not anymore. As he walked along the Mersey’s edge, he peered into the black water, wondering if he’d ever truly go home again. 

All of a sudden, he heard a shrill scream. Every sense that had been dulled by his lager was now as sharp as a blade and set on its edge. Again, a high-pitched shout pealed through the night air, beckoning him back to his heroism. That keening was the sound of some evil that needed stamping out, and he was hungry for it. 

He sprinted through the warehouse district, chasing the noise of scuffling, ducking behind alleys and abandoned garages, looking for the source. Finally, there was a flash of red that caught his eye, so he ran towards it, his mind making sense of the scene in front of him. 

Voices were jumbled and mashed up together, barely registering in his mind.

“Out here in a fuckin’ heat. Dumb bitch! C’mere.”

“She’s got a knife!”

“C’mere, you little slag. Get –”

In the middle of three huge, stinking Alphas, a tiny Omega was struggling, arm outstretched, brandishing her knife at them to keep them at bay. John came up behind the biggest one, some bald fuck with a dirty coat, and dropped him, cracking his spine in two places with well-placed fists, and breaking his jaw on his way down to the ground, leaving him groaning on the concrete. 

One of his mates, a older man with thick, black eyebrows, lunged at Price, a look of indignant surprise on his face. The Omega screamed, her red coat yanked back over her face by the third man, her knife clattering to her feet. Price focused on Mister Eyebrows, dodging a lazy haymaker before popping him twice in the nose, drawing out his blood and knocking out at least two of his front teeth. Then, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling his jaw into his raised knee and listening to the satisfying splash as he fell into a murky puddle. 

Finally, he set his sights on the last Alpha of the pack whose ropey arm was looped across the Omega’s neck, choking the air from her lungs. He growled at Price, his scent turning to rancid fear,

“Stay back! She’s mine, you big bastard.”

The captain had nothing to say. With a practiced ease, he side-stepped her assailant, breaking the elbow that controlled her throat, making him release her immediately. The evil bastard stumbled back, hand outstretched, bargaining for his life, 

“Wait, wait. I’ll share her with you, how’s that? I’ll even let you have first go!”

A deafening howl came out of his mouth as Price’s boot heel made contact with his kneecap, forcing it to snap at a terrible angle. John’s hand shot out and grabbed the man by the hair on the crown of his head, tugging cruelly at his scalp. Without mercy, John slammed his face into a nearby bollard, and the howling stopped.

It was quiet again aside from the Omega’s trembling breaths. She had recovered the knife and was now pointing it towards John with shaking hands and wide, determined eyes. 

“You alright, love?” Price asked, holding his hands up in a sign of peace, edging towards her in gentle, predictable steps. 

“Y-yeah… Stay! Stay right there,” her voice was bright and clear, and he could hear her strength laced through her words. He stopped in his tracks, respecting her wishes.

“What are you doin’ all the way out here, darlin’?”

“They dragged me over here from Baltic Fleet,” she straightened up, getting her bearings, wiping the blood from a small cut in her cheek, “Fuckin’ bastards. Thank you, by the way.”

“Jus’ doin’ my job,” Price shrugged, waiting for her to lower the knife even further before he continued his approach.

“Police?” She asked, a little confused. 

“Not exactly,” Price smiled, offering a hand out to her, “John Price, Captain of His Majesty’s RAF service.”

“Oh,” she studied him for a moment, and then her eyes fell to the hand, ready to bite but deciding to shake it instead. 

When he touched her skin, Price felt her fever. Shocked, he tightened his grip, not meaning to startle her but too surprised by her temperature to ignore it.

“Christ, love. You’re burnin’ up.”

As quick as a flash, she yanked her hand out of his grasp and retreated back towards the wall of the warehouse behind her, scooting her way towards the corner to get out of his range, ready to bolt. She didn’t respond, but John watched as she wiped her brow, dotted with sweat and covered in concern. 

“Hey,” he moved forward again protectively, “You can’t be out here alone. Not like this. At least let me walk with you. I’ll stay ten paces behind. It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she said with more strength in her voice than what she was ready to produce.

“You’re not. You’re in a bloody heat. When did it start?” He watched as her knees began to tremble, and against her obvious wishes, he helped her sit on the warehouse deck, letting her keep the knife so she could feel safe. 

“Yesterday…” She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off, “It’s… I’m fine. It’s never this bad.”

Now that he was close to her, Price was smothered by the scent of her body. The Omegan glands in her neck smelled like thick, wild honey, and her heat was mixing with her aroma, turning an already sweet smell into a lucious, decadent gourmand, pulling him in like quicksand. 

“C’mon,” he helped her up, “Where’s your place? I’ll get you close.”

The clang of her knife made him glance up to see her eyes closed and her mouth slack. She was out, too weak to withstand the fever and the physical exertion. 

Price felt his body react to her need. He was filled with rage, white and hot, at her situation. Those goddamn monsters were trying to take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. She should be home in her nest, being taken care of by her Alpha, covered in soothing oils and cool compresses, her needy little cunt stuffed full of his knot, staving off these symptoms and enduring them for her. Instead, she’d been hunted, chased, made to fight for her dignity out here in the middle of the docks. Something else inside Price’s chest curled around his anger. 

Possession. 

He tried to shake it off, knowing it came from being unmarked, but it had been so many years as a lone Alpha that he knew how to control it. Or, at least he thought he did. 

Now, though, he found himself pulling at the neck of her coat as he held her in his arms, invading her privacy to check for a bite. He felt the shame wash over him as he covered her skin back up. He had no business searching for a mating bite. She was not his Omega, and he was not her Alpha. 

After a few minutes out in the chilled wind, he made it to his apartment. Thankfully, it was late enough that his neighbors weren’t outside to witness what looked like a literal kidnapping, and he shuffled her inside without much trouble. Price lay her down on his long, leather sofa, careful to rest her head on the soft arm. He went to the kitchen to retrieve a cold rag and pressed it to her forehead, hoping to hold back the fever for as long as he could.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Wake up,” he whispered, trying to gently shed her coat and sweater, peeling her layers off to bring her temperature down to a more manageable level. 

She moaned, her eyes wrenching shut even tighter, her face twisted in pain,

“My head…” She sighed, desperate for some relief. 

“I know, love. C’mon,” John propped her up a bit, moving the rag so that the coldest parts would be against her skin, “What’s your name? I can find an address. Do you have your purse?”

“They… took it? I don’t… I dunno…” She muttered, obviously having a hard time stringing her thoughts together, “I don’t feel so good.”

This was not ideal. Price knew what came next. A high fever, exhaustion, fatigue, nausea, increased heart rate, and then… 

“Alpha?” Her eyes were open, glassy and dark, the pupils fully blown, looking up at him with an outpouring of unfathomable need. Her scent rolled off of her in mind-altering waves, shoving Price’s carefully-built walls out of the way and sending shocks of desire straight to his heart and his fat, growing cock. 

“No, baby. I’m not your Alpha. Who is he? Can you give me a name?” John asked, checking her coat pockets in a rushed panic. He was running out of time. 

“Alpha, please… I need… Help me, please,” her shaking hands reached under his jacket and shirt, her knuckles rubbing against his furry belly, her strong fingers digging around for his belt buckle, getting right to the point. 

Price felt the room flex around him, and he tried to breathe in air that wasn’t saturated by her vanilla spice, searching in the deepest recesses of his mind for some semblance of his self control. 

“Easy, love. I can’t m–mmngh!” Her mouth slotted over his as he tried to protest, stopping his heart and his words at the same time. 

She was heaven. Her smell was making his skin tingle all over his body, down his arms and up his legs, rushing to his central, sacral core. And her taste was even better. His little cinnamon roll, so sweet and warm, burning for him like a flame, hot and ready to scar him for life. 

“Mngh… Love, mmm… Wait…” Price held her back, using more force than he thought he should need, surprised by her sudden power. 

“John…” He met her eyes and found a particular clarity within them. She was coming out of her haze. But, it wouldn’t last. This was his final chance to keep her from doing something she would regret. 

“Darlin’, I can’t. I’m not your Alpha.”

“You smell like you are,” she mewled, rubbing her wounded cheek across his engorged neck gland, spreading his scent all over herself. 

“I can’t,” he moved away from her, trying to hold her in his arms for comfort rather than to bask in her expressive heat, “My work… I can’t leave you here, pretty girl.”

She sobbed out, trying to hold back from writhing against his body, doing everything she could not to make it harder for him to turn her down. Her eyes were rimmed red and pink from exhaustion, and she was staring down at her own hands, vibrating with tremors, slurring her words,

“Just lock me in the bath. I’ll run cold water. I’ll be fine…”

Something ancient and feral snarled in Price’s mind. 

No.

“No,” he said, involuntarily, the voice in his head escaping from his throat. 

“Please… I can’t stop myself… I want your knot, Alpha. Lock me up before I do something to you… Something you don’t want…” She could barely put two words together. Every thought was a struggle. He was losing her again. 

He grabbed her and held her to his chest, clutching her like water in his palm, using all his strength to keep her with him,

“I want you, love. I want… Fuck, I need you.”

All of a sudden, the energy around their bodies stilled. That cracking, sparking electricity that bound them together was roiling just beyond John’s consciousness, ready to surge. But, he stayed perfectly still, waiting to see what she did next. She locked eyes with him and leaned in close, as if she would kiss him. But, she didn’t. She dipped her head down until she found his Alphic gland, swollen and bruised purple from him holding back his lust, nuzzling at it with the tip of her nose, rooting against him, testing his patience, checking to see if his temperament was true. Then, when he let her sniff him in his most potent spot, when she knew his soul was as pure as his scent, that he was true, she sucked his flesh between her lips, drawing his musk onto her tongue.

She’d accepted him. He reeled from it, unable to hold back a groan, his cock jerking against his zipper, thrashing to escape, flooding with hot blood and threatening to fill his knot before he’d even had a chance to taste her. 

John pulled her mouth off of him and stared at her eyes again, in awe of her beauty, his mind swirling and yet perfectly sharp, begging her darkly,

“Give me your neck, Omega.”

The ritual had begun, and as she swept her hair away from her shoulder, pulling it around her back, she bent for him, arching her head down in a submissive bow, revealing her Omegan mating line. It looked like a keloid scar, the raised skin swollen and painful, like a pounding vein that ran from below her earlobe down to the top of her shoulder, full of her hormones and thick with her magic. One bite, and he would be in her thrall, pliant to her every whim, beholden to her needs until her heat had run its course. 

Price had never given his bite to anyone. It had been easy to abstain. In fact, in his youth, he had a hard time understanding his mates’ commitments to their Omegas, scoffing at their lack of duty to their stations, doubting their commitment, and - moreover - doubting their loyalty. He remained a captain through and through, and he’d never made room for anyone or anything else. But, here he was, his teeth aching in his jaw, bigger and sharper than they should’ve been, his every sense heightened and taking her in like a drug, compelling him to punch through her delicate flesh and suck her nectar deep into his belly. 

The feeling of her skin against his lips was enough to send a chill through his body. He was cooling from the inside out, and his body needed her heat. She was forcing a rut to take hold in him, and he could feel himself changing for her. Then, he bit down as hard as he could, breaking the thin seal of her mating line with ease, feeling the searing mixture of her oil and her blood filling his mouth and throat like a ripe plum, wet and sweet, and promising pleasure if he chose to swallow her. 

He drank from her for as long as he dared, taking her in long, slurping gulps, letting her essence coat his throat, feeling the hot fluid burn inside of his chest and down into his stomach where it pooled and lingered, warming him up from the inside out. 

“Alpha…” She moaned, raising her hand to cup his cheek as he sucked her life into himself, rubbing her thumb so softly over his shut eyelashes that he barely felt it. 

John pulled away from her, his eyes fluttering open, her bright orange blood iridescent with her mating oil, making the red cells burn bright like a fresh-cracked yolk, gleaming, trapped between his teeth like gold. He watched it drip down her chest, staining her clothes, and he began to tear them off of her. She let him, limp and mute as he peeled her open, making her naked and pulling her into his arms. 

He carried her into his bedroom, kicking open the door and busting the bolt through the strike, splintering the wood and not giving a shit about the damage. John lay her in the middle of the mattress and set to surrounding her with whatever softness he could find; his shirts, his blankets, even his scarves. Anything warm and comfortable was added to the nest, giving her as much support as he could before standing back to admire his work. 

She eyed him from her recumbent throne, commanding him with her gaze. John stripped off his shirt for her, raking it up his back and over his shoulders, feeling as if he was moving his body for her and only for her. All of his motions, even his ragged breaths, were only escaping from his lungs because she wanted them to. His buckle clattered apart, and he popped open the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper in a sharp, metallic rip. 

Once free, his heavy prick flagged, leaping forward and pulsating for her, proudly showing her his gleaming head. He was drooling an unrelenting stream of iridescent precome, his balls tight and full of Alphic oil, ready to coat her warm insides with his shining sex. 

John climbed onto the bed, his face focused on her wet mound, admiring the plumpness of her, imagining her - in every delicious way - like a tender peach. He crawled to her, his mouth still stained neon orange from her gland, and he smeared her wet quim all over his lips and tongue. He wasn’t licking her so much as he was wearing her like warpaint, moving his nose and cheeks through her to ensure he was soaked in her heady slick, his body making wild, unbridled choices purely on instinct.  

“Yes, baby, please…” Her voice went straight through him like a bullet, tightening his cockhead to an uncomfortable degree, and it jerked against the mattress in protest. Her hands were in his hair, scratching through his scalp, encouraging him to sink his tongue deep inside of her hole. 

John obeyed, helpless to her desire, his mind wiping clean and being rewritten by her will. He was swimming in her scent, drenched in her slick, and gasping against her pussy, his eyes fixated on her form as it writhed above him. When she met his eyes, she bit the inside of her lip, crying out for him, rewarding him for his prostrated fealty. Then, she began to rock her hips against his jaw, fucking herself on his face, and he let her use him to her heart’s content, staying strong and sure, allowing his body to be used, objectified and glorified by it. 

When she began to come, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He followed his tongue inside of her with two of his thick fingers, pressing against her walls, pushing her over the edge. She bolted upright, wrapping her thighs around his face, smothering him with her body, trapping him breathless between her legs. Her whole being trembled for him. He could feel the shimmer of her very soul, rattling and writhing with her siren-like keening. And just when he started to see spots in his vision, needing air just a little less than he needed to please her, she lay open for him, blooming outward like a flower, releasing him from a limbo he longed to return to, oozing with a stream of rainbow-tinted come, the Omegan oil within her womb escaping to advertise its promises to her mate. 

Without knowing why, John found himself lapping it up from her pulsing hole like a hound, swallowing mouthful after mouthful and grunting with each pass of his broad tongue. 

“John, I need... Please, put your knot inside me. I’ll be good…” She begged, tears shining at the corners of her eyes from her come-drunk bliss, her hands plucking at her nipples and trying to soothe herself down from her high. 

“My pretty girl wants this knot, yeah?” John grinned devilishly, dipping his finger into her over and over and licking it clean like she was a jar of endless honey, “Wants me to breed this gorgeous cunt…”

At that comment, she spread her legs even wider for him, opening up for him like a blossom for the sun, ready to take whatever he had to give her. It was mesmerizing for John to see her like this. Everything about her was filled with intoxication and need. He was just a vessel for her pleasure, pouring himself into her to make her full again. Dizzy and drunk with adoration, he notched his girth at her entrance, struggling to fit even his cockhead within her. 

“Fuck… so bloody warm…”

Her body was burning him with every millimeter he sank into her, the heat of her tight sex in such high contrast with his cool rut. It felt like he was swimming in a roiling pot of sugary caramel, clinging and cloying and sticking to every part of him, and yet it was not enough. He needed more. His hips thrust forward, savage yet steady, reaching deep inside of her like an anchor, rushing to settle himself within her darkness. 

The way his Omega cried out this time was different, and it snapped him to her attention, his mind immediately sensing a new need. 

“Love, tell me what you need.” He purred, his mouth kissing her lips and her neck, lapping at the now-healing wound his own fangs had made, talking to her between long licks of his tongue, “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You’re so big. I’ve never…” She sounded ashamed. 

Price slowed to a creeping pace, focused fully on her face, 

“Never had a knot before?”

She shook her head, her eyes full of worry. John wrapped her up in his arms, dragging himself out of her slowly before filling her up again as carefully as he could.

“Tha’s alright, baby. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“Feels like I’m burning alive,” she sighed, her brow furrowing with distress, “John, I need… I don’t know how…”

“Look at me, alright?” He helped her focus her eyes on his, “Don’t… Just stay with me, right here. You’re gonna come for me, and then… I’ll give you what you need.”

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice so small. 

Price set himself on a path with a purpose. He used his hand to rub small, rhythmic circles beside the rigid body of her clit, coaxing her pussy to drop even more slick around him, using every ounce of willpower he had left not to let his knot slip inside of her prematurely. His thrusts were jerky and restrained, but he felt her begin to rock back and forth with his hand’s movements, bringing her closer and closer to her glowing joy. 

“Good girl,” he praised her, watching her as she began to fall apart around him, “Tha’s my good little Omega. Come for your Alpha just like that. Just… mmf-fuck! Like that! Holy fuck.”

The feeling of her slick pussy clenching and twisting around his cock’s tugid body was enough to make him see stars. He felt almost sick with pleasure, his whole core lighting up like a roaring fire, spitting and aching to bury himself within her. 

At the end of her crescendo, he felt himself let go of the chain, and he rutted his knot inside of her, humping himself forward ruthlessly, his body contorting itself to fit her needs. His knot sealed him within her, and although he was not yet orgasming, he was filling her with his come, the creamy flow of it spilling out of his tip, filling her hole and coating his prick from inside of its hungry little sheath.

“Your come… I can feel it inside of me. Oh, my God,” she sighed with some sort of relief, her eyes rolling inside of her head, her arms losing their strength, and her back arching towards him, lifting up as if she would float right into Heaven. 

And just like that, her fever began to abate. With his knot stuffed inside of her, locking his seed within her hole, his Alphic oils could soothe her heat, bringing her back to the realm of consciousness and delivering her from her wild state. 

“John,” she lay back, her hand pressed to his cheek. 

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he bent forward on his elbows and kissed her mouth, chastely at first, and then languidly, exploring her taste. When he did finally pull away, she was awake and alert, sated and happy. He smiled down at her, 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered, wiping her hair back from her face. 

“Hey,” she smiled back at him, wrapping her ankles around his back for comfort, not knowing that it was just enough to set his cock on edge again, his Alphic instinct rejoicing at the feeling of being trapped by his mate. 

“You alright?” John asked, a tinge of worry at the edge of his voice.

“I am now, thanks to you,” she sighed, tucking herself in beneath him, rubbing her hands along his ribs and the soft fur of his back and arms, feeling every bit of him as if she was seeing him with her touch, “You saved me, Alpha.”

“Aye,” he nudged her jaw with his nose, asking her wordlessly to give him the vulnerable softness of her neck. She obliged, and he spoke to her between sucking kisses, “All mine. My Omega. Innit that right, baby?”

She was practically lambent beneath the scrutiny of his possession, rolling in it like a wave in the sand, captured by it and surrendering to the riptide of his unbreakable grip. She nodded, humming her ascent, her expression turning a little rueful right at the end of his kisses. The sorrowful timbre of her voice broke his heart, 

“I’m grateful. But, I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I’m so sor–”

“No,” he kissed her words away, feeling his length throb inside of her, urging him to kiss her again, “No, love.”

“I won’t bite you,” she promised, her gaze still full of apology, “You won’t be stuck with me.”

“Bite me, Omega,” he bent his head and buried his face in her shoulder, giving her his gland in total surrender, “Go on. I’m yours.”

“John…” She hesitated, but he could feel her body flood her hole, excited beyond measure at the thought of binding him to her as her mated Alpha. 

“Go on,” he commanded in his smoky growl, holding her tighter and bracing for the ecstasy of her teeth.

He felt her lips first, and his balls tightened, ready to fling him into a messy orgasm as soon as he felt his gland shatter in her mouth. Her Omegan teeth wouldn’t break the skin, but he knew she was strong enough to crack the shell around his swollen node. The anticipation of her bite was wrecking his mind, and he was gasping for breath by the time he felt her jaw set itself against him. 

“Baby, please…” He whined in her ear, his hips thrusting in short, jerking thrusts, unable to move much with his knot still trapped up inside of her, holding his gushing come in her hole, pushing it into her womb from the sheer volume of it. 

Her teeth connected, and he could hear his unbroken shell give way beneath her strength, the hormones inside of it rushing through his system like wildfire, burning through his veins and making him scream for her. At the same time, John felt his core throw him into a raw orgasm, his whole body trembling above her, wringing himself from the inside out. 

“Alpha,” she sighed, licking his neck to comfort him, “My Alpha…”

“Yours, baby. All yours.”

— — — — — 

The new trainees filed out of the gym, sweaty, bloody, and eager to be out of the captain’s sight. Price had run them ragged, forcing them to spar with practice weapons, pitting them against each other in a strained, exhausting competition. Ghost and Soap sat with Gaz as they eyed their commander, their eyes glued to the fresh bite mark on his neck, shocked into a silent stupor. 

“I cannae believe it. Mated? To which lassie?” Soap asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think he’d ever take a mate,” Gaz marvelled.

“I thought he was savin’ himself for marriage,” Ghost quipped, earning himself a scuff from Soap.

Price made his way across the mat, pulling his sweaty shirt off his back to trade it for a clean one. The red welts and nail-marks across his shoulders and down his belly made Gaz let out a low whistle. But, his commander’s glare stopped him mid-note. 

“Wha’s that, Garrick?”

“Nothin’, sir. Just… admirin’ your battle scars,” Gaz smiled, wishing his two teammates would stop snickering so loudly. 

“Looks like a hell’uva fight, Cap,” Ghost added, looking everywhere but into Price’s icy eyes. 

“Wha’s her name?” Soap asked outright, skipping over the double entendres and going right for the point. 

Their captain sighed, zipped up his gym bag, and stood in front of his three officers, glaring down at them with a look that was on the border of dead-seriousness,

“If I told you that, lads, I’d have to kill you.”

[alyslittlehaven]

In What We Keep

DragonBorne!Reader X Azriel.

One fateful night after a mission, the three bat brothers need to seek refuge from the cruel winds past the mountains of Illyria, after a little debating, Azriel decides to take his brothers to the slice of life he took for himself

Warnings: Self Made Fae Race, swearing, talks of sex/sexual interactions, lewd jokes and or conversations, Pregnancy, Pre-established Relationship, mates, fated, Soft Azriel, secret relationships and more ACOTAR IS NOT MY BOOK, NEITHER ARE THE CHARACTERS

(Due to my motivation being messed up and me not knowing how to genuinely continue this story, I have made it into a singular shot story. Both parts are still available separately on my profile. If you want more on this series please, put in requests and help me love this story as much as you lol)

“This storm isn’t going anywhere, Az.”

Cassian’s voice strained as he squinted through the heavy snowfall. Their footsteps behind them quickly being covered up as they continued on through the cold. Cassian groaned, his body shivering harshly.

 Azriel grunted as he tightened the fur that hung around his body. The black dire wolf pelt kept out the wind just for a little longer as the snow picked up around them all. Azriel looked over his shoulder, his hair swaying lightly in the wind as his brothers stopped behind him. There was no way they could continue on like this. Flying in this weather would be a death wish and the creatures that they were hunting were extremely sensitive to magic. Their noses picked up the slightest bit of arcane and followed it like it was food. 

The snow continued to whip around them. Azriels wings shifting as the wind blew in between the membrane and his back. The cold slowly seeps into his bones as the three of them pick up the pace once again. Rhysand let out a huff, looking around slowly and yelling over the blizzard. “There is no way we can get to RoseHall like this, let alone the camps! We need to find shelter!” Cassian nodded, looking at Azriel with a pleading look. Rhysand was right, there was no way the storm was going to let up, and if anything was just getting worse the longer they walked. Rosehall was nowhere on the other side of the mountain and the winds of Illyria were unforgiving to travellers during the summer months. What would happen to the three of them if they continued to trudge through the snow?

Cassian crossed his arms, his lips turning blue as they stood still huddled together. His wings spanned out and fluttered to get the snow off of them. The weight on his shoulders now dispersed as her shook himself off. Azriel looked around, looking for any kind of landmark that could tell him where they stood on the mountain. His eyes locked into a bundle of lights in the distance. A relieved breath left him as he saw the small, broken sign with a carved dragon egg on it. 

His brows furrowed as he thought, his arms wrapping around himself as he took a couple of steps. Dread slowly made its way to his stomach as he realized where they were heading.

He could bring them into his home. The small cabin he had built with his own hands inside of the heart of the hearth. The home that his mate was in while he stood out in the cold with his brothers. Her body probably curled up on the couch with that ugly knitted blanket she made draped over her as a book remained under her nose. The fire probably roaring in the fireplace and leaving the room in a nice orange glow.

Azriel sighed, quickly pulling up his hood before beginning to move in the direction of the light,. His voice hoarse as he spoke. "I have somewhere we can stay. if you don't mind walking for a bit more, that is." Cassian rolled his eyes, his feet moving without him having to think about saying yes or no as he followed his brothers closely. 

“Azriel…where are we going?” Rhysands teeth chatters, his breaths coming out as fog due to the cold. His whole body nearly froze at the question. He had worked so hard to keep this part of his life a secret from his family. The relaxing life he came to every night and woke up the day after next to. The happy cabin he filled with love and work that he made sure he separated his work life from his mate. His wonderful, beautiful mate pressed kisses to his hand when he came home from work and tried out new Illyrian recipes so he would feel at home in the hearth. The best woman he had met, and the calmest. They had spoken about it a few times, introducing her to his family and the inner circle, and despite her wanting to meet them he just didn’t want to yet. Wanting to keep her to himself just for a little longer.

“To…a friend's house. She lives right up here in this cabin.”

Rhysand and Cassian looked at each other, a small shrug was all Cassian responded with as they walked up the stairs of the porch. Azriel quickly opened the door, the wood creaking under his weight as he ushered the two in. A frown on his face as he shut the door behind them. “Y/n?” Azriels voice carried through the small cabin, some shuffling in the distance going dead silent.

“I’ll be there in a second love!” A couple of pans knocked together before she walked into the hallway, a small pep in her step now that she saw who was in her home. Cassian, ever the gossip, repeatedly hit Rhysands arm like a teenage girl. A smirk on his face as he raised an eyebrow at Azriel.

Rhysands jaw dropped as she untied her apron, the large and evident bump now on full display as she put down the fabric and pressed a hand to her stomach. Her eyes raked over the two unfamiliar men with a gentle smile. "You must be Azriels brothers...welcome to the Hearth. Come- Sit down, please."

If there was one thing they weren't expecting, it was exactly this.

Cassian and Rhysand expected their brother to bring them to a rundown shack he retreated to occasionally, holes in the couch, a dusty old couch, and maybe even a fireplace; but not this.

The cabin was cozy, with three dragons crawling around the floors of the abode like it was theirs as well. Dragons had been long unheard of, their presence in the world no longer scaring children but creating more theories of what was before. The fireplace blazed as the woman gently escorted them to the main area. The couch was littered with pillows and blankets of what seemed to be all kinds. Cassian chuckled, gently running a hand along the fluffiest blanket he saw. A satisfied smile on his face at the feeling.

"Make yourselves at home. Any friend of Az's is a friend of mine, I just finished soup too." Azriel smiled at the woman before beginning to try and undo his leathers. The heat getting to him now that the wind was no longer harsh on his skin. His wings - thankfully- thawing out by now, basically icicles on his back previously. The woman slowly left through a doorway, somewhere that seemed to relate to a kitchen in the room off to the side. Cassian turned to Azriel, a smirk on his face as he spoke. "A lady friend of yours?" Azriel huffed, rolling his eyes with a small smile. A small groan left him as he pulled his hand away, the small knick on his thumb irritated already from the leathers.

"I've known her for a bit, sweet lady." Cassian nodded, mumbling some remark under his breath as he sat down on the couch. A sigh left his large form as he melted into the cushions.

"She seems wonderful." Rhysand shook his head, sitting down on a chair next to the fireplace. The two others not even bothering to try and take off their soaked leathers.

They cared about the warmth tho.

"Azriel, let me help you with that." Azriel jumped slightly as the voice cut through the air, his frame quickly softening as she placed down some soup for all of them on the coffee table. Giggling as Rhysand and Cassian jumped to get the food. The woman waddled over to Azriel, a huff of laughter leaving her as she managed to get one side of the leathers off. The two of them sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Azriel spoke up.

"How are you?" She looked up, smiling.

"Could be better, the dragons have been very insistent in feeding me rats they found." Azriel chuckled, nodding slowly as she managed to get the other clasp. His leathers fall to the floor. "There, that's better." Azriel looked down at her bump. Tilting his head slightly as a finger brushed up against her stomach. "'Been giving you trouble lately?" Samantha laughed lightly, nodding as she gently grabbed his hand and put his palm on her swollen belly.

"Movin' a lot, the healers say that they are excited to come out. I think I'm nearly cooking the poor thing with how hot the house is nowadays." She smiled up at him, a small sigh leaving her as she hugged him.

"That's good at least- not the boiling the baby part though." He pressed a chaste kiss to her head. Pulling away to help her to the couch.

"So, Rhysand and Cassian. It's nice to meet you." She gently picked the bowl up with her two hands, the heat not affecting her like it did them. The two of them finally looked at the two of them, now getting comfortable on the couch. Azriel was tucked into the corner of the furniture, his wings gently stretched out behind him as his arm rested on the back of the board. The woman was neatly tucked into his side, her legs up and folded to get her comfortable.

Not that much was comfortable nowadays.

Cassian raised a brow, quickly swallowing his food. "It's nice to meet you..uh.-"

"Samantha, my name is Samantha." Cassian nodded, picking up another spoonful of soup as Rhysand spoke up. His violet eyes no longer scanning around the house they sat in. Now staring straight at her and Azriel. "This is your home? What's with the dragons?" As if they heard him, the purplish-colored dragon in the fireplace screeched, its wings flaring behind it as it got comfortable, now lying down on the burning wood like it was nothing. Rhysand flinched lightly, his eyes remaining on the odd creature next to him with a weary feeling building in his gut.

"Think of them as my babies, I've raised them since they were in their eggs. " Rhysand nodded, smiling at the little thing before adjusting himself in the chair. "Do you only have three?" Samantha shook her head quickly, swallowing her food before speaking.

"These were just the youngest, they couldn't fly when winter came so me and the village thought it would be best if I kept them for the cold season. Their mother and brothers are out in daycourt somewhere" Rhysand nodded, a small oh left his mouth as he took a bite of the warm food. A hum leaving him. "It took a while for Azriel to get used to them, I don't expect them to come flocking to you now since you're new." Azriel leaned back, his eyes closing for a moment as he basked in the orange light the fire sprayed on him and Samantha. The fire seemingly calling to her now that she relaxed.

"Samantha has a way with wayward beasts." Samantha gently smacked azriels arm, a smile on her face as she let out a huff. Cassian's eyes darted over to the two. "So you two are...Friends?" Samantha perked up, a hand on her stomach as she thought for a moment. Thinking about whether or not Azriel would be okay with them even knowing. "I mean we are, but the official term is mates if you didn't know." Azriel looked at the two of them. No guilt swirling in those hazel eyes of his. Rhysands eyes widened, nearly spitting out his food out the information with Cassian choked on his own words.

"Mates?" Azriel nodded. His wings shifted behind him as one of the dragons swayed under them. Attempting to get warm.

"Been mated for a year, that a problem?" Cassian quickly shook his head no. His eyes still widened compared to his usual look. His wings tense behind him. "-mates? As in True mates? You're his pregnant mate?" Samantha nodded, tilting her head at Cassian. "Have been for about 7 months. Afraid I'm stuck with the pregnant title for a couple more weeks." Rhysand laughed, putting his empty bowl of soup down before speaking.

"Azriel- how have you hidden this from us?" Azriel shrugged, his hand moving to gently rub against his mate's shoulder. "Not too sure, Maybe I'm good at keeping secrets." Cassian leaned back, Eyes furrowed as he pouted over the implications of missing out on so much of his brother's mating.

"Did you have a ceremony?" Cassian's voice broke through the cackling from the fire, Samantha's eyebrows shooting up before answering. Thinking back to the day and attempting to get as much information as she could. "We did, it was my village present- I don't think anyone was there from azriels side though." Azriel shook his head no.

"Well...I guess we have a lot to catch up on then?" Rhysand spoke once more, his eyes filled with a bit of betrayal as he looked at everyone in the room. Cassian nodded, putting his own bowl down.

[deanstead]

Worth It

Pairing: Matt Casey x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N struggles with demands from a friend, and Matt solidifies the fact he will always be in her corner.

Word Count: 2.6K+

Warnings/Tags: toxic friendships

A/N: something bugged me recently so here’s a fic! This can be a bit of a controversial take based on the context but didn’t want to go full on in the fic so anyway~ just needed to get this off my chest.

“Baby, I’m…” Matt’s voice drifted off slightly before he completed his sentence, “…home.”

You could only imagine being Matt and coming home to this sight.

You were seated in the middle of the living room in the apartment you shared with Matt, surrounded by yarn, bits of fluff stuck in your hair, sheets of sketched designs strewn across the floor.

You could feel the panic rise even more as you took in the look on Matt’s face. Especially since you couldn’t read his emotions as the anxiety clouded your brain.

“Matt, I…” 

You couldn’t continue as you felt your chest tighten just a little, the anxiety and panic clawing its way to the surface and rearing its ugly head at you. 

This had all started with Amy.

Amy.

She was a friend you’d known for almost your entire life. You’d laughed together, cried together, dreamed about the future together and talked about those dreams. Along the way, you both had stumbled, you saw less of each other, and Amy reached out less, sometimes forgetting to respond to your messages. Despite what everyone told you, you convinced yourself that it was just how life was and you made excuses for Amy’s growing absence in your life.

Then, she’d reached out to tell you she was getting married.

You felt the excitement first, remembering it like it was yesterday, how you had both talked excitedly about how you would be each other’s bridesmaids. It wasn’t a conscious memory, but it was like your brain had pulled it up, triggered by the words Amy was saying.

You didn’t even feel any apprehension when she asked if you would make the flowers for the bridesmaids. You weren’t too confident because crocheted flowers weren’t really your thing. In fact, you’d only tried it out once. So you’d told Amy you’d give it a shot, make a prototype and see how it went.

You could tell Matt hadn’t been thrilled with the idea but he didn’t say much, only offering opinions when you asked for them and keeping most of his comments focused on the task rather than Amy. Yet, you knew he was holding back. You knew Matt didn’t feel great about Amy, mainly because of the things he’d witnessed, in particular, the way she blew back into your life when it was convenient for her.

But things had been going downhill ever since you’d made the first prototype. She kept changing what she wanted, and even you were getting a little frustrated, mixed with a desire not to disappoint her.

So, having Matt stand there with a surprised look on his face in the middle of an extremely messed up living room only added to your current panic.

You felt your breath quicken and very soon, Matt’s figure was clouded by the tears you didn’t realize had pooled behind your eyes.

Without saying anything, Matt dropped whatever was in his arms, heading straight for you and folding you nice and tight into his arms. 

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Matt whispered quietly, and you felt the rumble of his chest before your breathing slowly evened out once again.

Matt didn’t move immediately, but his fingers brushed off the residual tears that were rolling down your cheeks.

“Sorry, I don’t…” 

Matt just tightened his arms a little and pressed a kiss firmly to the top of your head.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, scrubbing off the remnants of tears on your cheeks before glancing up at him.

Matt shook his head and leaned down for another kiss and you leaned into his embrace, temporarily forgetting about the mess in the living room.

By the time you woke up the next morning, there was barely a trace of the mess last night. The yarn was back in the boxes you had in the corner of the room and the half done flowers were laid out neatly on the kitchen counter.

No one else would have guessed what had happened the night before. 

Matt was almost on his way out, draining the last sip of his coffee and smiling as you walked into the kitchen.

He didn’t ask but just studied your face for a little longer than usual.

You smiled back at him and nodded. “Go on, I’m fine.” You assured him, even though you stepped toward him and nuzzled your face into his shoulder.

Matt pressed you lightly against him and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know where to find me if you need me.” Matt whispered gently into your ear.

You smiled into his shoulder with a small nod before both of you pulled away and you let Matt go before he was late for shift.

Even as the door closed behind Matt, you felt it rear to the surface. This time, the feeling was different. It wasn’t even residual anxiety from the night before. You couldn’t put your finger on it but it was bugging you.

Deciding that it might be good to have a change of pace, you grabbed the materials you needed, slung the tote bag over your shoulders and left the house, figuring you’d find a nice cafe to work out of.

So you did and you had been right. A change of environment had done wonders for you and you finally had a final prototype for the new flower idea Amy had had.

You snapped a photo and sent it to Amy, quoting as reasonable a price you could for the materials and stitches. You even gave her what she called a ‘friend discount’. 

But for someone who sometimes took days to respond to you, her response was quick now.

It’s a little out of my budget.

Thereafter, she proceeded to give you a price she was willing to pay that was such a lowball, you almost dropped your phone.

It took you a moment and another few breaths to register that feeling bubbling up in your chest now. You recognised it as a more intense version of what you had been feeling that morning. Now, you could indeed put your finger on it - Disappointment.

It was disappointment that raged within you. Especially when you’d always treated Amy like a sister.

You felt it swell as you thought about the effort you’d put in all these years, even just the effort in designing flowers she would want for her wedding, and then you remembered the many times she’d blown you off, and when she’d been dating that toxic ex of hers and had cut you out of her life for more than a year until the break up.

Resisting the urge to send her a scathing reply, you stuffed the rest of your belongings into your bag and headed out the cafe, only realizing where your legs had taken you when you looked up at the firehouse in front of you.

The trucks were all parked which meant everyone was around. 

Now that you were here, you had second thoughts and you were about to retreat, thinking you’d talk to Matt during breakfast the next day when you heard an all too familiar voice call out to you.

“Y/N?”

Of course today would be the day Kelly came to get something out of his car.

“Hey, Kelly.” You greeted back, your voice sounding weird even to you.

Kelly either didn’t notice or chose not to mention it. He just smiled and nodded. “Come on, Casey’s in his office.”

You didn’t protest, letting Kelly lead you in as if it was your first time visiting the firehouse.

Everyone called out toward you with smiles and you waved back at them as you made your way through the common room and toward Matt’s office.

“Look who I found,” Kelly called with a casual rap at Matt’s door.

Matt sat up, glancing at you before smiling. “Thanks, Sev.”

Kelly winked, more at you than him, before leaving the both of you alone.

Matt got up to close his door and glanced at you. “Everything okay?”

After all, you rarely came to the firehouse without a call beforehand. Usually, you were worried about being in the way so you only came to bring them some food, especially when you’d heard it was a difficult shift.

You nodded. “Nothing big, I just…”

You held back a heavy sigh and just handed him your phone.

Matt’s eyes moved across your phone screen as he read the message and you could see the slight darkening of his expression, even though he was trying to keep it under control.

Matt looked back up at you and handed your phone back to you. “So what are you thinking?” Matt asked.

You shouldn’t have been shocked by Matthew Casey’s complete focus on your feelings, but you couldn’t help the little jolt of warmth that still filled you even though you and Matt had been dating for a long while.

You shrugged and Matt gave you a look, which just made you smile.

“Fine, I’m annoyed. It’s like every single moment with her has been flashing in my head since I got that message and the annoyance has been piling. That’s why I haven’t responded.”

“Go for it, babe.” Matt said, matter of factly.

You glanced at him with half a smile.

“You deserve to be treated with respect and I think it’s high time someone told her. And if you don’t want to do it, I’d be happy to.” Matt said, his voice laced with a subtle protectiveness.

You pulled him toward you, just so you can lay your head against him and smiled. “Thank you.”

The conversation had gone about as you’d expected. 

You tried your best to keep your side as light as possible while remaining firm, and ultimately, the decision had been for you to try to do little flower wristlets for Amy’s flower girls, instead of a large order of flowers.

You weren’t too thrilled to do it anymore, but a part of you felt obliged to, so you’d agreed.

It was only two days later that you had run into Amy when Matt had taken you out for dinner.

“Hey, I…” You greeted her even from a distance, trying to keep things as normal as possible.

But you didn’t miss the look on her face as she turned away, as if she was pretending not to see you.

Instinctively, you glanced up at Matt, your expression one of disbelief.

Matt just squeezed your hand but you could see the strain lines on his face which were a clear telltale sign he was using all his effort to hold back.

Matt was trying to reassure you, but the only thing you felt now was anger.

There was no more second-guessing on your part about whether you had been too harsh or too mean. You knew the answer. 

You were about to open a small side business for your crochet. All your friends, including Amy, knew that.

In fact, anyone who tried to ask you to make something for them had always offered you more than what you quoted, reminding you that friends didn’t take each other for a ride.

Amy was the exact opposite and what really grinded at you was the fact that she thought she was well within her rights to be angry at you.

You were a little confused but the anger had swallowed it all up.

“You want to go elsewhere?” Matt offered.

You glanced up at him.

If this had been anyone else, it might have made you avoid the situation altogether. But right now, the indignant feeling had turned into anger.

“Why should we? You put in so much effort into trying to get a reservation here. Let’s just have a good dinner.” You answered.

 This felt like a huge breakthrough moment for you, even Matt felt it - you could do anything you had set your mind to. 

You sat down with Matt in a corner of the restaurant, pretty sure that Matt had used one of his superpowers to get the both of you a great table and you turned your back on Amy, focusing all your energy and attention on the one person who was worth it.

Once the appetisers were served, you’d thrown Amy to the back of your mind, sinking into Matt’s company and enjoying the date night that both of you deserved. 

It was just as the both of you had stepped out after paying the bill when someone grabbed your arm. 

“Food’s great here, isn’t it?”

You blinked back in disbelief at Amy, who was smiling as if nothing had happened.  

It would have been much better if you hadn’t met her in front of the restaurant earlier. Now, you were just wondering what the hell she was doing.

Matt didn’t say anything, just stood by your side and waited.

“What are you doing?” You asked, unable to hold it back any longer. There was a slight tremor in your voice that no one but Matt picked up on. 

The saddest part was Amy used to be able to. Now, she just didn’t care.

That realization hit you hard but also allowed you to look her straight in the eye.

Frustratingly, Amy was staring at you as if she was confused by your question.

When you didn’t offer her any explanation, she swallowed and spoke, “Come on, Y/N. I told you I was on a budget. You’re my friend, I didn’t expect you to try and profit off my wedding.”

You glanced up at Matt just a little and he merely nodded in encouragement.

“Profit? Amy, you agreed to pay! You are literally the only person that has lowballed me for anything crochet related. I’m not even asking you to pay me for the prototypes or the materials used for it. Have you looked up the prices online? I’m profiting nothing.” You paused and looked her directly in the eye. “Look, I think this isn’t a good idea. “

“What are you saying? You don’t want to talk about it?” Amy asked, and you could hear the tone in her voice change slightly.

You sighed. “I’m saying I don’t think I can make anything for your wedding, or be your bridesmaid. I’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

“Y/N, you… What am I supposed to tell my family?”

You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that escaped your lips. You shouldn’t have expected anything else but the fact that she was more worried about having to explain what had happened to her family members who had always treated you as one of their own, spoke volumes.

“You can tell them what happened, Amy. Just remember that if anyone calls me, I’m telling the truth.”

Matt smiled and slung an arm around you, turning to lead you away before he paused.

He glanced back at Amy before he spoke, “She cared. She really cared and you threw it back in her face. She deserves someone who treats her as a friend.”

You tugged at Matt’s arm and Matt sighed before taking you away with him.

The journey home had been pretty silent and Matt only broke it as he closed the door behind the both of you and hung both your jackets by the door.

“You okay?”

You glanced up at him and nodded before you pulled back again and shrugged. “Kind of, you know? I’m upset but like it also feels lighter? If that makes sense.”

“It just has to make sense to you. The only thing important to me is how you are feeling right now.”

You stepped into Matt’s embrace and smiled against him. 

“With you? Matthew Casey, I’m on top of the freaking world.”

Matt smiled, leaning back enough to take a look at you before pressing his lips gently to yours in a deep kiss.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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Character taglists are open, hit me up if you would like to be added!

[pedge-page]

can you write something where pregnant reader has trouble holding her bladder and joel messes with her a bit? 🫶🏻

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife drabble - Hold It

Notes: This is NOT Piss kink, just a little Joel and Preggo reader torture amusement. I have separate PK x preggo wife request coming up soon

-

The one thing that women aren’t best at as they get older is holding their bladder. When you gotta go, you go.

And the number one thing that having a fat ass baby shoved up your uterus and pushing aside every organ and pressing the full weight of their tiny bodies on—is your fucking already-terrible-to-hold bladder.

Bumping up and down in Joel’s ugly ass truck with suspension that feels like shit because you can feel every single crevice from every single crack in the road does NOT do well for anything except stir up the amount of liquids inside you.

“Joel,” you whisper warningly, legs scrunched together.

Joel knows the difference between your “Joel” with legs scrunched together and the other “Joel” with legs scrunched together.

“You better not have to p—“

“I have to pee!”

He shakes his head with hearty laugh. “I told you to go 30 minutes ago when we were at the stop.”

“I did go,” you retort venomously. “But now I have to go again.”

“We’re 30 miles from the nearest exit. What do you want me to do?”

“Drive faster?!” Are you fucking dumb?

“We’re an hour late as is. I told you—“

“Don’t you dare fucking scold me like a child Joel Miller, this bitch needs to piss and she needs to go right fucking now.”

“You going on the side of the road?” He suggests with half hearted venom.

You whimper and shake your head. You do NOT want to squat down for a piss next to the highway on the road. You wouldn’t do it not pregnant, but definitely definitely not WHILE pregnant.

“Just—just drive faster. And shut up,” you rasp. You hold your hands between your legs and close your eyes, focusing on willing your baby to help you squeeze that lemon for once. “And don’t breathe. Or cough or just —just don’t exist.”

Joel has to wipe his face to hide the smirk on his lips. Your sheer concentration right now, all burled up and shaking side to side has him holding in a laugh.

 He checks his rear view for any signs of cops, then begins to lean into the gas more. You would pay for the turmoil you’re putting his poor truck through—not in any type of obvious payment of course, but in a more satisfying transaction.

Joel balances the wheel with one knee as he opens a bottle of water set on the dash.

He keeps his eyes on the road and makes the loudest, most grating, obnoxious slurping sounds known to man.

Your head slowly rotates towards him as if a killer hawk were seeing prey landed right next to her. He only peeks over and see the absolutely thinnest lined lips on you, and your exceedingly horrifying wide eyes ready to murder him. 

“MMmMM,” he moans, gulping down the bottle with big swallows so you can hear it sloshing down his jugular with each bob.

“You—you shithead,” you snarl.

He raises his eyebrow. “Do you want some?”

You shake your head, neck bowed low because you can’t concentrate on a scolding your asshole husband and holding your urine at the same time.

“M’ gonna ruin your seats.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be so bad. Got all kinds of your juices on here already, what’s another variety to the blend—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“Okay okay, I’m pulling off.”

You tumble out of the car before he’s even fully parked, crouching low to the ground begging to God as your last resort to keep. it. In.

Joel just puts his hands on his hips. “You gonna do It through your pants?”

shutupshutupshutupshutup Ohfuckfuckfuck.

He can hear your tiny whimpers, looks down upon his poor little wife and her even tinier bladder about to make a fool of both of them and piss yourself all over your stretchy pants—

He decides you've had enough torture.

“Gas station is 7 feet away, honey.”

You look up and lo and behold, you’re crouched in a parking lot right outside the quaint convenience station, its glowy neon signs and cigarette flyers and “2 for 3” signs illuminating like you had just won the lottery.

“OOHHHH” you gasp, sitting up and holding your vagina in your palm as you wobble into the quaint store like Road Running and down the alley to the bathroom.

Joel comes in afterwards and does the courtesy of buying a few snack for the trip. 

“Pregnant wife,” he muses to the clerk as he slams a few jerky sticks on the counter.

The two of them are startled by a very loud, satisfied moan coming from the women’s toilet room.

The clerk just chuckles and rings up the items.

-

He checks his watch again, tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently. What the fuck is taking you 20 minutes?

Its not until the gas station door chime goes off outside as the door swings open, and you’re coming out with a 32 oz Big Gulp cup of Frozen Pepsi ICEE while happily waving goodbye to the clerk as you waddle back to the car.

You settle your bumbum into the seat with a little wiggle and slam the truck door closed, sipping away happily with two hands fisting the styrofoam cup.

Joel has one arm over the steering wheel, facing you with a frown and deadpan eyes glancing between you and your cup the size of Africa, your annoying slurps filling the silent car.

You don’t pick up on his silent aggravation at all, offering him a chipmunk smile. “M-ready now,“ you chirp.

He grits his teeth while looking at the cup you can’t even wrap your fingers around. Holds his tongue and doesn’t say anything, faces forward and turns the key into ignition.

-

25 minutes later, with your empty Big Gulp cup rolling around on the floor mat:

“Um, J-Joel,” you warn again, this time voice wavering timidly. “Joel, I have to—“

“NO!” 

- - - -

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[bellarkeselection]

We’re All Family Here

Reader is Carter’s younger sister and she has a prosthetic leg and the reader is worried that Rip and Beth will kick her off the ranch if they found out. Wattpad request from - @Quackity_bwead

Pulling down the Jean of my right leg I sighed staring at myself in the mirror that was in my room in Rip and Beth’s house. My brother Carter was already up for work in the barn but I got to sleep in this morning which was rare. Walking out of the house I headed to the barn with large Y above the doorway. The sun had just started to rise above the mountains and everybody was busy already working. Taking my horse out of the stall I climbed on feeling my fake leg hanging over. “Alright boy, let’s go.”

Kicking my horse we rode off towards the sunset with the wind running through my hair. I was wearing a tan dark cowgirl hat and my hair was tied in a braid. Riding through the fields I saw my older brother Carter who was trying to rope a cafe but it started running at me. “Y/n, watch out!” He cried when the cafe got underneath my horses leg and it spooked causing the horse to throw me off its back.

“Sis I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get a good hold on it.” My brother apologized coming over on his horse while Ryan rode past me to go grab my horse that had ran off somewhere else.

Rubbing the back of my neck I winced feeling some pain but it wasn’t as bas I have normally been through. Shifting my gaze away from my brother I saw that Rip was riding over to us. He dismounted his horse quickly dropping himself on a knee in front of me. “What the hell happened, kid. You can’t be injuring any of our guys!..are you hurt Y/n?”

“No just sore a little.” I shook my head not understanding why his deep brown eyes seemed to be filled with concern.

Rip moved closer to me touching my right leg and he pulled up the fabric of my pant. Once he saw something odd sticking out of your pant leg he knew something must be wrong. “Then what exactly is wrong with your leg here?” He questioned me where I finally noticed that he had seen my fake leg.

“I….uh….” I yanked my leg back feeling my face turn red being embarrassed over this. Carter wasn’t with me the night of the accident. I was just driving back to our place with our dead beat dad until someone rear ended me harshly.

Rip saw that I wasn’t going to answer him so he called to Ryan who had brought back my horse. “Ryan, take her back to the ranch.” Getting to my feet I climbed back on my horse and followed the ranch hand back to the ranch then he went back to work like Rip had asked him.

Laying on my bed inside my room I stared at the ceiling in silence and a pit of nervousness. Sitting upright I knew I had messed up or more so my brother had. I had done my best to keep the fact that I had a prosthetic leg a secret. In fear that if they knew I would be removed from the ranch. Someone came down the hallway and I lifted my head up seeing it was Beth. “Hi mom….uh what’s up?” I nervously asked since she had just started letting me call her that.

“I heard about your fall today from Rip. I’m happy you shook it off but we need to talk about something.” She entered the bedroom before I saw that Rip was also walking in behind her heels.

Playing with my thumbs in my lap I avoided their gazes when they came to sit down on the bed. Well Beth did leaving Rip standing directly in front of me. “So are you going to tell me about your leg or no?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it…” I gulped trailing off in my response already knowing the answer they would give me.

It was hard enough for Carter to prove that he would be a good worker. I already was a good hand but the fake leg wasn’t a good look. John Dutton had the greatest ranch in Montana and that means he should have close to the best people working for him. “You better tell us otherwise things will get ugly.” Beth warned me with her annoyed look and I froze knowingly.

"It's...it's about my prosthetic leg..." Rolling my pants leg, I made it visible to their gaze, and I didn't dare make eye contact with either of them. "I didn't want to tell you about it because I've been sp terrified of what you would say. Even though I get my work done, nobody else on this ranch has one. So I....just assumed that you would kick me off the ranch over it."

Rip put his hands on his hips, tilting my head to the side slightly. "That's totally ridiculous, Y/n. We would never do that."

"This family may be complicated, but we don't abandon our family members." Beth shifted on her spot on the bed, grasping my hand in hers.

Hanging my mouth open I couldn't believe it. "Really but I thought that-"

"That what us having some cowboys from the prison and others in debt wouldn't have given you the message that we take in the trouble so they can have a home." Rip declared, coming to sit down beside me, tucking hair behind my ear.

I parted my lips without thinking I fling my arms around his neck hugging him tightly. Rip stiffened up at the embrace but calmed down after a second and wrapped his arms around me with the same comfort. “Thank you….I didn’t think you would let me stay.” I sniffed against his chest.

“Anyone who has a problem with that will have to deal with me.” Beth responded after I hugged her and she actually hugged me back too to my surprise. I smiled at the pair knowing that Carter and I were gonna do really good here. This wasn’t just a rnhc, it was a family for everybody.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Four: Fault Lines

Chapter WC: 13,262

Chapter Tags/Warnings: this chapter is 50% awkward flirting and teasing and the other 50% is arguing and scene setting and existential dread

A/N: Point of order for military stuff that's happening in these next couple chapters: the 501st is typically referred to in canon as a battalion. I'm making some assumptions that they grow to the size of a legion by the end of the war, though they're still a battalion by the time the Umbara arc happens according to canon. Yes, it's a kids show and they play it pretty fast and loose with the terms but I can't stomach ambiguity SO! At this point, the 501st is a battalion.

A legion is the same thing as a brigade. Goldie and Booker as Senior Commander lead the 419th Brigade, which is comprised of 4 regiments or 16 battalions, or up to 9,216 troops total. Just to give you an idea of size. I spent forever building her army and naval forces, and I could keep yapping but that’s not what we’re here for lol enjoy the chapter 🫡

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Duro, 20 BBY

Duro is an industrial world, and not one you'd ever desired to visit. It's a grim, polluted planet, with few natural resources and an atmosphere thick with pollution. The factories that litter the landscape are a testament to the greed and avarice of the corporations who own them, and the few workers left to maintain them are often treated little better than slaves. The planet's only saving grace is the flotilla of orbital cities, floating above the surface, where the majority of the inhabitants live.

There's an air of desperation down here on the surface, a sense of hopelessness, and it's not hard to see why. The Duro have wrung every last drop of profit from their world, stripping it bare and leaving nothing but ruins. They're a race in decline, clinging to their fading legacy with grim determination.

The Republic has managed to maintain control of the planet with a small garrison of troops stationed at a posting called the Equatorial Communications Hub. The hub is a series of towers, each housing a relay connected to the orbital cities by a network of repulsorlift tubes. It's an ugly building that juts out like a spike amongst the ruins in the distance, its white exterior stark against the dark sky, and the Republic's flag flies proudly from the top.

You look around as your gunship flies over the factories and the crumbling buildings streaking past below. It's an eerie sight, a ghost town, and it's easy to imagine how much worse the situation could become if the Separatists gain a foothold. You can't help but think of Nadiem, the image of the burned, bombed-out buildings and the piles of rubble fresh in your mind. The same thing could happen here, if the 501st and your forces aren't successful.

"It's a damn wasteland," Wise calls out over the hum of the gunship's engines. He leans over, glancing down at the row of factories, his face pinched with distaste. "What a shithole."

"Remind me why we have to land here?" Snap asks from the copilot's seat, bracing his arm against the cockpit as the ship rocks violently. "It looks like it's gonna blow up at any secon—hey! Watch it!"

"I'm trying," Dash snaps, his eyes focused on the controls. He eases the ship around a smoking tower, narrowly avoiding a collision, and the squad lets out a collective sigh of relief. “You try flying in this mess and see how you do, okay?"

"Someone's touchy today," Screwball observes from the back of the ship. He's fiddling with his rocket launcher, inspecting the charge and checking the power level. "You get up on the wrong side of the bed, little brother?"

"Oh, fuck off," Dash mutters, and you can't help but smile as he shoots Screwball a look of annoyance that translates through his helmet. "I'm trying not to get us killed. So maybe focus on that instead of harassing me."

Screwball opens his mouth to retort, but Wise clears his throat, his voice booming over the comm.

"Enough," he commands, and the two of them fall silent. "Save it for the clankers."

Screwball nods, turning his attention back to his weapon. Dash sighs, and you reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. He's been tense since the battle on Nadiem, the strain showing in the tightness of his shoulders and the weariness in his eyes.

He's not the only soldier who's been affected, though. The rest of the men are tired too, the months spent in and out of combat without respite having taken a toll. They're all dealing with it in their own ways, but for some, the burden has been harder to bear.

Snap is usually the most laid-back member of the squad, but you've noticed that even he has become more serious, his usual jokes and quips replaced by grim silence. Wise has been snapping at everyone, and Screwball seems to be constantly on the verge of a breakdown, oscillating between bouts of manic energy and depressive moods. And Dash...well, he's just exhausted. He's been working twice as hard to cover for his brothers, and it's not going unnoticed.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur, and Dash nods, his hands tightening on the controls. You can see the faint tremors in his fingers, the result of too many hours awake, and you sigh.

You've barely had any sleep yourself, your dreams haunted by visions of destruction and death. The images are getting clearer, more detailed, and they're becoming harder and harder to ignore. You're no closer to understanding them, and it's been an exhausting effort.

But the Force is telling you that it's important. It’s giving you the tools, the warnings, and you have to trust that it will show you the way. Even if it means sacrificing your sleep and your sanity.

And, hopefully, this time, it'll be worth it.

“Really,” you insist. You squeeze his shoulder, trying to convey the sincerity of your words. "I know it hasn't been easy, but you're doing a great job. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," he mumbles, his head dipping forward. You can't see his face, but you can sense his relief. He relaxes for a moment until the ship shudders as a gust of wind buffets it, the hull groaning in protest, and his spine stiffens. “I think I'm getting better at this flying thing.”

"I'll say," you remark, watching as he guides the ship around a towering factory billowing smoke into the air. "It's been, what, two months since you've had a crash?"

He snorts, and you know he's rolling his eyes, though he’d never do that in front of you directly. 

“I’m serious,” you laugh and pat his shoulder. “Keep this up, and I might even let you fly my fighter.”

“Really?”

His head snaps towards you, and his voice is so hopeful that you can't help but smile.

You've spent a lot of time with the clones under your command over the past few months, and it's a privilege to see their personalities come to the fore, to watch them evolve into individuals, rather than just identical soldiers.

Dash has been particularly receptive to your efforts. His eagerness to learn and his natural affinity for technology has made him Maelstrom Company's de facto pilot under Snap, and the responsibility has allowed him to step out of his brothers' shadows and into his own. And as he's grown, so has his confidence. You've watched him go from a nervous, shy kid to a capable soldier, and you're proud of the progress he's made.

And he's not the only trooper who's improved. The rest of the squad have made similar strides, and you've seen them all blossom, each man finding his own niche within the 419th and discovering his strengths and weaknesses. It makes you a bit sentimental, and a lot proud. They've become more than just soldiers, and you’re well aware that you’ve grown attached, far more than you probably should be.

It's something you never expected, at least not to this extent. You'd never wanted a command of your own, never wanted to be a general, content to let Obi-Wan do all the leading and all the commanding.  And the idea of being responsible for so many lives had scared you, especially considering your past. You'd had no choice in the matter, and you'd accepted your role with a sense of resignation. 

But as the weeks and months had passed, you'd slowly come to realize that it wasn't the burden you'd expected. It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, and the losses and the deaths weighed heavily on you. But there was something rewarding about the work, a sense of purpose and a sense of accomplishment. You were able to help people, and make friends while doing it, and that was something you could get used to.

"Maybe," you say, giving Dash a playful smile. "We'll see."

He chuckles and returns his focus to the controls, his shoulders squared with determination. The ship shudders again, and you brace yourself against the wall as the viewport fills with a haze of grey. The men curse and complain, their voices rising over the roar of the engines, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap at them.

Dash guides the ship into a sharp turn, the engines whining in protest. The turbines kick in before the ship levels out again. You all breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, we’ve got movement on the ground, coming from the eastern quadrant of the city," Snap reports. A squadron of droids lumbers through the empty streets in the distance, heading towards the hub. "Looks like an entire company, at least."

You study the group, watching as the droids march in formation. They're moving quickly, and you can see the blaster bolts flashing as they fire into the windows of the surrounding buildings. Your intel suggests this part of the city has long since been abandoned, but it doesn't seem to stop the droids from continuing their attack.

"There's no civilians there, right?" you ask warily.

"No sir," Snap confirms. "All civilians were relocated to the orbital platforms, and the area was deemed secure."

"I'm going to make a low pass," Dash announces. "Check for heat signatures."

You nod, and Dash pushes the controls, dropping the ship towards the city below. He's careful in his movements, weaving between the towering shells of factories and the crumbling remnants of the city's infrastructure. 

The men around you lean forward, watching intently, their eyes fixed on the droids. The gunship drops lower until its belly skims the rooftops of the lower buildings, and the droids come into focus, the dim sunlight glinting off their metal plating.

“I’m not picking up any organics," Snap reports, studying the scanner. “We should—“

The radio crackles, and a voice cuts in.

“Gunship 2899, this is 501st Captain Rex, what is your location? Over.”

The men exchange a glance, and you lean over, bracing on Dash's shoulder as you activate the comm.

"This is General Anathorn," you answer. "We are inbound to the rendezvous point. What's your status, Captain?"

“Engaging enemy forces, General,” Rex replies, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Care to join us?”

You can't help but smile, and the men chuckle, shaking their heads. You feel a flutter of excitement, the anticipation of seeing Rex again causing your heart to beat a little faster. You've missed him more than you'd ever expected, and the thought of being together, fighting side by side, it fills you with a sense of relief that’s almost staggering.

It'll be good to have him back. And even better to fight beside him.

"I think we can manage that," you answer, and Rex's answering chuckle echoes through the cabin. 

Behind you is a chorus of groans and gagging noises, and you turn, glaring at the rest of the men. They pretend not to notice, staring studiously out the viewport or checking their weapons. You roll your eyes, and the comm crackles, Rex's voice ringing out once more.

"Copy that, sir," he says, his voice betraying his smile.

"See you soon, Captain," you murmur.

“Looking forward to it.”

The line cuts out in a burst of static, and you step back, trying not to look too eager. You cross your arms, clearing your throat, and turn to face the men. You can feel their barely-contained amusement through the Force, and you try to ignore the flush of heat creeping up your neck.

"Don't say a word," you warn, but it’s too late. The cabin explodes with laughter and cheers, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

It's good-natured, and they mean well, but it's still embarrassing.

You'd thought you'd been subtle in hiding your affection for Rex, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that your efforts had been futile. More than once, the men have caught you messaging and comming him, and their reactions have ranged from concern to bemusement to downright delight. They'd always seemed supportive, even approving, but their behavior as the hours counted down until your reunion has turned their teasing from gentle ribbing into outright harassment.

They were enjoying this, and you weren't sure how to feel about it. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways this could end badly if you decided to actually do something about the feelings you've harbored for the clone captain. So much could go wrong. 

But at the same time, there was an ache inside, a longing, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore. And with the way the men were behaving, you were beginning to think it might be okay to act on those feelings. At least a little. If the opportunity arose. Maybe.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Screwball asks, his voice thick with laughter.

"Denied," you mutter, and the men snicker.

Snap covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter, before his shoulders finally straighten. "What's the plan, General?"

"The plan is to land, kill every single droid in our path, and save the Republic," you answer. You cross your arms, trying to hide your embarrassment, and give them a pointed look. "Any questions?"

A few hands raise. You roll your eyes.

"Any questions not about my personal life?"

They put their hands down, and you nod.

"Good."

The gunship banks, and the men brace themselves as it drops towards the street below, weaving through buildings and dodging explosions erupting from the ground. Screwball and another trooper slide open the doors before they kneel and arm their rocket launchers, two troopers poised on either side to provide cover. You can see flashes of light in the distance, and the distinctive boom of exploding ordnance echoes through the cabin.

A group of droids rounds the corner in formation, firing at the approaching gunship. The rockets launch, streaking towards the droids, and the resulting explosion is deafening, a cloud of smoke billowing out and engulfing the street. The men cheer as the ship rockets through the plume and joins two more of your gold-painted gunships, the trio descending in a wedge formation.

“Focus on the tanks,” you order over the comms. "Scramble the fighters and begin aerial strikes. Let's try to minimize the damage."

You look out the open door and watch as the three ships separate, each flying along a different trajectory. The droids in the distance are a sea of black and gray, their blasters flashing as they return fire. You can see the blue armor of the 501st slowly advancing, the clones moving in formation and using the cover of the buildings to their advantage. Your eyes roam the field, and your breath catches as you finally catch a glimpse of the one you’re searching for.

Before you can overthink your decision, you step up to the open doors and unclip your lightsabers from your belt. A cool breeze blows past your face, ruffling your hair and tugging at the sleeves of your robes, and the scent of smoke fills your nose. 

"Cover me," you order.

Screwball lets out a quiet chuckle. "You got it, sir."

He readies his rocket launcher, aiming at the nearest group of droids, and fires. The missile soars through the air, and the droids are engulfed in a flash of orange and red, the explosion rocking the ship. 

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, and close your eyes. And then, you leap.

The wind rushes past your ears as you plummet, your body arcing gracefully through the air. You land in a crouch and ignite your sabers, deflecting the bolts that fly in your direction before you push out, sending a shockwave that knocks the nearest droids off their feet.

You sprint forward, closing the distance, and slash through the droids, cutting them down with a flurry of strikes. The metal parts clatter to the ground, and the droids fall, their circuits sparking and sputtering.

A gunship swoops down and fires down at the droids, and you take advantage of the distraction, sprinting through the street and cutting down the machines in your path.

“You really know how to make an entrance," a voice calls from behind you as a familiar warmth blooms in the back of your mind.

A thrill runs through you, and you turn and find Rex approaching, his pistols drawn and firing rapidly. He ducks and weaves, his shots finding their targets, and the droids collapse in a heap of scrap.

"I was trying to impress you,” you shout back. "Did it work?"

"Mission accomplished," he jokes. You block another shot, and he takes a step closer, covering your flank. The two of you stand back-to-back, a familiar position, and you can't help but grin. It's good to have him at your side again.

"You seem to be doing well," you remark as your squad disembarks from the gunships, landing in the midst of the battle. They fan out among the 501st, forming ranks and returning fire. "How are things here?"

“Just another day at the office,” Rex quips, and you snort, rolling your eyes. He takes down two droids with two precise shots and tilts his helmet toward you. “Your boys been behaving?"

"As well as can be expected," you reply. You throw your blade, impaling a droid, and it slumps to the ground. You catch the blade as it returns to your hand and twirl, deflecting a blast and slicing through another droid. "Though they've been getting a little out of hand lately."

"Out of hand, huh?" he asks. His tone is curious, but you can sense the hint of worry in the back of your mind.

"Nothing I can't handle," you assure him. "They're just teasing."

"Teasing?" he repeats, and the question is heavy with implications. "What about?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. A little too quickly. "Just...nothing."

You're saved from further questioning by a sudden barrage of blaster fire. You duck and roll behind the nearest cover, Rex following suit. You both kneel, peering around the corner. A tank sits at the center of the battlefield, firing relentlessly, and you sigh, rubbing your temples. There's a headache coming on.

"What are the odds that you're going to let me deal with the tank while you stay here?" you ask. Rex shakes his head, and you huff, unsurprised. "I didn't think so."

"No, but thanks for asking this time," he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Fine," you mumble. "Any other ideas?"

Rex gives a nod, tapping the side of his helmet. "Yeah. Just give me a minute."

His attention turns back to the battle, and you take the opportunity to study him, his armor and the lines of his helmet. The familiar jaig eyes emblazoned on the front of his helmet are freshly painted, the only similarity between this set of armor and his old one besides the blue pauldron. 

You’ve grown used to seeing the phase two clone armor among your troops, but to see it on him feels strange. It's a reminder that the war has changed, and that the men, the clones, are evolving too.

But despite the new armor and the fresh paint, it's still him. Still Rex. You can feel his presence, his mind, his emotions. And you can feel his affection, a warmth in his aura that radiates from him and seeps into your own. He's clearly happy to see you, and the knowledge of it eases the doubts in your mind, soothing the fears you've harbored.

The war has taken its toll, but he's still here, and he's still yours.

Rex notices your stare and turns towards you, a question in the tilt of his head. You don't bother to hide the fact that you're looking him over, and he clears his throat.

"What?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. 

You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, your thumb running along the line where the old fascia plating meets the new. Rex goes still with a slight intake of breath, his hands tightening around his blasters.

"This looks good," you tell him as your hand drifts down, touching the side of his chest plate over his ribs. There's another welded seam where the plastoid plates are joined, the edges smooth and polished. "Did you weld this yourself?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. I did," he answers, his voice strained. He shifts slightly under your scrutiny, his emotions fluttering like a bird caught in a net. "Too attached to the old look, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you're still you," you tease as your hand falls back to the hilt of your lightsaber. You shrug a shoulder and turn, looking out over the field. “I’ll miss the old pauldron, though.”

Rex lets out a huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You can try to stab me again, leave your mark on this one too," he jokes, gesturing to the blue pauldron jutting out from his shoulder. "If it'll make you feel better."

"Don't tempt me."

Before either of you can say anything more, a sudden blast erupts. The ground shudders as the tank's shell explodes, sending a plume of smoke into the air. You both turn and peer around the edge of your cover, and you're surprised to find a crater where the tank once stood, its metal shell shredded and its engines smoking.

"Huh," you mutter. "Guess we don't have to do anything after all."

"Looks like the boys are enjoying themselves," Rex chuckles, nodding towards the group of 501st and the 419th as they charge the droids. "We should probably get in there."

"Right behind you, Captain," you reply, and the two of you emerge from cover.

You leap across the street, and the battle is on. The droids are already scrambling to regroup, but their efforts are futile. Your squads close ranks, firing on the enemy with practiced precision. At your side, Rex picks off the stragglers while you deflect the bolts that fly in his direction, using the Force and your blades to guide their trajectory away from his armor.

Within minutes, the field is littered with metal parts and smoking wreckage. The 501st cheer as they take down the final droid, and you sheathe your lightsabers, watching the men celebrate.

Rex holsters his blasters and leans against the pile of debris, breathing heavily. His helmet tilts towards you, and a breathless laugh escapes his lips as you join him, resting your back against the same chunk of rock. The two of you look out over the field, the silence broken by the occasional burst of cheering and laughter.

"It's good to see you," he says softly.

"It's good to see you too," you reply, your tone fond, and you reach out and lay a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answers. He lifts his hand, his fingers curling around yours. "Just tired."

“Liar,” you tease, giving him a small smile, and he huffs a laugh.

"Maybe a little," he admits. Rex's thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, and you lean closer, pressing your shoulder against his. "Things have been rough lately. I've missed having you around."

"Yeah," you agree. You turn towards him, and the two of you face each other, the silence heavy with words unsaid. "Me too."

The moment stretches, and Rex's free hand reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His blond hair is damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes are tired, but the affection in them is unmistakable. It's a look you're familiar with, and the sight of it never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

"So," he begins, his mouth curving into a smile. "You want to tell me what's going on with your boys?"

You groan and close your eyes, and Rex chuckles, shaking his head. You can feel his eyes on you, studying your face, and you can't help but flush a little under the intensity of his gaze.

"Is it that bad?" he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice. "Is someone giving you trouble? Booker should know better."

"It's not like that," you say, opening your eyes and meeting his. He frowns, his expression thoughtful, and you sigh. "I'll tell you later. We've got work to do."

"If you're sure," he says, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sure," you insist, and you push off the wall. The rest of the troops are approaching, the 501st and 419th converging in the middle of the field. Your men greet their brothers, and a small crowd forms, the 501st exchanging handshakes and friendly ribbing with your men. Fives is among them, and he greets the members of the 419th like they're old friends, clapping them on the back and laughing.

You're happy to see the camaraderie between the two squads, and it's nice to see the 501st mingling with your troops. Rex is at the center of it all, trying to maintain some semblance of order, but his attempts are halfhearted at best. He's smiling, a wide grin, and you can't help but stare.

The 419th had never gotten much interaction with the rest of the army before, and it had made for a lonely experience. You've been in the Outer Rim for over three months, trudging through jungles and swamps and the occasional desert. But rarely have you done so with another army nearby. You'd often wondered if the isolation was on purpose, or if the 419th had simply fallen through the cracks. Whatever the case, the result had been the same, and you're grateful that the situation has changed.

You watch them all with a small smile, your thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of your nose in an attempt to stave off the headache building in your skull.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

"General!" Fives calls, catching your attention. He waves at you with a bright grin. "Over here!"

You roll your eyes, but join him anyway, the others clearing a path for you. The men stand to attention as you approach, and Fives gives a lazy salute. 

"Good to see you, sir," he greets. "Been awhile."

"At ease," you tell him, and the men relax, dropping their hands. You give his shoulder a pat. "How are things? Everyone holding up?"

"We're hanging in there," Fives answers. You tilt your head, trying to get a read on his emotions, and he seems...happy, his aura calm and unbothered. You're relieved. Fives has had a rough go of things lately, and you're happy to see him looking well.

"Good. We're glad to have you," you say.

"We're glad to have you too, sir. We missed you," he replies. There's a teasing note to his voice, and his grin widens, his eyes glittering with mischief. He glances at Rex. "Some of us more than others."

There's a chorus of snickers, and you fight the urge to groan as Rex stiffens. The teasing has officially begun.

"Thanks, Fives," you mutter, and he just shrugs, unfazed by the dryness of your tone. Rex, on the other hand, is practically radiating embarrassment. It's kind of cute.

"Hey, no problem, sir," Fives replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He steps forward, and a low, conspiratorial murmur fills the space. "He's been insufferable, by the way."

Rex's face pinches in annoyance. "Fives."

"He's been moping, sir," Fives continues, ignoring his captain. "He wouldn't stop complaining about the comm traffic."

"Fives." Rex's tone is a warning, and Fives turns, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he defends.

"Well, stop helping," Rex snaps. The 419th all exchange knowing looks, the 501st snickering amongst themselves, and he sighs. "Let's just...get back to work, shall we?"

"Yes, sir," Fives responds, and he shoots you a wink. "We'll see you later, General."

He gives a quick salute and turns on his heel, marching off with the rest of the 501st. They break apart, the clones heading towards their various squads and companies, and Rex gives you one final look before heading off to rejoin them. You can't help but watch him walk away, and the men of the 419th all chuckle, nudging each other and smirking.

"Get moving," you order, and they salute, heading towards the command post and their assigned duties. You sigh and follow after them, wondering how many times you can repeat the same words before they'll listen.

As the two armies make the trek toward the hub, the city stretches out around you, a sea of gray buildings and smoke-belching factories. The sun is low in the sky, and the air is filled with the haze of pollution, a thick blanket of smog hanging low over the buildings. 

It's a depressing sight, and you can't help but notice the destruction. Broken windows and scorched walls, shattered glass and twisted metal, and the occasional skeleton of a destroyed tank or an abandoned transport. It's a graveyard, and the thought causes a sharp pang in your chest. This planet was already dying, and the war is only accelerating the process.

The Republic and the Separatists are little better than the corporations that have stripped Duro bare. They've come to pillage and plunder, to take what they can and leave nothing behind. And they're destroying a planet that was already struggling. A planet that could have been saved, had they been wiser.

But these are thoughts for another day.

You're tired, and your mind is foggy, the exhaustion of the past weeks catching up to you. You're still feeling the effects of the visions, the strain of using the Force and the toll of the sleepless nights, and it's hard to focus. Your steps are sluggish, and the ache in your head has returned, a dull throb behind your eyes.

The men notice, of course, and they give you concerned glances. Without speaking, Snap drops back and takes Booker's usual place at your side. The two of you fall in step, and he clears his throat.

"The rest of the men just arrived at the hub," he says quietly, his hand finding your elbow, steadying you. "I had Dash fly ahead. He said the comms are a mess. Apparently there was some kind of power failure earlier today, and they haven't been able to restore service. He thinks the Separatists are jamming the signal to the flotillas."

"And the fleet," you guess, and he nods. You sigh. You're starting to regret the lack of sleep. You'd been so focused on the mission, trying to compensate for Booker’s absence, and now, you're paying the price. You stifle a yawn, blinking the exhaustion away. "How are Anakin and Ahsoka?"

"Eager to get started," Snap answers. He guides you around a piece of debris, careful not to jostle you too much. "They want to start a recon mission tonight."

"Of course they do." You rub your eyes and lean further into his hold. "I don't know about you, but I could use some rest before we go chasing after any more droids."

"Agreed, sir," Snap replies, his grip tightening on your elbow. "Let's take it easy, okay?"

"Okay."

It's quiet, and you can tell the men are listening in, even as they try to pretend otherwise. Their concern is almost stifling, their auras full of worry and affection, and it's hard not to be overwhelmed.

You know that they care about you. It's not a new realization. But it's still a strange feeling, being surrounded by people who are invested in your wellbeing. You'd only just recently gotten used to Booker's constant worrying, his hovering and the way he seemed to know your moods better than you did. And now, he's not here, and the role has been passed on to Snap, who seems to have taken it upon himself to be your self-appointed caretaker.

You can't really blame him. You know you haven't been yourself lately, and the fact that you've been neglecting your own health is something you can't ignore.

It's just hard to remember, sometimes.

"Wise said he has something for you, if you want," Snap tells you. "For the headache."

"He always does," you sigh. You glance up at him, studying his expression, and he tilts his head, waiting patiently. "Is he mad?"

"He's Wise," Snap says, and you can't help but snort. That's a yes. "He'll get over it."

"He's worried about you," Screwball chimes in from behind you. "He always is. That's just how he is."

"I'm fine," you protest. They both gives you pointed looks, and you relent, sighing. "Okay. Maybe not fine. But I will be."

"You should have said something sooner," Screwball scolds, and the men around him nod. "We could have helped."

"I know," you admit. 

You're not sure what else to say. They've given up so much for you already. You're not sure how to tell them that they've already done more than you could ever ask for. They've followed every order, every command. They've trusted your judgment, even though it's led to countless close calls and far too many brushes with death. They've taken your extra training in stride without complaint. And they've become more than soldiers. They're your friends, and you know how lucky you are.

"It's just a headache," you tell him. "Nothing to worry about."

Screwball doesn't look convinced, but Snap gives him a stern look, the two of them having some kind of silent conversation. They share a nod, and Screwball falls back, rejoining the others. Snap releases his grip on your elbow and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Come on," he mutters. "Almost there.”

Your men are quiet for the rest of the journey, and the streets are empty, save for a stray droid here and there. The clones make quick work of them without you ever having to raise a hand, and by the time you reach the command post, the sun is low in the sky.

The hub is a massive building, a spiked tower rising above the surface of the city. It's an ugly mixture of modern utilitarian architecture and the ancient style of Duro's long-forgotten civilization, a reminder of a forgotten past, and the sight fills you with a sense of foreboding as you approach. The repulsorlifts connecting the hub to the flotillas have been shuttered, and the building looms, dark and ominous, against the setting sun.

Rex leads the way up the ramp and into the building, the rest of the men following close behind. You hang back, your gaze fixed on the tower. It feels as though the atmosphere itself is holding its breath, the air heavy with anticipation.

The door hisses open, and you turn, following the others inside.

The interior of the building is dark and gloomy, the hallways lit only by dim, flickering lights. The walls are bare metal, and the floors are lined with cables and conduits snaking through the corridor. It's a labyrinthine structure of hallways and empty rooms, and it takes you a moment to get your bearings.

Snap stays close, a silent sentinel at your side as the others form up around you. The two of you keep an eye on Rex’s back as you walk, and you can see him glance over his shoulder every so often in your direction as if checking to make sure you’re still there. You meet his gaze each time and give him a reassuring smile.

You walk until the hallway branches off, a makeshift sign directing toward the medbay the Republic has set up in the lower levels. Snap slows to a stop and nudges your arm.

“I’m gonna go talk to Wise and see if he has anything for your headache," he says. He pauses and glances at the group ahead of you. "You'll be okay?"

"Yes, Snap," you sigh, and he narrows his eyes and turns his head, cupping a hand over the side of his mouth.

“Hey Rex,” Snap calls out. Rex stills, the rest of the squad following suit. "I'm going to see if the Chief has anything for our General. Think you can keep her out of trouble until I get back?"

“Snap,” you hiss. He shrugs and turns back, a smug smirk on his face. You shake your head. "I'm fine."

Rex chuckles and turns, his expression playful.

"I think I can manage," he replies, and Snap gives him a salute, disappearing down the hallway. You're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, the remaining members of the 419th giving you curious looks. You roll your eyes and start walking.

"I should be offended by that," you mutter as Rex falls into step beside you, letting Fives take the lead.

"Nah," he replies. "It's good. They're just looking out for you."

"They're treating me like I'm fragile," you grumble.

"They're treating you like a sister," Rex corrects. He tilts his head towards the men, his voice soft. "Which isn't too far off."

"You're not helping," you grumble. You give him a sidelong glance, and he shrugs. "I can't believe they're doing this."

"I can," he retorts. His voice is gentle, and his eyes are bright. "You deserve it. And honestly, I'm glad. After the last time we saw each other—"

"Let's not talk about that," you interrupt, and he gives a quiet huff. "Please."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to," you mutter. Rex gives you a skeptical look, and you sigh. "It's just...I'm not sure how to...talk about it."

"Then we won't," he agrees. He's silent for a moment, and you can feel him studying your face. "For now."

"Thanks," you whisper, and he hums.

You walk in silence after that. You're acutely aware of Rex's presence next to you, the familiarity of his mind. It's comforting, and you're reminded again how much you've missed him. Even his emotions, which are often tumultuous, are a comfort. They're warm and affectionate, and they fill the space around you, wrapping you in a soft blanket.

It's nice. But it's also incredibly distracting.

By the time the squad emerges from the hallway, you're a jumbled mess of emotion. You're tired, and your head is pounding, and the last thing you need is another round of teasing. But with Anakin, you know there's no chance of avoiding it.

The rest of the clones disperse, and you and Rex continue on through the command center, a large, open space with the ceiling extending far overhead. There are catwalks lining the upper floors, and a series of computer consoles are arranged in neat rows, each console manned by a clone or a droid. 

Rex leads you towards a raised dais with a holotable in the center of the room. Anakin and Ahsoka are there, along with several other members of the 501st, including Jesse. The trooper stands to the side, his arms crossed, and he greets Rex with a curt nod before his eyes slide over to you. A slight smile touches his lips, and it only widens when he takes in how close Rex is hovering next to you.

You roll your eyes. You're not sure why you assumed he'd be any less insufferable than the others. Jesse had been the one to tell you, explicitly, that Rex was in love with you, but he'd done so with such a straight face and had been so unflappable in the aftermath that it was hard to imagine him still teasing you about the potential relationship.

But apparently his patience and self-control were only a ruse, and he was just as bad as the rest of the men. You can only imagine what Rex had to endure in your absence.

Ahsoka looks up and meets your gaze, her expression shifting from frustration to relief as you and Rex ascend the steps. You're struck by how different she looks, her blue eyes still bright and full of life, but her expression older, her features sharper, and her aura heavier. She's grown since the last time you saw her, and the war has left its mark.

Still, though, she smiles just as brightly as ever, her excitement and happiness radiating through the Force. She darts around the holotable and embraces you in a hug.

"Master Anathorn," she exclaims, her voice muffled against your shoulder. You laugh and return the hug, giving her a squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," you reply, and you step back, taking her in. "You've gotten taller."

"Have I?" she asks, her eyes crinkling.

"You have," you confirm.

She glances over her shoulder at her master, and you follow her gaze. Anakin is leaning against the holotable, his arms crossed. His gaze is fixed on the map, but he's clearly listening to the conversation. He looks older too, his hair slightly longer, his eyes a bit more tired, but there's still a spark of mischief in his gaze. He meets your eyes and gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Took you long enough.”

"Nice to see you too, Anakin," you sigh.

"Glad to have you back, Goldie," he replies, breaking out into a grin. He rounds the table and approaches, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze before he steps away. You grimace, and Ahsoka snickers.

"I forgot how much I hated that nickname," you grumble. "Any chance you'll stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Anakin replies easily. You shake your head and glance at Rex, who's watching the exchange with a mix of bemusement and annoyance.

Anakin follows your gaze, trailing down to where Rex is still hovering on the step behind you, his hand balanced on the railing next to your hip. You can't help but notice how close he is, his armor almost brushing your back. Anakin arches a brow and smirks.

"Captain," Anakin greets. "You're late."

"Sorry, sir," Rex replies, his voice tight. He hesitates, glancing down at his hand, and shifts back, clearing his throat and tucking his hand behind his back. "We were delayed."

"Oh? By what?"

Rex clears his throat. "Droids."

"We were fighting your battles for you, evidently," you add with a glare. You're not sure what game Anakin is playing, but you don't like it, and the urge to defend Rex is too strong to ignore. "You could have at least mentioned that we had a Separatist blockade to deal with. Or did you forget about us?"

"We didn't forget about you," Ahsoka interjects quickly. She gives her master a look, and he holds up his hands, his expression innocent. "We're glad you made it."

"Thank you, Ahsoka," you say. You glance at Anakin and scowl. "It's nice to know some people have manners."

Anakin just smirks. Ahsoka sighs and turns, and Rex falls into step beside you as the four of you crowd around the table. There’s a brief, featherlight touch on the small of your back, a flash of gratitude in the Force, and the contact sends a shiver up your spine. You give him a sidelong look and find his expression is carefully neutral, his gaze focused on the holomap. His fingers twitch against the hilt of his blaster.

"Okay, well, let's get started," Anakin says, turning his attention back to the holotable. He waves a hand over the display, and a series of images and data files appear. "The Separatists have managed to cut off communications from the flotilla and are jamming our transmissions to the fleet. We need to get the signals back up, and soon."

He pauses, his gaze moving over the gathered group.

"Our intelligence suggests the Separatists are using a signal jammer located somewhere in the city," Anakin continues, pointing near the hub. "We’re guessing it’s a distraction while they prepare for their assault on the shield generators. It's only a matter of time before they start launching an offensive."

"And we can't let that happen," Ahsoka adds. She crosses her arms and leans against the table, her eyes narrowed. "The shield generators are located at the north and south poles of the planet. One is in the center of the capital city, and the other is on the edge of a small farming settlement. The Separatists are planning on attacking both at the same time."

"If they manage to destroy the generators, the shields will fail," Anakin says, a scowl forming on his face. "And once the shields go down, they'll launch their ships. And we'll be in big trouble."

"We'll have to divide our forces, split up," Rex says, and Anakin nods. "One group can take out the signal jammers, and the other two can protect the shield generators."

"Ahsoka is going to lead a team to find the location of the jamming device," Anakin says, nodding to the Padawan. He turns back to you just as Snap arrives, carrying a bottle of water and a small packet. "Goldie, how many men did you bring?"

"Three regiments, sir," Snap answers for you as he passes you the water and painkillers. You give him a grateful look and down the pills, chasing them with a sip of water. "A little over six thousand. They're ready to move out, just waiting on your orders."

"That's good. We're going to need them," Anakin says, and his eyes slide to Rex. "Rex, take the rest of the 501st with Goldie to the northern generator. I'll take two regiments to the south and rendezvous with Ahsoka when she’s finished."

"Understood, sir," Rex replies. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet in your direction. "What do you think, General?"

You study the hologram, and your gaze settles on the capital city, a collection of buildings and factories arranged in a circular pattern. A thick wall surrounds the city, and the shield generator is placed in the center, the structures surrounded by a complex network of defense cannons and guard towers.

To be honest, you're not thinking much of anything. Your head is pounding, and your thoughts are slow and fuzzy. But Rex is looking at you expectantly, and the rest of the group are waiting, so you force yourself to speak.

"It's going to be difficult," you say. You lean against the table, bracing yourself. "But we can do it. My only concern is Grievous' fleet. Our ships can’t hold him off forever.”

"We can't worry about them right now," Anakin says. "Our priority is keeping the Separatists from taking the shields down."

"Agreed," you sigh. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ease the ache in your head. "Alright. We'll go north. We should try to reach the generator before the droids arrive."

"Copy that, sir," Rex says, and he raises a hand, signaling the troops. "Let's move out."

You nod at Snap, and he does the same, passing the message on to the troopers nearby to take to the regimental commanders. You push away from the table and turn, stepping away as the room bursts into a flurry of activity. Rex is by your side instantly, his hand finding your arm and guiding you down the stairs. You don't resist, letting him lead, and his grip tightens, a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly. You shake your head, and he sighs, a sympathetic rumble in the back of his throat. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad," you lie.

"Liar," he accuses. You let out a soft laugh, a small, strained noise that makes his brow furrow. "What do you need?"

"Some time alone," you murmur. "It's...hard, having so many people around."

"Okay," he says. "Can you hold on a bit longer? Just until we can get somewhere private?"

You nod, and he leads you through the bustling crowd, weaving between the troopers as they gather their gear and prepare for the mission. The room is alive with movement, the buzz of voices, and the clatter of armor and weapons. But you hardly notice. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the ground beneath your feet and the feeling of Rex's hand on your arm. It's comforting, grounding, and it's all you can do not to cling to him, to use him as an anchor.

It doesn't take long for him to find a quiet corner, tucked behind a stack of crates and out of sight. It's an out of the way alcove, dark and cool, and the noise fades into a distant murmur.

Rex pulls you to a stop, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward. You can feel his worry, his concern, but he stays quiet, giving you the space you need. 

He's always been good at that, at knowing what you need, even if you can't put it into words. It's something you've come to appreciate. Especially now, with the noise and the lights and the overwhelming press of his mind.

You let the Force flow through you, washing over you and clearing the fog from your thoughts. The painkillers kick in, and the sharp stabbing pain in your skull fades, leaving behind a dull ache. You focus on your breathing, on the beat of your heart, and the chaos around you begins to recede, replaced by a sense of calm.

When you finally open your eyes, Rex is standing next to you, his gaze fixed on your face. You give him a small smile, a slight curve of your lips that does little to reassure him.

"I'm okay," you tell him, and his jaw tenses, his brow furrowing.

"You're not," he counters, his voice low and soft.

"No," you concede. "But I will be. It's not the first time."

"It wasn't like this before," he says. "Is it—"

"No," you answer before he can finish. You know what he's going to ask, and you don't want him to. "It's not."

“Seems like it is,” Rex insists, his eyes searching yours. You sigh and rub your temples, your shoulders slumping. He's right. It's hard to argue. But the visions are still a raw, open wound. The memories too fresh, the feelings too raw.

You can't talk about it.

"I just need a minute," you whisper.

"Okay," he murmurs, and he steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. You feel his absence like a cold breeze, and a wave of frustration washes over you.

It's not fair how much you want him. It's not fair how close he is, and yet how far away. It's not fair—the war, and the rules, and the fear. You're tired of being afraid. Tired of keeping your distance. Tired of wondering if this is the moment everything comes crashing down. It's too much. You're so, so tired.

Without thinking, you close the gap, wrapping your arms around Rex’s waist and burying your face in his chest plate. You can feel his surprise, his hesitation, and the sudden spike of anxiety. But he doesn't push you away. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer and guiding you both deeper into the shadows, his grip tightening as the room continues to buzz with activity.

It's risky, the two of you so exposed. Anyone could see, anyone could walk by and catch you in each other's arms, but you don't care. The fear is a distant echo, buried under the exhaustion and the need to feel his body pressed against yours.

You can hear his heart pounding, the rhythm of his breathing, and the soft exhale as he rests his chin atop your head, his body molding to yours. You breathe him in, the scent of his armor, the clean smell of his skin, and the subtle spice of his aftershave. It's comforting and familiar, and it soothes the ache in your chest.

"It's not that bad," you murmur, and Rex scoffs, his grip on you tightening. "It's not."

"No. Of course not," he mutters. His cheek presses against the top of your head, his hand stroking your back. "That's why you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding," you retort, your voice muffled by his chest plate. He chuckles, and you sigh, leaning against him. "Fine. I'm hiding."

"It's okay," he whispers. "You can hide here."

"Thank you," you murmur, and his hand cups the back of your head, his thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"You're welcome," he replies. He pauses, and you can feel the hesitancy radiating through the Force, the weight of his thoughts. You wait, and eventually he speaks. "Are we okay?”

You know what he's asking. It's the same question that's been haunting you since you admitted you want more. It's the same question that's been plaguing your mind, keeping you awake, and torturing you with doubt. Are you okay? Are the two of you okay? Can things go back to the way they were? Or is this something that will change everything?

"I don't know," you admit. "I want us to be."

"Me too," he whispers.

"Then we will be," you promise. You close your eyes and rest your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. "We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," he murmurs, his grip tightening, holding you close. You sigh and close your eyes, letting yourself relax. "Yeah, we will."

You stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Eventually, Rex pulls back, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“What’s going on with you? You don't seem like yourself." He tilts his head and brushes a stray hair out of your face, his voice soft. "Is this about the vision? You can talk to me, you know."

“It’s not about the vision,” you reply, and when his face turns skeptical, you sigh. “It’s not. It’s just a headache.”

“Have you talked to the Chief?"

"Of course I've talked Wise," you grumble. Rex frowns.

"Then why do I have the feeling you're not telling me the whole truth?" He tilts his head, his brow furrowed, his concern bleeding through the Force. "There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"Wise said that I'm probably just tired," you deflect. Rex arches a brow, his expression dubious. "It's just a side effect. And the lack of sleep isn't helping."

“A side effect of what?”

“I…”

"Side effect of what?" he repeats, lower this time. You pull away from his grasp, and Rex’s eyes narrow, his hands dropping to his sides. You can see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the frustration radiating off of him in waves. "Please don't tell me that it's nothing. Not again. Not this time."

"You're gonna be mad," you warn, and he shakes his head, his expression tight.

"Probably," he concedes. He lets out a breath and steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "But I'm not going to stop worrying. So please, just tell me what's wrong."

You swallow and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have said that. But you know that he'll see right through any lie you could possibly come up with, and, honestly, you don't have the energy for it.

You glance over your shoulder, scanning the crowd, but there's no sign of anyone paying attention to the two of you. Even so, you take his hand and lead him further into the darkness, until the two of you are hidden completely, a pile of crates blocking the view.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself, meeting his gaze.

“I healed someone on Nadiem. A child, with a serious brain injury," you confess. "It was...extremely taxing."

You watch as Rex’s expression shifts from suspicion to shock, his eyes widening. He takes a step back, his hands clenched at his sides, his mouth working, but no words coming out. After a moment, he just shakes his head and sighs.

"Of course you did," Rex says, his voice rough. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, a look of pain crossing his face. "When?"

"Not long before our last conversation," you admit. He curses, and you wince. "Rex, it wasn't—"

"It was," he cuts in, his voice tight. His jaw tenses, and he turns away, running a hand over his face. He mutters something under his breath, and the frustration in the Force is almost tangible.

You can't help but notice how tired he looks, his face lined with stress and exhaustion, his eyes heavy with dark circles. He looks haunted. Like he hasn't slept in days. Or weeks. You're not sure which, and the realization is painful.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he flinches. His head jerks up, his eyes finding yours, and he takes a step back, his expression guarded.

"Rex," you urge softly. "Talk to me."

"I just..." he trails off, his gaze drifting away. He sighs, his shoulders drooping, and he leans back against the crates. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't put yourself in danger like that. And you...you still did."

"It was an emergency, Rex," you say, your tone a mixture of exasperation and fondness. You take his hand and squeeze, and his fingers curl around yours. "Besides, it was…different this time. Yeah, my head hurts, but the way that it felt? I've never felt anything like it. It was incredible. I felt more in control than I ever have. The pain wasn't as bad, and the drain wasn't as severe."

Rex gives you a sidelong glance and tilts his head. "Why is that?"

"I don't know. I have a theory, but it's..."

"What?" he prods, his brow furrowing. He straightens up, and the curiosity is written all over his face. "You think you might have finally learned how to control the Force, right?"

"Yes," you confirm. You smile at him and step closer, your hands moving to his shoulders. “I trusted the Force, and it guided me. And it worked. Better than it ever has. The kid just walked out of the medbay the next morning, completely healed. It was a miracle, Wise said."

Rex frowns and glances away, his brows drawn together. He's silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the ground. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

"It doesn't change anything," he says, and you scoff, dropping your hands to your sides.

"It changes everything," you argue, and he shakes his head.

"Not if it puts you in danger."

"It was worth the risk, Rex," you say, and he huffs.

"Not to me."

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. It's hard. Your emotions are bubbling up, threatening to boil over, and you're not sure what to do. You're angry, and frustrated, and hurt, and you can feel his anger too, and his fear. But there's something else, something deeper. There's a vulnerability there, an aching loneliness, and you can't bear to let it fester.

"Why?" you ask. "Why does it bother you so much? You know what I can do, Rex. It's not like this is the first time."

He shakes his head, his eyes dark. "It's not about the Force."

"Then what?"

"You," he says. His voice is rough, and his eyes are bright, burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's about you. You're always pushing yourself too far, putting yourself in the line of fire, and not caring about the consequences. That's what bothers me. You're so focused on saving everyone else that you don't realize you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse."

You take a breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I can't help it, Rex," you say, and his face twists, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I can't turn it off. And I'm not going to apologize for trying to save lives. And, frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing about it. So, for once, can we not do this?"

"Not do what?" he asks, his voice rising. "Be concerned about you? Or worried about the possibility that you might not make it through the war? No, we can't not do that. Because that's my reality."

"That's not fair," you protest, and he shakes his head, pushing off the crate and stepping forward, closing the distance between the two of you in one stride.

"Neither is expecting me to be okay with the fact that you're constantly throwing yourself into danger," Rex says, his voice sharp. He leans closer, and the air between you seems to crackle, the Force rippling with energy. "Or worse, not even tell me about it."

"It's not that simple, and you know it," you hiss, and Rex shakes his head, his eyes blazing. "I can't—"

"Yes, it is," he insists, his tone firm.

"No, it's not," you retort. "You don't understand what it's like to have this power, to have the ability to help people, and not use it."

"And you don't understand what it's like to have to stand by, helpless, while the person I—" He cuts himself off, and his expression turns stricken. He takes a deep breath, swallowing hard, and continues, "The person I care about risks her life. Over and over again."

"I do," you argue. The anger coursing through you, hot and bright, burns through your veins, but you fight to keep it at bay. You fight to keep your voice down, even though the urge to do something, anything, is threatening to break free. "I do understand. Because that's what it's like for me too."

"It's different," he insists, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "It is."

"How?"

"Because it is," he snaps, his frustration seeping through the Force. "You're the Jedi. I'm just a clone."

"Don't," you warn, your voice low. The anger is replaced with a sharp pang of hurt, a deep, piercing ache that leaves you reeling. "Don't even start with that."

The two of you fall silent, breathing hard. Rex stares at you, his eyes wild, his expression a mix of frustration and pain. He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze is almost unbearable. You can't meet his eyes, so instead you stare at his chest, your heart pounding. You're shaking, and you're not sure if it's from the rage or the pain.

Rex is right, though. It is different. Your life is worth more than his, and the knowledge of it sits heavy in your chest. It's a bitter truth. An awful, painful realization that has been slowly eating away at you since the day you first met him, met all the clones. They were never meant to survive. In the eyes of the Republic, he's expendable, a replaceable cog in the machine of war. 

And you hate it. You hate that the galaxy has so little regard for their lives. You hate that the Jedi Order has allowed the clones to be used like this. You hate that, no matter how much you try, no matter how much effort you put into saving their lives, it will never be as important as saving your own. And most of all, you hate that Rex knows it, too.

You close your eyes, trying to regain control, but the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface. The ache in your chest is a physical pain, and it takes every ounce of strength not to lash out, to throw the boxes at his feet, to send them flying into the wall. To shatter the silence with a blast of power that would leave the entire room shaking.

But you can't. You can't risk it. The only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you from losing control, is Rex. The warm press of his mind, the familiar hum of his Force signature. It's the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. You cling to it, holding tight.

"Fine," Rex sighs, and he runs a hand over his head, his expression resigned. "But that doesn't mean it's not true."

"It's not true," you whisper. He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head, the anger fading, replaced by a desperate, aching sadness. "I won't let it be true. I can't. Rex, you're—you're more than just a clone. To me. You have to know that."

"I know," he admits, his voice soft. He closes his eyes, and his shoulders slump. "I do. But that doesn't change anything."

"No," you agree. You swallow, the ache in your chest spreading. "I suppose it doesn't."

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the air heavy with the weight of your words. You can feel the pain, the guilt, and the sorrow radiating off him. And you know it's not going to get any easier. Not anytime soon.

You're exhausted, too tired to keep the fires of your rage burning, and every second passes leaves you feeling colder than the last. You don't have the energy to keep arguing, to keep trying to convince him that you're doing the right thing. Or that it's going to be okay. The truth is, you're not sure if it is. But you have to believe.

So instead, you reach for him, and Rex lets out a shuddering breath before he meets you halfway. Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him into your arms, his chest plate pressing against yours, his arms encircling your waist, and he buries his face in your neck. You close your eyes and let him lean into you, his body curling around yours.

"Why are we doing this?" Rex asks, his voice a rough whisper. You can feel his lips move against the skin of your neck, his breath tickling the hairs at the nape. You shiver, and he presses closer, his fingers digging into your back.

"Doing what?" you murmur.

"Arguing," he answers. "We shouldn't be doing this. Not now. We should be...we should be celebrating, or...or doing something. Anything."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he mutters. You pull back, looking up at him, and his expression is pained, his jaw clenched. "I just know it's not what I want. Is it—is it what you want?"

"Well, you know I do enjoy a good argument," you quip, trying to lighten the mood, and Rex gives you a deadpan look. You sigh and rest your forehead against his chest, closing your eyes. "No, it's not what I want."

"Me neither," he admits, and he lets out a shaky breath, his hand cupping the back of your head. "We've barely spoken for months, and the first thing we do is fight. Why are we fighting?"

"Because we're stubborn.”

"I'm stubborn," he corrects. "You're impossible."

"Oh, come on," you huff. "I'm not that bad."

"Worse," he counters, a smile tugging at his lips. "Definitely worse."

You kick his boot with the toe of yours as you glare up at him, and he gives a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You can't help but notice the way his eyes shine in the dim light, the hint of mischief and warmth, and you feel the last bit of anger fade away, replaced by a familiar sense of affection.

"Rex," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," he murmurs, his thumb moving gently near the spot by your ear. You lean into the contact, and his gaze softens, a look of tenderness settling over his features. "So much."

"So stop being mad at me," you plead. He sighs, his eyes searching yours. "Please."

"You make it very difficult not to be," Rex says, his voice laced with humor. "Especially considering your track record."

"I'm working on it," you grumble. "I'll try not to worry you so much, okay? I promise."

"Well, that's something," he says with a chuckle. You laugh, and he squeezes your waist, a playful tug. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"You're too young for that," you tease. "Maybe an ulcer."

"Oh, well, as long as it's an ulcer," he drawls, and you snicker. He gives you a look, but it lacks heat, and he can't hide his smile. "Seriously, though. Please be careful. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing."

"I'll try," you reply. You stroke his cheek, his stubble scratching against your palm. "You too."

"Always am," he assures you.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch, and his eyes slide shut. His forehead presses against yours, and his hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. His scent fills your senses, his presence enveloping you, and you close your eyes, letting yourself relax.

He feels so good, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the weight of his hands on your hips grounding you. And it's only now, with the space between you closed, that you realize how much you've missed him. How much you need him. How much you love him.

You open your eyes, taking him in. He's so close, his lips inches from yours. All it would take is a shift, a tilt of your head, and you'd be kissing him.

"You should know that I...I..." Rex falters, and his eyes flicker open, a hesitant look on his face. His mouth works, but no words come out, and his grip on you tightens. "I'm..."

"What?" you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his jaw clenching. 

"I'm—"

"Hey, Captain!" 

Rex jerks back and yanks his hands away as if burned, and he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet and into the stack of crates behind him. You reach out, steadying him, and his cheeks burn as his eyes dart over your shoulder, his attention focused on whoever called his name. You turn to find Fives rounding the corner, and the trooper skids to a halt, his gaze darting between the two of you, his mouth hanging open.

"Fives," Rex greets, his voice strained. He straightens, adjusting his armor and clearing his throat, and his gaze lands anywhere but on the clone. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh…" Fives hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you. His face twists into an apologetic grimace, and you shake your head, a silent signal that it's fine. He nods, his expression easing, and he gestures vaguely over his shoulder. "I just...we're ready to move out. We're waiting on the two of you."

"Right. Right, of course," Rex replies, his voice thick. He glances down at you and clears his throat, his expression carefully neutral. "General."

"Captain," you murmur.

He looks at you, his eyes wide, his cheeks still flushed, and his mouth works silently. You can feel your brows rise in amusement, and his gaze darkens, a warning.

"I'll be right there," Rex says, his tone firm.

"You got it," he replies. He shoots you a glance before he turns on his heel and walks off, the bounce in his step telling you that he's enjoying this a little too much.

You sigh and turn back to Rex, his gaze locked on the crate next to you. He's avoiding your eyes, his lips pressed together and his arms crossed over his chest.

"So," you start, and his gaze snaps to yours. "Where were we?"

"Nowhere," he says, his expression pained. He shifts his weight and glances away, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Absolutely nowhere. That was...nothing. We can talk about it later."

"If you're sure," you say, and he nods. You can't help but notice the flush in his cheeks, the slight tremble in his hands. He's nervous. Really, really nervous. You're not sure why. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," he confirms, his voice tight. 

"Okay."

"Okay."

Rex lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs his face, his hands falling away to grab his helmet off a nearby crate. He pulls it on, the hiss of the seals echoing in the space, and his posture straightens. The change is subtle, but it's noticeable. The air around him feels more controlled, the chaos and uncertainty giving way to focus and confidence. It's like a switch has been flipped. He's Captain Rex again, not the man who was inches away from kissing you.

You shake your head, a wry smile touching your lips, and he tilts his head, studying you. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns and walks away, his strides purposeful, and you're quick to follow.

By the time you reach the entrance to the building, it’s nearly dark, and the streets are crowded with troopers filing into transports, tanks, and gunships. The air is filled with the buzz of conversation, the steady rumble of engines, and the whine of repulsorlifts. It's a chaotic scene, and the noise is disorienting, a dull roar that seems to fill your senses.

“Sir.”

You turn to see Snap and Wise approach, the latter adjusting his medpack on his shoulders as he walks. Wise gives you a once over, his brow furrowing while his gaze roams your face, as if he could see your headache if he looked closely enough. His gaze darts to Rex, and you can feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

"You good, sir?" Wise asks, his voice low.

"I'm fine, Wise," you reassure him.

"Uh-huh," he hums, clearly not convinced, and Snap gives him an exasperated look. 

"That's the fourth time today," Snap warns. Wise scowls, his lip curling. "It's not going to work. Stop asking."

"It might," Wise mutters.

"It won't," he counters, and the medic lets out a huff. "We're ready, General. All units accounted for."

"Thank you," you say, and you glance at Wise. "Both of you."

Snap salutes and heads off, and Wise lingers, his expression unreadable. He sighs, shakes his head, and adjusts the strap on his pack.

"I'll ask again later," he warns. You shake your head, a faint smile forming on your lips, and he grunts and steps closer, lowering his voice. "And about whatever that was. With the Captain."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply smoothly, and you hold Wise’s gaze with raised eyebrows, daring him to call your bluff. His expression doesn't change, and the two of you stand there for a long moment, a silent battle of wills.

Wise finally breaks first, a heavy sigh escaping him.

"Yes, sir," he grumbles, though you know better than to think he’s going to let that go so easily. "You coming?"

"No, she's riding with me," Rex interrupts, and you turn to see him standing behind you, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture is casual, but there’s a tightness to his tone that catches Wise's attention, and the medic frowns. He nods in the direction of one of the 501st's gunships. "Orders."

"Of course she is," Wise drawls. He raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue, settling for a knowing smirk. "See you in a bit, sir."

Wise salutes, turns, and jogs off, his long stride quickly eating up the distance to his transport. He joins his brother, and the two of them climb inside, disappearing from view. 

Rex catches your eye and jerks his head toward his ship, and you follow him, shaking your head at his blatant lie. You’re the highest ranking officer on the planet. There are no orders. But, as far as excuses go, it works, and you don't argue. You're not going to pass up a chance to spend more time with him.

"You’re giving me orders now, Captain?" you tease. "I should put you in the brig for insubordination."

"I think we're past that," Rex replies. He slows his pace, and you match him, the two of you walking side by side through the throng of troopers. He clears his throat and glances toward you. "Sorry. I just...now that you’re here, I'd rather keep you close. For everyone's safety."

"Right," you drawl. A smirk curls on your lips, and you nudge him with your elbow. "For everyone's safety."

"Yes," he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He gives you a pointed look that translates through his helmet. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," you laugh. "I'm just agreeing with you. For everyone's safety."

"General," Rex sighs.

"Captain."

His hand finds your shoulder, and he nudges you gently in the direction of the waiting gunship. “Just get on the damn ship, will you?"

"Alright, alright," you concede, holding up your hands. "You're getting very pushy."

"I'm trying to keep you alive," he replies, his tone flat. "It's a full-time job."

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" you quip, and he grunts in response. Rex's hand slides down your back before he gives you a light shove, and you stumble forward, biting back another laugh.

"Get going. Or I'm going to leave without you."

"You're lucky you're cute," you mumble. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he stiffens, letting out a choked noise. A wicked smirk spreads across your lips, and you tilt your head, your gaze fixed on his. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he croaks, and he gestures at the ship. "After you, sir."

"Thank you, Captain."

Rex sighs and shakes his head, his helmet tilted in a way that tells you he's rolling his eyes. But the exasperation doesn't last, and the fondness in his aura only intensifies. You can't help the flutter that passes through you at the feeling, or the smile that lights up your face as you turn and board the gunship.

It’s strange, how connected you feel to him now, as if the past couple of months have only heightened the bond between the two of you. His presence in the Force is stronger, more vibrant. You're acutely aware of his mind, his emotions. They're clearer, more defined, and the connection is easier to maintain. Rex is closer, in every way possible.

You can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the dream of the golden fields. If the two of you truly are linked in some way. That there's a future for the two of you.

Or maybe it's just the stress and anxiety of the mission, the fear that something will happen, and your other vision will come true. Maybe you're just worried. Or maybe you're just missing him.

Maybe this is how it's always been, and you've just been too blind to notice.

You don't know, and you're not sure if it matters. Not right now. As long as he's here, and the two of you are together. That's all you need.

Rex's hand finds yours as you grab onto the safety handle to steady yourself, brushing your fingers lightly before pulling away to grasp the one above his head. The gesture is small, subtle, but it's more than you could have asked for. It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, and neither is he. That no matter what happens, the two of you are in this together.

You can worry about the rest later.

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[ranx0]

Steve's liked cars since before he knew. He's just always liked them. He stared at the fancy ones people from across town drove, and he liked to admire the one his dad kept the the garage.

Ten years ago Steve Randle met Sodapop Curtis. Sodapop was six going on seven, and Steve was seven. The former was a loud outspoken kid with an average home life. Two loving parents and two brothers to keep him company. The latter wasn't so lucky, his parents were going through an ugly divorce and they didn't bother to make sure he was okay during any of it.

Steve, like any other little boy, craved attention. He knew Sodapop got attention, he knew it almost as soon as he became friends with the boy. He could tell from his jokes, his smile, the way he talked like everyone was listening, and his confidence that he was a boy everyone always noticed. Maybe that's why Steve stuck by him, copying his confident nature in a way that came off as cocky. Copying his loud volume in a way that made him annoying to most.

Soda figured that Steve liked cars one day a few months after they had just met. Steve always had a small toy car from home stuffed in his backpack hidden away from his parents in case they decided he was in trouble for the day. He had it out during recess, which immediately caught Soda's eyes. It was old and beaten up, but he could tell it used to be a model of those fancy bright red cars that looked like they had a mustache in the front.

Soda plopped down next to the boy, watching him zoom the car back and forth on the grass, opening and shutting the door then walking his hands with his fingers away from the car. Soda was amazed, the car looked fancy. Much more than any toys that Soda had, his were all one solid piece of plastic but Steve's- Steve's had functioning doors, fancy seats, and if you had something small enough you could probably stick it in one of the seats.

But its paint was chipped, there were a few dents in it and one of the car doors wouldn't close correctly. He learned that after observing Steve try and shut it a few times after playing with it for a while. The car was well-loved and had clearly been through a lot.

"That's a cool car." Soda stated, then Steve looked at him.

"It's my only one." The little boy mumbled, tightening his grip on it. Soda didn't understand why, he wasn't going to take it away from him or anything.

"What is it?" The blonde asked with a genuine curiosity that Steve couldn't help but fumble at. He picked the car up from off the ground and sat crisscrossed on the grass. Soda waited patiently for his response.

"It's, uhm, a Ford Convertible," Steve played with the car in his hands, then looked up at Soda. "You could see some around town if you look hard enough."

"I think I have," Soda replied quickly, "They look real fancy."

Soda looked at Steve in awkward silence for a few more moments, and then Steve awkwardly held the car out for Soda to take. "Here," He mumbled, looking away from Soda as he gave him the toy. "You can play with it if you want."

Soda beamed, grabbing the car quickly and zooming it around the floor. Steve's hand almost followed after the car when Soda took it harshly, but he held it back when he saw the excited look on his face.

"Just be careful with it," Steve grumbled as he watched.

That day Soda forgot to give it back, it had just slipped his mind. Recess ended abruptly and everyone rushed inside to continue the school day.

When Steve got home that day he placed his bag down in his room, and later when his parents started fighting he retreated back to busy himself with his prized possession. He was scrounging through his bag trying to find it, and when he couldn't he almost started to cry.

He must have been making too much noise because then it alerted his dad. He doesn't know what necessarily ticked him off, the mess he made while throwing around everything in his bag or the crying from Steve. But his father gave him something reasonable to cry about after he found him.

The next day in school Steve's hands were balled up into fists, trying to distract himself from crying over something stupid again as he tried to confront his new friend. He'd told Soda how he must've accidentally taken the car home with him, and the other boy was extremely apologetic.

Despite how apologetic he was though, he didn't get that car back for a while. Soda kept forgetting. Steve would ask at least once a week, and Soda would always look so genuinely crushed every time he was reminded.

When he finally got the car back it was around December. He'd given the car to him in October.

Soda invited Steve to his house for the first time and was excited to introduce Steve as his best friend. Soda had claimed that if he'd just waited for his parents instead of getting on the bus like he usually did his parents would be happy to have him over.

They waited for Soda's parents outside the school, and when they pulled up they almost expected the little boy standing next to Sodapop. They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, and they seemed like sweet people. They had the same genuine smile as Soda did, and they always spoke gently. The complete opposite of his own.

“So, Steve, you and Soda just met this year, right?” His mother asked, and Steve nodded in response. He regrettably wasn’t paying much attention to the questions, just nodding along to whatever his parents had said.

He was focusing on the car that they had, what condition it was in, and how much it would be worth. He was way off, but that was only because he was seven and didn’t understand the concept of capitalism much. It was some type of Ford, but he personally thought his model was better.

When they pulled up in front of the house he noticed some stark contrasts from his own, although the house looked poor enough it had a well-taken-care lawn, its front door was open and its screen door was closed, and it had a nice paint job.

When he entered the house it had this warm aura to it, comforting and happy.

"Soda, why don't you go get Steve that surprise you had for him?" His mother urged, and then Soda bounced up and down excitedly. The younger boy ran off into a room, slamming the door. Steve flinched slightly at the loud noise, then turned to look at Mrs. Curtis quizzically.

He didn't get a response before Soda came barreling in holding something in each of his hands. He held them out to Steve, smiling at him excitedly. There he was holding Steve's old busted-up red Model Ford Convertible and a second one that Steve recognized as a dark blue Model 1947 Cadillac.

Steve could almost cry.

"They're both for you! I told Mama about how I kept forgettin' your car and felt real bad," He said shyly as Steve took the cars from his hands, "So she helped me get another as an apology!"

Steve looked up at Mrs. Curtis, he wasn't stupid, and he knew Soda couldn't buy one himself. Obviously, Mrs. Curtis had done this. He tried to hold back tears and mouthed a quick thank you.

So yeah, you could say Steve Randle liked cars. He liked them a lot, actually.

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

1.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

2.

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

3.

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

4.

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 3: Al-Haitham x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6757

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, power dynamics, petplay, collaring, predicament bondage, spanking, vaginal fingering, tail butt plug, object insertion

A/N: A few people asked for a follow up to Al-Haitham's piece from last years Kinktober and I'm personally always glad for any excuse to write about more petplay scenarios, so here we are! I hope everyone enjoys! 🫣

⭐

“So,” He intones, casually slouched to one side so he can brace his shoulder against the door jamb. With his arms crossed over his chest he looked the picture-perfect image of idle, confident arrogance standing there before you in the faint glow of a nearby street lamp. It was enough to almost make you sick. “You really decided to muster up the courage and come here after all. Consider me impressed.” 

Hands balled into tight, sweaty fists in the front of your breezy skirt, you pointedly keep your eyes downcast so you won’t have to look him in the face. Damn Al-Haitham and damn you for being fool enough to go through with this stupid idea. Hadn’t he humiliated you more than enough the last time? 

“Is that alright? I could always come back some other day …” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here, why send you away?” Straightening up, Al-Haitham shifts to the side to unblock the entrance to his home and grant you entry despite looking anything but welcoming. “Come in. And try not to look so scared.” 

You can feel your cheeks quickly growing hot enough to fry an egg on but you stubbornly shove aside all the uncertainty and ill opinions you had of the scribe in favor of focusing only on your objective. Of course that was in many ways exactly what had gotten you into this mess in the first place, yet it seemed you still hadn’t quite learned your lesson. You wouldn’t have shown up at his doorstep like this otherwise. 

Steeling yourself, you stiffly move forward to shuffle past him to stand just inside his foyer while he closes the door behind you. His home isn’t particularly large but it's finely furnished and surprisingly quaint in its own way. You wonder at that as you take in the decor, noticing an odd disconnect between one piece of furniture or knickknack and the next. While some of it was quite stylish other bits and bobbles leaned more towards an eclectic taste that didn’t seem to match. 

And then your eyes land on the neatly lined up row of shoes just off the main entrance. 

Two different sizes. 

“Don’t worry. My roommate is out on business tonight.” He says, supplying an answer to the unasked question, and you bring your head up with a quick snap. 

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.” 

His hand is suddenly right in front of your face when you turn towards him, making you startle, but he merely slips those long fingers underneath your chin to further nudge your attention up at him. Verdant gaze studying you closely, Al-Haitham searches your expression for a drawn out beat — for what, you do not know — before deigning to speak again. “Well, I do. Have one I mean. He won’t be bothering us any time soon though, so tell me what it is you want.” 

Your natural disinclination for him quickly rears its ugly head, and you narrow your eyes up at him in annoyance. “How do you know I want something?” 

“Please. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t. Now spill it.” 

Clicking your tongue, you irritably pull away from him and take a step back to put some distance between you two. Hopefully that would be enough to give you a chance to think straight, even though it was clear you hadn’t been doing much of that at all recently. “Look. I know you and I don’t exactly get along even under the best of circumstances but … do you recall what you said to me back in the Grand Sage’s office?” 

“My office, at least for the moment, and yes. I said a great many things to you that day. Which are you referring to specifically?” 

“Gods, you’re such an ass.” You murmur, wondering why you’d even come here when you knew good and well how he was. It’s much too late to start giving this second thoughts though, so you lift your chin in defiance of his surly attitude. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Acting Grand Sage, but I believe you told me I could come to you if I ever wanted a refresher course on our last — lesson. Does that offer still stand?” 

“Oh?” Looking really quite smug now, Al-Haitham allows his roguish mouth to curl into a brief smirk. “Is this supposed to be your way of asking nicely for something? Gotta’ say, your methods could still use some work but I can see we’re making progress. It’s better than the last time, at least.” 

“Are you going to answer the question or not?” You demand, feeling your jittery nerves start to get the better of you. 

If you’d had any other option here you would have gladly taken it before ever subjecting yourself to this particular man’s presence ever again but you just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the time you’d spent with him in his office. By the end of it you’d been all but preening at his soft spoken praise only to then be cast back out into the real world where people in polite society didn’t talk to each other like that. It was maddening in the worst possible way. 

Worst of all, he still hadn’t signed off on that damn expense sheet even after saying he’d give it another look and yet that seemed to be the farthest thing from your mind anymore. The only thing you really wanted at this point was to experience the same warm buzz of satisfaction you’d felt when he spoke to you in that uncharacteristically soft, doting manner as before. Was that seriously too much to ask for? 

“Just relax. We really need to work on that impatient streak of yours.” He says, evidently recognizing the frazzled look on your face for what it is. “And don’t worry, my offer still stands. I’ll play with you again. Good timing, actually. I recently bought a few things at the bazaar that I think you might like.” 

“Huh?” You blurt, turning to follow him with your eyes when he brushes past you into the rest of the house. “Don't tell me you actually knew I’d come here like this?” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch. All I did was calculate the odds that you would eventually decide to seek me out again, so the expense was justifiable despite being preemptive. Get undressed while I grab everything and wait for me until I get back.” 

And just like that he’s gone, disappeared down the hallway into a room on the far end of the house by the sound of it. 

For a long moment you just stand there, too stunned at Al-Haitham’s gall to take action. You weren’t sure who he thought he was but as usual it was already giving you a headache. Nothing ever went as you hoped it would whenever he was involved. 

Rousing yourself though, you quickly get to work. Far be it that you were any more comfortable with the thought of being naked in front of him than you were the first time, but you’d known what you were signing up for when you chose to come to him like this. And you’re glad to find it’s a little easier without him standing there, looming over you like some scrutinizing gargoyle while more and more of your body is slowly revealed to him, so there was that perk. If anything you were just glad he hadn’t sent you away. 

But once you find yourself standing nude in his living room some of the uncertainty starts to come back. Just what the hell were you doing here? And how were you supposed to position yourself, should you sit or stand? Did he expect you to seamlessly fall into the role of obedient dog again even if he wasn’t there to guide you through the process like before? 

There was no clear cut solution to any of these problems you now faced, and you at last decide to err on the side of caution. You would prostrate yourself for him, since he seemed to get so much satisfaction out of that, but you’d wait for further instruction before doing anything else. It was undeniably silly, but you didn’t want to seem too eager. 

Thus when Al-Haitham returns after another moment or two, he finds you kneeling on the ornate rug laid out across the floor with your legs neatly folded underneath you. He noises a soft sound of acknowledgement as he strides across the room and you attentively zero in on the wooden box he’s got in his hands. 

“What’s that?” You chance to ask, earning a quick, vaguely amused look from him. 

“I wasn’t aware dogs knew how to speak to ask such questions of their masters.” 

Flushing all over again, you breathe out a soft huff through your nose but remain otherwise silent. You’re much more interested in observing him anyway, particularly when he sinks down to sit on the nearby sofa before placing that mysterious box next to him on the cushions. 

Then the full brunt of his attention is back on you. “Come here.” He commands, indicating the spot next to his feet. 

You catch yourself starting to prickle, your pride almost getting the better of you once again, but you quietly remind yourself that this was what you’d wanted. After being hounded by indecent thoughts for weeks now, all of them revolving around the scribe, there was no point making any qualms about it or pretending otherwise. 

So you somewhat grudgingly shift forward to brace on your hands and knees before crawling over to him. You’re acutely aware of the sway of your breasts while you do so, particularly when he was watching you do it and no doubt seeing every little detail of your body in this humiliating position, both the good and the bad. The crippling note of self consciousness that shudders through you is not nearly enough to douse your anticipatory excitement though, and you hesitantly tip your face towards him as you shuffle up to the sofa, earning a nod of approval. 

“Sit.” 

Obediently plopping your ass down on the carpet, you make a point of straightening your back for him to push your bare tits up and out. You felt incredibly foolish for being so concerned about his opinion of your body but that lingering sense of stubborn combativeness quickly fades when he reaches out to pet over your head with an indulgent gesture. 

“Good girl. I have something for you.” 

Feeling fuzzy and warm, you blink up at Al-Haitham through the growing fog as he reaches for the box. That he makes a point of opening the lid towards you so that you can’t see what’s hidden inside almost manages to annoy you but you quickly stamp it down in favor of simply watching him. With a faint rustle, he lifts what you immediately recognize to be a collar from inside and silently presents it to you, just observing your reaction. 

The flustered look on your face must be an interesting one though, because he chuckles a brief laugh only a moment later. “Do you know what this is?” 

Reluctantly nodding, you shoot him a wary look. 

“Excellent. Then I shouldn’t have to waste any time on explaining it.” 

His large, dexterous hands get to work on unfastening the little eyelet so he can pull it open while you frantically try to rationalize this in your mind. Unaware of how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, he leans down to wrap the surprisingly thick band of leather around your throat so he can secure it into place at the back and you just sit there as if in a numb stupor while he does it. 

You couldn’t believe this was really happening … 

“As long as you’re wearing this,” He drawls, still fiddling with the catch to ensure it was sufficiently snug on your neck. “You’ll be my pet and I expect you to act accordingly. I won’t hesitate to punish you if you misbehave but … I also won’t hesitate to reward you either. We can play this game as long as you’d like, and when I take this off we’ll go back to our usual roles. No questions asked. Does that sound fair to you?” 

You slowly nod your agreement, suddenly finding it incredibly difficult to even think a coherent thought. As if being collared by him had effectively pulled a hazy, disarming shroud over your head, you were struggling to formulate anything at all in your mind when the only thing you could seem to focus on was the brush of his hands against your skin, the smell of him. The domineering way he’s leaned over you from his elevated position and the close proximity that came with it. You’d understood on some innate, instinctive level that you wanted him to subjugate you to his will again but you hadn’t expected it to have such an all encompassing effect on you. It was as if your higher functioning ego was slowly slipping away, like sand through your fingertips. 

And when he at last deems the collar to be adequately secured, leaning back to look at you with an unreadable expression, you positively quake under the spotlight of his attention. Al-Haitham may have been able to irritate you far beyond what any other person had ever accomplished, but when he looked at you like that … Archon’s, you would have done anything he asked of you if it only meant he’d praise you for it. 

“You’re certainly being good this evening. Guess you must have really needed this.” His eyelashes drooping to attractive half mast to mirror a very small fraction of the anticipation you were currently feeling, he reaches out to casually flick at the metal ringlet attached to the front of your new collar. “It’s just as I thought. Pink really does suit you. That being said, you have no idea how long it actually took me to find one of these in this color. You should probably thank me for it.” 

You shoot a quick, hungry look at his lap, the muscles in your legs already bracing to lean forward and put your mouth on him, but he stops you in your tracks with another quiet chuckle. 

“Not like that, though I do appreciate your enthusiasm. As long as you continue to be good for me I think we’ll be just fine.” Straightening up from his comfortable slouch, Al-Haitham then reaches back into the box to dig for something else. The sound of metal clinking together makes your heart skip a beat and you anxiously fidget there on the floor while he pulls out a long, complicated string of chains that all seem to connect in the same spot. 

Having no idea what to make of it, you blithely glance up at him in question. 

“This is to help you stay in position. Think of it like a training aide.” 

Evidently that’s all the explanation you’re going to get and you swallow hard, nearly choking on your nerves, when he leans down again. With a simple gesture of his hand, Al-Haitham secures the topmost latch to the front of your collar. The links are slight enough that it doesn’t add much additional weight to your neck, which you’re rather grateful for, but you can tell that they’re still sturdy enough not to break easily.

You start to understand what’s happening in a far off, dreamy sort of way when he reaches for one of your hands next. Directing it up to about chest level, he makes quick work of securing the thin cuff on one of the other trailing chains around your wrist to keep it elevated, lest you pull unnecessarily on the collar should you try to bring it back down again. He repeats the process on the other side to leave you in an approximation of the same begging position he’d made you assume last time, and you just let him do it because … you have no idea why. 

By all accounts this should have been setting off every single alarm bell in your head but it just doesn’t. If anything, your fast thrumming excitement only ratchets up another notch to leave you all but vibrating there at his feet. 

And when he finally settles back to take up the last chain, this one longer than all the rest, you immediately recognize what it is. A leash. One that he wraps the excess length around his knuckles before slowly tugging on it to pull you up to your knees. A shuddering moan slips out as you rock forward under the steady guidance of his gentle yet insistent pulling with your hands uselessly restrained in front of your chest. This was so incredibly dehumanizing … 

“Good girl. You look lovely like this.” His mouth faintly curling again, Al-Haitham reaches out his opposite hand to casually flick his finger back and forth over one of your tightly coiled nipples. “Feeling comfortable?” 

Helplessly mewling, you force your sluggish head to bob in agreement. This was too much and yet somehow not nearly enough at the same time. You felt like you were going mad. 

“On the floor then. All the way.” 

Tense and shirking, you slowly ease back to sit on your haunches before carefully leaning forward to brace your arms on the rug. You have to go slow or risk yanking on your collar, and the insidious nature of this set up quickly makes itself known. Not only were you effectively restrained and at his mercy like this, but the short length of the chains forces you down close to the ground to leave your backside pointed up in the air. Completely defenseless and vulnerable. He could have done anything at all to you in this position. 

The thought alone is enough to make you tremble uncontrollably, and you suck in a deeply frazzled breath when you feel him lean over you again. His hand finds your ass to smooth over it before giving you an encouraging pat that only seems to rush straight to your slicking cunt, making you whine low in your throat. What was he going to do to you when the possibilities seemed limitless and each one made you feel that much more desperate than the last? 

You soon get your answer when he silently withdraws his palm only to bring it back down on the meat of your backside in a stinging, hard handed swat. The suddenness of the slap shocks you more than the actual sharp burst of pain does, and you rock forward with a startled squeak. But he’s quick to do it again, targeting the other cheek this time, to make you mewl and fitfully squirm on the floor. 

“Don’t move.” He warns, giving the now aching skin a mean squeeze. “I’m just going to get you warmed up first before the main event, but if you decide not to be good for me I’ll have to really punish you. Surely you don’t want that, do you?” 

Half delirious, you slowly shake your head and the resulting clink of the chains rattling with the motion further highlights your position here. Even if you’d wanted to fight it there was nothing you could do with your hands secured as they were, nowhere for you to run when you were stark naked and effectively trapped in his home. All you can do is kneel there and take it, feeling your ass jolt in the air when he brings his hand down again to spank across your sit spots in rapid succession before focusing back in on the fattest part of your behind. 

What was initially a briefly sharp starburst of pain quickly morphs into a constant, throbbing sting that seems to spread across your whole backside while he peppers back and forth between your cheeks over the next some odd minutes. It seems to stretch on for an eternity but, logically, you knew it must have only lasted for a short while. Just enough to warm up the skin and leave it tender in the wake of his hand. That’s what he’d said, anyway. 

And you’re so far gone in the hazy stupor you’d slipped into that you couldn’t even fully grasp just how humiliating this really was. Being forced into such a position with your ass shamelessly presented for him to do whatever he liked and yet he chose to spank you. You’d probably be furious with him later on, and rightfully so, but in this particular moment the only thing you can bring yourself to care about is how turned on it was making you. 

The single other instance you could recall where you’d been quite this worked up was the last time you and him had played this game, sequestered away in the relative privacy of the Grand Sage’s office. Never before and never since. 

Here you had real privacy though and a much smaller chance of discovery, particularly if what he’d said about his mysterious roommate being out for the night was true. And it’s clear Al-Haitham plans to take full advantage of the freedom allotted to him by doing this in his own home, because no sooner does he finally pull his hand from your throbbing ass do you feel his fingers descend upon your cunt. 

Yelping a mindless sound of startled delight, you eagerly arch your spine and rear back on his hand in humble supplication for more. He laughs a low, rumbling sound at the display even as the rough pads of his fingertips skirt down the seam of your labia to rub sedate circles over your clit. The gesture quickly makes you realize exactly how soaked you are with copious arousal when he smears it across your pussy lips in the process, making an even bigger mess of you. 

Bless the gods, but you were going to cum in record time. 

“I wish you could see yourself right now, trembling like that with my handprints all over your ass. If it weren’t for your usual attitude I’d even say you look like you were made for this. Do you enjoy it when I touch you here?” 

You let out a needy, faltering groan and jerk your head in a quick nod, making the chains jostle again. 

“Then let me hear you, darling girl. Speak.” 

It’s a real struggle to think clearly when he was still intently drawing his fingers over that sensitive pleasure button but your cotton stuffed head somehow manages to parse what he was asking of you. It was the same as last time. The same ‘trick’ he’d taught you in his office. The memory of idiotically barking like a dog had kept you awake many a night since, and not for the reasons you would have liked … 

You absolutely hate how much it excites you, your cheeks flushing incomprehensibly hotter even as you hang your head low and force out a weak, “Wh - woof!” 

“Oh? Is this not to your liking? My apologies then. Perhaps you want it here instead?” Abandoning your clit, Al-Haitham trails his fingers further up to your entrance where he quickly sinks one of those sinuously long digits into your cunt, forcing the inner sleeve of your body to stretch open around him. 

Stiffly lurching at the unexpected penetration and the jolt of friction that comes with it, you desperately ball your hands into tight fists against the rug in an attempt to ground yourself. “Woof! Woof wh - oof! Ahhn!” 

“Mmm, pretty sounds for a pretty girl. And so tight too. Don’t tell me you haven’t been playing with yourself at all since our last session? Too embarrassed or … were you just waiting for me to be the one to play with this needy little pussy for you?” 

You try to bark again, knowing he was likely to stop if you didn’t, but you can’t quite seem to find enough oxygen to do so. Your lungs were constricting much too tight with the short, labored gasps you rapidly suck in as the tension inside your cunt dizzyingly swells to near discomfort. You were beyond soaked, and the sticky wet clicks he pulls from your shuddering body when he adds a second finger only attests to that. The obscene schlucking sound that starts up when he begins to fuck you with them seems to echo in the space between your ears, adding to the total onslaught to your senses. All you could do was squeal helpless, dire tinged animal noises into the static charged room while he mercilessly pounds into you from behind. 

“Are you going to cum for me already, sweetheart? Gonna’ squirt all over this carpet just like you did on the one in my office? Huh?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, neither slowing down nor ceasing his ministrations for even a moment, and your eyes soon begin to roll back when your impending orgasm suffocatingly bears down on you. The building pressure was too much, the deliberate jabs of his fingers far too concentrated on that receptive bundle of nerves within you. Your body simply couldn’t take it even as you continue to gush excessively around the intrusion, and then all at once the scales seem to tip. 

You cum with a shuddering jerk, frantically wailing in pleasure when you feel your pussy give out to release a fresh deluge of slick. Screwing your eyes shut, you deliriously ride out the juddering waves of pleasure that sweep over you in a torrent as your squeezing cunt uncontrollably erupts around Al-Haitham’s fingers, having once again expertly coaxed you to this unseemly state. It was like being stretched too thin on such a bone deep level that by the time you finally start to come down from the reeling high another moment later you barely even know who you are anymore. 

All that seems to register in your punchdrunk mind is his unmistakably masculine presence hovering over you, his hand slowly withdrawing from your cunt with a messy wet slurp that makes you sensitively twitch. The smell of him, his taste on the back of your tongue. In retrospect it was no wonder just that one fateful encounter with him had ruined you so irreparably. 

How in the world had you not seen it sooner? He was the singularly most infuriating man you’d ever met, yes, but he was also the only person you’d ever known who seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself. You hadn’t even thought you were capable of squirting before this. Damn him. 

Issuing a groggy groan into the rug, you slowly begin to stir from your semi comatose state. You weren’t sure when exactly you’d pressed your cheek into the floor but you force your head up as primly as you can manage given the circumstances. And still trembling with the lingering remnants of your release, you shoot a cautious look underneath you only to grimace when you spot the telltale wet stains bleeding into the carpet. Unfortunately you’re not allowed much of a chance to recover or find your bearings though, and you give a faint hiss when Al-Haitham nudges your attention up at him with a firm tug to the leash. 

That he still looks frustratingly cool and collected despite everything that had just transpired bothers you a great deal but you stubbornly keep those thoughts to yourself. He was going to get an ear full from you later. The least he could have done was put a towel down instead of purposely embarrassing you like this again! 

“Doing good so far?” Luckily he seems to take your nod at face value, and he reaches out to brush a bit of hair away from your face with an unexpectedly tender stroke of his hand. “Good. I’ve got something else for you, if you feel up to it.” 

Rousing from your hazy delirium a bit more, you somewhat roughly clear your throat after not using your voice for so long before venturing to speak. “I know I’m supposed to be playing a role here but I have to ask. When exactly did you find the time to plan all of this? You seem suspiciously well prepared.” 

“It’s not so much that I planned it, but rather I simply followed through on an idea that already existed.” He says, earning a skeptical lift of your brow, and he quietly clicks his tongue when he realizes he’s going to have to offer up a better explanation than that. “You seem to remember everything else I said the last time so I’m surprised you don’t recall this. I told you if I’d had some warning beforehand I would have purchased a few things in advance. Well, I decided that I wouldn’t be caught unawares again. If you came to me I  wanted to be ready.”

“The collar.” You murmur, idly reaching up to touch it with a brief rattle of the connecting chain. “You did say that, didn’t you? What else do you have in there?” 

“Want to find out?” 

Shooting him a wary glance, you consider your options here. It sounded like he’d let you go if that was what you wanted after already having gotten off once, which was unexpectedly conscientious of him, but … were you really satisfied with just that? You’d thought about this almost nonstop for weeks and now that you were in front of him, collared and kneeling at his feet, you weren’t so sure you were ready to call it a night just yet. 

Besides, he still hadn’t made any attempt to see to his own needs and the low simmering pulse in your cunt hadn’t been fully satiated. Perhaps if you played along a little longer he’d stretch you out and stuff you full with something hopefully a bit more substantial than his fingers. A girl could certainly hope, at least. 

“Alright. I’m listening.”

“That's a good pet.” He murmurs, sticking his hand out to lightly palm over your head and you don’t stop long enough to reconsider it before nuzzling into the gesture with a soft purr. It seemed your earlier impression was correct. As long as he kept praising you, you’d do anything he wanted. 

Pulling back, Al-Haitham directs his attention back around to the contents of the box again. You listen to him dig for something, wondering how many items he’d actually purchased for the sake of being prepared, but you can’t quite see what he finally pulls out from your position on the floor. Even when you try to crane your neck up for a quick look the only thing you can make out is him fiddling with something. 

“This might be a bit cold at first.” He warns. 

That’s all the notice you get before he leans over you, hand stretching out on a sure and steady trajectory towards your backside, and you outright squawk when you feel him smear something sticky over your asshole. He does it so casually, such idle surety in the motion, that it sends your heart shooting up into your throat. 

Mewling a soft sound of confusion, you shudderingly try to twist around on the floor to see what he’s doing but he just follows you when you angle away. His ministrations don’t even falter while he continues to smear that mysterious wet goop over your puckered hole to thoroughly coat you in it, your uncertainty growing by the second when understanding starts to dawn. 

Surely he wasn’t — 

“Don’t tense up. You need to relax.” He murmurs, slowly rubbing over your ass with concentrated strokes now to encourage the muscle to loosen. 

Oh, he most certainly was. 

“W - w - wha - -“ 

“No words now, pretty girl. Unless it’s to tell me to stop and that you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m not interested in hearing it. You’re going to be a good pet for me, aren’t you?” 

Whimpering, you screw your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. That was easier said than done though, of course. You weren’t used to being touched like this and the prospect of having something inserted up your ass makes you far more nervous than anything else he’s done to you this evening. But it’s clear that was what he’s working his way up to, especially when he starts to carefully prod at the center wrinkle where the tight muscle begins to slacken and give way. He only taunts you with it though, never quite fully slipping his finger inside to penetrate you, and instead he focuses on merely teasing around the interior rim. 

You quickly realize he’s making sure you’re as well coated with that slippery lubricant on the inside as you are on the outside, and it becomes that much harder to keep your head on straight. 

Positively squirming when he at last pulls away some time later to leave your asshole sticky and loosened, you seethe into the rug while you listen to him dig something else out of the box. You have a few guesses in mind, naturally, but nothing quite prepares you for when you crack your eyes open at his behest only to find him dangling a long, fluffy tail in front of your face. 

Attached to the other end is what you can safely assume to be a plug based off the smooth, rounded tip that widens out into a bulbous base before then narrowing down to a thinner stem. The faux fur appendage dangles tauntingly from the bottom of it, and you softly groan at the full bodied shudder that tears through you. He really was going to put that thing inside your body. 

“Take a deep breath for me and let it out slowly. That’s it. Again. Such a good girl you’re being. I want you to focus on relaxing into it and bear down when I tell you to, alright?” 

At your faltering nod of understanding, in far too deep to back out now, Al-Haitham scoots to the very edge of the sofa and leans over you again. Using one hand to spread your sore cheeks open, he brings the plug close with the opposite to gently touch you with it. You jolt at the contact like he’d electrocuted you but quickly still again with an anxious little sob. Helpless to do anything else, you just kneel there at his feet and accept what’s happening while he lazily draws the toy through the excess lubricant he’d smeared all over you. 

When he finally starts to push in on the slackened pucker after another drawn out moment you go stockstill at the unfamiliar pressure, gasping roughly into the carpet. He softly tuts at you, encouraging you to calm down with soft words of praise, but it’s hard. Almost impossible when this was completely foreign to you and the slow stretch of yet untested muscle seems so debilitatingly sharp even in your punchdrunk state that you don’t know what to make of it. 

It doesn’t hurt though, you’re quite relieved to find. Just uncomfortable and more than a little strange, particularly when you could feel your asshole slowly losing the fight. There was too much lube for you to reject it and keep him out, the plug sufficiently smooth to make the penetration more of an easy glide than you’d expected it to be. In tortuous slow motion, he makes you take one millimeter at a time until your hole is stretched wide around the thickest part before gradually pulling back to repeat the process. 

Again and again, he makes your body open up to him before at last issuing the command for you to push. You almost don’t do it, unsure if you even could when the once tight ring of muscle felt so horribly strained, but with a low groan you comply. At the same time you bear down on the intrusion he gives it a quick push, and all at once the whole thing slips inside you straight down to the base. You rock forward with a haggard gasp, mindlessly jutting your ass up in the air as you weakly squeeze around the narrow stem only to realize that it was already too late. 

The toy was firmly wedged inside you now and taking up space that only seems to highlight how very empty your pussy is. He pulls back to admire his handiwork, letting the long tail settle against your soaked cunt with a faint brush of the fur. Trembling almost violently, you dig your toes into the rug and nudge your pelvis up as if you were little more than a bitch begging to be mounted. 

You really didn’t want to think about how apt that comparison actually was right now. 

“Just look at you, darling girl. I can tell how much you’re enjoying this from here,” He says, breaking through the delirium just enough for you to pick up on the vague note of satisfied awe creeping into his voice. Like he couldn’t believe you’d really allowed this to go so far, or maybe he was just finally starting to notice the effect this was having on his own body. It was hard to say with him. 

Groaning fitfully, you press your hot face into the ornate rug and give your ass a brief, supplicating shake. The tail shifts with the motion where it dangles down between your legs, brushing your pussy just so, but it’s not nearly enough to feel good. If anything it just makes you more desperate for his attention, his hand, his cock. Whatever he wanted to give you would have sufficed.

But of course Al-Haitham doesn’t relent and give you what you want. He never does, not directly anyway, and you seethe through your teeth when you feel him stand up from the sofa to loom over you. 

“Sit for me.” 

Blinking through the disorienting fog, you gingerly comply. Push up onto your forearms and get your knees adjusted under you before slowly sitting upright even when you dizzily sway with the motion. The change in position seems to make the plug feel even bigger where it’s keeping your ass stretched open around its width, and you faintly groan at the sensation. 

Al-Haitham is as unreasonable and demanding as ever though, and he barely allows you enough time to get situated in front of him before issuing his next command. “Good. Now beg.” 

The mere thought of assuming that position again makes you wince, your body already a mess of aches and pains, and throbbing arousal, but you comply with this too. It takes a bit of effort on your part to get your legs to cooperate but you eventually manage, somehow. 

And once you’re squatted before him, precariously balancing on your toes with your hands securely fastened up by your chest, you look to him for his next order. You no longer have any wherewithal left to feel at all embarrassed or ashamed of having your cunt on display like this, nor do you have it in you to second guess any of it. All you knew with certainty was that you were drowning in it, this hazy feeling of absolution that seemed to rend you to pieces and mend you back together again in the same breath. Perhaps it was a bit fatalistic, yes, but you’d never felt quite so sexually satisfied in all your life. 

Especially when he smiles, pinning you with one of those exceedingly rare, genuine little tugs of his mouth to indicate that he was pleased with you. It’s fleeting and short lived but you don’t miss it by a long shot as he proceeds to gently pull on your leash to make sure he’s got your attention.  

“Wag for me, pretty girl? Think you can do that?” 

You don’t stop to rethink this either. You just do it, struggling to shake your ass in this awkward balancing act to feel the tail swishing back and forth on the floor underneath you. It’s humiliating and dehumanizing in equal measure, but you would have gladly done that and so much more just to earn another doting pet of his hand, another soft word from his mouth. 

Al-Haitham had awakened something inside you that day in his office, and now you were his responsibility. For better or worse, he was your master and you his obedient, loyal pet.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[honeygrahambitch]

One day passed.

Two days passed.

Three days passed when Hannibal finally decided to pick up the puppy that kept wandering around the building of his office.

He was so small he could lift it in one hand and so malnourished that he could easily count all his ribs.

For the past three days he had tried to convince himself that the puppy had a family and that he couldn't just kidnap him. Will would not appreciate that. However, the state of the puppy and the absence of any bigger dog in the surrounding area were enough to push Hannibal to make a decision.

Since Will had abandoned his dogs one year ago, he had given up on his habit of collecting strays. One of the reasons was that until recently they had kept changing their location but the real reason was that Will was no longer seeing himself worthy of having dogs.

"A dog trusts you with his whole life. My dogs were my family, they trusted me. I left them behind." Will had said once and then had never mentioned it again.

He did not want that to happen again.

Hannibal however knew that it was the time for Will to heal that part of himself.

The puppy made noises that Hannibal found rather annoying but he kept reminding himself that Will would be happy. He put the little animal on a towel on the passenger's seat of his car and drove home. The poor thing didn't have enough energy to leave the seat and patiently sat there.

Once in the garage of their new house, Hannibal picked the pup again and entered the house.

"You home?" He heard Will shouting from the living room.

"Yes." Hannibal replied and put the little thing on the floor. He heard Will's steps coming towards them.

"You won't believe what-" Will started but froze instantly when he saw the little creature that was trembling on all fours.

"He doesn't look like a dog but he has some potential." Hannibal explained, moving his eyes from the puppy to Will and then back to the puppy and back to Will who looked as if he was frozen in time.

To Hannibal's surprise, Will covered his mouth with his hands and started sobbing still not being able to move.

"I also think he is a bit ugly but if you feed it, he might look better. In time." He said not sure whether to go sooth him or just give him time to take in everything.

"He is perfect." Will whispered in between sobs and let himself fall to his knees. The little pup looked a bit traumatized by the sounds Will was making, so the fact that he did not seem as tall as before, made the poor thing crawl towards him.

"Come here." Will said while trying his best to hold back his tears.

Hannibal felt something melt inside his chest at the sight of the mess Will was turned into.

"I don't deserve him." Will said as he lifted him up, amazed by how perfect he seemed to him.

"Then I can just put him back where I found it." Hannibal replied. He was pleased when Will's answer came out as a laughter.

"You get to name him." Will said, still on the floor, playing with the squeaky thing.

"No, I am sure you will have more fun with that."

"I insist."

"Very well." Hannibal accepted and hummed. "Judging by its size, I would say he looks like a gnocchi."

"He does look like a gnocchi." Will approved and started sobbing again.

"Just make sure he doesn't have any parasites and that he is clean all the time. And preferably keep him away from the kitchen. And take him out if he..."

"Too late." Will interrupted him.

"Yeah, you will clean that. I will go prepare dinner."

[valentine-cafe]

haii!! :DD

can i have an angsty scenario where (anyone you think would match this scenario) they had to kill their partner (reader) to save the world or that reader was a danger or something, them crying as reader's warmth saps away, only to find out that the death of their partner was just for nothing. They didn't actually need to kill reader, leaving them questioning everything they've ever done, holding their partners bodies.

(also can i be 🦈 anon 🥹🥹🥹 thanks!!)

˖⁺. “ pointless sacrifices ” : 

﹙ multi m. characters x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various male characters x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ admiral ˖ spy character ˖ serial killer ˖ outlaw ˖ illusionist character ˖ grim reaper ˖ mecenary leader character ﹚

they sacrifice you but it is all in vain. they've lost you all for nothing 

﹙ cws ﹚: death of reader  | wc : 0.6k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: omg this angst thank you so so much for the food. also of course! welcome our newest 🦈 anon

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ rishen 1311. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : he should have expected nothing less. the universe has always shown its ugly side of its face to him. what was he to expect when he sacrificed the one good thing that happened - and stayed - for the greater good?

where has the greater good ever gotten him? here he kneels with your cold corpse in his arms. he’s held so many before, yet yours felt like a weight he would never quite shake from his trembling palms.

as he holds you close he recounts the look in your eyes before it all ended. the words you spoke to him. I love you rishen.

you shouldn’t have loved him. not him. he’s not capable of it. worthy of it. heartless is what they call him after all. you should have known better.

the bitterness in his heart tells him that he should have as well. all he can do is stare at your beautiful face. monotone. numb.

꒰ admiral ˖ spy  ˖ assassin character ꒱

 

﹙ alessio 9819. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : he cannot believe that this is happening again.

another life. at the deal of his hands. a life that he has never wanted to bet, risk or play in any way, shape of form. and here he stood. the aftermath of one of the biggest risks he has ever taken.

now here you lay in his hands. cold. the warmth that you have always blessed him with nowhere to be seen. and for what? for what?

all he can do is keep your head against his chest. bury his face into your hair and cradle you against him. what more can he do when he’s messed up all over again? when he’s the one carrying a heavy weight with nothing but a sore heart and soft begs for your return.

“I messedup. I messed up. I messedupImessedupnonono.”

all he can do is cry into your clothes. reminiscing in the way that you would embrace him. in the way that you would make the world a better place. just as he as always hoped for.

and now the world you love will be no more.

꒰ outlaw ˖ serial killer ˖ illusionist character ꒱

 

﹙xīyáng 9819. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : he has always prided himself on doing the right thing. even if it came at a cost. even if it didn’t feel right.

none of this felt right. now all of it was in vain. what is the point of any of this anymore? the right, the wrong, the in-between? he has always considered himself grey.

he considers himself nothing with your dead eyes staring back at him. all life and love that he had bathed in now a mere phantom. one that would be etched into his memory.

would it have killed him to indulge his selfishness? to have you here. in his arms. whilst the world shatters around the both of you.

instead he is here. alone. with your cold body against him and whispering his slew of sorries. worthless apologies. as his own voice will too fade into the air. at least he will get to see you again. he hopes you will forgive him.

꒰ grim reaper ˖ mercenary leader ꒱

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[thenyoukeepliving]

Coward

Summary: Jax finds himself alone in his room and can't escape his thoughts anymore.

CW: emotional breakdown of a pathetic rabbit | self-loathing | crying | themes of isolation and self-hate

A/N: this was written for my own self-comfort, so if it feels rushed and just generally bad... that's why.

Word count: 847

₊‧⁺˖☾ ─────────────── ☽˖⁺‧₊

The door creaked as Jax stepped into his room, the sound cutting through the thick, suffocating silence. It was finally quiet.

Too quiet.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the dim, artificial glow of the room. The adventure was over. The others had gone their separate ways, retreating to their own rooms in this godforsaken place. And Jax… Jax had come here – not because he wanted to, but because there was nowhere else to go for him.

Something in him felt drained. Used up. Like whatever was keeping him together was stretched too thin, and at any second, it would snap. His eyes flicked to the mirror on the wall, and for a moment, he hesitated. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see himself. And yet, he found himself looking –

God... I look like shit.

He let out a shaky breath and quickly turned away. His hands clenched at his sides, fingers twitching, restless. He needed to do something. Anything.

His first instinct was to tug on his gloves, each movement faster and tighter than the last. Acting like his hands weren’t shaking. He flexed his fingers, staring at them like they belonged to someone else. They felt wrong. 

Everything feels wrong.

Jax tried to think of something to distract himself, but it was useless. His thoughts raced in his mind, crashing into one another. A chaotic mess, refusing to be untangled. Each thought felt like it was trying to tear its way out of his skull, all of them demanding attention at once, drowning him in a flood of emotions he couldn’t control. He was hit by an overwhelming sense of powerlessness and vulnerability.

Coward. 

A pathetic little joke of a person.

The reality of it hit him like a wave, crashing down and pulling him under, drowning him in his own self-loathing.

You’re a joke. You’ll always be a joke.

The thought rang in his mind, repeating like a broken record. He wanted to argue with it, but he couldn’t. There was no arguing with the truth. He hated that he couldn’t just shut it off, couldn’t bury it deep enough to forget it was there.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought he was going to choke on it. His legs gave up on him before he could stop them, and he sank onto the floor, arms wrapping around his knees. 

The silence in the room pressed in on him, thick and suffocating, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts. He rested his forehead against his arms, squeezing his eyes shut.

He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

A shaky breath. Then another. Then the first tear slipped down his face.

He bit his tongue, hard, trying to stop the next one. It didn’t work. They came anyway, slow and silent, trailing down his cheeks like they had every right to be there. His whole body trembled with the effort of holding it in, of pretending he wasn’t completely breaking apart.

His breath hitched again, turning uneven, shaky. He pressed his palms against his eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears. Didn’t stop the ugly, suffocating feeling swelling in his chest. His shoulders shook, his breathing turning ragged. It was getting harder to hold it back. Harder to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Then, all at once, the dam broke.

A sharp, gasping sob escaped his throat, his whole body curling in on itself. The sound startled even him, raw and desperate to be let out. And once it started, he couldn’t stop. The sobs came in waves, shaking him apart. His chest ached, his throat burned, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He was too far gone.

He pressed his forehead harder against his arms, trying to muffle the sounds, but it didn’t help. He cried like he had been holding it in for years – maybe he had. It was unbearable. 

Time blurred. Jax wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, breaking apart on the floor, but eventually, the sobs slowed. The tears didn’t stop completely, but they came quieter now, softer. His breathing evened out bit by bit, though every inhale still felt too tight, every exhale too shaky.

He sat there for a long while, staring at nothing, exhaustion settling into his bones. His hands felt numb, his face wet and warm, but the worst of it had passed. 

He was empty now. Hollow. But at least the storm had calmed.

“…Well. That was pathetic,” he muttered to no one. His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Jax wiped away the tears and took another breath. He forced himself to move and slowly pushed himself up. His legs ached from how tightly he had curled up, but he ignored it. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor, hands resting loosely in his lap.

It still hurt. It will probably hurt for a while. But at least, now it was quiet.

And for the first time in a long time… he let it be.