#it is a pathetic miserable sight and he WANTS to be alone so no one can see him like that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

6ronze · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

jujutsu kaisen w SAMURAI!TOJI FUSHIGURO. format. fic. warnings. fluff + hurt/comfort + nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. beating mention. spanking mention. pretty domestic and vanilla ngl. lots of praise(good girl, etc). a bit of dirty talk. fingering. endearments. wife!reader. toji in denial that he’s stupidly in love. summary. samurai!toji w his pretty wife + non-sorcerer au so he’s just miserable here

author’s note. gcbuiawbf got this idea out of nowhere. a bit inspired by hell’s paradise.

toji zenin. His birth name given by his parents along with all the responsibilities he never knew he was obliged to carry. If his soul while a fetus was informed that he was about to be born in a family where prowess reigned supreme and the right to be treated as a human had be fought for, perhaps he would have never wished to be born at all.

Against his will, he was birthed by his mother anyway, having to be scowled at and ostracised by his own clan which was said to be family. Growing up as a child, he learned what he had wasn’t family by the sight he was greeted with when he went out to the capital—children his age, running around with colourful toys in hand instead of a sword. And most importantly, they laughed. Smiled even.

It was something so mundane—a smile—yet something so foreign to him. The only smile he knew of at that age was the smile his relatives had when they kicked him on the ground, using the wooden sword he was given to train to hit him instead. The only smile he knew, was one full of sadism.

The older he got, the stronger he became, the more he realised he was slowly starting to pick up that same trait from them.

Very so often, he’d accept challenges from his peers or outsiders that wanted to humiliate him and his skills, looking down at him despite his bloodline of the Zenin clan.

He’d unsheathe his the katana he had resting on his hip, lazily taking stance and staring the arrogant man dead in the eyes with his own void eyes.

Such duels would end with the same outcome—toji having them laid on the ground, the sharp edge of his long katana dangerously close to the opponent’s neck. Sometimes—just sometimes, he’d smile. Just sometimes, he’d unintentionally make a thin cut to the neck just enough to draw blood.

He would be lying if he said the view from above wasn’t satisfying, the feeling of finally being the one looking down on someone as pathetic as the ones that humiliated him for years. The sneer he’d make with his lifeless eyes under the thin shadow that masked his face from his muscular and tall physique would make anyone think their life was about to be taken in a blink of an eye. But he wouldn’t. Toji would spare himself the trouble of having to face his elders for making a scene out of nothing.

Toji’s lived at the isolated quarters of the zenin estate for years—and that wasn’t about to change. It was where his mother birthed him and died—and so it would be where he would live and die.

The very least he would expect or care about was having a wife to continue his bloodline despite his progressing age. He knew better than to be greedy and trap a lady to the hell he lived in. Besides, he had absolutely no intentions of taking the ladies he’d frequently meet at the brothels out in town as his lover, let alone as his wife.

So the news of the elders arranging him a wife from another samurai clan shocked him. It was early morning when he was informed of such news, he had almost spat out his sake. The only thing he could utter in response was a loud, deep, huh?

Toji finally met you face to face after hearing your name being repeated by his elders when he had a meeting with them. Your family name rang a bell, though he never thought much of them since they weren’t politically involved in anything other than war.

He’s sat beside you, his hair slightly better groomed and yukata straightened compared to the sloppy way he wore it before. Making an effort in his appearance was the least he could do—since he was convinced he wouldn’t bother changing a thing about himself just for your sake.

“Your wedding ceremony will be held five days from now. End of discussion,” one of his elders concluded, the leader of your clan bearing witness and agreeing. Toji merely stared head on to his peers, moving a hand to lift his cup of sake and chugging it down without a hint of respect.

After a few more minutes of discussing the details about the ceremony, he finally turned his head to look at you—his future wife. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, your figure considerably insignificant to his. From what he thought would be an average woman being wed to him, his eyes lingered on you quite some while before he glanced elsewhere, his expression unreadable still.

You two parted ways for the day and he returned to his quarters, cup of sake in hand and his arm rested on the knee of his leg that propped up while sitting on the floor, his other leg bent towards himself. Toji stared out the courtyard of the estate, trying to peel the image of you out of his head. He internally cursed himself and his elders for suddenly arranging a wife for him just because they didn’t want their reputation to be tarnished by having an unmarried man. What was he supposed to do with a woman he’s never met before anyway? Regardless, he refused to be like the men within the zenin clan that lacked sympathy towards women and children.

The wedding ceremony was brief but complete. He was the best dressed he ever was in years, with you by his side. Just some family member from your families and a brief dinner, and the ceremony was complete. You didn’t seem to say a word about it either. Deep down he wondered if you loathed him, or your parents, for setting you up the low life of the zenin clan instead of his cousins. He would never know, he didn’t want to anyway. Ignorance was bliss, he thought.

You were lead back to his quarters after the ceremony ended, the sight of the somewhat empty and undecorated room not giving you much of a shocking reaction as he had hoped. Toji didn’t know what exactly he hoped, maybe a look of horror, sorrow, or pity. Yet he looked at you only to see you nod and acknowledge him, your expression remaining calm as if saying ‘I can work with this’.

Your first night together was mostly silent, perhaps a bit awkward whenever he tried offering you a blanket and separate futon to sleep in. While you thought that he didn’t like you, he was worried (albeit in denial) that you’d be uncomfortable sleeping with him.

To his and your surprise, you ended up having a brief yet meaningful talk that same night while you were both in your respective futons, about to sleep. He liked that you didn’t have expectations, understanding of his situation and yours now that you’re his legal wife. Maybe you weren’t so bad.

Months had passed since your wedding. And he’s become increasingly close to you—he’s fond of you, is what he would say in his own words. Though in the eyes of servants, others that weren’t blind, could see just how infatuated he was with you.

With how he’s stopped going to the brothel he so frequents in the capital, with how he’s become more hostile to those who insult you, it was quite clear how he cared for you, at least. Though what they didn’t know was how flirty he is with you behind closed doors, how he it was simply impossible for him to keep his hands to himself whenever he was in close proximity with you. He was insatiable. Not that you’d tell that to anyone. Unless you wanted a good spanking in the privacy of your quarters.

“What’d I tell you about gossiping with the maids, hm?” He’d murmur against the skin of your neck from behind you, his hard body pressing up against your soft one. His hands were all over you, the curve of your hip and the soft flesh of your breast that he had cupped over your loosening kimono, his calloused fingers circling your nipple making you shiver and squirm.

“I wasn’t gossiping, you fool,” you mumbled, your breath shaky and your body writhing in vain attempts to rid yourself of his touch.

“Then what were you doing? Bragging? Complaining?” You heard from the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning your skin and the sound of his breathy laugh making you groan in frustration in embarrassment.

“Neither,” you huffed, settling yourself down on the futon with his arm under you still, holding you close to him.

“Liar,” he quickly refuted, his lips grazing the skin behind your ear and slipping his hand under your robe, searching to cup one of your tits and fondling it the second he captured it. His other hand moved down to your thighs, hooking his fingers under the slit of your robe and pulling it away to reveal your bare thighs, and exposing a hint of your dampening heat.

“There’s my beauty,” he whispered, his eyes flickering down your body from your shoulder to see the present he unwrapped for himself, your pretty cunt. He’s reminded you so many unneeded times before that he owned it, you. His calloused fingers slid to the apex of your legs, parting your puffy folds since your legs remained insistent on keep closed.

“Toji—” you started only to quickly be silenced with a deliberate stroke of his finger up your slit, the pad of said finger resting on your clit. The sudden touch made your lips part to exhale a shaky moan, your eyes looking down between your legs to see the movement of his hand.

“Yeah? Need something, sweetheart?” He hummed by your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feast on your skin. While his teeth nibbled and marked you up, his finger on your clit began rubbing deliberate circles, feeling you up until he felt it twitching against the pad of his digit. Before you knew it, he had parted your folds further, slipping his thick middle fingers into your entrance, revelling in the way it made you squirm against him, your ass rubbing against his hip. You could only answer him with pathetic mewls that were only music to his ears, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be giving you much time to catch your breath to utter coherent words.

“Thought so, baby,” he scoffed triumphantly at your soft moans, his fingers curling inside you as he thrusted it in and out of your slowly, making sure to leave brief harsh kisses on your g-spot to keep you wanting, to keep you clenching around his digit in need but not enough to make you cum.

“You’re so tight around my finger, darling, can’t imagine how much tighter you’d get when I have my cock buried inside you. Think you’d like that? Feelin’ stuffed?” Was what he kept on whispering to you while he bottomed his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, making sure you’re feeling it as much as he was—and fuck was he feeling it. Even if he had you drunk on his finger, you weren’t exactly oblivious to prodding of his cock on your lower back. You just didn’t have the capacity to focus on it, not when he was turning you on with the mere thought and descriptions of him fucking you.

Toji felt you beginning to spams around him, your voice getting more and more high-pitched and whiny along with your nipples hardened to peaks between his cruel fingers. Signs of you being close to cumming was everywhere and he noticed them all, though he led you on to brink just to pull away when you needed him most.

“Yeah, not on my finger baby. You know where I want you most—where I want you best,” he grinned, his voice gravelly and hoarse as his breath brushed against your already warm skin.

Toji slid his finger out of you with slowly, savouring the way your juices coated him. The mere sight of his slick finger assured him that you were ready for—so fuckin’ ready.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, his free hand now slipping under your thigh, lifting your leg up to forcefully part your legs knowing you’d cramp yourself while trying to keep it up for him. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he assured from behind you when he finally took notice how you kept calling out his name, your voice all whiny and shaky in desperation. He positioned himself from behind you, shifting his hips and snuggling closer to you to lose whatever distance you still had left between each other.

“Feel that? ‘M all hard and ready for you, baby. Just like how ready you are for me,” he cooed, tugging on his own yukata to free his raging hard on, letting the thick girth slick with precum prod your ass, earning a needy whimper from you. He couldn’t help but stare at your side profile, taking in the sight of his wife making such expressions you’d never make for anyone but him.

His arm under your body curled your body suffocating close to him, making sure you could feel his chest against your back and his chin buried on the top of your head, alternating the choice of preying on the skin of your neck or ear.

After a moment of teasing, he finally slid his cock over to your wet folds, letting the tip mingle his precum with your slick juices before he pushed upwards, slowly penetrating your entrance that fluttered around him already, making it hard for him to go further.

“Fuck, princess—you gotta relax. I know you can take me in like a good girl,” he groaned, his jaw clenching at the feeling your soft flesh against his tip before you finally relax, letting him push further into you. He kept on uttering filthy encouragements by your ear while he made you take him in inch by inch until the hilt, his head tilting to kiss down your neck. He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to his size, not letting that moment go on for too long until he started bottoming in and out of you with you slow, deliberate thrusts, your leg trembling in his hand.

“All mine—this tight cunt’s all mine.” The foul words that reached your ears would have normally had you recoiling in disgust but now, knowing those words came from him, it only made you moan shamelessly in his arms, your insides churning with pleasure and need to chase that high that he so often gave you. His need for you was palpable, almost equivalent to yours with how his hand kept alternating between your tits while he fucked you, his pace quickening now that the knot in his loins was tightening.

Your shared bedroom room was filled with nothing was the scent of your arousals, the lewd squelching sounds of his thrusts into you and loud shared moans. Toji’s hips didn’t stop for even a moment to let any of you rest, not when he was so close, you were so close. His grip on your breast tightened along with his grasp that help your thigh up, his hips bucking into your until he felt his balls tighten, his cock eventually spurting ropes of his thick semen into your canal, his movements jerky until he stopped. He nestled his cock into you until the hilt, unloading himself and letting you clench all around him.

He savoured the feeling with heavy pants, deep growls on satisfaction leaving him when he realised you came with him. Toji kept himself inside you for a while, not showing any signs of pulling out as you both basked in the afterglow.

He’d finally lower your leg down, humping against you lazily now that you’ve both came down from your high. Toji cradle you close to him, his hand slipping out of your robe to move his hand to your stomach instead, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled your natural scent and the musk of your mixed fluids that had began to ooze out you.

“Think you’d be up for another round after this, darling?” His low voice breathless voice met your ears, earning himself an annoyed frown which he merely chuckle at in response.

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jetii · 4 days ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Nineteen: Different

Chapter WC: 8,439

Chapter Warnings: Some description of panic attack-adjacent emotions/sensations

A/N: I have a love/hate relationship with this chapter. I lost about half of my edits on this one the other day, and it was not an enjoyable experience. I'm tired of looking at it so! Here! Enjoy two idiots in denial definitely not having a date.

Also want to shout out this amazing art of Rex and Goldie by @ghostymarni!!! I literally gaze at it every day in awe 😭🙏

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

There's no reason for you to be nervous.

It's just lunch between friends. It's not a big deal.

And yet, your hands are sweating, and your stomach is fluttering, and you can't stop thinking about Rex. The way he'd laughed, or the sound of his breathing, or how nice his smile is. Your nerves are on edge, and you can't seem to focus, your mind wandering to places it shouldn't.

You're pathetic, you think. You've seen Rex a thousand times. This isn't even the first time you'd shared a meal at Dex's, and you weren't nearly this nervous. It's the same thing, but somehow, it's different. And the difference is throwing you off.

You take a deep breath, and you straighten your jacket, smoothing the front. The weather is unseasonably cold today, the clouds hanging low in the sky, and the chill is seeping through your clothes, the wind whipping through the streets. You glance up at the sky, squinting at the gray horizon. The Temple bears down on you from the distance, the stone a pale reflection of the growing storm, and you grimace and look away.

You're standing outside Dex's, the neon sign above your head casting a soft glow over the walkway, the letters blurring as the rain begins to fall. It's not too bad yet, but the street is mostly empty, the pedestrians choosing to take shelter inside the nearby shops and restaurants.

You should be inside too, but you can't bring yourself to sit alone and wait. You'd rather be somewhere you could pace, your hands clasped behind your back, your mind racing.

You're supposed to meet Rex here. He said he had a meeting that would run late, and he'd meet you when he was done. So here you are, waiting, even though it's freezing and raining and miserable.

And the fact that you're waiting outside, instead of taking cover like any sane person would, is just one more indication of how far gone you are.

The rain is growing heavier, the water dripping down the sides of your hood, and you can't help but glare up at the sky. You could be inside, where it's warm and dry, but no. You're out here. Because you're a sentimental idiot, and the idea of spending any amount of time with Rex has completely destroyed your sense of reason.

A droplet of water slips past the edge of your hood, trailing down your cheek, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. When your hand falls, you notice a tall, broad figure approaching you quickly and with intent. You reflexively brace yourself for a confrontation, your hand drifting to the saber tucked into your jacket, but then you feel it. A familiar presence. A glow of warmth in the Force.

Rex is walking towards you, his shoulders hunched against the rain, his expression hidden beneath the shadows of his hood. It's no wonder you didn't recognize him immediately. You've never seen him out of armor before. The dark pants and heavy coat are an unusual sight, and without the plastoid plating, he seems...smaller. More vulnerable. More human. Like any other civilian.

He's almost reached you when his eyes meet yours, and he breaks into a grin, his steps quickening. His face flushed, and he's breathing hard, as if he'd run the entire way. The realization makes you smile. You know he'd been running late. You hadn't realized he'd run.

"Sorry I'm late," he pants. "General Skywalker had a few last minute questions for me, and..."

"It's fine. I wasn't waiting long," you lie.

You push yourself off of the wall, your arms crossed tightly, trying to ward off the chill. Rex's eyes dart over you, and he frowns, his eyes narrowing.

"You're shivering. Why didn't you go inside? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you insist. You're not sure how to answer the first question. You could tell him the truth, that you didn't want to wait in there, alone with your thoughts, but it seems silly. So, you just shrug, giving him a sheepish smile. "It's just a little rain."

He shakes his head and gives you a disapproving look. "It's not just a little rain--"

"Are you really going to argue with me about weather right now?"

He stares at you for a long moment, and then he takes a step closer, the toes of his boots nearly touching yours. His hands rise, and his fingers grasp the edges of your hood, pushing it back to reveal your face. The fabric is wet, the strands of your hair around your forehead plastered to your skin, and Rex grimaces, his fingers brushing the locks away.

"You're gonna catch a cold," he chides. He's not looking at your face, his attention focused on untangling a lock of hair that's become caught in your earring.

"It's just water, Rex," you grumble, but there's no heat behind it. You're too busy watching him, your gaze fixed on his face.

"I'm pretty sure it's illegal to let a Jedi freeze to death." He smirks, and his eyes finally meet yours, his fingers still tangled in your hair. He manages to free it, and he tucks the loose strand behind your ear. "They'd throw me in prison. Or worse."

You swallow, and you try to ignore how close he is, or how good he smells, or how easy it would be to lean forward and press your lips to his. The two of you are standing close enough that you can see each other's breath fogging in front of you, and it feels intimate, like something you're not supposed to be seeing.

"That would be unfortunate," you manage, and you take a step back out of his reach, his hands falling to his sides. You give him a faint smile, trying to regain some sense of calm. "For you, at least."

Rex lets out a soft chuckle and steps away, glancing over his shoulder at the diner. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

He places his hand on the small of your back and ushers you towards the entrance, the glass doors sliding open. A blast of warmth hits you, and you let out a sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders. It's not as crowded as usual, but the smell of food still hangs heavy in the air, and the din of conversation fills the room.

Rex removes his hand and waves down FLO, and the droid makes a beeline for the table near the back. You've been here so often that she's started to memorize your preferred booth, the one that's secluded enough to offer some privacy, and you're grateful for it. She's nothing if not efficient.

When the two of you reach the back of the restaurant, Rex removes his coat and drapes it over a hook next to the booth, and he takes your jacket as well, hanging it beside his. You take a moment to study him. The long-sleeved shirt he's wearing is fitted, and it shows off his toned body, the material clinging to his chest. You didn't realize just how much he filled out the armor. Now that he's not wearing it, it's hard not to stare. Your eyes trace the shape of his biceps, the curve of his pecs, the muscles that flex beneath the fabric.

Your mouth is suddenly dry.

You quickly pull your eyes away and settle into the booth, the vinyl squeaking under you. FLO reappears with two cups of caf and the carafe. She sets it down and takes your orders, her gaze shifting between the two of you as if she's analyzing the situation. You don't have to be a mind reader to know what she's thinking.

You can't really blame her. This is new. And the fact that Rex is out of his armor is strange, and you know it. You can only hope that she doesn't alert Dex to the fact that a certain clone captain has joined you again.

You shake your head and pour the caf, adding a generous amount of sugar to yours. Rex watches the process, his eyes lingering on the spoon, and you narrow your eyes.

"What?"

"How can you drink that?" he asks, his lip curling. "It's practically syrup."

You raise a brow as you stir, the liquid swirling in the cup, and you point at him with your spoon. "And how can you not? You have a sweet tooth, don't try to deny it."

"I have a healthy relationship with sweets," he retorts, taking a sip of his caf. "This is an addiction."

You roll your eyes and lean back in your seat, holding the cup with both hands. You blow across the surface, watching the steam rise, and you bring it to your lips, the warmth spreading through you. Rex is watching you, his gaze sweeping over your face, and he's got a strange look in his eyes. You can't quite read it.

"What?" you ask again, and this time, there's an edge of impatience to it. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He blinks, as if he's snapping out of a daze, and he swallows. “Like what?”

"Like I'm insane," you deadpan.

"I'm not," he assures you. His gaze darts away, and his cheeks flush, the tips of his ears turning pink. "It's just...you look different. I'm not used to seeing you out of your robes."

You glance down at your clothes, frowning. It's a simple outfit, nothing special. Dark pants, a light sweater, boots. Not exactly a fashion statement. You raise a brow, your eyes returning to his face.

"Well, I do have an off-duty wardrobe," you drawl, a smirk tugging at your lips. You take a sip of your caf, trying to hide your amusement. "I didn't realize you liked the robe look so much."

Rex's eyes widen, and he shakes his head, a look of panic flashing across his features. "That's not what I meant. I mean...you know...they're nice. But they're not, uh...I didn't..."

He trails off, and his face is red now, his cheeks flushed. It's endearing, how flustered he gets. You grin, and you rest your chin in your palm, gazing at him.

"Do I really look that bad?" you tease, and Rex's gaze snaps to yours, his brows knitting together.

"What? No, of course not." He frowns and leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. "You look..."

"Yeah?" You blink at him, feigning innocence, and his mouth twists.

"You're enjoying this," he accuses, his voice flat. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Maybe." You take another sip of caf and smile. "A little. Sorry."

Rex scoffs and shakes his head, his eyes rolling. "No, you're not."

"Okay, not sorry," you admit with a shrug, and you put your cup down, your arms crossing over your chest.

He huffs and leans back, and you grin, enjoying the slight pout on his lips. It's fun, riling him up, and you find that you want to do it again, just to see how he'll react. He's not as composed as he seems. He's got a temper, a sharp tongue, and when he's frustrated, the flush spreads all the way to his ears. You can't help but wonder what other reactions you can elicit from him. What would make him lose control? What would make him blush? What would make him...

Stop, you scold yourself.

You shift in your seat and pick up your caf, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment, sipping your drinks. It's not uncomfortable, but there's an edge to it, a tension that wasn't there before. You're not sure what's changed, but there's something different between you, and it's not just because Rex is out of armor. It's subtle, a shift in his energy, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. It's just...

Different.

You glance up, and you notice Rex's gaze flick away, the faintest hint of red staining his cheeks. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there. Your brow furrows, and your head tilts, a flutter in your stomach. Was he...

"So," you begin, clearing your throat, "what's this information you've got for me?"

"Ah." Rex shifts, reaching over to his coat and pulling a datapad from the pocket. He taps a few buttons, and then he slides the pad across the table, the screen facing you. “Here.”

You pick it up, and you're greeted with a grainy image of the Temple's hangar, its grand circular door turning down. At the end of the landing platform that slides out from the doorway is a sleek silver ship, its hull glinting in the light of the fading sun. The date in the corner shows the day of Master Qui-Gon's funeral.

You swallow hard.

"The footage was easy enough to find," Rex explains, his voice low. "It's not exactly classified. The logs are another story. Those were...well, I had to make some calls."

Your brows rise, and your head whips up. "Rex, you didn't..."

He shrugs and leans back in the booth, a smug smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"It's not illegal to have friends," he teases. "They owed me a favor."

You let out a startled laugh at the sound of your words being thrown back at you, and your hand rises to cover your mouth, your gaze dropping to the datapad. It's an obvious jab, one clearly meant to make you laugh, and despite the gravity of the situation, you find yourself smiling. You shake your head and turn back to the screen.

You watch as a tall, slender figure wearing a billowing cape strides toward the ship, and its cockpit opens to greet him. You recognize Dooku instantly. There's no mistaking his gait, the confidence of his stride, or his imposing height. He’s backlit by the setting sun, his silhouette casting a long shadow across the hangar floor.

Dooku steps aboard the ship and drops into the cockpit, and the engines begin to hum, the lights inside dimming. Then, the ship lifts off the platform and soars upwards, its tail arcing gracefully.

It's barely a speck on the horizon when another ship shoots out of the hangar in pursuit of it. It's small, utilitarian, meant for one person. One small person. There's a flash of light as it activates its thrusters, and the ship speeds after Dooku. After a few moments, it too vanishes completely from view.

The video ends.

Your eyes are burning, and there's a tightness in your throat, your jaw clenched. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the air out slowly.

Dooku left the Temple.

Yaddle followed him.

You knew it. You've always known.

But, seeing it, actually seeing it, is more than you can handle.

The datapad falls onto the table with a clatter, and your hands tremble, your fingers clutching at your sleeves. You're struggling to keep your emotions in check, to maintain your composure, but it's becoming harder and harder. You're fighting a losing battle.

You knew, you remind yourself. You already knew.

But, this is different.

This is proof.

Your stomach is churning, the caf threatening to come back up, and the air around you feels thin, like you're running out of oxygen. The noise of the restaurant fades, replaced by a high-pitched whine and the ground beneath you starts to tilt. You're about to pass out. Or throw up. Maybe both.

"Hey."

There's a soft sound, like fingers tapping on glass, and you blink, your eyes focusing on a hand hovering in front of your face. It's Rex's hand. He's leaning across the table, his brows drawn together, and he's gazing at you with concern, his fingers reaching out to brush against your hand.

"Hey, come back," he murmurs. His hand wraps around yours, and he gives a gentle squeeze. "It's alright. Just breathe."

You suck in a breath and nod, forcing yourself to inhale and exhale. It helps, a little. The nausea fades, and the ringing in your ears is replaced by the sounds of the restaurant, the patrons chattering and Dex shouting orders. You can hear the rain pattering against the window, the distant rumble of thunder. The world is still spinning, and your heart is racing, but you're breathing again.

"Sorry," you mumble. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Rex argues, his tone blunt. His fingers stroke yours, and he glances over his shoulder, making sure no one's watching. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," you say quickly, your free hand moving to clutch at his wrist. You hold onto him, and he lets you, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "No, I'm fine. I just...I need a minute."

He nods and sits back in his seat, his grip never wavering. You squeeze his hand, and he smiles.

"We can go somewhere else, if you want," he offers, and his voice is soft, his gaze sympathetic. "Somewhere quieter."

"No, it's alright," you assure him. You shake your head and take another deep breath, the air filling your lungs. The pressure behind your eyes is receding, and your heartbeat is starting to slow. You feel better, a bit calmer, and you're able to focus on his face, on his touch. "I'm okay. Really."

Rex nods, and he slowly releases your hand, taking his warmth with him. He leans back in his seat, his fingers tapping against the table.

"Alright," he sighs. He hesitates, and then his expression relaxes, his shoulders slumping. "So. That's the last of the security footage. And there's no record of either ship entering or leaving Coruscant airspace until Dooku's ship left the system the next morning."

"Which means..."

"She didn't leave." Rex's jaw tightens, and his eyes drop to the pad. "She never made it off-planet."

The confirmation makes your stomach drop, and you rub a hand over your face, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. None of this is anything more than what you suspected, but seeing it laid out in front of you is surreal, and it's a strange mix of vindication and heartbreak. You've known the truth for years, but there was always that nagging doubt, that tiny voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

You're not.

Yaddle's disappearance wasn't an accident, and she didn't run. She didn't abandon the Order, or you, and her death wasn't some tragic mistake. She was murdered. And the one responsible is sitting on the Separatist Council.

You swallow the lump in your throat and turn to him, your brows furrowed. "Did the impound logs show anything?"

"A ship matching that description was recovered at a private port," he explains. "The records are incomplete, and they don't show the name of the person who impounded the vessel, but it was listed as a 'wreck'. Unfortunately, it was scrapped years ago."

"A wreck," you repeat, the words tasting bitter. "That's convenient."

"Too convenient," Rex agrees.

You run a hand through your hair and exhale, and you stare at the datapad, the images of Dooku's ship burned into your memory. He killed her, and he tried to hide the evidence. He erased her from existence, and he made it look like nothing had happened. As if she had never been her. And he's getting away with it.

The injustice of it all is staggering.

"Thank you Rex," you murmur. "I know how risky this was. For both of us."

"It was nothing," he replies. He gives a small shrug, and he reaches forward, picking up the datapad. "I'll send everything to you from an encrypted server. And I'll keep digging, see what else I can find."

You glance up at him, and you can't help but wonder how he managed it. This is more than a favor. This is serious. Rex is putting himself in a position where his loyalty could be called into question, and he's doing it without hesitation. For you.

Sure, the two of you are friends, but this is dangerous. There's no reason for him to get involved, and the fact that he has is...well, it's confusing, to say the least. You're not used to people going out of their way for you, especially not someone who isn't a Jedi. Most of your friendships are born out of convenience. They're temporary, and fleeting, and you know better than to get attached.

This, though. This is different.

Rex is different.

You shake your head and reach out, placing a hand over his. "Rex, I'm serious. Thank you. Really. But, you've done more than enough. I couldn't ask you to--"

"You're not asking," he interrupts, his voice firm. "I'm offering. This is important to you. I want to help."

You stare at him, your mouth opening, and you find yourself speechless, unable to find the words to express your gratitude. There's a pressure building behind your eyes, and a lump in your throat, and you blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. It's too much. Everything is too much.

"Why?" you whisper. "Why do you want to help?

His expression softens, and he lets out a long sigh, his eyes falling to the datapad. He's quiet for a long moment while you watch him, waiting for an answer. When it doesn't come, your mouth twists, and you move to retract your hand.

Rex moves faster.

He turns his palm up and catches your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He doesn't speak, and his eyes are on his hands, but he seems determined to keep you close. You watch him, waiting for him to say something, but he just continues to run his thumb across your skin.

You don't dare to move.

"I..." He trails off, his words dying in his throat. He's looking at you now, really looking at you. His eyes are searching yours, as if he's trying to read your thoughts, to figure out what you're thinking.

You wonder if he knows how vulnerable he looks, or if he knows that you can feel his apprehension in the Force, a sharp tang in your mouth. He's struggling with something, something he doesn't want to admit. Something he's not sure he should.

"Rex," you prompt, and his grip tightens. "Tell me."

"I...I care about you," he breathes. "And I can't stand by and watch you suffer, not if there's something I can do to help. If I can make things better, even just a little bit, I want to try."

You blink at him, stunned. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, and there's a strange sensation in your chest, like your lungs have forgotten how to work.

He cares about you.

The words echo through your mind, and they won't leave. They're stuck on repeat, playing over and over again, and it's all you can think about.

He's still holding your hand.

“You're my friend," he adds.

Oh.

Right.

You nod, swallowing hard. "I...Of course. Of course, you're my friend."

"Yeah. Friends," Rex mutters, and he's not looking at you anymore. His gaze has fallen to your hands, and he's staring at them as if they're something fascinating. Like they're a puzzle that needs solving.

The word stings.

"I just...you're important to me, and I want you to be happy." His grip tightens, and your breath hitches, a flutter in your stomach. "So, let me do this. Let me help you. Please."

You stare at him for a moment, the words echoing in your mind. There's no ulterior motive, no hidden meaning. He's simply being honest, and it's a raw, vulnerable kind of honesty, the sort of honesty that makes your stomach flutter. He cares. And, the way he's looking at you, the way his eyes are searching yours, makes you wonder if there's more to it. More than a friend should feel.

"Okay," you say. You take in a shuddering breath and smile, and his eyes flick back to yours. "Okay. Thanks."

"What are friends for?" He smiles back, and his thumb traces a pattern on the back of your hand, a gentle caress. He doesn't seem inclined to release you, and you're not sure you want him to.

Friends.

Right.

Friends.

You're his friend.

He's your friend.

It's a platonic gesture. A comforting touch.

Except, the way his thumb is moving across the back of your hand is not particularly friendly. It's more intimate than that, the movement slow, the contact lingering. And, the way he's looking at you, his eyes dark and warm, is not exactly platonic, either. You can't quite place the expression. It's affectionate, that much is clear, but it's more than that. You know it, and you think that Rex knows it, too.

This is a bad idea.

You don't want him to stop.

The sound of metal scraping against tile draws your attention, and the two of you break apart, his hand releasing yours. You hadn't noticed FLO approaching, but there she is, a tray in her hands. Her big yellow eyes stare down at you, the lenses flickering, the plates in her hands clacking as she tilts her head to the side. She seems...amused.

FLO sets the two steaming plates in front of you, and you thank her, reaching for your fork. She stares at the two of you for a moment longer, and then she turns and leaves, her gait slow and purposeful. Rex chuckles, his gaze following her.

"What?" you ask, your mouth already full. You didn't realize how hungry you were until the food was in front of you. Now, the smell is overwhelming, the spices and grease filling the air. You shovel the food into your mouth, chewing quickly.

"Nothing." He shakes his head and digs into his meal, his eyes still on FLO, a smirk on his lips.

You roll your eyes. "Come on, spit it out."

"Fine." He points at FLO with his fork. "I'm pretty sure she thinks we're...you know."

"What?"

He gives a half-shrug, a light blush staining his cheeks. "She thinks we're together. You know, a couple."

"Ah." You glance at FLO, who's standing behind the counter, watching the two of you. Your eyes narrow, and the droid's optic sensors seem to widen, her head jerking away.

You can't help but laugh.

"She does, doesn't she," you mutter as a flush creeps up your neck. You take another bite of food and chew thoughtfully, watching as Rex does the same. "Well, you are the only man I've ever brought here. Other than Obi-Wan, anyway. So, that might have something to do with it."

Rex chokes, and you look up, startled. "Are you okay?"

His hand shoots out, his palm waving in front of him, and he shakes his head.

"Yeah, sorry," he manages, his voice rough. He coughs and takes a sip of caf. He sets it down, his cheeks red, and his eyes dart away. "Sorry, I just...I'm the only one?"

"Mhm." You nod, resting your chin on the back of your hand. When he doesn't respond, you raise a brow. "Why is that surprising?"

"I guess it's not," he mumbles. He's avoiding your gaze, his eyes fixed on his plate. "But it's a little hard to imagine. You're..." He trails off, and he shakes his head. "Nevermind."

"What?" you ask, and there's a note of teasing in your voice. "What am I?"

"Nothing." He picks up his fork and spears a piece of food, lifting it to his mouth. "It's not important."

"No, tell me," you insist. You lean forward until you’re sure you're in his line of sight, and you tilt your head, giving him your best pout. "Please? For me?"

Rex barks a laugh, his eyes finally meeting yours as he puts his fork down. "Fine. But, if I do, will you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" You blink at him, feigning innocence.

"That," he says, and his fingers point at his face, drawing an imaginary circle around his eyes. "The face. It's not fair."

You can't help but smirk. "What face?"

"You know what face," he accuses, but he’s smiling now.

"Fine. I'll stop," you concede, and you settle back in your seat, a triumphant grin on your lips.

"I mean, look at you," he sighs, gesturing vaguely towards you. "You're..."

Rex pauses, and he glances down at the plate, his fingers tapping against the table. He doesn't seem inclined to finish his thought, his brow furrowed, and his mouth twisted. You get the sense that he's not sure he should continue.

"Well, for starters, you're beautiful," he finally admits, his voice quiet. "Anyone with eyes can see that."

You blink, all trace of humor gone. The words hang in the air, and you can't help but stare at him, your heart racing. He'd said it so casually, as if it were obvious. As if it were a given. And maybe, to him, it was. The realization makes your face heat, and you shift in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. It doesn't help.

"That's..." You hesitate, and then you clear your throat, shaking your head. "That's a good start."

Rex snorts. "Glad you approve."

"Go on," you say, nudging his foot under the table. "Keep going."

"Oh, so now you want compliments?" he drawls. He shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. His tone is teasing, but there's a hint of nerves, a note of vulnerability. As if he's worried he's overstepped.

You're not worried.

You want to hear him say it.

"Don't be an ass." You poke him in the shin with your boot, and he chuckles. "I'm not the one who started it. Now, keep going."

Rex sighs, his eyes rolling. He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest. He looks amused, but also resigned, as if he's accepting his fate.

"All right, fine," he mutters. You shift, and his eyes follow the movement, the look on his face softening. "Where was I?"

"Beautiful," you supply. "I believe you were about to go into detail."

"Ah, right." He runs a hand over his hair, and he gives you a wry smile. "I'm afraid I'm not good at this, but...well, you're a beautiful woman. But, you're also smart, and funny, and you're surprisingly good with people for someone who claims not to be."

You huff a laugh. "Hey."

"And," he continues, ignoring you, "you're one of the strongest, most compassionate people I've ever met. You're brave, and dedicated, and...well, it's hard not to admire that. To admire you."

You blink, and the words settle, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You try to swallow, but your throat is tight, and you can't speak. You can't even think. You can't do anything but sit there and stare at him, your heart beating out of your chest.

"What?" Rex smirks, and his brows rise. "No smart remark? No witty comeback?"

"I..." You shake your head, and you try to form a coherent sentence, but all that comes out is a choked noise. You clear your throat and manage to stammer out, "That was...That’s a good list."

"A good list," he repeats, his tone dry. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and his gaze sweeps over you, a smile tugging at his lips. "Are you blushing?"

"Shut up," you mutter. “It’s warm in here.”

Rex laughs, his foot nudging yours under the table. You kick his shin again, and he kicks back, a grin spreading across his face. You try to ignore the way his eyes sparkle, the way his lips curl, the way his dimple deepens. You fail.

You can't look away.

The booth is silent, the only sounds coming from the bustling restaurant around you. The rain is beating against the window, and you can see water running in rivulets down the glass out of the corner of your eye.

The world beyond the diner is gray and dull, the colors muted. Inside, though, is a different story. Everything seems brighter, warmer. More vibrant. You can't help but wonder if it's because of the man sitting across from you.

"So," Rex starts, his voice low. He shrugs. "I guess I am surprised. It's hard to believe that you've never had a..."

"What?" you prompt. You raise a brow, and you cross your arms, the corner of your mouth quirking. “A date? A lover? An admirer? A suitor?"

Rex laughs, and he shakes his head. "Any of those things. I guess I just assumed that, well, that they'd be lining up."

You snort and shake your head, and you're about to tell him that he's ridiculous when his words register. His voice had been casual, but his eyes had held an edge, a question. There was something hidden there, an unspoken query.

It's almost imperceptible, but you've become very familiar with his expressions. With him. He's not asking, he's probing. There's a part of him that wants to know. The same part that had asked if he was the only one.

It occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, there's a reason he's asking. And, if you're being honest, it's a reason that excites you.

"Well, I haven't had a lot of time,” you explain, your fingers picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "Or a lot of patience. Or much of a desire, honestly. It's just been flings, here and there. Nothing serious."

Rex nods, his eyes falling to his plate. He picks up his fork, poking at a piece of food, but he doesn't eat.

"Not that I haven't been interested," you continue, and his eyes snap back to yours. "I have. It's just...it's not easy, dating a Jedi. There are rules, and expectations, and I've always been hesitant to..."

"Break them?" Rex supplies, his lips quirking.

"I was going to say 'take that risk'," you retort, a smirk on your lips. "But, yeah, 'break them' works, too."

"Ah." He nods and leans back in his seat, his fingers drumming against the table. "Right."

There's a beat of silence, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other. You're not quite sure what to say, and neither is he, it seems.

Rex's gaze darts away, and he takes a sip of his caf. You watch as he sets the cup down, his fingers drumming against the ceramic, his thumb brushing along its edge. His lips part, and his jaw works, but no sound comes out. You can feel his apprehension in the Force, the uncertainty that's bubbling beneath the surface. He's nervous. About what, you're not sure.

"Rex," you start, and your voice is quiet, almost hesitant. "What is it?"

"I'm trying to figure out if I should say this," Rex mutters, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, now you have to," you deadpan. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the table, and you rest your chin on your folded hands. "Go ahead. You won't offend me."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he huffs.

"Then, what are you worried about?"

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, he sighs, and his shoulders slump.

"Are you..." He pauses, his expression contorting. "Aren't you and General Kenobi...?"

Your brows shoot up. "Obi-Wan?"

"Yes." Rex clears his throat and looks away, his cheeks flushing. "Sorry, it's none of my business. I'm just...curious."

"Oh." You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly, your eyes fluttering shut.

You should have seen this coming. It's not the first time you've been asked, and you know it won't be the last. It's a reasonable assumption. And Rex, well, he's a smart man. He's no doubt picked up on the subtle glances, the casual touches, the familiarity of your conversations. He's a soldier, and he's trained to notice details. He would have picked up on the signs. The rumors. The gossip.

But the fact that he's asking about it is something else entirely.

You open your eyes, and you see that he's watching you, his expression wary, his body tense. His hand is resting on the table, his fingers drumming a rhythm against the surface. It's a nervous habit, and it's one that you've noticed before, but never thought much about. Now, it's all you can think about.

You wonder if he's been thinking about this for a while. If the questions have been sitting at the back of his mind, gnawing away at him. If he's been avoiding asking you about it, afraid of the answer. If he's worried about what will happen when he gets it.

You decide that it's best to be honest.

"I'm not," you say quietly. "We're not."

"Oh," he breathes.

"But, we were," you admit. "For a long time."

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers suddenly halts. "Oh."

You give a small shrug, and you pick up the mug, bringing it to your lips. It's cold now, and bitter, the liquid barely a few drops, but it's enough to give you something to do, something to distract you from the heat that's creeping up your neck.

Rex looks like he's going to be sick.

You take a long sip and swallow, the taste sour on your tongue. You put the mug down, and you rub a hand over the back of your neck, a sigh escaping you.

"It was years ago," you continue. "We were kids, and we thought that...well, we thought it would be a good idea. And recently, I guess we tried again, but..." You trail off, and your eyes meet his. "It didn't work out. It was just too much, you know? We were never really compatible, not like that. But it took us a long time to figure that out."

"I see," he murmurs. His brows furrow, and he seems to be processing this new information. "Are you still..."

"No." You shake your head. "No, not anymore. It's over. We're just friends. Good friends. And that's it."

"Oh,” he says again.

Rex stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. You stare back, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't. Instead, he picks up his mug, draining it in a single gulp.

The Force swirls with conflicting emotions. There's curiosity, and relief, and something else. Something warm and sweet and achingly familiar. Something that makes your stomach flutter. You try not to read too much into it.

"So, yeah." You take a deep breath and let the air out slowly. "That's, uh, that's my love life in a nutshell. Or, lack thereof."

You force a smile, and Rex's lips twitch, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. His eyes are still fixed on yours, and you can't quite read his expression. It's thoughtful, and calculating, and a little bit smug. His hand lifts to cover his mouth, his thumb grazing his lower lip, and he gives a slow nod.

“Rex? You okay?"

"Yeah," he says, lowering his hand. He's smiling now, his eyes bright. "I'm fine. Just...processing."

"Good," you say, leaning back in your seat. You can feel your face heating, and you quickly turn to your plate, stabbing a forkful of food. "Sorry, I didn't mean to dump all of that on you."

"No, no, it's fine," he assures you quickly. "It's...I'm glad you told me. It's a relief, actually. That the two of you aren't..."

"Together," you finish, and he nods.

"Yeah," Rex murmurs, his voice soft. "That."

You take a bite and chew slowly, your eyes fixed on his. He's staring back at you, his gaze steady, and you can't help but notice that there's something new in his expression, a warmth that wasn't there before. Or maybe you just didn't notice it.

Maybe he was always looking at you like this.

"I'm glad, too," you say quietly. You give him a crooked smile, and he mirrors it, his cheeks flushing.

"Good."

The word is enough to break the spell, and the two of you turn your attention back to your meals. The conversation moves easily from there, and you talk about everything and nothing. The war, and the Temple, and the things that make the two of you laugh. Rex has been bouncing back and forth around the Mid Rim for a while, and the stories are both horrifying and humorous. You can tell that he's enjoying himself, his eyes lighting up as he talks. You find yourself smiling more than you'd care to admit.

Rex in the middle of telling you a story about Fives' latest mishap with the men, and his hands are flying through the air as he tries to convey the extent of the prank, the words spilling out of his mouth. You're laughing at the story, his excitement contagious, when your comm beeps.

You grimace, and you pick up the device, the screen flashing.

"Sorry, give me a second," you mutter. "It's Obi-Wan."

"Right," he says, and the amusement slips from his voice, replaced with a hint of concern. "Go ahead."

You sigh, and you slide the comm onto the table, answering the call. Obi-Wan appears in a holo-image, his form flickering slightly. His hands are tucked into his robes, his brows raised, and he gives you a pointed look.

"Hey, Obi-Wan," you rush to say, trying to appear as innocent as possible. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" he asks. His tone is mild, but there's a sharpness to his words, a hard edge to his gaze. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Oh, um..." You glance at Rex, and then look back at Obi-Wan. "I'm out."

"Out," he echoes, his voice flat. He gives a humorless chuckle, and then leans forward, his gaze narrowing. "My dear, it's pouring. It's freezing. What are you doing out in the middle of the storm?"

"Having lunch."

"With?"

You nod, and your eyes flick to the side, catching Rex's. He's staring at you, his expression neutral, but the corners of his mouth are twitching, a smirk threatening to appear. He's clearly enjoying the exchange, and you bite back a smile.

"With a friend," you reply. "It's not a big deal."

Obi-Wan tilts his head and frowns, his eyes searching yours. You feel a tug in the Force, and you can tell that he's trying to peer into your mind through your bond. You push him away, a scowl spreading across your face.

"Don't do that," you snap.

But it's too late. Obi-Wan's eyes widen, and he lets out a low hum. You know that he's figured out who you're with. And, judging by the knowing look on his face, he knows exactly why you're hiding it from him. You want to groan, or bury your face in your hands, or maybe crawl under the table.

"Really?" he murmurs, a teasing note in his voice.

"Don't," you warn. "Just...don't. Please."

"My sincerest apologies for interrupting your meal, then." Obi-Wan grins, and he gives a slight bow, his hands still tucked into his robes. You can't help but roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"It's fine," you grumble.

"Good." He lets out a sigh, his hands moving to rest at his sides. "Then I suppose you won't mind if I ask you to return to the Temple. Immediately."

Your brows furrow, and you lean forward, giving him a hard look. "Why? What's wrong?"

"The Council is having a meeting," Obi-Wan replies. "We need to speak with you."

For a moment, it feels like all the air has left your lungs. The words are familiar, and they echo in your mind, sending a chill down your spine. It's an echo of a memory, a fragment of a dream. You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself.

"Right," you breathe.

"I'm sorry," he says. A wave of sympathy washes over the bond, the feeling making your stomach turn. You can't blame him for feeling it. The look on your face must be pretty awful. "But it's important. You need to be here."

"I know," you mutter, and you try to muster a smile, but it's shaky at best. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"See you soon," Obi-Wan murmurs. His gaze softens, and the corner of his mouth quirks. "And tell Captain Rex that I say hello."

"Shut up."

You jab at a button, ending the call. The image of Obi-Wan vanishes, and you lean back in the booth, letting out a long exhale. Your stomach churns, and there's a sinking feeling in your chest. The Council is meeting. To talk about Yaddle. It has to be. This is it. They have to listen to you now. They have to. They have to.

A hand touches your arm, and you startle, your head whipping up. Rex is watching you, his expression tight, his eyes worried. He's leaning forward, his hand resting on your elbow, his thumb stroking over your skin.

"You okay?"

You shake your head, giving a hollow laugh, your gaze dropping to the table.

"No," you whisper.

"Hey, look at me," he says softly. He waits until you do before continuing. "They'll listen. They have to."

"I don't know," you admit. You sigh, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "This is it. This is the chance I've been waiting for, but, if they don't..."

“They will.”

Rex slides out of the booth and stands, grabbing his coat. He tugs it on and holds out a hand, the gesture so natural that it doesn't even occur to you to question it. You place your hand in his, and he pulls you to your feet. The two of you gather your things, and Rex stands close while you pay the tab, and then you walk to the door together, leaving the warmth and safety of the restaurant.

The rain has stopped, but it's still cold, and a biting wind whips around you. The streets are littered with puddles, the pavement reflecting the fading light of the city glittering around you. Everything looks washed out, and faded, and dull. The colors have been stripped away by the rain, the world left behind in shades of gray.

Rex shoves his hands in his pockets as you tuck yours under your arms, and you walk in silence down the street. He's not touching you anymore, but you can feel him, his presence a balm to your nerves. You know that he's thinking, his mind working overtime to try to find a solution to a problem that's not his own. He wants to help, and, in truth, you're grateful. But, it's not his battle. It's yours.

The two of you make your way to the street corner, and you stop, turning towards him. The shadows fall over his face, and his gaze is distant, his expression pensive. You watch him, and the silence stretches, the moment heavy with unsaid words. You have to go. He has to stay. But, the thought of walking away from him fills you with a sadness you hadn't anticipated.

Rex takes a step forward, and his eyes flicker to the Temple looming in the distance, his expression softening. "Do you want me to come with you? I could wait outside."

"It's okay, Rex," you say quietly, shaking your head. "This is something I have to do alone. Besides, if they see you, they'll think we're plotting."

He raises a brow, and his lips curl, a smirk appearing. "We could be."

"We are," you tease, and Rex huffs a quiet laugh. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "But, I can handle this. Really."

"I know you can," he says. He smiles, and his gaze darts down, his hands flexing in his pockets. His eyes find yours again, his expression gentle. "I believe in you."

Your stomach flutters, and a warmth spreads through you, chasing away some of the tension in your body. You give him a small smile. "Thanks.”

Rex nods, and his hands slide out of his pockets, slowly, hesitantly. He opens his arms, his palms facing up, a silent invitation. You don't give him time to reconsider.

You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and Rex stiffens for a moment, his body rigid. Then, his arms circle your waist, and he pulls you against his chest, his chin resting on top of your head.

Without your armor as a barrier between you, the hug is more intimate, more familiar. You can feel the shape of him, the curves and lines and angles. You can feel his heart pounding, and his breath tickling your hair, and his fingers splayed against your back. It's nice. More than nice.

It's the most natural thing in the world.

But, it's also the worst possible time.

The two of you break apart at the same time, and Rex runs a hand over his head, a sheepish look crossing his face. You know exactly how he feels.

"I should go," you say quietly. You clear your throat and straighten, smoothing your hair. "Thanks again."

"Anytime," he says, his lips quirking. "Good luck. I hope everything works out."

"Me, too," you murmur. "I'll, uh, let you know how it goes."

"Please." He smiles, and he nods toward the Temple. "Now, get out of here."

"Yeah," you agree, and the two of you share a long look. There's so much that you want to say, but, in the end, you settle for a simple "See you later."

"Later," he echoes.

You nod, and turn on your heel, forcing yourself to walk. With each step, the feeling of him fades, and the world rushes back in. The chill seeps into your bones, and you shiver, the wind whistling through the streets. You can't bring yourself to look back, and you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket, heading towards the Temple.

As you walk, your mind wanders. You can't seem to focus, your thoughts drifting from Yaddle to the Jedi Order to Rex, the pieces refusing to fit together. You know what you want, and what you have to do, but the path forward seems unclear. You don't know where to go from here.

The entrance of the Temple appears in front of you, and you sigh, the exhaustion settling over you like a weight. You have no choice but to press forward.

The Council is waiting.

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@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #remember how i said this chapter and last week's were a break from the angst?#well the next couple....

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suspiciouslypinkrosegarden · 3 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡Armin x Reader⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Description: You and Armin exchange comfort, taking place somewhere after Eren's physical fight with Armin while he is still healing. While dwelling on past events, Armin joins you and the two of you share some emotions. This does ignore timeline accuracy as I wanted to provide some care for Armin following him getting rather beat.

The relationship between the reader and Armin is left more undefined, as I wanted to allow in a broader audience. This goes out to everyone who feels they grew up with the characters.

The two of you sat side by side now, on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was silent aside from the crackling of the burning wood, and it would have been dark if not for the orangey glow cast upon the common space.

At first you were alone, staring at the dancing flames with a sense of melancholy. In a way, you felt a kinship to the burning cedar, the fire licking at its unmoving form until there was nothing left but ash. Once an element strong enough to build homes with, now becoming a pile of dust. The wind could just as easily blow you away in this miserable state, going over memories from the cadet corps and early scouting years. You envied Marley’s photograph technology, memory foggy recalling old faces of your fallen comrades.

Armin was quiet as he approached and sat beside you, and you wouldn’t dare make him feel that his presence was unwelcome in your turmoil. You also wouldn't dare to further question the remnants of fast healing wounds upon his face from his recent encounter with Eren. Instead, you leaned into him selfishly, your head resting on his right shoulder as the two of you faced the fire. In the late hour of the night, you both found your eyelids heavy with sorrow instead of sleep. He gently nudged you, and you turned to look up at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice was soft and full of care.

“I’m just…thinking. About everything. Old memories, mostly.”

He did not push further, knowing what it meant to mull over all of the past events in your mind. As the stars took their rightful place in the sky, the pain of change and loss caught up to you soldiers, unable to forever outrun the weight of grief alone with your thoughts at night. And it would still follow you underneath daylight of course, chasing you through the world of wonders you were denied inside those walls. Your chest sank with a breath as you felt the pain now, as if someone stuck their hand in and gave that precious beating organ a squeeze. There was a fault in your breathing that Armin could hear, the unmistakable sound of someone trying not to cry.

The man beside you was quick to act, gentle as he gave you space. Armin had a look about him, one of guilt or shame, as if he felt it was a sin that he didn’t know what to do in order to comfort you, to save you. It was you who felt truly guilty though, for somehow hoping his presence could blind away the devil on your back by enveloping you in his bright sunlight. As if he could turn all of the leaves killed over the long years into fresh greens, simply by not leaving you to be alone with your sadness. You must have been a pathetic sight, and you felt sheepish to not stand tall and kind in front of him when he was also hurting beyond measure. As his hand then found yours, it grounded you as you let him see you this vulnerable. You then began to distract yourself with thoughts of him as he enveloped your space and your senses, his hand warm and firm in yours as he again inched closer.

Armin was… special, and his appreciation for the beauty of life drew you closer to him with a magnetic pull. You understood Eren’s old pedestal for his friend, the awe and wonder in Armin’s eyes unreplicable, him acting as a reminder for your tired heart to keep beating in order to see what the world had to offer. Here, by his side so close, you wished you could simply rub against him and take with you his magic that is human hope. You clung to him as his friend not only for your shared qualities, but because he felt like what you needed in order to survive your darkest days.

As he grew taller and Eren strayed, Armin’s eyes were dimming with the beginning of manhood. However, that still never changed the way you saw him and his nature. You really couldn’t picture him blooming underneath anything other than the sun’s light, a strong stalk constantly absorbing what the world had to offer like a sunflower. You only wished he had better soil to stand on as he matured. You only wished that things could be better for both of your sakes.

Your gaze lingered upon his face that should have still been dramatically bruised after Eren’s beating, if it weren’t for his titan aiding in his healing. He awkwardly smiled at you as you studied him, shifting as if self conscious. You decided to bite the bullet and ask about his feelings, turning the conversation away from yourself.

“Sorry for all this. I’d really rather hear how you’re doing right now, Armin.”

There was a silence as he sat there looking at you, and you gave his hand still in yours a light squeeze.

“There’s not much to say, I guess. I’m…hurt. I can’t believe Eren would say those things, or do those things.”

His blue eyes rippled with emotion.

“Say what things..?”

“He said he had always hated Mikasa. So I punched him.”

“Oh…so that’s how-”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m currently waiting for my titan abilities to fix me up.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his comment regarding Mikasa. You didn’t have to guess that she must be heartbroken right now in her own right too, briefly imagining her sadness under the cover of the darkness of her room. After all she had done for Eren, that’s how he treated her?

“Why would he say something like that?” you said a bit angrier than you meant to.

Armin sighed gently before responding with an “I don’t know.”

In your dismay, unable to fully grasp the weight of comprehending the changes your old friend was going through, you decided to continue to reach out to the one directly in front of you. Your free hand lightly touched a bruised spot on his right cheek, and it was unusually hot to the touch as it healed. You looked at him desperately, as if he’d change under the light of the full moon too.

“Are you in a lot of pain, Armin?”

You lightly fussed over him, examining his face. He did not stop you, no matter how embarrassed his expression seemed to show he was. Your eyes mulled over his features, and he felt himself burning up under your caring scrutiny.

Armin’s signs of aging were the easiest to recall of all the guys, going from a soft, rounder face to having a slightly more defined look. However, that wasn’t to say he lost his prettiness for a traditionally “chiseled” appearance, still adorning a button nose and fuller cheeks. While he couldn’t pass for a double of the cutest girl in the previous squad anymore, he was certainly tender in his looks. He broke the silence again as your fingers grazed over bruised skin.

“No, I’ve been in worse pain. I’m just upset.”

“Rightfully so.”

You dropped your hand from his face, watching as Armin’s expression changed to a gentle plea of sorts.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I don’t think I can keep…talking about this. Please don’t tell the others what I said either for right now, we don’t need more conflict. We’ve got to keep it together to keep fighting.”

In the quiet, your “ok” was all he needed to feel respected. You took initiative to gain back your previous closeness, leaning on him once again. Your head found his shoulder once more as you again switched conversation topics, urged on by the feeling of his newfound broader nature. You felt like telling him every first thought on your mind, as if losing a basic conversational filter.

“When did you become a man, Armin? Your shoulders were smaller when we were cadets.”

His laugh was clumsy, not forced per se, but a quick reaction to a strange question. He suddenly paused for a deep inhale, then exhale, as if gathering thoughts.

“You don’t have to keep deflecting the conversation away from yourself, you know. I came in here to check on you, but you’re making it all about me.”

“I’m…technically not deflecting right now. I was thinking about everyone we’ve lost and how we’ve all changed so much when you sat next to me. Then, looking at what Eren did to you… I guess I just never stopped to appreciate the good changes you’ve undergone. I think Eren’s changes for the worse scare me into not seeing what’s right in front of me. Thank you for surviving with me.”

It was here that you could tell Armin felt his familiar shyness creeping in, unsure of how to truly respond to the new conversation you were starting. You ran around him in circles here, it already feeling gauche to comfort you. He’d never admit the pressure of yearning for your approval in particular, tip-toeing around his discomfort with the topic of his own survival.

“I…am happy to be by your side.”

You sighed comfortably, deciding to talk about yourself as he seemed to have wanted.

“To…talk about earlier a bit more. I miss everyone we lost in Trost and after. I miss laughing with Sasha and Connie together, and I even miss the warriors when they pretended to be our friends. If we had those…cameras…that Marley has, I could remember exactly how Mina and Thomas looked still. It just sucks, all of it. I am…scared to lose you. I am scared you’ll change too, that you’ve already stopped seeing the world in so much color with everything happening.”

Armin thought for a moment, wishing to give you a solid response. He was, in fact, emotional too as he heard you say these things about how he saw the world. He couldn’t remember exactly when he last spoke to you about something he was excited to experience, more focused on battle plans in a fight for survival.

“I don’t think I ever stopped seeing the world in color, maybe. It’s more that I wish we could collect those colors and form rainbows, not wars.”

You remained quiet as you thought his statement sounded poetically cheesy, but good for what you needed to hear at this moment. His brain always seemed to translate the world as if pages in a book, inking those words into your tired mind as they left his mouth. He awkwardly glanced at you, giving you a reminder to react to what he had just said.

While you wouldn’t say Armin was the type to actively ask for external validation from others, you could always tell it’s what he craved in moments like this. To be told his words weren’t strange, to be reminded his presence was welcome and that he wasn’t out of place in the emotional space between you two. As he looked at you, you pondered on his silent plea for…something.

“Can I hug you, Armin?”

He did not falter, his cheeks a dusty pink as his eyes filled with tears. He moved closer on instinct as he answered.

“Yeah...”

And as the walls around you built by age seemed to crumble down, you found yourself face to face with that familiar boy from all of those years ago. You saw it now, the salty air rippling through his long blond hair, water the shade of his eyes slipping through the cracks between his fingers on that special day. You couldn’t tell who reached out for the physical comfort offered first, crashing into each other as if by the pull of the moon. Your old friend gathered you into his arms in a swift motion. At the same time, you offered him shelter from the roaring tides in yours. Armin’s familiar nature was not lost in the sea of emotions shared tonight, but found. You felt his arms squeezing tightly around your torso as you did the same to him, the tickle of his nose in the crook of your neck as he buried his face close. You both clung to each other as if buoys in the middle of all that blue, promising to always be there to help each other stay above ebb and flow of the current.

#armin arlert #armin aot #armin x reader #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #armin arlert x reader #snk armin #mysweetarminily

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veronicaphoenix · 6 months ago

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Series: Into the Abyss of Bad Habits | masterpost Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader x Oliver Sykes

Hearts Like Ours. Additional multipart. Chapter 2: The Angel of Death | Words: 8k Summary: The morning after her breakdown, Reader does not expect to get any better until a certain person unexpectedly appears at her front door.

Tags and trigger warnings: established polyamorous relationship, angst, hard truths, anxiety, mentions of parent's negligence, comfort/fluff, noah only appears on phone in this part but he's mentioned throughout the entirety of the chapter, soft!oli, mentions of blowjobs, sexual content (spit used as lubricant, p. in v., protected).

Author’s note: this is mostly self-indulgent so bear with me, i love softness 🥹 It's also another attempt at writing something short and ending up with 8k 🫠 Regarding tags, I'm trying something new and tagging everybody down below in the comment section, given that as of lately a few people have reached out to tell me they didn't get the notification and I've read somewhere that tags indeed are not working well. So let's see if this does the trick.

When she woke up the next morning, her neck and stomach ached, a remainder that she had skipped dinner the night before. Sitting up, the two shirts she had slept with clung to her and then fell to the floor, reminding her why she had chosen to sleep on the sofa instead of the bed. She was alone. Noah wouldn’t be home for another three days, and Oliver was lost somewhere in the southern United States.

It was Saturday. How was she supposed to spend the entire day alone at home, with no work and no one around? She felt even more pathetic than she had the night before. What was happening to her? She hadn’t always been this dependent; she hadn’t always felt this miserable.

But then again, it wasn’t every day that your mother hurled insults at you and made you feel dirty in a way that was far from the real thing.

She ran her hands over her face. If only Luna were here... Given her age, Oliver had decided not to bring her to America, and now his father, Ian, was taking care of her.

Last year, they had talked about adopting a dog, mostly so she would have company when the boys were away, but with work and the idea of getting married, adoption had been pushed aside. Now she regretted not insisting more.

Still holding the shirts, she went upstairs and made a quick trip to the bathroom, overwhelmed by another wave of misery as she caught sight of herself in the mirror—eyes swollen from yesterday’s crying and her face as pale as a ghost. The sight of Noah’s and Oliver’s toiletries—their toothbrushes, shaving cream, face wash from different brands, a facemask Oliver had recently got from Lush…—only deepened her sadness.

Her deep sigh echoed in the empty space.

She had to eat something and get out of the house, get some sun and fresh air. She’d told Jack she would visit Sylvie, but the truth was she didn’t feel like it. She was happy for them. She was going to be an aunt. But she was feeling so blue that, she knew if she met Sylvie, both would end up crying, for totally different reasons.

So, she opted to tidy up and spend the day cleaning. That’s one of the things Noah used to do whenever his mind was not in the right place.

Before breakfast, she checked her phone, tempted to message the boys and tell them she was going through hell, that she couldn’t silence the voices in her head —especially her mother’s— and that she needed them because she felt like she was sinking. She wanted to swim to the surface but felt like she had a rock tied to her ankle, and she would probably drag herself to the bottom before they came home.

She hated being aware of the self-destruction her own mind subjected her to and not being able to do anything to stop it. It was a battle against herself that she couldn’t win. A battle she had fought before, and although it seemed she had won many times, those demons always came back sooner or later.

In the end, she just let Noah and Oliver know she was awake and, to distract them, sent a couple of photos of her underwear abandoned on the floor when she changed into somehting more decent. She knew that spending the whole day in pajamas would only worsen her state.

In the kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea and something to eat.

After having lunch on the back porch and letting herself be caressed by the sun in one of the hammocks, she went back inside, ready to spend the next few hours watching a comforting movie on the couch. Or perhaps an angsty one, and cry a few more tears. What did it matter now?

She remembered then she hadn’t picked up the mail for the past four or five days. A mix of excitemend and dread flooded her at the thought that maybe Oliver had sent a postcard from wherever he was, even if it was just from somewhere else in the country. He’d started doing that the previous year, and it was a sweet gesture that always warmed her heart.

Stepping outside, she found her neighbor Marina tending to her plants and flowers in the front yard, a lovely married woman in her forties with two children. They greeted each other, and Marina asked about the boys. She replied that there were still a few days left before they returned, and Marina, probably sensing her sadness, kindly suggested joining her at her house any afternoon for tea. It was a comforting gesture, though still far from the kind she truly wanted.

With only a couple of letter in her hands and no postcard from Oliver, she made her way back to the front door, only taking a couple of steps before the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and stopping made her turn around. The sight of the black Range Rover made her heart flip and almost lose her balance.

Oliver stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes off her. During the short walk toward her, his green gaze remained steady and unwavering. He wore casual jeans and a t-shirt, exuding calm determination.

Before she could even react, he was in front of her, gently holding her face in his hands, and then he kissed her.

Her hands instinctively moved to his chest, her right one still clutching the envelopes. However she could, her fingers gripped his black tee tightly, as if fearing he might disappear at any moment.

His mouth was warm, his kiss passionate and urgent. She was left nearly breathless.

When she finally lowered herself from standing on her tiptoes and opened her eyes, her heart was pounding wildly.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to say, it being the only coherent thought she could muster. In truth, she didn’t care about the answer. It was enough that he was there in the flesh.

Oliver let out a sardonic smile. “Hello to you too, love,” he said, poking her nose. “Where am I supposed to be when my girl needs me?”

His words stunned her for a few seconds as he took her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb.

Of course, it had to be Jack who told him.

“But—What about the tour? How did you get here so fast?” She asked, still gripping his t-shirt with one hand.

“We’d better go inside,” he suggested, nodding towards the house next door where Marina was watching them absently as she trimmed the dried leaves from her plants. Oliver waved at her, asking how she was with the easy charm of a gentleman.

Marina would have chatted for quite a while, likely making mention of his girl’s mood and asking Oliver the very questions she wanted answers to. But Oliver, sensing this, skillfully dissuaded her in less than thirty seconds, practically dragging his girl inside the house.

Once inside, with the door closed behind them, she dropped the letters on a small table in the entryway and threw herself into his arms, bursting into tears on the spot.

Having Oliver there, being able to hold him, inhale his masculine scent mingled with his perfume, and feel the brush of his long hair against her cheeks, felt like a miracle.

“Please, don’t go.”

“Love, I just got here.”

“I know, but I’m sure you’ll have to leave again in a couple of hours.”

With a resigned sigh, Oliver took her hand and guided them both into the living room, settling onto the couch.

Oliver observed her silently for a moment, studying her face for signs of the previous day’s tears and the sleepless night. They were all there, all too evident.

He gently stroked her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, savoring the moment, the warmth of his skin against hers.

“I can stay until tomorrow night,” Oliver murmured softly. “As soon as Jack called me, I booked the first available flight out of Houston. We have two days off until the next show. I have to be in Kansas City the day after tomorrow. But please, don’t worry about that now. What the hell happened?”

She struggled before mustering the courage to tell him.

She began with a vague summary of the events, but Oliver insisted on the details, wanting to know every word her mother had spoken.

She watched as he clenched his jaw, holding back a torrent of curses.

As a few more tears traced down her cheeks, Oliver gently pulled her into his embrace and fetched a box of tissues from a nearby coffee table.

“Why didn’t you wait until Noah and I were back?” He questioned, watching her wipe her tears. “We said we’d tell her together, precisely to avoid this,” he said, not intending to scold her but clearly unsettled by her decision to face her mother alone.

“I know, but I couldn’t shake the thought, and I didn’t want her saying anything hurtful to you, so I thought I could handle it on my own,” she confessed, sniffling into the tissue then dropping it on the coffee table.

“And did it do you any good?” Oliver asked, his tone soft, his gaze tender as he peered at her.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, defeated. “It just made everything worse. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours feeling miserable and missing you both terribly. Last night, I felt like I couldn’t breathe without you guys around. I just wanted to protect you…” she trailed off, her voice heavy.

“I know,” Oliver murmured, gently touching her face again. “But we protect each other, don’t we? We’re stronger together. If Noah and I feel low, we lean on you, and you make us feel better. That’s how it works. You have to let us do the same, doll. It’s taking you too long to get rid of this habit.”

She sighed, but she knew he was right.

“If you keep everything to yourself, then what’s the point of this? Of us? Of being in any relationship, for that matter?” Oliver continued, his eyes reflecting her own sadness. “We’re together because we love each other, and by love I mean that we’re by each other’s side under any circumstance. Loving us is not just you giving me and Noah blowjobs and letting us have our ways with you, baby. Loving us means you’ll let us know when you’re anxious, when you’re sad or angry. You’ll let us help you because we want and we love every part of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between. Wasn’t that clear?”

His words made her feel terrible, very aware of her mistakes, but she deserved it. If anything, to at least make her understand for once and for all that she had to lay her head on their shoulders whenever she needed, without a second of hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just hard… because loving also implies that you don’t want the other person to get hurt, and all I was doing was…” she trailed off. There was no point. Her voice turned into a whisper and then into desperation fading into nothing.

Oliver squeezed her hand and placed it on his thigh, speaking gently.

“Listen, I know this is hard to accept, but you don’t owe anything to your mother,” he began. “Our parents made us, but we’re not meant for them. You’re meant for me and Noah. Everything else, everyone else, is just a bystander to your story. You can’t force them to be a part of your life if they don’t want to, darling. It sucks. It fucking sucks because sometimes you want people to be part of your life so bad… but they don’t want to be; they don’t want to share your happiness, they might not even understand it, and that’s okay.” When he saw her face, Oliver chuckled softly. “I’m not saying that the things your mom said were okay, but you get my point. You’re not meant to live your life by your mom’s wishes or follow in her footsteps. You don’t have to walk with her. You’re walking with Noah and me.”

Seen that way, from that perspective, Oliver was undeniably right.

She had spent much of her life trying to please her mother, striving to be a perfect daughter even when she wasn’t consciously aware of it. Since formalizing her relationship with Noah and Oliver, she had come to realize how many decisions she had made in the past with her mother in mind rather than herself. And now, with her mother’s rejection of her relationship with the boys, all that weight came crashing down on her.

Her mother didn’t want her, didn’t want a daughter like her. But as a parent, there’s only so much control one can have. She wasn’t a child anymore, she was an adult, and she had done nothing wrong. She had simply fallen in love. Hard and twice.

Loving wasn’t a crime, and as much as it pained her not to be able to share that happiness with her mother, as much as her mother couldn’t see how happy Oliver and Noah made her, she realized that her attempts to make her mother understand had to come to an end. After all, Oliver’s words spoke the truth: the most important people were the two of them, her fiancés.

Staring at the ring on her finger as realization dawned on her, she was filled with profound sadness. She had lost her father long ago, a man who had chosen to go his own way, unable to wait until his children were old enough to let them walk their own path and make their own decisions. And now, she felt she had lost her mother, too.

One parent had not waited to see her grow up; had not held her hand as she learned to walk the path of life. The other one was unwilling to see her walk hand in hand with two men.

Tears welled up in her eyes once more before she could stop them. She was a mess.

“I know it hurts,” Oliver’s voice soothed her, his hand running gently throught her hair, “but you gotta let it hurt until it doesn’t anymore. There are some things we cannot change, and this, I’m afraid, is one of them, baby.”

Seeking solace, she moved to straddle him, unable to bear the distance anymore. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head on his shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks and staining Oliver’s tee’s fabric. She let him envelop her in his embrace, pressing herself against his body as he held her close. He placed a couple of tender kisses on her shoulder and neck, offering her the comfort she needed.

She remained in his arms for a while, relishing the warmth of his body, the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against her own, and the security of being in his arms. His whispered words of comfort in her ear were like a balm to her troubled soul.

She could easily drift off to sleep there, cocooned in his arms , feeling grateful that Oliver had dropped everything just to come home and be with her.

“Did you tell Noah?” She whispered, her lips brushing against his neck as she resisted the urge to move even an inch away from him.

“Yes, of course I did,” he replied, his hand finding the hem of her shirt and sneaking in to rub her back. She was soft as silk and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed the feel of her skin under his hands every single day and night he spent away. “But I want you to call him and talk to him. He’s worried.”

The sigh that escaped her this time was heavy.

“What?” Oliver said, teasing her. “Did you think that picture of your underwear on the bedroom floor was going to do the trick?”

She shrugged, not particularly caring.

“Come on,” he encouraged, pullling out his iPhone, resolute on not extending that dispiriting situation any second longer. “He might still be up.”

Without a chance to compose herself or check her appearance in the mirror, Oliver was already Facetiming Noah.

As soon as Noah’s face appeared on the screen, looking all cozied up in a hoddie and sat on his hotel bed, he saw her curled up in Oliver’s lap, her head resting on his shoulder with her tear-stained face, and his expression fell. Noah clicked his tongue, his brown eyes filling with sadness.

“Kitten..”

She tried to hold back another wave of tears and sobs. She sniffled and attempted to smile. But as soon as she uttered “I miss you”, she had to take a moment to steady her breathing and control her sobbing. Oliver pressed a kiss to her forehead.

A few moments were filled only with her soft crying, then, with some self-control, in the quiet of the house, she began to talk to Noah, recounting every hurtful thing her mother had said. Instead of feeling tortured by reliving those moments, she focused on the relief of sharing her pain with her boys, feeling lighter now that they knew.

Noah did his best to offer comfort from the other end of the line, though he knew it wasn’t a simple fix. He was just grateful that Oliver had rushed home to be with her, knowing that besides words of reassurance, she needed their physical presence.

Just as much as she needed them, he needed her and Oliver.

All those nights on the road, sleeping in bunk beds or alone in hotel rooms, had been manageable until he fell in love. Suddenly, sleeping alone felt like a punishment for every misstep in life. He understood her perfectly. And considering what her mother had said… Fuck. All he wanted was to be there for her, to hold her while Oliver comforted her, feeling complete with them by his side.

It was late where he was, and she could tell from the exhaustion etched in his eyes. Her own state wasn’t helping him at all, so she mustered the strength to encourage him to end the call and get the rest he needed. He promised her he’d be home soon. Just a few more days. Nothing would keep him from coming back home to her.

After hanging up, Oliver tenderly touched her face, his thumb stroking the side of her jaw as she breathed against him.

“You look tired, too,” he remarked.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she admitted.

“Want to take a nap? I could use one myself,” he suggested.

With a nod, she attempted to rise from his lap, but Oliver shook his head. He grabbed a folded blanket from the sectional and urged her to lay down as he nestled in beside her, letting her find a comfortable position with her head on his chest and her legs intertwined with his.

He enveloped her and covered them both with the blanket. He kissed her hair tenderly and she reciprocated by pressing a kiss to his clavicle. After exchanging whispered “I love yous”, she finally allowed herself to drift off to sleep, comforted by the presence of at least one of her boys being home.

Despite his own exhaustion after an impromptu flight and the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours, Oliver found it difficult to fall assleep. He waited until her soft breathing indicated she was in a deep slumber before carefully disentangling himself from her arms and legs.

Ensuring she was covered with the blanket, he tiptoed to the kitchen, where he leaned with his forearms against the cool marble tiles of the island as he unlocked his phone and texted Noah.

Oliver: Still up?

Noah: Yep. Can’t sleep.

Without a second thought, he dialed his number, making sure to keep his voice low as to avoid waking her up. By the time he had filled a glass with water, Noah’s voice was on his ear.

“What’s up? Is she feeling any better?” Noah asked.

“She’s passed out on the sofa,” Oliver informed him after taking a sip. “But she looks tired, and sad,” he continued, glancing towards the open hallway door that lead to the living room, as if he could see her. He could picture her gloomy features from before she’d fallen asleep. “How about you coming back earlier? Could you make it?” He asked, aware of the significant distance separating them. Noah was in Europe, not just a few states away. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you could make it, give her a surprise, cheer her up… She doesn’t just need me. She needs both of us. And,” he made a pause before changing his tone, “you owe me a blowjob.”

“I don’t owe you a blowjob,” Noah replied, his voice rising slightly. “You didn’t send those tacos, man.”

“I’ll drive you to the damn restaurant.”

“Needy, huh?”

“Very. I want to see you before I hit the road again,” he admitted, then softened again. “She needs you here, Noah. Think you can make it earlier than scheduled?”

“Yeah, yeah…” he trailed off, as if preoccupied with something else. Oliver heard the clicking of a keyboard, muffled in the background. “I was actually just checking flights…”

“Oh, good.”

“The first one is in three hours. I could catch that one and—”

“In three hours?” Oliver exclaimed, furrowing his brow. “Dude, get some sleep first. I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I can’t sleep knowing she’s upset because of what her mom said to her,” Noah retorted, setting his MacBook aside and getting up from the bed. “We have a couple of interviews scheduled for tomorrow, but I’ll ask Jolly and Folio to handle them. I’m nearly done with my packing, so I can head to the airport in less than twenty minutes. If I catch that flight, I can make it home tomorrow before evening.”

“Fuck. Okay. That’s great. It’ll give us a few hours together.”

“Yeah, just come pick me up at the airport, all right?” he concluded. “Keep her distracted with something. Tell her you’re going to get a haircut.”

“Dude, she’s going to be glued to me the whole time because I’m leaving tomorrow night. And a haircut? That would be the lamest excuse after I left my own tour to be home with her. You have the worst ideas,” he complained as he shook his head. “Can you not get an Uber?”

“Just come pick me up,” Noah said, resolute, “and you’ll get that damn blowjob.”

An hour and a half later, her voice calling out for Oliver echoed through the walls of the house’s ground floor.

Oliver appeared at the threshold of the archway into the living room, holding a tray with pastries and two mugs of hot chocolate.

She blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes with one hand still half-covered by the fluffy blanket. Oliver struggled to decide if she looked adorable or too tempting to resist making love to her right there on the sofa.

“Am I dreaming?” She mumbled, prompting Oliver to let out a chuckle.

“Nah,” he replied, walking towards her. “These croissants were frozen. I thought Noah got rid of them after his lecture on how unhealthy and useless it is to buy frozen food, but surprise: he didn’t. So now I get to treat you,” he finished, setting the tray next to her. The smell of freshly baked croissants and hot chocolate filled her senses, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

She gave him a tiny smile.

“Just don’t tell him I baked them for us,” Oliver added, his tone hushed, as if Noah was there and could hear them. He had changed into more comfortable clothes and was now wearing a white t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants she had washed and ironed more than two weeks ago.

“I will tell him,” she whispered, with a hint of mischief in her voice. Her sleepy face, however, made her look more adorable than mischievous.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “He’ll make me wear the maid costume and cook homemade sugar-free croissants for him as punishment.”

“You look adorable in that, though,” she commented, grabbing one of the croissants and using her other hand to catch the crumbs.

“Do I, now?”

She nodded, her mouth already stuffed with a big bite. Oliver smiled and touched the corner of her lower lip, wiping away a crumb with his thumb.

“Feeling any better?”

Swallowing, she nodded.

“What do you feel like doing?” he asked, still concerned. He had dropped everything to be home with her, so he would only do as she pleased. “Movie and cuddles?” he guessed. “We can take it easy and spend the rest of the day snuggled in here. We don’t have to go anywhere. We’ll order takeout for dinner, then maybe a hot bath before bed.”

She absorbed his words, blinking and chewing slowly.

That sounded like… Heaven.

Instead of quickly agreeing to his appeal, which was irresistible, she asked, “What time do you have to be at the airport tomorrow?” There was a note of anguish in her voice because she dreaded the answer. She just wanted him to stay for a while longer, to extend that dreamlike weekend that was, in fact, her real life.

“Not ‘til late at night. We have the entire day together tomorrow, don’t worry,” he reassured her again, taking his mug of hot chocolate to his lips. She watched as the dark brown liquid touched his lips and how his own tongue licked them clean afterward. “Let’s choose a movie and get comfy, yeah?”

The next fifteen minutes slipped away as they struggled to decide on a movie. By the time they settled on one neither had seen, the croissants were gone and Oliver had finished his chocolate. They cuddled through the entire film, occasionally shifting positions, playing with each other’s hair, and kissing. They made comments about the movie and chatted about he film and other trivial things.

By the time the sun began to set on the horizon, the house was enveloped in the serenity their nearly routine evening. She was in the living room, tidying up the small mess they had made, folding blankets, and arranging the cushions on the sofa. Meanwhile, Oliver busied himself in the kitchen, plating the takeaway food that had arrived just minutes before.

If Noah had been there, he would have been nearing his time out in the studio. Then he would’ve joined oliver in the kitchen to set the table.

That was a familiar routine, which happened at least once a week, usually on Fridays, marking the start of a long weekend where work was left behind and their time was fully devoted to each other.

Whenever the three of them were engrossed in individual tasks, especially in the afternoon or evening, the house exuded a peaceful ambiance. Sometimes, Noah would light incense and play relaxing background music as they went about their activities. If they crossed paths in the hallway or in any other room, Noah would grab her waist and pull her in for a kiss. If he encountered Oliver, she would hear a sweet exchange of words and laughs between them from the other room.

It was lovely, what they had built. A precious home and a beautiful family.

After filling their stomachs and clearing up the kitchen, Oliver urged her upstairs for a well-deserved hot bath, but she declined, stating that she prefered the shower.

As mesmerizing as the idea of a hot bath sounded, the reality was that, despite their efforts to get a larger-than-average tub for the master bedroom’s bathroom, Oliver was too tall to fit comfortably if she was also inside. What to say about Noah? He just outright hated bathtubs and found it a waste of space. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fit in with either of them; he simply couldn’t fit comfortably on his own.

After some persuasion, she finally found herself naked under the hot shower, with Oliver’s bare body behind her, his hands massaging shampoo into her hair. The intimacy of the moment was heightened by the familiarity of the shampoo the three of them shared.

They took turns washing each other, making sure to apply a bit of pressure here and there to relieve sore muscles, especially Oliver’s, strained from days of performing on stage for over two hours and getting to bed late. The physical demands of his routine weren’t always ideal, but she appreciated how they had toned his body over the years, giving him strenght and stamina. She relished his manly physique, a mix of rough and soft areas that she found squishy. She just loved every part of him.

When he got down on one knee to soap up her thighs, she took the opportunity to wash his hair, enjoying the sweetness that spread through her veins and to her heart when he pressed a few kisses from her navel down to her lower belly.

After they were thoroughly washed, Oliver rinsed his hair under the water one last time, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, lips parted, neck exposed and muscles on display as he moved his hair back with both hands.

As attractive as the sight was —which, under other circumstances, would have just gotten her on her knees, and not exactly to wash his thighs—, the part of her that craved a deeper connection took control. She wanted a closeness that went beyond the physical act of giving each other pleasure.

She wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her cheek to his chest, acutely aware of the ticking clock and the precious time slipping away from them.

Oliver didn’t say anything. He kept the water running and hugged her back, resting his chin atop her head. The mirror above the sink and the window overlooking the garden had fogged up, and the vapor was filling the room even though they had left the door open.

Minutes passed, the water turning cold, droplets hitting the tiles, her breaths soft and steady, following the rhythm of Oliver’s heartbeat. When she lazily ran her fingers down his back and wandered down to one of his buttocks, she felt him shiver slightly, and her curse nearly disrupted their peace.

“You’re cold,” she pointed out, peering up at him.

“It’s okay, love.”

But it wasn’t. Taking his hand, she turned off the water and pulled them out of the shower, handing Oliver his towel while she grabbed hers.

Oliver wasn’t done soothing her. He let her dry herself up and brush her hair. He left the bathroom for a couple of minutes to get some underwear, finding another one of Noah’s boxers in his drawer. Instead of pointing it out to her and reminding her that the boxers with the chibi drawings of Titan were Noah’s, he laughed and opted to keep them there. He would enjoy watching Noah huff and rummage through his own underwear looking for those specific boxers when he returned.

Returning to the bathroom only wearing black boxers, his wair still wet and dripping, he used the towel to dry it a bit before discarding it on the floor and refocusing his attention on his girl. She was occupied checking her eyebrows in the mirror, a habit he found amusing because he could never understand what she thought was wrong with them. Taking advantage of her distraction, he poured some hydrating lotion into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and kneeled to spread the cream on her thighs.

She let out a cry of surprise at the sudden cold sensation, but quickly adjusted to it and found herself enamored with the way he looked up at her as he massaged her body once more, tenderly applying lotion to her skin. The smell of lavender filled the room as he stood up to gently smooth it onto her shoulders, his hands moving in slow, soothing circles. She was truly getting spoiled as his touch traced the contours of her arms and back, each caress a silent promise of his love and devotion. She closed her eyes when she felt threathened by another wave of emotion and gratitude. She wouldn’t be hard on herself again and say that she didn’t deserve him, or Noah, but the truth was that they were too good to her, and her heart kept on swelling every time they shared a simple yet intimate moment as such.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her cheeks red—perhaps from shyness or perhaps because it was too hot in the bathroom.

“Shh. I love pampering you, and that’s why I’m here now. In two weeks I’ll be back to busy boyfri—fiancé, sorry, mode, with no time to shower with his loves because the artist’s life is a twenty-four hour job. So, rejoice,” he finished the sentence by touching her nose and leaving a stain of cream for her to spread.

She muttered an “ouch” and glared at him, nearly pouting at the truth of his words.

While that had been an isolated scenario and the timing of both bands’ tours had coincided leaving her alone for quite a long period of time, she couldn’t really complain about her job or about her life in the big picture. She was as happy as any girl could be with two men loving her unconditionally day and night, which made her aware that if somedays they were not attentive as she wished, it wasn’t because they chose to be distant. It was their demanding jobs, so different from her mundane one. Their careers sometimes took a toll on them, but it was a sacrifice they made for something they loved, and she admired them for it. They were passionate and dedicated, as they were with her, too. She would never ask them to prioritize her over their bands because they themselves knew when to put a stop to it and get their feet back on solid ground. It was sometimes a difficult balance to navigate, but with each other’s help, they knew how to make it work without letting it consume them anymore.

Her eyes followed Oliver as he walked barefoot to the other side of the bedroom, heading towards the drawer where he would find his worn-out clothes for sleeping. She watched with a tender expression as a smile appeared on his face when he spotted how neatly his t-shirts and sweats were stored in the drawer. As mundane and tedious as the task of folding clothes may seem, it was something both of them enjoyed doing together every once in a while—seated on the carpeted floor, picking up each item from the laundry basket and adding it to one of the three piles next to them: Oliver’s, Noah’s, and hers.

Folding clothes was sort of a meditation, and given that she had spent the last weekends alone, one of them had been dedicated to reorganizing the cupboards and drawers, including refolding all those clothes that had been thrown to the back of the cupboard.

She could have stared at Oliver for hours, but the clock would still keep ticking.

Licking her lips and rubbed the heel of her left foot on her right calf, her expression fell a little as she called out to him.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Make love to me?”

Her voice came out as a whisper, a plea that he didn’t understand, for she didn’t have to ask for that. Ever. So he nearly laughed, but aware that maybe it wasn’t the best reaction, he dropped back into the drawer the clothes he had picked and walked to her, with determined strides, his green eyes focused on her as if nothing could make him look away.

“Did you even consider I wouldn’t intend to?”

Uncertainty clouded her eyes, but her hand released the corner of the towel she had secured atop her chest, letting the only fabric covering her body fall to the floor.

Oliver’s gaze fell to her breasts, and then down below, as if he hadn’t seen that same beautiful body, those edges and curves, merely five minutes ago.

She parted her lips to speak, to ask him to touch her, but Oliver was quicker. He picked her up in his arms, prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist. She stared down at him for a few seconds, struck by the light those green eyes contained, how much power to turn someone’s life into something beautiful with just one look.

Oliver carried her to bed. He laid her down on the mattress, her head propped up on the numerous pillows that Noah, ever the minimalist, didn’t understand. In a matter of seconds, Oliver discarded his boxers and crawled up to cover her body with his. Holding his weight on hands and knees, he bent his head down and kissed her, her hand sneaking up to the back of his head and tangling in his curls, still damp from the shower and with the lingering scent of the shampoo.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, wet. She kept pulling him down to her, as if she could do more than just kiss him; as if she could just drink him in, swallow him, keep him in her heart forever.

He already was.

His hand pushed at one of her knees, silently instructing her to open her legs for him. When she complied, he touched her folds, his fingers navigating her delights just for a couple of seconds before sinking two fingers inside of her, letting her wrap around his digits with welcoming warmth.

Her hips arched towards him.

“What do you want, love? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you,” he murmured.

“Just you,” she sighed, knowing that he would always keep his promises.

Skipping foreplay, he removed his fingers from inside of her and sat back on his heels, asking her for a condom that she retrieved from one of the drawers on the other side of the bed. He put it on, then spat on his hand and covered her core with his saliva before leaning over her again, fusing his body with hers, one inch at a time.

He loved how her breath caught in her throat with every movement, every push in. Her eyes widened and her expression contorted into one of pleasure.

When he was finally settled in to the hilt, he sought her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers before placing their hands above her head, on the pillows.

He began to move. A delicate, sweet and hot cadence.

He understood that this time it was not just about pleasure; it was about the connection that having their bodies merged brought to each other. It was about finding peace and safety in the vulnerable state of offering yourself to the other, about the relief that it brought to her —and him— knowing they had found each other in this massive universe and that nothing else mattered at the time.

Just him, her, and the ghost of Noah, the lingering scent of him that still permeated his side of the bed, on the sheets that she had refused to change after they had left.

They kissed. Oliver swallowed her moans, relished in the way her nails dug onto his back, the way her thighs pressed him to her, the way she breathed him in and held him, wordlessly telling him she would never let him go.

Making love like that focused on the fire of their sexual energy, their passion, and desire, and let those align with their hearts and souls with every thrust and every cry in response. It brought them balance and harmony. It was something beyond the drive and rush experienced any other time, yet someething they needed all the same.

That night, she needed that, the slow pace, the eye-contact, and he didn’t mind. How could he? He was benefiting from it all the same.

Ever since Noah introduced them to this slower, more mindful practice, Oliver’s connection with both of them had deepened, and it had brought him closer to them (if that was even possible).

Lost in the passage of time, Oliver whimpered against her, his breaths ragged as he penetrated her over and over and as he looked down at her expression, her eyes closed because she was getting close, her mouth agape in pure bliss, little sweet and honeyed sounds coming out in waves, music to his ears.

A few thrusts grew harder and rougher unintentionally, and she moaned loudly, trying to supress a scream by biting onto his arms, right onto the inked angel of death that adorned his skin. One of his hands cupped her breast, squeezing and rolling her nipple between two fingers, giving her just the touch she needed. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, but his voice reached her ears as he told her he was about to come and needed to feel her climaxing around him, too.

The seconds that followed were intense, but not very loud. He spasmed inside of her at the same time that she arched to him, their hips meeting. They rode each other’s orgasms, and the mattress welcomed the dead weight of their exhausted and sated bodies a while after.

The bliss that came after that moment gave way to a heavy, contented silence filled with the heady and comforting fragance of sex.

Oliver’s body pressed down on her, just a tad sweaty, but she found her sanctuary in his embrace, only imperfect due to the missing weight pressing on her from the other side.

“Thank you,” she whispered after she removed some hair from her face and brushed her lips against Oliver’s stubbled chin. Her thighs trembled a little after she let them fall on the mattress, on either side of Oliver’s legs.

“Always,” he replied, tickling her cheek with his wild strands of hair and tracing a path of kisses down her jaw and neck until he could taste her nipple in his mouth. A moment later, he was back at her mouth, his large hand cupping her cheek, his words seeking reassurance of her well-being.

She sighed for what felt a long time. Her fingers, in the meantime, weaved into his damp hair, holding him close. The weight of his body on hers felt grounding, a reminder that he was there, real and solid. His presence and the feeling of him filler her, from the spot between her legs to her heart and soul, was a balm to her frayed nerves, soothing away the remnants of her ealier distress.

But still. Something was missing. Someone.

“I’m still upset,” she admitted after a breather from his kiss. She didn’t want to say it right after they made love, but she knew Oliver would understand. That’s what that entire day had been about: her understanding that he would listen, try to comprehend, and never ever diminish fer feelings and emotions.

“Why?” he asked. Their voices mere whispers in the night, in a room that also seemed to miss Noah’s presence. “Is it because I have to leave? Doll, Noah will be here in no time.”

“I know… I’m so happy that you’re here, that you came for me…” Her eyes had wandered down, slightly conflicted at her complaint. “But I want you both,” she confessed, loking back up at him. It wasn’t much of a confession because he already knew that. That had actually been the truth that had got them three together in the first place, the confession to Noah that had urged him to find Oliver and propose to him to share the girl of their dreams in the middle of a tour in the UK.

“I miss him, too,” Oliver reminded her, palming her hair, his cock still inside of her. He wouldn’t leave the warmth of her body until she asked him to. Missing Noah was one of the things he hated the most in their relationship. Sometimes they spent months without seeing each other. Oliver would come home and Noah would have left the day before, keeping them on opposite schedules. That was why last year, Oliver had tried to get Bad Omens to play in the same summer festivals as Bring Me The Horizon, so that at least they could be together after their performances and while traveling from one country to another, sparing the enormous pain of coming back home to realize the other wasn’t there yet.

It felt relieveing to share that feeling with her. It felt like missing him together took some of the weight off their shoulders. They would lean on each other and wait until Noah was back. Luckily for her —and for him— Noah was now on a flight on his way home, and unbeknownst to her, she would have both his boys home tomorrow, all devoted and willing to kiss the same ground she walked on.

“You know what I miss the most about him, actually?” Oliver started to say, his tone a bit more earning and cheerful as he rested his body weight on his elbows and as his fingers moved to reach her ears and start to play with her earrings.

“What?”

“That annoying habit of his of touching my legs with his bare feet under the blanket.”

Her laugh filled his heart with such relief that he couldn’t even put it into words. He had felt so anguished when Jack called him the day before. All he could think about was how she must have been coping alone after meeting her mother to tell her about the wedding. As Jack spoke to him on the phone, Oliver recalled that night after Jack and Sylvie’s engagement party. Noah and he had tried to make love to her to keep her racing thoughts away from the disastrous first meeting with the woman who would be their mother-in-law, but she had been totally restrained by her anxiety and so upset that they hadn’t been able to calm her down for two days.

He didn’t want her to feel like that again, and he knew her state would be even worse now since they weren’t there with her. That’s when he grabbed his phone, wallet, and passport, and headed to the airport.

“You know he does that on purpose, right?” she told him, remembering all the times she had been pissed at their antics on either side of the bed. She often found herself squished between their two bodies as Oliver kicked Noah to keep his naked feet away from his calves and Noah pretended to be half asleep while trying to touch him again. In the meantime, she was getting knocked from both sides, suffering Oliver’s kicks and the brush of Noah’s cold feet against her own. “He loves it when you squirm under the sheets.”

“Of course I know,” oliver admitted. “I’m going to make him pay for it one of these days.”

“I’d love to see that.”

Wriggling underneath him, Oliver understood she was getting uncomfortable.

He got up only to remove the condom and clean them up a bit, then tucked them both under the covers, letting her find her safety cocoon not on his chest or in the crook of his neck, but on his bicep, which she often mentioned could be used as a pillow. She found exceptional comfort in resting her head against the angel of death tattooed on his arm, his bicep big enough to offer the perfect-sized spot for her to drift into the realm of dreams.

The only thing missing was Noah’s arm around her stomach as she lay on her side, keeping her protected from all the evil in the world as he reached over to grab onto Oliver as well, his palm finding his place on Oliver’s hip.

They would keep their bodies connected and fall into a peaceful sleep, as if enchanted by a magic they couldn’t see but that was always there, always present in their love for each other.

CHAPTER 3: THE CROW WITCH - COMING SOON

#into the abyss of bad habits #oliver sykes x reader #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #bmth #bring me the horizon #oliver sykes x noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #oliver sykes fic #noah sebastian fanfic #oliver sykes fanfic

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novashelby · 4 days ago

Text

The Girl With the Smile: Chapter One

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Tilly (OFC)

Warnings: Mention of drinking, alcoholism, language, typical period attitude, sexism, depression, mental illness.

Word Count: 1.8

Story Summary: Matilda "Tilly" Swanson was a klutz who never really wanted to be a maid. Arthur Shelby was a manic wreck who never wanted the maid to begin with. What happens when a miserable old sod starts to find comfort in his younger and silly maid?

Chapter Summary: Arthur isn't very happy when Tommy brings over a young woman. To him, he's fine and just wants to be left alone.

Please enjoy! Reblogs and comments encouraged.

“Arthur, look at you!” Tommy Shelby could be described as a functional mess, but Arthur Shelby was a functional nothing. Scattered about the floor of his darkened parlor lay empty whiskey bottles, discarded cigarettes that the ashtray could no longer hold, and broken things that Tommy couldn’t identify. Tommy covered his nose with his handkerchief, eyes scanning around before landing on his brother. “You’re a bloody fookin’ disaster. How do you function in this filth, eh?” Tommy kicked the wooden leg of the red velvet chair his brother rested on; slumped and decaying in his own aroma.

Arthur gurgled out a train of incomprehensible gibberish. “Wha-s-ye-wan’, Aye?!” Fetal position, he curled up with the bottle of rum, turning himself so as to not look at Tommy. “Fook off!” That was clear. His trousers were soiled, shit stained, and hair unkempt. His stubble almost matched his mustache in length.

“Now, Arthur!” Tommy removed his cigarette from his lips and rubbed it out in the ashtray, adding it to the ground. His brother wasn’t hardly a smoker, but he assumed that he must have taken it up when Linda left. “It’s been three fookin’ weeks now-”

“Fuck off-”

“In a minute, eh?” Neither brother wanted to deal with the pathetic situation at hand, but Tommy feared if he let it go any longer, Arthur would bloody off himself. “I think I have been quite patient in terms of…of whatever this fuckin’ is.” From behind Tommy, the door opened a crack, and the slight bit of sunlight left of the day peeked through. Tommy shot a look behind him, and said, “I told you to stay outside-”

“I know!” A soft, young voice spoke suddenly. Arthur grunted, shifting a bit and squinting towards the door. Through the slightly opened mahogany door, slipped in a young woman, delicately, but simply dressed. With gloved hands, she gripped a small suitcase that held no more than a few sacred belongings. Both men looked at her for a minute, and she quickly apologized, taking off her hat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t wear such a thing inside, but now my hair is quite messy and wow, I just…wow.” Once she registered the sight before her, she took a step back and slowly looked up at Tommy with a gaped mouth. “Mr. Shelby-”

“I’ll pay you fifteen pounds instead!” Quickly, Tommy jumped over to her, gently touching her arms. “Fifteen pounds, a good more than you got working for me, eh?” He grinned, pinching at her chin. His grin slowly dropped as he let out a sigh of exhaustion. It wasn’t an ideal situation. What maid wanted to be a babysitter, housekeeper, and cook all for one smelly, distraught, and difficult man? “C’mon, fifteen pounds, eh?” He tried, tapping her arms. She offered a sympathetic smile, right shoulder shrugging a bit. “Alright, alright. Twenty pounds. That’s double the national average!”

Hand motioning to Arthur, who had passed out sometime within the mix of conversation. Sympathetically, she said, “Mr. Shelby, I’m grateful, but your brother isn’t exactly known for being easy. That’s why Sandra and Clara rejected the offer-”

“And you didn’t because you’re a hard worker!” As his hand hit harder against her arm, she winced. “And you are good with people, Miss. Swanson.” The maid eased her shoulders and nodded, pushing her suitcase to the cleanest spot she could find. “Arthur!” Tommy kicked the leg of the chair once again, that time hard enough it almost dug the drunken fool out of his inebriated state. Jumping up, he yelled out, thrashing and seething. “Arthur!” Tommy yelled again, pushing his older brother down in the chair. “This is Miss. Swanson.” Arthur could hardly find her through his double vision. Squinting, he grumbled a few words that neither made sense nor were relevant. “I’ve taken her from my own team of maids-”

“I-ish wan’ no mai’.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Romani. English?”

Tommy swallowed, dryly stating, “that was English.”

“Oh.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Arthur!” Tommy picked his brother up straight and made him sit like a normal human being. “You be kind to Miss. Swanson, you understand me? Hm?” Pinching his cheeks, Tommy leaned in. “She’s goin’ to ‘elp ya’ around here, alright? Make sure you’re keeping clean, eating, showering, getting your fuckin’ arse to work! Three Goddamn weeks, Arthur! Haven’t come to bloody fuckin’ work in three fookin’ weeks.” He and Arthur wrestled for a moment over the whiskey bottle. Tommy tried to pull the bottle away, but Arthur kept it close to his chest with a grip stronger than anything. “Alrigh’, fine! Fuckin’ have the bottle, but until you can fuckin’ shower and shave, you’re off the bottle, eh? No more!”

He walked over to her, tired of it. She hesitantly looked over at the sunken man and then to Tommy. “Are you sure I should stay here…alone?” Motioning to him, she continued, “I mean, he’s a bit neurotic. What if he…I don’t know, hurts me?”

Tommy sighed. “My number is on the phone. If I don’t pick up, I’ve left numerous other numbers. He won’t hurt you-”

“You didn’t say that with confidence, exactly, Mr. Shelby.”

“He’s never hurt a woman,” he corrected before adding, “never before. He’s small. Um, not much to him. You can take him. Believe in yourself, eh? I’m counting on you.” As he stood above her, cupping her cheeks, and leaning down. “Tilly,” he said, affectionately. “Mr. Shelby is counting on you.” Giving in, she offered a little smile, the rounds of her cheeks turning red. “I couldn’t ask anyone, but you.”

“Alright, Mr. Shelby,” she agreed. “Twenty pounds a month, thirty pound bonus upfront-”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, eh-”

“But you couldn’t ask anyone, but me, remember?” She grinned, a little twinkle in her eyes. Tommy sighed, pulling away and reaching into his wallet, digging out ten, mumbling how he’d supplement the other twenty. “Don’t worry…they say you should always high ball a man, not low ball.” Tommy Shelby couldn’t even be angry at that. It was as if she was beating him at his own game. All that stuff he said was simply a trick to get her to stay. Tilly, in fact, was the last maid he wanted to ask; clumsy, oblivious, and a bit…unruly. But he adored the girl in some way or another.

“Spend it wisely,” he said, a slight sarcastic undertone as he fixed his hat. He nodded to the girl and affectionately touched her shoulder in passing as he left. The door closed behind her with a quick swift bang, it echoed throughout the home.

When the silence returned and the room felt still, she looked over at the man, slumped over in the chair. “Well then,” she said, with a smile, clasping her gloved hands. “Why don’t we open some windows?” she offered, and waited for any sign of life. But he was cold. Out cold. Cautiously, she took slow, careful strides towards him. “Never in my life,” she whispered, studying how he cuddled the half-drunk bottle and slept with a gaped mouth, a stream of drool hitting the arm of the chair. Outreaching her gloved hand, she poked him. “Alright, you!” Poke, poke, poke. On the third poke, they scared each other. Arthur shot awake, thrashing the bottle about, hollering in a drunken state while Tilly jumped back finding refuge behind the matching velvet sofa.

“The fook is ‘ere?!” he yelled, dropping the bottle. Tilly gasped as glass shattered and rum splashed. When he saw no one, he allowed himself to mourn. “Me fookin’ bottle. Last fookin’ one.”

Tilly slowly peered over the couch, eyes wide. “Mr. Shelby?”

“OI!” Quickly, he looked over, their eyes connecting. “Are you a whore?” he managed to get out, perhaps a little hopeful.

“N-no, I’m not,” she said, slowly standing, hands palms up. Cautiously, they watched one another as she walked around the sofa. “Your brother, Thomas, hired me to clean your home. Thought you’d need some help-”

“Fuck off,” he said, throwing himself back on the chair, refusing to look at her. “And tell him to fook right off, too. Sick of the lot of ya, can’t leave me alone.”

Tilly knew he’d be difficult, but she overestimated her patience for it. Swallowing, she winced. “Well, um-”

“Well what!? Get it out, eh?”

“I can’t leave,” she explained. “I can’t leave, and well, for one, you live quite from from where I’d need to go and I don’t drive. And there’s no car.” She stopped talking, deciding that it was useless. “How about this!? We can open some blinds and let some sunlight in. I suppose some brightness would do you well.” She walked over to a curtain covered window and pulled it open, allowing the last bit of sunlight to come through. It brightened the place immediately. She was quite shocked to find that everything was not black, but indeed varying different colors. “You see, Mr. Shelby, doesn’t it look much better already?”

But like a bear who hadn’t seen sunlight for a winters time, he hissed out, covering his eyes. “Woman! The bloody ‘ell are you doing to me?!”

“Oh please,” she said, walking to the other window, pulling the curtain. “A little sunlight will be good for you. Then I can start cleaning up this mess. Perhaps make you a quick supper. You’ll need some food with all that alcohol in you. You’re just withering away.”

“I wish I would wither away right now,” he mumbled under his breath. “I want you to leave, Miss. Just leave and go wherever. Don’t have any bloody need for a woman that isn’t blowing me cock-”

“Vile,” she commented, pursing her lips together. She had just picked up a broom to clean the shattered glass, but she immediately put it down. “Alright, if you are just going to be that bloody stubborn, I will call your brother to come pick me up. But I warn you, Mr. Shelby, he won’t be very happy-”

“Well, he can fuck on off, too-”

“And he did,” she snipped, walking to the phone and picking up the ear piece. Tilly looked back as her finger dialed around the numbers. “And he left me here with your sorry arse. You’re a miserable one, aren’t you? And to think I remembered you kinder at one point…Hello! Mr. Shelby?”

On the other end, Tommy Shelby rubbed his temple. She hardly lasted as long as he thought. “Yes, Tilly,” he said, dropping all sense of formality. “Put him on the phone.”

Tilly called to Arthur. “Your brother would like to speak with you.” There was a groan and a crack of joints as the man slowly lifted from the chair. Wobbling over, he grabbed the phone and slammed it down. “That was quite-”

“Let me show you to your room,” he said, cutting her off. “It’s either I listen to him or I listen to you, and I’m tired of listening to him for forty bloody fuckin’ years.”

Taglist: @lau219 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @wonderlanddreamer @mysatnin @umbrielchip000

@hollyluvseveryone4ever13

@lilvampirina

@jaymcdowell

@kmc1989

@lilladygrinningsoul @fiercelittlemouse @peakyswritings @runnning-outof-time @brummiereader

#Tommy Shelby #Arthur Shelby #Peaky Blinders #Original female character #ofc #oc #fanfic #fanfiction #peaky blinders oc #arthur shelby x ofc #arthur shelby fanfiction #arthur shelby x oc

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yearningandstillnotlearning · 3 months ago

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𝚃𝚘 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.

- B.E.

First request!!! Req by: @bilsluckyheart !! Thank you for your faith in me and i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

A/N: used one of my experiences and altered it some more!! Help!!

C/W: m*n mentioned, comphet implied, death mentioned (?), angst, hurt no comfort, no use of y/n, Billie referred to with her name instead of she once, hope i didn’t miss smt

Summary: You finally get a partner and as you said you didn’t care what they were like! You just wanted to not be alone. Is that what fulfils you? Is that what you expected to happen when you were finally “not alone?” Bet you didn’t expect to lose what you realised way too late was what you truly wanted there with you.

❀。 •*₊❀。 • *₊°。 ❀°· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° ❀。 •

A man, a man supposedly being your boyfriend but you can’t seem to help that you see him as a best friend more than anything. Sex feels rather like a playtime-pass time than intimacy - what’s supposed to be dates instead is like going out with your dad’s friend instead of your lover - being with him feels more suffocating than it does to be utterly alone.

Sick worried about your sexuality and cravings, controlling to the core. You needn’t have cut her off, did you? You didn’t like her like that, right?

Or was it just you being in denial? Have you thought how obvious it is when others hear how you talk to her, your tone, your blabbering, clinging onto every little detail ever just for the sake of a never-ending conversation. How your eyes light up the entire milky way the moment she looks your way, gives you attention, answers your texts, you you you in her mind you wanted it to be you.

And he saw that as a threat, his very own misery being contagiously inflicted to you, all in plain sight.

So many excuses for how he is- but you cant deny it. You don’t dare deny it, and you know it too.

The car rides you’d wish would lead to her, the friends you’d go out with you wished would include her, the indirect questions of his old friends in a flick of hope to hear about her.

She was never to be talked of again.

He broke up with you, why are you sad? Body shaking with devastation, tears running like real-life waterfalls, screams of a broken heart hope. You had only hoped you like him, you had only hoped you could convince yourself you like men, the way they like you. The closet shut so quick for the sake of being with someone for once, anyone.

It doesn’t take long until you realise you’re better without him, you aren’t miserable yourself, you were forced to be but yourself. The episodes and constant crying is over, your body has no one to reject anymore, so as the months go by, why do you still feel crashed?

Mind replaying the thoughts you had while dating him, how often you’d think of Billie, wish for her upon every shooting star, hoping your words would reach her under the same night sky.

You weren’t in love with her though? Right?

The times she’d laugh at your stupid jokes and you’d only grow warmer, all from inside out. The way she laughed at your idiotic jokes, eyes shut closed and uncontrollable irregular panting laughs, you felt your heart open up and flutter like a lotus. You weren’t breathing anymore - you were blooming.

Or how she would always react to you with a smile, no she wasn’t always happy, but she felt that way whenever you were in the picture.

You knew she wasn’t always happy, especially when you tried to contact her about a month after your breakup, after the breakup of probably the most pathetic relationship ever.

Her hometown being your own isn’t helping, with a new year of studies crawling in and summer days shortening she’s come to visit family and friends and you cant help but imagine every other girl she interacted with was you.

Stolen glances while passing by the street, yours were full head turns, trying to drink up as much of her as you can in that luck-pathed moment, whereas hers almost looked through you. Short and cold, like broken icicles used as daggers.

The eyes that once bent and twinkled with such a welcoming warmth you now find them leaving you breathless. The hands that once opened up like wings, fingers empty of their shiny rings, -something she always did knowing how the sensation makes you cringe unpleasantly- knowing she’s gonna see you, eager to be held by you contentedly, palms facing you with a silent request to hold them — now you see fallen, the only thing about them looking at you being the big shiny intimidating rings peeking from a fist.

The mud is dirty, the water is not the best. All kinds of things found around the pond taking a sip or a dip. But a lotus flower grows again tomorrow even cleaner than before. Why can’t she see it?

You a year ago today is nothing compared to you right now, you know what you are and what you want. So why is she suddenly scared to get wet? Why is every person attracted to the pond but her?

Everyone but the one you want.

The one person to bloom the lotus within you, the one to plant the lotus seed inside you, to keep it from rotting all along. She gave it life and left it with you to die.

Or at least you tell that yourself to feel better, better about the fact that you left her without a word and hoped for the best.

You hadn’t realised just how much time had passed, or that time had passed at all. Now out of your mind and back to your body, looking right at the entrance of a park, you hadn’t moved an inch since you looked back and was met with a killer gaze. The evening sky turning to yet another dark night. Were the nights always this cold?

You lean against the random buildings fence, state of shock unbothered. Your head tilts up as the breeze kisses past your features, thats when you realise your body has betrayed you yet again, wet cold teary cheeks.

Blink,, blink,,, blink… and you shot your eyes up ahead, the stars in the dark blue of the sky dancing along the hue of the endless horizon above and beyond, and for a moment you saw her eyes again, for a moment you saw her staring at you the way she used to. For a final moment before you felt your heart rip itself apart.

...

You had no outlet for your love to her, you didn’t have her. What was there to do with a feeling so tender that sucker punches your stomach the moment it sees the owner of it whole? A feeling that fights against your held back words and actions, trying to get out in any way, ends up finding that the only way out, is through.

There was no room for it. If you clung onto it, it would only destroy you.

#Xandra’s work⭑.ᐟ #billie eilish #angst #billie eilish angst #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fanfiction #fanfiction #blurb #angst fic

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mydarllinglover · 9 months ago

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Stars Collided || Seven

"You would think she was being sentenced to death." Ahsoka sighed.

"Privileged people have a weird way with coping." Anakin shrugged, as they watched Lovisa pour another glass of wine.

"I can hear you." She sniffled, as she sipped the red drink.

"Why did we need to be here for this?" Ahsoka asked her, directly.

"Because I don't like to be alone, and you're hired to do what I say."

The two shared another look.

"Not because we're great company?" Anakin asked.

"I asked the two of you here, and no one else, didn't I?" She glared at him, as she grabbed two more glasses, filling them.

"Basically, what she is trying to say, is that she loves us, and we're her best friends." Ahsoka smirked.

"You may go now." Lovisa switched her glare to the girl.

"Always in such denial." Anakin grinned widely, as he moved around the counter to stand near her.

"I must love terrible company." She rolled her eyes, sipping her drink, and stepping away from him.

"So, you do love us." Ahsoka cheered.

"Bye." Lovisa walked out from the room, where they stored their wine.

"Where are you going?" The two pains in Lovisa's asses, followed her.

"To drown myself." She answered, walking down the hall, and towards an exit of the large castle.

"But then Anakin's gonna get in trouble for letting you die, and I'll be out of a job." Ahsoka told her.

"That doesn't really seem like my problem." She shrugged. "I won't care, if I'm dead."

"That's what you really want?" Anakin asked.

"No." She groaned. "But it doesn't matter what I want."

"What is that?" He pushed. "What do you want?"

She continued to march through the grass, no destination in mind.

"Everything that I can't have." She refused to give details. "I don't want to be tied to a stupid throne." She tore her tiara off her head, throwing it away from her, but Anakin moved to swipe it up, as he and Ahsoka both followed.

"It won't be terrible, Lovey." Her friend told her.

"Like you could even begin to understand." She snapped.

"Then explain it to us." Anakin urged.

"My life has just been poured down the drain." She was frustrated, and angry. "I have spent my whole life, knowing that I was the spare, whatever I decided to do with my life, never really mattered, as long as it didn't affect the Kingdom or my family, in a bad way, and I would be able to do whatever they needed of me, but now?" She laughed harshly. "Now, my father is going to force me to find a suitable husband, to share the throne with, and it won't be mine, it will be his, and I will have to bare his children, so that he has an heir, they won't be mine, but his, I don't even want children! I won't ever be able to get away, my duties will be doubled, I will never get a say, for my own country, but everyone will be looking at me, when something goes wrong. I wanted to travel, to see great, amazing sights, from all over, and be able to paint, and be happy, and to live, but that's gone, it's all gone! And she got to make that decision, because she gets to be happy, with the one she wants, because she's older, and she gets to step away, because she had a back up, and I don't, so I'm stuck here, and its not fair, it's not fair!" She fell to the ground, to her knees, as she breathed heavy, the weight lifting from her chest, as she continued to stare down, at the skirt of her dress. "I've never been allowed to make a decision in my life, I hate it, I hate them, I hate my title, I hate it all! And I'm going to be miserable and alone, for the rest of my pathetic existence, I hate being alone, my biggest fear is coming true, and no one even cares to ask about what I think, how I feel. They didn’t even bother to tell me, they all knew and kept it from me" She dropped her face into her hands. "Everyone just thinks of me as this wild and selfish, spoiled brat, that always wants her own way, but nothing ever goes my way."

Anakin and Ahsoka looked at each other, they both felt guilty, they felt terrible for teasing and tormenting her, for not bothering to truly see things from her side, yes, she was living lavishly, and was better off than them, she never truly knew what it was like to come from nothing, but unlike her, they had made choices to be where they are now.

"You won't be alone, Lovey." Ahsoka told her, gently, "You will always have me, and I won't let that happen."

Lovisa looked up, her waterline was brimming with tears, "Do you swear?" Her voice cracked, as she asked.

"On my own life." Ahsoka held a hand to her heart, as she also sunk to the ground. "And that does not need to happen, you can rule, make this what you want it to be, you don't need anybody else, and your parents aren't going anywhere, you still have so much time, to do all the things you want to do. You can travel, and fall in love-"

"I can't." She interrupted.

"Yes, you can" Ahsoka smiled encouragingly.

"No, Ahsoka, I can't fall in love." She looked past her friend, at the boy stood behind her, who was already looking at the princess, and he didn't care to look away.

His own chest was beginning to feel heavy, the idea of her moving on, getting married, and starting a family, with anyone but him, it drove him crazy, and since their first kiss, it had been keeping him up, at night, thinking about it, but he could not help himself, the jealousy was too consuming.

But she was a princess, and he was a Jedi.

"Oh..." Ahsoka whispered.

"I wish to go to bed." Lovisa sighed, getting up from the ground, shaking the grass out of her dress.

"I shall accompany you, princess" Anakin told her, nodding to Ahsoka that it was okay for her to go to her own space.

"No need, Jedi." She continued to walk back to the castle.

"Of course there is, I have to make sure that you get to your quarters, safely. That is my job, after all." He replied, walking beside her.

"Very well, then." She wiped her tears, as she kept her focus on where she was going. Her palms were facing down, as she tried to walk properly, like she was taught, and yes, she was made to walk with books on her head, as a child.

But then she was swooped up, in someones arms, Anakin's arms.

She let out a squeal of surprise, as she hooked her arms around his neck, scared that he might drop her, but he carried her through the castle, as though she weighed nothing, even with her poofy skirt, he didn't even seem to care.

"What are you doing, Ani?" She asked him.

"Carrying you to your room, Princess, you seemed to have been struggling." He told her, not bothering to look down at her face, so she was looking up at his. "And I just wanted an excuse to be close to you." He also admitted.

Her cheeks turned rosy, but she didn't say anything else.

When they had reached her bedroom, He only set her down, once he had reached her bed, so he could sit her down on her mattress.

"Do you need anything, before I go?" He asked.

She hesitated, before thinking.

"Yes, I do, actually." She told him.

"And what is that?" He rose a brow in curiosity.

"Well, normally Ahsoka helps me undress, and I can't do it myself." She looked down, bashfully, what if he said no? Then she'd be stuck sleeping in an uncomfortable corset all night.

"O- Of course, M'lady." She didn't miss how he looked taken aback at her request, she had found that it didn't take much to fluster the skilled Jedi.

"Thank you, Skywalker." She called him by his last name, she thought that it would make things less awkward, sound more professional.

She turned around, so that her back was facing him, and she waited for only a few moments, before she could feel his presence behind her, it sent goosebumps all along her skin, and he hadn't even touched her.

Anakin untied the knot at the bottom of her dress, before unravelling the ribbon, finally letting her body relax from the tight prison.

His finger tips danced around her back, she could feel his breath on her ear, and she fought the reaction to shiver.

His hands moved towards her shoulders, then he was gently pulling down the small sleeves.

"Thank you." Lovisa gasped, sharply, breaking herself out of the spell, as she took a step forward, creating distance from him, then she moved towards her divider, so that she could change, picking an blue nightgown, with a matching sheer blue robe, with the fluffy cuffs and hem.

"Would you like me to leave now, princess?" Anakin asked her.

"No, you haven't checked whether my room is secure." She made up an excuse, just to keep him a little longer.

"Of course." He nodded, before walking towards her bathroom, to check it, and then it was her balcony, he even bothered to check under her bed, as she watched. "Well, it looks safe and sound." He told her, as she sat on her bed, he was only a few feet away from her. "I shall leave you to rest."

He only walked a few steps, towards the door, before she stopped him.

"Ani, can you-.... would you wait with me?" She asked. "I don't want to be alone, and I want you- your company, I would like your company." She reiterated.

He was by her side in milliseconds.

"Yes." He said. "I can wait with you."

"Thank you." She said in a hushed breath.

She then got off from the end of the bed, so that she could get underneath the duvet, and lay at her pillows. "Will you lay with me?"

"If that is what you desire." He answered, copying her movements, as he got into the bed, on the other side.

“Are you comfortable like that?” She looked at his clothes.

“I suppose so.” He shrugged. “It’s not what I typically wear to bed, but that’s okay.”

“Well, how do you usually sleep?” She asked him.

“Not a lot.” He bit down a smirk, as he avoided her eyes.

“Oh.” She hated that her cheeks turned red, she focused on her duvet, to avoid the mental images in her head.

The two layed on their side, looking at one another, not sure what to say or do.

Then she took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles, feeling the scarred tissue, and the roughness, a show of hard work.

"I can't believe I'm laying in bed, with the future queen of Naboo." Anakin joked, breaking the silence, and causing a chuckle from her.

"Shut up." She rolled her eyes, with a small smile.

"You will make an amazing queen." He told her, with seriousness, now. "You don't have to make it the way things are now, you could make a difference, make things the way you want them to be, and fix Naboo, change all the bad that there is, here, there's so much you could do, and I know that it's you, who could and will do it, help the people, be the queen that this country needs."

"I don't think I would be very good." She shook her head. “The kingdom loves my mother and father, I would never reach their expectations.”

Anakin scooted closer towards her in the bed, he used his other hand to lift her chin, so that she would look at him, then moved to hold her cheek, swiping his thumb at the soft skin.

"Yes you will, Vis, you're the best option this place needs, I know you will do great, you're amazing, and I believe in you. You're a good person."

Her eyes softened, as she looked at him.

"But, I don't want to give you up, Ani, I don't think anyone could ever make me feel the way you do, I won't settle down with anyone." She shook her head in protest.

He kissed her, cutting off her next sentence before she could say it.

"Then don't." He said. "Don't end this, with me. We can be together, okay, no one has to find out, you don't need to marry, you don't need to marry anyone else, your sisters getting married, she'll most likely start a family with the senator, so the throne can just go back to them, after your reign, it'll be perfect."

Lovisa had no faith in his plan, she knew that was not realistic, and her father would never have that, it just wasn't the way things were, but to let herself be happy for just one more night, to enjoy his company, she nodded and smiled.

"Okay." She said, causing his own smile to grow wider, and he kissed her, again, with so much passion, that it broke her heart, just a little, she then pulled away. "Stay with me, for the night, please?"

"Of course, M'lady." He kissed her forehead, his hand in her hair.

She looked at his eyes, as they sparkled, as if he held the stars in them.

“You can undress, if you wish to, I promise I won’t look.”

“I don’t mind if you do.” He winked at her, playfully, as he did what she said, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor by her bed.

“C’mere.” He laid back down, opening his arms for her.

Lovisa scooted even closer to him, wanting to be wrapped up in his warmth, Anakin hugged her tightly, his face buried in her hair, as they eventually fell asleep.

#anakin imagine #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin smut #sw anakin #anakin fanfiction #obi wan and anakin #star wars anakin #anakin and padme #anakin skywalker #anakin x you #ahsoka tano

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mayblossomss · 1 month ago

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Whumptober Day 16: Wound Cleaning

Ponyboy was never known for being graceful. Quite the opposite, really. If there was an award for "World's Most Clumsy Person" it would go to Ponyboy.

It wasn't a surprise to see a new bruise or cut on the boy, as it seemed he was constantly running into things, or tripping over his own two feet. It was a common fact amongst the gang to never let him handle valuables.

On one particular day, the only three people inside of the Curtis home were Ponyboy, Dallas, and Two-Bit. Perhaps the most immature group to have left alone unsupervised, but it seemed unlikely that anything bad was going to happen.

Well, until Ponyboy started doing dishes. Two-Bit sat in the living room, chatting loudly with Dallas, who was leaning back against the couch, eyes closed. Pony's hand were wet and slippery as he took the dishes from the sink and dried them off.

Grabbing a knife from the pile of dishes, Ponyboy's grip on the handle slipped, and before he could register what was happening, the knife toppled to the floor and pierced his foot. He screamed, stumbling backward against the counter, eyes wide with horror at the sight of a knife peeking out of his foot.

Two-Bit and Dallas perked up from the other room, briefly sharing a look with one another, before bolting into the kitchen. The first thing they see is a hysteric Ponyboy, but then they spot the knife lodged into his foot. Blood was beginning to pool around it, staining the kitchen floor.

"Oh, holy shit," Dallas breathed, mouth agape as he stared at the bloody sight.

"What the hell did you do?" Two-Bit questioned, growing slightly queasy, even as he turned away.

"Dropped a knife on my foot," Ponyboy snapped, gripping the counter behind him desperately. "Do something!"

Two-Bit didn't need to be told twice, and he hurried off into the bathroom. A few moments of cupboards opening and closing later, he returned with a few items. He had bandages, soap, and rubbing alcohol.

Dallas, who had cleaned himself up numerous times after particularly bad fights up in New York, guided Ponyboy over to the table and sat him down. Taking the supplies, he crouched before him. "This is gonna hurt."

"What's going to--" Ponyboy cuts himself off with a shout of pain as Dallas removes the knife from his foot. "Dal!"

"Sorry, kid," he hummed, pressing a cloth to his foot and holding it there. "Keith, take this, would you?"

Two-Bit looked pale as he stepped forward to take the bloody knife. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Clean it?" Dallas offered, rolling his eyes.

After a few minutes, Dally took the cloth away and started using a mix of water and soap to rinse the wound out. Ponyboy bit down on his lip, hard, to keep from whining pathetically. Finally, Dallas got to the worst part. "Okay, kid, this is gonna sting."

"Dammit, Dally," Ponyboy grumbled, hands clenching into fists. "Do you have to pour that into it?"

"Yeah," he grunted, opening the rubbing alcohol. "It keeps the wound from getting infected. Would you rather lose your foot and never run track again?"

"Now I know that ain't true," Ponyboy murmured. "I ain't a kid, you can't trick me with tha--" Dallas poured the rubbing alcohol into his wound, causing Ponyboy to break off with a cry.

Two-Bit looked on, completely stunned by the sight. Dallas simply kept tending to his wound before rinsing it off one last time and wrapping it in a bandage. "Should be good."

Ponyboy sat in the chair, miserable, as he stared down at his bandaged foot, sighing. Two-Bit silently inched forward to pick up the bloodied cloths. "Gross."

"It's just some blood," Dallas huffed, shrugging nonchalantly, before turning back to Pony. "You good?"

He nodded, looking from his foot to Dallas. His eyes betrayed the lingering shock and terror of the situation, but all in all, he seemed to be fine. "Thanks. For cleaning me up, I mean."

"Shoot, Dal," Two-Bit said, resting an elbow on the shoulder of the other boy. "When did you get so good at playing nurse?"

"Shut your trap," Dallas scowled, slapping his arm away and putting some distance between the two of them. "Be thankful it was Pony and not you, because I wouldn't have patched you up."

"Hurtful!" Two-Bit exclaimed dramatically, his playful attitude returning now that he'd gotten over the shock.

Dallas grinned a bit, before turning back to Ponyboy. "How about you lay off the dishes for a bit, huh, kid?"

Ponyboy nodded, completely agreeing with Dallas. The next time he held a knife, it would be pointed away from any part of his body.

#whumptober 2024 #no.16 #wound cleaning #the outsiders #fanfic #stab wound #ponyboy curtis #not too whumpy my bad

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turtlecleric · 11 months ago

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@oozedninjas hope you feel better soon <3 have some bay!Donnie comforting you

(@yorshie - tag list)

---

When you make it to Donnie's room, you find him hunched over something at his desk and muttering to himself. He perks up immediately at the sight of you, an excited smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and it's so fucking cute that it sort of makes you want to cry.

Oh, hang on. Fuck. You might actually cry.

As he takes in your pathetic attempts to keep a straight face and the hand resting over your stomach, his pleased expression shifts to worry before settling on a sympathetic, knowing look.

"Shark week?"

You nod miserably. "Shark week."

He's up and heading toward you immediately, the bits of tech on his desk left abandoned. He gets within arms reach and pauses, hands hovering in the air between the two of you.

"Is touch okay right now?"

Instead of responding, you step forward, resting your forehead against his plastron. Donnie's arms gently wrap around you, and you feel him lean forward to press a kiss into your hair. A few moments pass in the safety of his arms, and then he places his hands on your shoulders and gently pushes you back.

"Let's get you set up. Okay?"

You sigh and nod. Words are too... something right now.

"Have you taken medicine yet?

You shake your head.

"Eaten?"

You nod.

He makes an approving noise and leads you to the bed. It reminds you of a nest, to be honest, with the excessive number of pillows and blankets there. As you crawl in, you think back to the circular, wall-mounted bed he used to have before you two got together. Before he traded it out for something bigger and more comfortable. Before he knew what it felt like to even be well rested.

Stop.

The lights dim, and suddenly he's kissing your temple.

"Be right back, Dove."

You hum in response, trying to ignore the sharp pain in your stomach and the tangle of emotions in your chest. You feel like complete and absolute shit in every way possible, and you're so goddamn tired of feeling like you're going to cry that it makes you want to... cry.

Fuck.

Donnie is back in no time at all, handing you two pills and a bottle of water. You down them gratefully, and then he trades you the water bottle for your heating pad. The one he specifically made for you.

No. Not crying. Not. Crying.

You manage to situate the heating pad and press your preferred settings into the remote control. Donnie waits for you to place a pillow between your legs and clutch another to your chest before fussing over the blankets and tucking you in. A hand brushes lightly through your hair.

"Music?"

You manage a nod, and soon one of your playlists is weaving through the air.

"Cuddles or alone time?"

You take a slow, deep breath. "Cuddles."

Another kiss is pressed to your temple before he leaves your view. The bed dips and he starts to settle in behind you, and you can tell that he's trying not to jostle you too much as he moves. His hand finds your hair again, his soothing, light brushes slowly helping you relax.

You still feel terrible, and the medicine hasn't kicked in yet, but. It's already so much better than it was.

You let out a long, contented sigh. "Thank you," you murmur.

Another kiss is pressed onto your temple, and then you feel the vibrations of Donnie's voice against your back.

"Of course, Dove." His face nuzzles softly into your neck, making you smile. "Love you."

You're glad that there's only a slight waver to your voice when you reply.

"Love you too, Donnie."

#turtlecleric scrolls #bay!donnie

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luneariaa · 8 months ago

Text

✧ tornare insieme.

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : claudio serafino x fem! reader.

✰ 𝐰. 𝐜. : 2k+ ( i got carried away )

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : since the breakup, his mind has been so restless. on one night, he unexpectedly bumps into you within the park.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : not much proofread, claudio seemed a lil miserable here though ( only at the beginning parts ) and might be ooc.

✰ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : brainrotting over him still ngl like 💙 -- and idk what i wrote for the most part :")

. dividers by @/saradika-graphics !! 🏹

It’s been days since the whole break up thing happened. Have weeks passed, even? He didn’t really give you any proper reasons to do so, and it feels so abrupt. He could see through your reluctant actions– truly a tough decision to do. It’s not like you got any other choices at that moment.

The Italian exorcist remembers that day all too well; your mere expression showing a visible pained look, both physically and mentally. You didn’t even have the time to process everything, simply just doing what you were told.

Are you not good enough for him?

But during all those times when he’s not together with you anymore, he feels restless. He feels lost, he doesn’t know what to do. Claudio knew he had to do that eventually. The immense feeling of regret begins to resurface within him, now wishing he could take those words back as he was trying to take a break in his private study room.

It’s been a tiring day as per usual for him today, and he wishes for nothing more than your sole comfort alone– even when it’s not possible after what happened. His duties may be done for the day, but his heart feels as if something is still lacking. He misses you.

You were the light of his life, and he just messes those up further. Claudio even wondered if you still thought of him, as he did with you.

With a frustrated sounding sigh, he brings one of his hands up to rub his forehead to at least alleviate some of his current stress pain. He misses you dearly– plain and simple. He knew he fucked up, and it’s not really by his own favor.

Claudio genuinely thought that his line of work is quite dangerous for someone like you, especially since you were too involved with him. He has forgotten on how you actually accepted his whole job and lifestyle as the exorcist leader for the Archers of Sirius– highly aware of the tasks that he has to do often, having no complaints. You accepted him for how he truly is.

It’s reassuring, to say the least. But also concerning, since he doesn’t want any potential danger to harm you while you’re not in his sight. Which as a result, he had to push you away, to prevent any of those from happening.

But now, the pain he feels is too much to bear. He needs you back. He wanted to make things right again; he doesn’t care at this point. You mean so much to him, and forever it will stay that way.

It’s quite late at night, as most people by that hour can be assumed to be already asleep, or merely just resting within their own private sanctuary. Claudio left the building not too long ago, wanting to clear his mind before making any proper decisions. No feeling of anxiousness, or even fear creeping up within him, as he had faced even scarier things during his time as an exorcist. But God, he feels pathetic and miserable for wandering around almost aimlessly in the middle of the night.

The lone moon shines overhead; simply looking beautiful as ever, and filled the atmosphere with such serenity, yet it’s just not enough for his preoccupied mind, filled with the mere thoughts of you.

Instead of letting his negative thoughts completely take over, his slate blue eyes wandered over the view of some parts of the city that’s being displayed. The sight alone never fails to amaze him.

But as he still tries to get a grasp of his surroundings, a familiar figure came into his line of vision; noticing how the said person even halted on their tracks so quickly. The expression of disbelief is present, but he wouldn’t even want to blame it on them for that matter.

Has fate decided to play around with them?

Of course, you’ve recognized that familiar tall, dark blue-haired male from somewhere as well– somewhere, which perhaps, better left forgotten. But you couldn’t, since your feelings for him are still one of those that you hold so dearly to yourself.

It looks like the both of you coincidentally had the same idea of going out on this seemingly fine night– you really can’t tell it anymore as much. Claudio was contemplating for a good minute there, thinking if he should openly acknowledge your sole presence, or simply walked toward another direction, but in the end–

– “(Y/N)?” He begins to call out to your name; his voice sounding soft, yet lowered than usual, as if he was actually hesitant to break the lingering silence that was built between the two of you.

Your mind went blank for a moment there, unsure on what or how to answer him to that. Without thinking much, you tried to walk back towards the direction as to where you previously were from.

“Wait!” The Italian male instantly cries out to you once more, catching up to your retreating form with ease. To be fair, he doesn’t really know how to deal with the whole situation either, since he never really experiences things like this with anyone else, but you. Only you.

“Can we talk, please..?” So you stopped in your tracks, turning your head to finally face him again, but this time, properly. You couldn’t find it in yourself to ignore him completely when his voice sounded so sincere, just like how he always did when you both are still in a relationship. Never once has he mistreated you, there’s that.

“About what, exactly?”

“Can we find anywhere more private, at least? Just this once– I want you to hear me out.” It’s been a while since you two talked like this, so it feels a little.. Odd. Yet, it gives you a lot of mixed feelings; you couldn’t even tell.

“It’s important.”

You gave it some thought, before eventually sighing with a defeated look. His expression alone makes you feel something, which stirs within you so much. Like, you genuinely feel bad if you chose to ignore or reject his simple request. What if he means it this time? The least you could do is to hear him out, even for this once.

“Fine. Just this once."

"You got any places in mind, or my place instead? Since it’s already quite late.” And why would you even offer your place to begin with? You wouldn't even know.

“Your place,” he replied almost instantly, very well aware of how late it already has been. Claudio wanted to settle everything properly for once, given the current opportunity– or even if it meant that this would be the last time he would be able to see you.

“Lead the way.”

“I’ll follow and watch from behind.”

The dark blue haired male didn’t mean to sound creepy in any way, but rather, his tone has shown the hint of protectiveness underlying within it, even though you both aren’t exactly together anymore. Still one of his admirable traits, but you wouldn’t say it out loud. Even when the two of you started heading towards the said destination, he remains behind with a quite respectable distance, silently feeling as if he has a sense of purpose for the night.

“This better be good.”

“I promise, I’ll make it worth your time.” Claudio reassures to your utterances; his eyes taking in his changing surroundings that begin to fill his senses like no other. But deep down, it’s like a mask he’s trying to put up, feeling the nervousness gradually eating him up internally. The last thing he wanted to do is to mess things up further and you being disappointed by him in a lot of ways.

Once the two of you arrived at where you’re currently residing, you told him to wait for you in the living room as you went to prepare some drinks for the both of you. You don’t even understand how you can be so casual right now– especially when your literal ex was inside your home around this specific hour, but you couldn’t care less. If his intentions were true, that’s the least you could do. You can fight if anything.

His eyes silently followed over your movements from afar, not making any attempts to approach you there or anything akin to it. The momentary stillness within the air definitely helps a bit; trying to remain calm himself.

Not much has changed inside your house either. The photo frames are still in place, and even the small vase with flowers in it looked so fresh; placed just on top of the table nicely. But what caught his attention is the pendant he used to give you in the past– hanging someplace safe, yet visible to those who are observant enough.

The exorcist was surprised that you would even keep that, clearly thought you got rid of it sometime during the breakup.

A nostalgic look flashes over his features, seeing as the remains of his magic somehow works perfectly still within the pendant, yet faint– as if to symbolize loneliness, even somber. It means a lot to him that you didn’t choose to throw it away.

Not too long after, his gaze shifted once again when you returned from the kitchen with the cups in your hands, settling yourself down across from him once you’ve given the cup to him.

“Alright, speak.”

You didn’t intend to sound so harsh, as it’s the first thought that you literally had at the moment. He didn’t seem to mind as much, clearly understanding as he nodded slightly. “Right.”

“I just– I just wanted to apologize for how I broke up with you so suddenly back then.. And I realized that I never really gave you a clear explanation either.”

Straight to the point, he refuses to waste time any longer, choosing his next words carefully before adding to his previous statement. “You’re always so good to me, and you deserved better. I should’ve respected you more.”

The tension in the air is palpable, yet he tries his best to not let it get through him while letting his words flow out— the words he wanted to speak for so long.

“But it's something had to do with my job before. I’m sure you’re aware of it already, of how dangerous it truly is.”

You remained quiet during the time he spoke, giving him all the time he needed after he took a sip of the drink you had made earlier. No anger is present, but rather, you let his words sink in.

His slate blue eyes would find your own, letting it stay there as you returned his gaze. Claudio wanted you to understand each of what he has said, of how he meant every word.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me in any way, but for the real reason– to keep it simple, I don’t want to potentially put you into danger; the risk from the last one is quite unpredictable.”

You had this one almost unreadable expression plastered across your face; silently contemplating over his words, while your eyes are skeptically glancing at him. Claudio noticed the look you currently gave him, which leads to him eliciting a quiet sigh.

“I mean it; honest.” He sounded way more genuine and truthful at this point; finding no reason to lie to you after what happened between the both of you. “You know how much I cared about your safety, cara.”

The rather endearing nickname slips past his lips without any second thoughts, yet he makes no attempt to take it back. Just one of his old habits; one that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. His words did reach your ears, but somehow, you got distracted by something else almost entirely.

“.. Have you eaten properly lately?”

The Italian exorcist was caught off guard by your simple statement, remaining silent for a bit as he feels called out. You noticed, after all. Was it that obvious?

“I don’t know– it’s just been rough for me since, well, that day.” He looks almost too ashamed to admit it outright at this moment, but he knew he had no other choice. “I think I haven’t been able to eat properly as of late..”

Claudio suddenly had the sudden urge to tell you everything right from his mind. About how he always tries to keep himself as busy as he could– up to the point of forgetting his daily meals intake, whether it’s unintentional or not. Yet, he refrained from doing so, keeping it all to himself instead.

The guilt you felt at this moment is becoming too real; your eyes appearing to be filled with certain heaviness, though you managed to gather up your next words without any hints of hesitation whatsoever.

“Wait here, I’m gonna prepare something for you.” Before he could even protest, you've already gone to the kitchen. You wouldn’t dare to say that you’re a good cook much, but you’re willing to regardless. It’s like, the least of your worries at this point.

Claudio was taken aback by your actions, to say the least, but some other part of him feels somehow.. Relieved, in a way. He couldn’t help but to wonder; what’s running through your mind right now, and what made you act that way. Nonetheless, it’s somehow leading for a better progress, by the looks of it.

It feels good to be able to let everything out from his chest– feeling more better than how he truly feels during the past few weeks.

However, his attention was shifted back to you once he heard a wince-- accompanied by strings of cusses under your breath. You've accidentally cut some tiny part of your finger with a knife while you're just trying to slice something.

The male immediately rushes to your side, feeling worried as ever if anything had gone wrong. His gaze instantly landed on your bloodied finger, letting out a faint sigh of concern. "You alright?"

You get startled by his sudden presence being way too close to you, but you simply brush it off.

"It's just a minor cut; a small mistake. I shouldn't be so careless.." Your voice trailed off near the end of your sentence, looking downwards with a somewhat disappointed expression.

"Let me see it." Claudio held his palm open, motioning for you to give out your hand to him. You didn't have any much choice, so you obliged. He began to take a closer look at one of your injured fingers, helping you clean it a bit, before wrapping the small bandage around it carefully. It looked nothing too serious, much to his relief.

"There, all done. Take it easy, okay? Please be careful, next time."

By the time he finished speaking out those words, he realized that you were no longer staring at your now bandaged finger, but rather, at him. So, he returned the silent gaze, not knowing what to do or say next--

-- that is, until he noticed that your eyes are getting teary this time, averting your gaze away quickly from him in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." But what is there to apologize for? He already caught sight of it, now feeling a little more saddened by it himself.

"Hey, there's nothing to be sorry for." He replies in a soft tone, retaining his gentle demeanor as he silently urges you into an embrace. "Mistakes happen, after all."

One of his hands begins to rub your back, in hopes of providing you some sort of comfort. Perhaps, you're still having trouble processing the whole events from the night, and it's starting to gradually overwhelm you.

"I'm sorry, I just.." You missed him. By the time you fall into his embrace, he could tell it so well-- especially when you begin to cling onto him ever so slightly, trying to keep yourself steady.

Claudio tightens his hold around you just a little, silently savoring the moment while still rubbing your back in a comforting manner. You did miss him, after all; just like how he did with you.

He wanted to tell you that he still, very much cares and loves you, but the timing doesn't feel right to him. Maybe sometime, when everything is back to normal and alright between you two once more, he'll finally have the courage to say it.

Just for now, he wanted to relish in your presence-- feeling your warmth alone, and even the scent that you possessed to fill his senses so nicely. God, he misses this; he misses you so dearly.

"I'll help with the cooking, okay?" He spoke in an almost hushed tone, brushing some of your strands of hair behind. Claudio is always the better cook between the two of you-- able to whip something up even with limited time. "I'll do the chopping and all of it, you'll just help me around a bit. Don't want to risk any more injuries on your hand."

You nodded slowly while your head is still buried on his chest, smiling ever so slightly when he finally pressed his lips on your forehead.

hope the ending part isn't too rushed bc i think my brain got fried atp /hj

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