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itsjusthockey · 1 year ago

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Hughes Your Daddy? - Jack Hughes

hahahaha finally

enjoy

request

If I get 10+ comments/asks ill make a part 2

Yes, that's me bribing you, I want more interactions

w.c: 3,007 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)

Pt.2

The last few weeks of college are the worst weeks of a student's life. There’s nothing but studying, finals, and pure hell. Yet, when Ellen Hughes calls and tells you to get on a flight to Vancouver to be present at the Hughes Bowl, you fucking get on a flight to Vancouver.

The flight itself is terrific; you study a bit of your flashcards, drink some hot cocoa, and even get in a solid half-hour nap. You honestly feel a little sad when the intercoms go off, and they announce your descent into Canada.

The sadness washes away quickly when you clear the clouds and realize how excited you are. This trip, tomorrow’s game, is a very, very special event. Each Hughes brother will be playing on the ice tomorrow night, and you’ll be sitting, as requested, in the Hughes box overlooking it all.

As soon as the 737 touches down, you’re quick to switch your phone off airplane mode. You appreciated the few hours of bliss without endless notifications, but life has to go on. As soon as the iPhone gets service, a flood of messages rolls through. One from Ellen, to which you respond. Two from Quinn, which you answer. And 36 messages from Jack, which you ignore.

You should respond, and you will, but first, you have to get off the plane and find your favorite chauffeur.

Without further delay, you exit the plane, grabbing your carry-on and swinging your backpack over your shoulders. You smile at the few flight attendants on the way out and throw an extra thank you to the woman who gave you some extra cookies when she saw your flashcards.

The Vancouver airport is bustling, and you can’t help but feel the positive vibes radiating from the space. The entire airport is decorated for Christmas, and you’re reminded why it’s ranked one of the best airports in North America.

You make your way to the baggage claim, checking your phone to ensure you’re heading toward the right spot. You are, and while you’re walking, you pass all the cute little shops. You see a couple of little knickknacks, and you make a mental note to pick up something on your flight back. Now, however, you must focus.

The baggage claim area is pretty full, and you’re dodging people left and right. You’re unsure in the sea of people where Quinn might be hiding until you hear your name shouted from somewhere to your left. You turn your body, and there he is, waving a bit and standing with a small smile.

“Oh my god, is that Quinn Hughes?” You say in mock shock as you get within his earshot. “The newest captain of the Canucks and Vancouver's most precious gem?”

He rolls his eyes back as far as he can when you approach, but nonetheless, he pulls you in for a hug.

“Please stop.” He groans out as your part and takes your carry-on from you.

“Never.” You smile as he leads you out of the airport.

It takes mere minutes to get to the car, and you both catch up about whatever. It’s been months since you’ve seen Quinn, and whenever you’re with him, you’re reminded why he might be your favorite besides Ellen and Jim, of course.

As soon as you are settled into the passenger of Quinn’s car, he reaches back behind him and pulls out a small gift bag.

“Here, before I forget.”

You give him a questioning look, and he just gives you a slight smirk.

“Just open it. It’s more of a gift to everyone else.”

You squint your eyes a bit suspiciously but pull the tissue paper from the bag. As soon as you do, you see the familiar blue and white colors, and a laugh burst from your lips.

“Oh my god.” You shriek out, laughing, pulling the Canucks jersey from the bag.

You both immediately start laughing, and you can hardly contain yourself.

“Of course, you don’t have to wear it for the game.” Quinn says. “but he’s gonna flip if he sees you wearing it when they get here.”

You scan the Jersey and agree with the boy next to you. Your boyfriend is very possessive when it comes to jerseys, and he hates everything that isn’t red, black, or white and doesn’t have Hughes 86 plastered on the back.

“Oh, this is gold, Quinn.” You say, tucking the jersey back in as Quinn moves the car out of the lot.

“Ma and I thought so, too. She said it might humble him for the night.”

Speaking of humbling your boyfriend, you reach for your phone and go to text him back. You scan the many messages and roll your eyes at a few. Most of them are him just wanting attention, but the last one catches your eye.

we’re 2 hours behind ur flight. No fun or smiling before I get there

You read the text allowed to Quinn, who rolls his eyes at the statement, and you’re quick to shoot a response back, telling Jack that it’s too late and you’re having the best time ever.

————————-

As soon as you step through Quinn’s front door, you hear a happy yell, and Ellen is pulling you in for a long-awaited hug. You practically melt as she squishes you, and the happiest of laughs exits her.

“Oh, my sweet girl, I’m so happy this worked out.” She says to you, pulling back just enough to look at your smiling face.

You look behind her as Jim is standing nearby, waiting his turn. You give Ellen one less squeeze and then turn to the original Hughes and give him a big hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” He says. “Glad you’re here.”

As soon as you say your hellos, you move to get your stuff settled into your room. As quickly as you can, you throw your stuff down and pull on the New Jersey, making your way back out to the kitchen.

As soon as you enter, Jim laughs, and Ellen raises her hands to her mouth.

“Oh, Jack is gonna hate it.” She turns to Quinn and laughs, using him to steady her.

“Oh, we know.” You say, high-fiving Quinn as you grab a cup of some water.

As soon as you get your water, you all settle into the living room, and questions are flying left and right. You talk about school, work, and whatever else comes to mind about the time you’ve spent away from them. They hang onto every word, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always been close to Jack's family, but when the one-year mark passed, it’s like they fully accepted you as one of them. Now, almost two years in, Ellen and Jim treat you like the daughter they never had, and they tell you often how much more they like you than any of their sons. You always laugh, but you know deep down that you are special to them. And that fact alone makes you consider yourself one of the luckiest girls.

“They just landed,” Quinn announces. “Almost showtime.”

Ellen winks at you from her space on the couch, and you settle deeper into the comfortable space, counting down the seconds until your boyfriend walks through the door.

—————————-

About half an hour later, you hear loud commotion as the door swings open and Jack and Luke enter the building. It takes less than three seconds for Jack to yell.

“Where is she?”

You laugh at him and yell back from the living room. “I’m in here.”

In mere seconds, Jack is in the room, making a beeline toward you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in a month, and you won’t lie; he looks pretty good.

You make your move and step off the couch, going to hug him, but he halts in his place a few feet away, giving you a once-over.

“Get that shit off you.”

As soon as that leaves his mouth, everyone busts out laughing, and Jack gives you a less-than-impressed look. You feel a bit bad, so you give him a small smile and lift the jersey off your frame, revealing a Devils t-shirt underneath.

As soon as you throw the jersey away, he takes two long strides and engulfs you in a hug. You thought that nothing could beat Ellen’s hug, but Jack's grip nearly breaks your back.

You pull away after a second and pry him off of you. You love him more than anything, but you’re not about to show massive amounts of PDA in front of his parents, who are sitting a few feet away.

He gets this because he lets you go and gives his parents and brother a quick greeting, then leads you away from the living room. Everyone allows it to happen, and you find yourself in the privacy of the bedroom.

“You’re funny, but you better have my jersey for tomorrow night.”

You let out a small laugh and cross the room again, linking your hand behind his head and pulling him closer to you. His hands find home on your waist, and his fingertips dip under your shirt a bit, gently squeezing.

“I promise, J,” you grin. “I’ll do my best to show support to the losing team.”

He releases a soft gasp and gives you a slight look of betrayal.

“Losing team?”

Your grin goes even wider. “Check that stats, bud. You’re in a bit of a losing streak.”

He narrows his eyes a bit, and with one quick motion, he grabs your frame and tosses you on the bed. He enters attack mode, lays his entire weight on you, and begins grabbing at your sides. You, of course, go into defense mode and fight to push him off. You fight for power for a minute before you pull your defining move. He gets close, too close, and you give him your best doe eyes. The second he catches your stare, he folds, and he puts himself at your mercy.

For the first time in a hot minute, you pull him to meet you; the second his lips are on you, you implode. It’s been too long, and there is nothing more comforting and familiar than the boy lying nearly on top of you. You kiss him for a minute, your lips molding perfectly together before you pull away, gently patting his face.

“I think your family would like to see you.”

You push him away again as he rolls his eyes.

“I see them enough.”

He goes back to try to kiss you, but you push him away, putting a finger to his lips and shaking your head.

“Come on.”

He lets out an annoyed huff and removes himself from the bed, pulling you up along with him. You make your way back to the family room and laugh yourself into the family events.

Soon, you’re all playing board games, and you find out very quickly reminded about how sore of a loser your boyfriend is. You play board games cards, and when it gets late enough in the night, you all make your way to the living room for a movie.

You watch something light-hearted, and you can’t help but feel bliss as you’re tucked into Jack's side, surrounded by the entirety of the Hughes family. It’s a nice moment, and it’s the times like this that have you thankful you’ve stuck with the boy at your side.

——————

Before the sun rises, Jack's alarm blares next to you, and you can only groan at the noise. Alarms are truly nothing but an escape from bliss, and you wish you could stay forever in this little bubble. You’re warm comfy, and you don’t mind the boy you’re cuddled next to.

But alas, he is a slave to hockey, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips and swings himself out of bed. You follow a few minutes later, moving at a sloth pace. Instead of getting fully ready, you make your way downstairs to where the smell of bacon is wafting through the house. You’re almost giddy as you see Ellen and Quinn making breakfast, and you get even happier when Ellen places a steaming mug of coffee in front of you.

“You’re an angel, thank you.”

She gives you a big smile and pours another cup for herself. As soon as you catch the time, you offer to take Quinn’s place with the cooking, to which he gladly accepts and runs off to shower and get ready for the big game.

As soon as all the Hughes boys are out of earshot, you get down to business.

“I’ll raise to fifty on the Devs.”

Jim scoffs at your bet. “I love ‘em, but I disagree. Offense has been a bit sloppy. I’ll raise to a hundred on the Nucks.”

You quirk your eyebrow, then turn to the Queen, who seems to be pondering.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but I think I’m gonna say Nucks too.”

You let out a soft groan but hold your ground.

“Alright. Final bet is a hundred. Winner takes all.

You all shake hands, sealing the deal.

As if you weren’t up to gambling, you act as naturally as possible as the three boys enter the kitchen. Each one is clad in a suit, and it warms your heart to see them all together. They look adorable, and you can’t help but laugh when Ellen demands a picture. They oblige, but like every other photo they take, it slightly looks like they’re being held at gunpoint. But you win some, you lose some.

Eventually, you’re all fed, happy, and once another alarm goes off, you know it’s time. You say your goodbyes to the boys, wishing them the best of luck. You hug Quinn, do your secret handshake with Luke, and press a quick kiss to Jack's lips.

Once you finish, they say their goodbyes to their parents and make their way toward the door, but they don’t get far before Jack pulls you toward him one last time.

“You ready to watch me destroy Quinn?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, pushing him away with a laugh. Nonetheless, you give him one last peck, swat his ass, and yell one final encouragement as he heads out the door.

“Don’t embarrass me!”

He flips you the bird as he gets into Quinn’s vehicle, and you smile and give him one back as you head back into the house.

You sit back down to finish talking with the parents l, and time ticks by faster than you’d like. Soon enough, it’s time to get ready, and you throw on your devil's jersey. You say a little prayer and hope they all do good. Things like this don’t happen often, and you hope it’s simply a good game.

———————

You smiled as wide as you could as the three Hughes brothers posed for a couple of pictures. You could see the distaste on all their faces, but they did it anyway.

Once they do the appropriate media, the game begins, and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat. It’s a good game, no, a great game. Soon, the first period is almost over, but not before your boyfriend has to remind everyone who he is, and he scores a goal.

It’s known that the Hughes parents don’t show much emotion at the games, and even more so when it’s their sons playing on opposite teams. So you control yourself, but you don’t miss when Ellen squeezes your hand.

The game continues, and it’s a nail-biter. Each minute you watch, you get more and more tense. Maybe it’s because you’re just nervous, or perhaps it’s the fact you have a hundred bucks on the line. But either way, you pray the clock ticks faster.

It doesn’t, but once Luke scores, you can’t help but start to think that this might be the end of a losing streak. You laugh on the inside because, of course, all it takes is a little brother rivalry to get the Devils back into motion.

———————

When the clock hits zero, and the Devils win, you practically die in your seat. You’re so thrilled for Jack and Luke, but a small part of you is a bit depressed for Quinn. But you know, if anyone can handle a loss like this, it’s the eldest Hughes, so you’re not too worried. Instead, you focus on your boyfriend, who, even from the box, looks the happiest he’s been in a while. He was given the title of the first star of the game, and you absolutely love it when he’s like this. You know he’s going to be in one of those unstoppable moods. You love it, but he can be a cocky little shit, and you know he’s going to be almost insufferable. You’ll take it, though, and embrace every part of it.

A few minutes later, the area starts clearing, and you’re all getting ready to leave the box, but you almost forget what is happening when Jim slides you a crisp hundred-dollar bill and winks at you.

“Jack really pulls out the stops when you’re at a game.”

You let a blush creep onto your face as you take the bill. You’d be lying if you said that you felt bad. This isn’t the first game you’ve bet on against Jim, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Alright, you two gamblers, let’s go see the boys, shall we?”

Ellen leads the three of you down to where you’ll see the men of the hour. You feel the happiest you’ve felt in a while as you follow behind them, and when you get close enough, you can hear your boyfriend laugh from a short distance. Your heart skips the noise, and as soon as he spots you from across the room, he moves as fast as lightning to get to you.

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midnighvtm4ss · 5 months ago

Text

Rosemary

Summary: Arthur is smacked right in the face with the consequences of his actions as the fate of your relationship is hanging by a thin thread. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors :/

wc: little under 3k

A/n: before any of you come after me, blame the angst on the bad weather not on me !! (plus we both know you love it <3) anyways reader absolutely eats arthur alive in this chapter so grab your popcorns and tissues !! Next chapter is gonna be the last so it’s gonna take a bit of time to write sorry :(( as always let me know if you like this chapter thank you all for the amazing support you’ve showed for Rosemary <33 gif from pinterest.

The sight of Clemens Point camp emerging from the thick woods surrounding its path, felt strangely like the sight of heaven to Arthur, his muscles aching and screaming at him from the tiring day. Between his visit to Rhodes with Mary and all the manual work Uncle put him under in the morning, the only things he longed for were the softness of his bed and you engulfing him in one of your warm embrace.

Spending three hours chopping wood and gathering whatever material Uncle needed for his mysterious project that supposedly ‘would help a great deal everyone in camp’, proved to be a tiring job even for the camp’s main enforcer, his strength dulled by the biting cold of October and the constant ache of his heart. Each swing of the axe in the air helped Arthur think, his mind consumed by you, trying to figure out what the hell happened for you to act so cold and distant towards him. The image of his darling’s sweet face contorted in an expression of hurt and disappointment at the sole sight of him from this morning hunting his mind, making each swing harsher than the other.

When Uncle decided to call it a day, Arthur internally thanked the maker above as he felt his patience wearing thin every time he called Uncle out for not lifting a finger to help him while the older man comfortably sat under the shade of one of the tall trees near the outskirts of camp complaining about his ‘lumbago’. His relief, though, was short lived as the memory of Mary’s letter flashed in his mind.

Mary had been writing to him almost every two weeks, since her late husband died she had been writing to Arthur asking for help, him being the only male left she knew, after her abusive father went mad, gambling all their possessions away and his brother ran off.

The first letter he received a few months prior left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was tempted to just throw it in the bin and forget about it. After years of nothing she found the guts to write to him again, asking to save her little brother from a strange cult that apparently worshiped turtles, as Arthur understood. That first letter woke inside him an anger he thought died down. He needed to confront her. So a few days after receiving the first letter, Arthur rode to Valentine, his mind fixed on refusing to help her, yet after hearing her story out he didn’t find it in him to tell her no.

It’ll be just a one time thing, after this he’ll never see her again. He reassured himself.

But then another letter came and then another, and he felt like a fool for helping her every time. Worse yet, he felt like an absolute bastard lying to you each time he went to help Mary out, always finding an excuse as to why he was out late. His conscience shouting at him to tell you the truth each time he looked into your hypnotizing eyes as you both layed naked in the comfort of your tent, but how could he explain it all to you ?

Mary, on the other hand, knew about you, having heard of you once from Arthur when you first joined the gang, but now she knew about your relationship with him. He told her from their first encounter, quick to not let her think he had any other intentions.

He’d help, sure, but only for old time’s sake.

Although Arthur sensed she wasn’t particularly excited about his newfound love, she respected your relationship, often asking him for updates and lending him some advice. It felt strange talking about you to his ex fiancè but she’d ask and he’d talk, never shying away from an opportunity to talk about his darling girl.

Finally free of Uncle’s relentless job, he jumped on his horse, riding into town to meet with Mary.

The town of Rhodes was particularly busy when Arthur arrived, the usually calm town buzzing with life and chatter. Men and women dressed in all kinds of fancy dresses and tall hats adorned with feathers and ribbons, strolled around town. From what Arthur heard from a couple near the saloon, a famous singer from Saint Denis was doing a show in town.

Suddenly conscious about his rugged and worn out attire he quickly made his way toward the general store, where Mary told him to meet her. Something about buying some plumbing tools, she said. Their evening went smoothly, they chatted away as Arthur helped with her shopping advising her which tools to buy and which ones to avoid. As the moon came high in the sky he escorted her to her accommodation before finally riding back to camp.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

“Who goes there!” the shout of Bill’s voice followed by the cock of his shotgun thundering in the night from his usual lookout position.

“It’s Arthur, you moron.”

As the faint chattering of camp filled Arthur’s ears, images of you began to cloud his mind. He needed to find out what was bothering you. He needed to make it right by you, whatever it’ll cost. He hitched his horse, patting his mane a few times whispering sweet praises that made the horse sway its tail before walking towards your shared tent.

The camp was almost empty, being close to midnight the only people up were Javier who sat near the campfire, tuning the guitar in his lap as Reverend Swanson chatted animatedly about his past life experiences with a tired Mister Pearson who looked worse than one of his stews, and then there was Abigail who was chatting with you at the entrance of your shared tent. The both of you dressed in your best dresses, the sight of your body wrapped in the soft cotton and laces of your dress making Arthur’s heart race.

You were one of God’s angels, his sweetest and most beautiful creation, he was sure of it.

As you noticed his presence coming towards you, you hurriedly whispered something to Abigail, making the brunette widen her eyes, before entering your tent, leaving Abigail outside, her eyes finding Arthur’s as he came to an alt before the opening of your shared tent, her expression resembling the ones she had after a fight with John. Anger and care blended together.

After casting a quick confused glance at Abigail, Arthur ducked through the entrance, his broad stature making his action look quite awkward. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that shone from the oil lamp on the bedside table, he cautiously sat down his hat, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness as his eyes found your figure, sitting at the edge of your small cot. The skirt of your dress puffy around you making you look like a doll, your head bowed making it impossible to him to read your face and shoulders stiff, toying with something in your hands. You looked up at him, red eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill once again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was going to be a long night.

"Darlin’," Arthur began, his voice soft as if not to scare a small deer away.

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you slurred a little. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on your breath, a sign you’d been hanging out with your girl friends.

“Where were you tonight Arthur ?”

He felt his throat tighten at your question. “I jus’ came back from a job,” he unsteadily replied.

"Right, back from your ‘job’ mhh?" you echoed, your voice tight trying with all your might to keep yourself together. You stood up your wobbly legs almost letting you fall, stepping forward, holding out one of the letters as if it were a weapon. "Or back from meeting her?".

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His stomach dropped as he recognized what you were holding, the sight of you holding one of Mary’s letters felt like a punch to his face.

"Darlin’, it ain’t what you think," he started, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then, please, tell me what the hell it is!" you raised your voice, making it crack under all the weight of your emotions. You didn’t care if you were yelling, if you were to wake everyone in camp. You were tired of all the bullshit.

"I found them, Arthur. A whole fucking drawer full of letters from Mary. I might not be the brightest at reading, but I know her damned name when I see it.” despite all your best efforts to remain strong your eyes betrayed you as fresh warm tears run down the path that your previous ones left.

Arthur moved closer trying to take one of your hands in his, you took a step back, shaking your head. "Don't," you whispered, voice breaking.

“I went to Rhodes today with the girls, ya’know to clear my mind a bit from all your bullshit, and guess who I found having the time of their lives together ? Laughing and what not.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air between the both of you. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to dry your tears and comfort you, to explain, but he knew you needed to hear the truth first. "Please darlin’, you’ve got to believe me. Mary’s just, she's just- I’m just helpin’ her out. Her husband died, and she’s got no one else,"

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh at his poor explanation. Did he really take you for this big of a fool ? Was this really what he thought of you ? Tears poured down even more from your eyes at the realization. "And you, what? You swoop in to save her like some kind of hero? What are you mh, tell me Arthur, are you her bitch ready to bark if she told you to ?”

The venom spilling from your words hit Arthur hard, making him physically flinch as your words hit him right into his face. His heart shattering at your sight, you were physically and mentally distraught. All because he didn’t have the courage to tell you everything from the start.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? Gosh, all this time, Arthur, all this damn time I’ve just been, what? A distraction? Something to pass the time until you could get her back? Poor silly me, thinking I mattered something to you !" Now you definitely woke someone up, your throat burned as you shouted your whole heart out at Arthur, you felt disgusted, dirty even. The alcohol you previously drowned your sorrows into making you nauseous.

You were ready to give your heart to Arthur, you gave him everything. If he asked you the moon you’d give it to him.

And here you were, the biggest fool in the West, thinking you could have a space in Arthur’s heart.

"What, no!" Arthur’s shout was raw, it definitely hurt his throat, you never heard him shout this way, you never heard him shout at you at all. His voice filled with a mix of frustration and fear. He took another step toward you, stretching his hands out in search of your trembling ones, but you stumbled back, almost tripping over the edge of the cot.

"Darlin’, you’ve got to believe me, I'm beggin’ ya”

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks, Arthur. For weeks you’ve been kissing me, lying in bed with me, you’ve been telling me that you love me while lying to me, for god’s sake ! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?"

"Because I’m tellin’ you the truth!" Arthur pleaded, his voice thick, cracking with emotion. He could sense your heart getting further and further away from his. He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away seeing the way your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into one of his bear hugs you always loved and make you believe him, but the distance between the both of you felt like a chasm too wide to cross anymore. The only bridge between you deteriorating before his very own eyes.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I always loved you, you’re the only one I care about."

But you shook your head, circling away from him before hitting the cold canvas of the tent wall.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your sobs. "Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after everything you’ve done to me… after all these lies."

"Darlin’, please…" Arthur broke down, his voice saturated with panic as he saw you back towards the exit of your tent, his eyes desperate as he looked at you. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping this from you. I thought- I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would be over before you ever had to know. But I see now I see how big of a moron I was, how fucking wrong I was."

You looked at him, your face twisted in pain, your heart painfully torn between the love you still felt for him and the harsh betrayal you couldn’t shake away. "I can’t do this, Arthur," you meekly said, your voice trembling. "I can’t…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Who lies straight to my face as if nothing."

Arthur’s heart shattered at your words. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not again. He was not losing the love of his life again. But unfortunately he could see the resolve slowly hardening in your eyes, the way you were getting yourself ready to walk away. Every cell of his body was screaming at him to find a way to keep you. "Don’t leave me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything… I’ll tell you everything, from now on. I’ll never see Mary again, just don’t go. Don’t leave me alone." he finished his sentence, his tone slowly going down to a mere whisper. His eyes filling with tears.

But you were already pulling away, turning your back on him as you moved toward the tent flap. Slightly hesitating with your hand on the thick canvas, your body trembling with the force of the decision you were about to make. If you did this there was no turning back. But this wasn’t your fault.

"I need to think," you said emotionless, your voice hollow as your sobs died down, leaving you with a hole in your heart, "I need…I need some time for myself."

"No, please don’t…" Arthur’s voice was choked with tears he wouldn’t let fall from his eyes. But it was too late.

You slipped out of the tent into the cold harsh night, leaving Arthur motionless at the center of the cold emptiness of your shared tent, feeling the walls closing in around him. The crushing realization that he might have just lost the one person who truly meant everything to him came down on him at once making his head spin.

Alone in the darkness, Arthur finally let the tears fall, each one a silent plea for a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You needed to get away from him, to get away from everything right now. You felt that if you were just a second more inside that tent you’d take him into your arms, begging him to never let you go. But you couldn’t.

He lied to you, you didn’t care about Mary, about his secret rendezvous with her. He lied to you. That’s all you could think of.

Realizing that Arthur could easily follow you in camp you decided to completely get out of camp. You needed space, from him, from everyone. You just wanted to be alone.

Venturing into the woods at night wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve made per se, but a small ounce of alcohol was running through your veins still and you decided to blame it for your poor choice.

The moonlight shone brightly, illuminating faintly your surroundings, the harsh chill of the midnight weather biting your exposed hands as you once again forgot your gloves.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as more tears threatened to spill from your tired eyes, you were near the clearing you and Arthur found out a few weeks ago, in need of some privacy when your mouths were chasing each other and his hands, warm and calloused, explored your exposed back, your touches burning with raw desire.

The memory of that night burned in your heart when suddenly you heard a twig snap. You turned towards the direction of the sound fear taking over you, shaking every cell in your body. You were physically and emotionally drained, you didn't have a gun with you, not even a knife. The only thing left to do was pray it was just a fox wandering around.

And then you felt it, a sharp burning pain in the back of your head, kicking the air out of your lungs.

The last thing you saw was the forest floor.

Before darkness took over you.

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan angst #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fandom

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itsgivingmami · 30 days ago

Note

Rhea who’s been pining after reader ever since they met in NXT, reader was Damian’s best friend and gear maker.

Reader decided one day that she wanted to try making women’s gear and who’s a better subject than Rhea Bloody Ripley?

They get up close and personal in their first fitting and the champion gets flustered…

-Told you long requests were a bad habit, Maggie

A Measure of Love- Rhea Ripley

Enjoy!! Comments. Likes and reblogs always appreciated

Rhea picked up her pump cover from the bench and wiped her face, sweat running from her dark tresses down her temples. The air is cranked in her garage but it does barely anything to cool her flushed skin. The music is loud as she turns to face Damian, finishing his last rep of presses.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Rhea shouts and Damian slides his body out from the bar and sits up. He takes a moment to catch his breath and take a sip of water.

“I can’t I’ve got a fitting for war games,” Damian explains and Rhea feels her heart leap at the mention of her favourite person. “Speaking of which I don’t wanna go all smelly can I grab a shower?”

“You know where it is,” she teases in fake annoyance and he claps her on the shoulder and heads into her home towards the guest room. Once he’s gone Rhea deflates she leans against the bar with her hands clasped together holding her forehead up.

How many years, how many mentions, how many times had she thought of you and still, heart racing and if she wasn’t already worked up from the exercise she was sure she’d be blushing too. There was the assumption that she’d be used to it by now with all the time you spent in her head and not to mention all the time she’d spent scrolling your social media. For fucks sake you’d been to her house at least a couple times during parties, she could probably find you at Damian’s more often than not and you were constantly backstage during raw. That’s how you had met, and since that day not a single on had past that Rhea hadn’t thought about you in some capacity.

“Fuck,” Rhea arms were twisted behind her neck trying to get the buckle on her top closed but every-time she got the fascinator in place it snapped open. “Fuck!”

She’s rushing from the locker room towards catering, she’ll have to sprint to make it to gorilla before her fight but she can’t exactly go out topless either. Her bleach blond hair tickles the top of her hands as she holds her top, she’s relieved having it so short finally but it’s the perfect length to get stuck in the abysmal clasp.

“Priest!” Damian’s turns from the group he’s talking with to spot his friend yelling for him, he excuses himself quickly seeing the worry on her face and for a second he think she’s got some sort of neck injury.

“What’s wrong?” He asks trying to pull her arm from her neck, and she nudges him off. He stares confused,

“Stupid thing won’t stay closed can you try I’ve gotta be at gorilla,” she turns and he takes a moment to look before admitting defeat.

“Stay here,” he says before quickly running down the hall and out of view. Rhea bobbles impatiently as she feels time passing, maybe she should’ve just tried to find a merchandised shirt.

Damian’s boots are loud as he hauls back around towards her, there’s a quick glance thrown over his shoulder as a shorter woman’s comes trailing behind him. Her hair swings behind her in a ponytail, her large white button up, open on her shoulders acts like a cape as she and Damian run towards Rhea.

“Who’s this?” Rhea asks as they meet her in the hall, her eyes don’t leave the woman infront of her, staring up through round wire frame glasses.

“She does all my gear she’ll fix that,” Rhea squints for a minute before snapping back to reality, right her top, her match. She continues to stare at the woman as her brain catches up,

“I’ve got it I promise,” you tell her but her hesitancy has nothing to do with your skill and everything to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to stop looking at you. With a thick swallow Rhea nods and spins around, gently lowering to her knees and allows you to work.

She makes it out in time, the golden lights of nxt greeting her for the evening. Her tops holds strongly as she pins her opponent.

Damian congratulates her as she gets back to the gorilla but her eyes scan the room for you. As she makes her way back to the locker room she checks every hallway for the sight of you but nothing. She rips her gear off the first chance she gets and packs up quickly, throwing items into her bag before heading back out into the busy hallways.

She never did find you that night, but as a thank you she had sent you flowers a few days later come to find out you weren’t actually in town and they had died at your doorstep. That was the first on only time Rhea had decided to shoot her shot with you and years later you were still completely ignorant to the roses your building had removed from the hall.

From then she’d found every excuse to be close to you, came to Damian’s fittings when she could, offered to wait with you backstage at events. Everything but actually make a move on you or tell you how she felt.

“I’m headed out,” Damian leaned in the doorway with his gym bag in hand, she waves him off with a tired smile. She loves her closest friend but she can’t help the jealousy that creeps in. She finally leaves the garage to get a glass of water before heading off to a shower of her own.

She’s in her bedroom pulling out sweats and hour later with a table when her phone lights up with Damian’s contact photo. Probably wants to show off his new gear. She tosses the clothes on the bed and sits down, sliding to accept his FaceTime. Her phone nearly flys across the room when she sees your face light up her screen and she looks down at the towel covering her body.

“Hey gorgeous!!” You greet happily unaware the fluster you’ve put her in. “Do you have a second for me?”

She could laugh if she wasn’t caught so off guard. A second? She had years to give to you, years she’s waited stuffed under her belt. She runs a hand through her wet hair in attempt to look more presentable and nods swallowing thickly.

“Yeah always,” she tells you honestly, her mind tones brings a smile to your face.

“Are you loyal to somebody for your gear?” You ask quickly, Rhea furrows her brows and shakes her head.

“Not particularly I tend to shop around,” Rhea answers and you light up, Rhea hears Damian pipe in with a teasing ‘I told you so,” before you swatted at him. Rhea took your distraction as an opportunity to admire you.

Contrary to popular belief she was not all skulls, goth and black. She did occasionally enjoy the light and airy things in life, some might even call cute and one of those things, was you. The way your hair falls around your face and when you smile one side raises a little higher than the other. Your face had changed over the last couple years as did your habit for choosing contacts over your frames but to her you still looked as tempting as your first meeting.

“I don’t know how you deal with him,” your voice snaps Rhea back to reality as her phone comes back into focus. You’re rolling your eyes at Damian and smiling at her. “You’re never going to get married at this rate stupido!”

“Says the single woman,” Damian retorts and Rhea places her phone to view the ceiling. She hears you scoff as she pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a tee.

“I know how to treat a woman better than you!” And it was true, you did. You had more long term relationships than Rhea or Damian in the last few years and it gutted her every time. It both relieved and filled her with anxiety when you clarified that you were gay for the first time. Rhea had gone from worrying about you and Damian together to worrying about every other woman on the planet. “Where’d you go?”

Rhea tosses the towel into the hamper and grabs her phone and as she reappears you smile.

“Sorry you caught me out the shower,” You watch Rhea shuffle back and lean against the head board,

“I’m sorry I just really wanted to talk to you!” You explain and she feels her heart jump. She’s torn between watching you and watching herself ok her phone to make sure her face doesn’t betray her.

“I’m all yours,” Rhea admits, it feels nice to say aloud even though she really does mean it and you chuckle in response to what you assume is a joke.

“I’ve been thinking about moving into doing women’s ring gear,” you speak quickly a feeling of nerves flowing over you, “and since you and your terror twins are officially teaming up I was thinking that maybe I could do your gear too, could make them match and everything,”

Listen, Rhea knows she should be paying attention to your offer, and she hears you but the way you’re blushing and refusing to really look at her is something she hasn’t seen and it’s pulling the dominant side of her out of the hole she pushed it down into a long time ago in regards to you.

“You wanna make gear for me?” Rhea questions and you nod enthusiastically,

“Yes! Please what do ya say?”

“Hello?” Rhea shouts into the quiet room, her voice echoing back at her. She moves inside and closes the door behind her, the lights above her hum dully, a good sign that you’re here somewhere. She’s only been here a few times when tagging along with Damian but the studio is familiar enough, your loft hanging above the space.

“Hi!” She hears followed by the clanking of metal, she watches you descend the spiral staircase quickly and speed walk towards her. Your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her down your height. “Thank you for this,”

“Anytime,” she replies because any chance to spend time with you is a win in her book, getting new custom ring gear was an added bonus. “So what do you need from me?”

“I need your measurements and then we can look at some sketches,” Rhea freezes in place, measurements, her measurements. She wasn’t sure how that fact hadn’t crossed her mind, of course you were going to have to touch her at some point during fittings but measuring her? You were too busy floating around collecting your measuring tape and notepad to notice the (gay) panic happening. “Cool?”

“Oh? Um-“ Rhea forces a smile and nods as you look at her innocently, “cool,”

Half an hour later Rheas standing on a pedestal in her bike shorts and sports bra, her mind a mental minefield of trying not to think about you and simultaneously prepare herself for you to be so close.

“Okay so hold your arm out a little for me,” Rhea takes a sharp breath in as you gently touch her right arm, moving it to where you want it. “Perfect,” your hands are gentle as you measure the length of her arm and she can feel your eyes move along her skin.

“How come you decided to do women’s gear?” Something, anything, a distraction of any kind was better than the silence. You look up from the tape to her, her gaze remains stuck in front of her, stoic like a statue. “You’re pretty established with the work you do now,”

“I got inspired,” you answer vaguely and pull your tape along her arm back to your waiting hand, “there’s a woman I want to see in my clothes,”

“Gotcha,” she tries to say casually, throwing a quick answer out before her voice breaks. “So I get to be the guinea pig?”

“Hmmm,” you hum as you make your way around her, your finger tips are cold on the back of Rheas neck as you hold the tape and run it down the length of her back. You watch the muscle is her back tense and move and quickly advert your eyes back to the task at hand. “I wouldn’t send you out in anything I wasn’t confident in,”

“No I didn’t mean-“ your soft giggles cut her off as your forehead hits her back.

“I was kidding,” you rub her back gently to let her know she’s okay before moving to measure her waist.

“So who’s this dream muse of yours?” She can’t help but ask. Rhea tries to keep her tone playful but the way her tones drops towards the end of her sentence gives her away more than she’d like. Your eyes seemed focused on your tape and she hopes you weren’t plying close enough attention. “I’m sure Damian could put in a good word with pretty much anyone,” You avoid making eye contact with her as you return to your notepad to jot down her waist number and shrug.

“I’m sure he could knowing him,” you tease but say nothing else about it and it sends the gears in Rheas head turning full force. “Arms up,”

“If it’s someone in my division I could talk to them for you?” Rhea offers and she doesn’t know why, she doesn’t exactly want to share you but the way you’re measuring across her chest prompts her to start rambling.

“I don’t think so,” you giggle and smile at her. Now she was starting to feel antsy, all the past times a girl had shown up in your life she was blind sided, at least this time she had the opportunity to prepare herself for seeing you with someone else.

“Cmon just tell me who she is,” Rhea tries again ignoring your hands on her hips, “I know I could convince her,” why can’t she stop talking?

“I really doubt it Rhea,” you tell her, you lowering onto a knee in-front of her getting ready to measure her legs. You keep your eyes on her thighs as you measure them, refusing to look up. You write down your number before looking up. “Plus no need,”

“Why not?” Rhea asks, your vagueness is starting to irritate her, despite how cute you are how nice your touch feels.

“Because I’m already measuring her,”

To be continued…

#mami rhea #rhea ripley #rhea ripley fanfic #wwe one shot #wwe raw #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley fluff #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #wwe #rhea ripley x y/n #rhea ripley x fem reader #rhea ripley angst #rhea ripley x oc #wwe rhea ripley #wweraw #wwe monday night raw #monday night raw #monday night mami

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siempre-bucky · 6 months ago

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not a senator.

Qimir x Senator!Reader

Summary: On the run after a failed assassination attempt, you run into a peculiar apothecary owner

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood

A/N: For the Anon that requested a senator!reader meet cute <3

You weren’t sure how long you’d been running through the outskirts of Olega, it felt like as soon as you left your ship you were being followed, hunted. The branches of the trees rustled in warning, and the whispers of threats danced along your ears. You picked up the bottom of your cloak, the last thing tethering you to your former self, and ran. It was a gift from the Senator elected before you, a soft navy blue velvet with matching metallic fiber woven into seams. You treated it as a reminder of who you once were.

The state of exhaustion had set in, hunger squeezed your stomach, but the adrenaline kept you going.

Get to safety, get far from here, the terrified guard told you in the dead of night, an assassin lying dead at the foot of your bed in a pool of crimson that glowed in the bright lights of the Courscant nightlife outside the large windows of your room. It was an assassination attempt, a group of assassins hired by political rivals to remove you from the Senate—permanently. Supposedly, it was an era of peace but you soon learned how fleeting peace was.

“Get the Senator!” a man seethed, pointing his knife in your direction as you disappeared into the bustling crowd of the marketplace, his other hand had the collar of his henchman clenched tightly in his fist, pulling the man in with a look of sudden fear in his eyes. The market had made good cover so far, the people of the planet were barely paying any attention to you running for your life. They went about their business, loitering on rust ridden buildings and eagerly bartering for goods.

You heard someone mention an apothecary as you passed them. Your eyes hastily searched for it, just make it there. There’d be plenty of places to hide inside. You slid the dirty red door open and walked inside cautiously, the patrons paying no mind as you stepped through the doorway. Your eyes scanned the apothecary noting that it was a rather small place. A few people examined the various items on the shelves while a couple of others stood by the window beside you. It was a mess, you thought as you caught your breath.

In front of you, stood a tall slender man behind the small counter. He paid you no mind as his eyes narrowed at the glowing yellow tile in the center of the counter, his hands tinkering with some broken parts that illuminated in the small light. You thought he was peculiar, the way he watched his work so intensely.

“In there,” you heard the same voices from earlier shouting from the other side of the window, “check in there.”

You were out of time to make a getaway, and in this small space, you didn’t have many hiding options. Taking in the lack of hiding spots, you ran towards the apothecary's owner, jumping and sliding behind the counter, his scraps falling in all directions with various clinking sounds.

The man looked down at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression while you made yourself as small as you could, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing your back to the counter, your shoulders hunched over. Panic was setting in. “Hello,” he said lightly, clinging the two metal bottles in his hands together. If you weren’t so scared, you would have thought he was handsome this close up. Cheekbones carved especially by the Maker and disheveled black hair that covered his dark brown eyes. He was beautiful and in desperate need of a good shower. His loose but tattered green and brown clothes made him fit in with the rest of the place, a little dirty and run down.

“There are men trying to kill me out there. Please don’t let them find me!” you pleaded with him, skipping the pleasantries. He just stared at you blankly, and you assumed he already made up his mind. This was the way that the galaxy worked, you were too sheltered on your home planet and then sent to Coruscant where it was no better in the Senate. Things weren't perfect, people were not good like Jedi Masters told you they were.

He smirked playfully down at you, “Was that a pickup line?” he asked with a chuckle. Your face fell, lips falling to an annoyed grimace.

“Maker,” you cursed, accepting your fate The door was suddenly ripped from its hinges, the earth-shattering thunk caught everyone's attention. You jumped, clasping your hands over your mouth to muffle any kind of fearful cry.

The man looked at you and then back to the two burly men who barreled into his apothecary. They strolled up to the bar with confidence, the owner's eyes fixated on them. “Hello!” he greeted with the same light tone, “how can I help you?”

The taller of the two bounty hunters leaned on the bar, his eyes narrowed. “We’re looking for a Senator,” he informed plainly, “Got a high price on that pretty head— we could cut you in for any relevant information.” The man pulled a hologram from his pocket and placed it on the table, turning it on. The owner looked at your official portrait that was slowly rotating in front of him and narrowed his eyes, he was taking it all in. He probably thought you looked more put together in the photo than you do now. Dirt covering your cheeks, strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead.

He chuckled, “You sound a little desperate if you’re offering a cut to someone like me.”

You looked up at him worriedly, you could see how his jaw clenched but his body remained light at his tone of voice. Your heart pounded against your chest, the men were about to offer a large sum and the owner was about to take it, you were sure of it.

The bounty hunter snarled, but the other man stood still and held his ground. “I should have your head for that.”

The man put his hands on the counter and nonchalantly turned off the hologram. His face was stone, unreadable as he continued to make eye contact with the bounty hunter. They stared at each other in silence, the background noise of the apothecary began to get increasingly louder in your ears. It was almost deafening, the clanking of jars and whirling of mechanical tools screamed at you. You moved your hands from your lips and slid them up towards your ears.

But you stopped when the bounty hunters began to speak lifelessly, almost as if he was in a trance

“There is no Senator here, we will leave,” the bounty hunters spoke in unison, reaching into their pockets and retrieving two brown sacks of credits. The owner smiled as they placed it on the counter and exited without another word.

You waited until you heard their footsteps fade to cautiously rise from the floor, your eyes frantically scanning the room to make sure it was safe. “They left,” you breathed as if it was the first time.

“See,” he beamed, “Not so bad.” He took the two sacks in one hand, and your shaky one in the other. Your eyes met as he put the bags in your hand, “This should probably be enough to get you started if you choose to stay.”

He let go and made his way to the back entrance, leaving you there staring at the bags in pure shock, “Thank you-,” you whispered before swiftly following him to the back alley. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn't know his name, he saved your life and you didn’t even ask.

“Qimir!” he called back as if he knew what you were thinking. Strange.

You followed close behind him, but once you started to think, your steps became slower and separated the two of you. How was he able to change their minds so quickly, they were dead set on killing you. They were bounty hunters, the most relentless creatures in the galaxy.

You paused, clenching the two bags in your hands tighter. “How’d you get them to leave like that?” You asked sternly, the Senator in you coming out. “Are you—” you paused. You had only seen methods like that from a select few, “—Jedi?”

He stopped, blood running cold in his veins. You saw how his body tensed up then he stood up straight, pushing back his greasy hair, the strands falling perfectly into place. Qimir slowly turned to you and everything abruptly seemed off. His face was no longer filled with meek eagerness, he was secure and held himself with such poise. A whole shift in personality you noted. He slowly strode over, his eyes darkening as he moved. His whole presence felt dark.

A chill ran down your spine as he approached you. Was he about to kill you?

“Quite the opposite, Senator,” he spoke lowly with a slight rasp to his tone, his head tilting to the side, looking up at you. Another chill went through you.

His face was so close you could see every freckle on his face, every shade of brown in his eyes.

You heard the stories of those who practiced the ways of the Force outside the Jedi Order, they had a name but you couldn’t recall what it was. The Council didn’t like to talk about them, another senator you became acquainted with once said they didn’t mention it purposely for it would “dampen the era of peace in the galaxy.�� You were too busy staring at the man in front of you, unsure if you wanted to run or kiss him, “N-not a Senator,” you swallowed, you couldn't call yourself that any longer.

“‘I’ll make you a deal.” You nodded. “Tell no one of what happened here,” and I’ll spare your life, “and anything in the apothecary is yours for free.”

You smirked, “Deal,” you said, taking a step back and holding out your hand, “Thank you again, Qimir.” Qimir nodded and shook your hand, his skin tingling at the sensation of your hand in his. Was this desire? He pulled away and began to walk back towards the apothecary, before he reached the door he looked at you with a smirk on his chiseled face, “You’re quite welcome, Senator. I hope to see you soon.”

#qimir x reader #qimir #the acolyte #star wars

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 days ago

Text

Ludos Imperiales II

Summary: Princess!Reader makes a deal with the Emperor to try and save her mates.

Content Warnings: Violence, Blood and Gore, Gladiator Tournament, Physical Abuse.

Part One

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

I can’t breathe. The world spins in dizzying swirls around me. Mates.

Not one.

Not two.

Three!

All of them enemies of the Empire. Rebels scheduled for execution. Fate has always been a cruel bastard in all matters concerning me, but this feels like a personal attack on my existence. Someone in the Celestial Plain is laughing at this twisted attempt of a joke. How could I be so close to happiness and be forced to sit here and watch it be ripped from me one blood splatter at a time?

The Game Maker starts speaking again, his voice booming across the arena. I can’t make out any of the words; they’re all muddled together in my ears. This cannot be happening to me! It’s not fair! I’ve been the perfect daughter, even when it shattered me; I was a model student; I’ve upheld the law to the very letter; I make weekly sacrifices to the Mother; I built my own lararium to offer nightly prayers to the gods. I have been devought and loyal to both the gods and the Empire and this is the thanks I get?

I can’t tear my eyes away from where the three of them stand in the center of the Pit, waiting for the gates to open again. The violet eyed one, Rhysand-- gods even his name is pretty--won’t stop staring at my Father, challenging him to speak, to fight, to do something other than sit there like a coward while someone else kills for him.

My Father must understand the challenge in that gaze, because he finally stands and goes to the edge of the booth, weathered hands splayed out against the worn stones bearing a flag with his crest embroidered upon it. “Citizens of the Empire!”

The crowd gives a raucous shout.

I simply scoot a little closer to Brannagh to be able to see around Father.

My movements do not break the silent battle happening with Rhysand, but it does draw the eye of Azriel, who’s bloodied head tilts to the side quizzically as he takes me in. I feel a blush creep its way up my cheeks, the booth suddenly too hot as I try to meet his gaze. That hazel gaze bears an intensity that keeps me in place, but I cannot help but feel like I’ve been stripped bare, as if he can see straight into my chest, where my heart still pounds an uneven beat.

“Before you stands that which threatens our peace, our security, and most importantly the prosperity that our people hold so dear.”

The tall one, Cassian frowns at that, but Rhysand grins, as if he has won whatever silent battle he��s been having with my Father. He tips his head back and bellows, so that not a single soul here misses it, “There is no prosperity or peace in the Empire! There is only enslavement and death!”

The boos that had started coming from the crowd die, as if someone had collectively cut off their air supply.

The muscles in my Father’s back tighten as he realizes what is happening.

“Outside these walls we all starve! Supplies to every corner of the Empire have dwindled to single bags of grain, meant only to feed the soldiers that terrorize us in every corner of the world. You do not hear from your families in the far reaches because your mail is censored. Your loved ones have been dragged from their beds and crucified without trial. The only prosperity in this Empire is for Hybern himself.”

I finally tear my gaze away from Azriel’s silent study to look at Amarantha for confirmation that it is true.

“You should have slit his throat on the battlefield,” Dagdan snarls in her direction.

The power seeping from my fingers tears a hole through my skirts, singing across my thighs. The errant strand only hidden by the way I keep the fabric bunched in my hands. I do not allow myself to wince against the sting and give myself away.

“Those were not my orders!” Amarantha snarls, her teeth flashing as she stands. Her slaves jump out of her way, cowering against each other for safety. “Your Highness, silence him before he incites a riot!”

No! No! No! This can’t be happening to me! Not again. It is like watching my Mother be taken away all over again. I had just stood there. Unable to cry or scream or fight. I could only watch. That was what she trained me to do. She had even nodded her approval to my stillness as they’d dragged her away, as if it had been right. None of it was right. None of this was right!

“Your Master will tell you pretty stories but we are all his slaves in the end. Illyria has had enough! We will not sit by and let our women and children starve! If that makes us rebels and traitors to the crown, so be it! But what would you do if it was your children in the streets? Your wives being carted off to service foreign elites? Your sons forced to kill and die for an Empire that can’t even feed you?” Rhysand screams.

My Father, silently, motions to one of his Praetorians, a crossbow already swinging from the clip at his back.

The pounding of my heart in my ears will swallow me. Everything in the world slows and narrows into the motion of an arrow being fit into the crossbow.

Move! Move! Move! A dark ether of my power slithers up my wrists, catching Brannagh’s attention. She must make some snide remark about it, because I, distantly, see her lips move but no sound ever reaches my ears. I have to stop this. I have to do something!

I’m on my feet without conscious thought of what I’m doing. “Father, wait!” My hands reach for him, the sizzle of pain as my power skitters across his skin enough to make him turn and face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m saying, the words spew as if they have a mind of their own.

“If you kill him now like this you will incite a riot!”

His face twists, a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. I have royally pissed him off, disgraced him here in front of his Inner Circle, where they watch from nearby booths. The thought would usually send me cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs, but the fear I feel for him is nothing against the fear I feel for them. The thing that links our souls together burns and rattles beneath my rib cage, needing to defend, to fight.

“Call off your guard!” I hiss, reaching out a hand and letting that dark power that lives inside me show. I’ll strike him dead if he so much as moves a finger towards the trigger. “Let us be diplomatic about this.”

“Who are you,” Father snarls, taking an advancing step towards me. The booth shakes as his own dark power rises to meet mine. “To challenge me, child?!”

I hold my ground, even though my body trembles. It is only the dutiful teachings of my Mother that keep my chin up instead of bowing it to my chest as every muscle screams for me to do. “I am not challenging you, I am trying to think about our people.”

I clench my fists again, dimming my power in feigned submission. “Go about this a different way. Show the people that ruthlessness is not always the answer to our nation’s problems.”

“Are you suggesting I spare an enemy?” Father snarls.

I honestly don’t know what my plan is here. I’m just throwing things against the wall and hoping something, anything, sticks, otherwise my only option is to fling myself down into the Pit and hope the power thrumming in my veins is enough to save my mates.

“No,” if I am to keep all of our heads, I must be crafty. I must play the games my Father plays. My gaze flicks to where Amarantha’s slaves remain huddled together, a desperate thought forming in my head. My stomach turns at the mere idea, but if it can save them…?

“You mean to entertain the people and quell all possible chances of further rebellion, but we have seen time and time again that no execution or crucifixion has done that. We merely make martyr after martyr. We encourage others to take up the cause.”

“Let them fight,” I’m going to be sick! It feels like there’s a knot forming in my chest. “And if they survive, let them live, let them be gladiators.” It’s unthinkable, it puts them in danger time and time again. “The betting will be astronomical. The people will return time and time again in hopes of seeing them fall. That money can provide support to the edges of the Empire. Prove him wrong by sending extra aid to those outside our walls.”

To his credit, my Father does listen to me ramble. The Mother has smiled on me for once, if he had been in one of his fits today he would have had Amarantha kill me where I stood. It is a miracle the Praetorian didn’t take me out for wielding so close to him in the first place.

“And you would have them what? Live in the slave quarters where they can incite a riot with all the dregs?” Amarantha hisses.

I’ll lose him if I let her forked tongue keep whispering in his ear. I am not blind, I know that she has more favor with him than I ever have. “No. Leaving them free to whisper with the other gladiators would be a mistake. Let someone claim responsibility for them.”

The plan forms in my mind as I speak. I don’t like it. I’m not sure that it’ll even work, but I have to try and save them. I cannot let them die while I stand here uselessly watching as I did with my Mother. I will never be useless or silent again. “Give them to me.”

Brannagh chokes on her wine behind me.

Amarantha’s jaw actually drops in shock.

“I will take responsibility for them. They will be monitored by my guard. To our people it will look like you mean to humiliate three great warriors, by shackling them to me. It is no secret what our people think of me.”

Dagdan’s snort is proof enough how weak I look in the eyes of our people. I am nothing but a sheltered, pampered princess to them. Up until today they didn’t even know that I’d inherited my Father’s powers. Good, let them all think me weak and useless and meek, they will never know the claws and fangs that hide beneath my skin until it is too late. Father included.

“She is not strong enough to keep them in check,” Amarantha hisses. “If you are to do it, give them to me.”

I barely reign in my powers, barely keep my teeth behind my lips. They are mine and I will be damned before I let her put her grubby little paws on them!

“You may monitor them as often or as random as you wish, Father,” I speak over her instead, fighting to keep his attention. “I will move back into the Palace. I will sit in every meeting. I…” There is one sure thing that will guarantee his approval of this awful plan of mine. “I will marry whoever you choose for me.”

His dark brows raise in surprise. “And what would prompt this sudden loyalty to me, child?”

I raise my chin. “I have sat too long in the dark, and I could not see it until…” I have already bartered my soul, what will some more empty words mean in the end? “I could not see it until you removed that traitor and her poisoned tongue from the house. I see it now. I have failed our people and I mean to make it right.”

He flicks his gaze over his shoulder, down into the Pit. “The gorsian stone should keep Rhysand in line. And with enough guards, you might be able to keep them locked up. If they should survive the fight.”

“Sometimes death is a mercy,” I say, the words tasting like bile.

He takes a step closer, so we’re nearly nose to nose. “And if you fail to keep them in line, it will be you that dies in this arena, do you understand?”

Better me than them.

“You cannot be serious, Your Highness!” Amarantha squeaks, her voice shrill.

I nod, trying not to gloat in my victory over her. “I understand.”

Father grins, pleased with himself as he snags my hand and brings me back into view of the arena. “Please forgive the delay, the Princess and I were just discussing what our guests had to say about the state of our Empire.”

I feel three sets of eyes settle on me like a brand. The bond, still so new and raw in my chest, feels like chains rattling against my ribcage. I cannot tell if it is their anxiety or my own.

“Let it be known that this Empire is a democracy, and that I, as your Emperor, care about the state of affairs that all of our people live in.”

I try to meet the gaze of the senators and highly decorated soldiers sitting in the booths that line the upper ring of the arena. These will be the most upset by the news. The next ring of wealthy merchants and shopkeepers, tradesmen and fleet keeps will be the ones that take what they hear here back to the streets. Word will spread. The people will know what happened here, how the Emperor suddenly decided to care about them. It will be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I try to not look down at the Pit; try not to think about the life I’m condemning them to.

“Our beloved Princess is very concerned about your well-being,” Father continues and there’s a collective cheer from the lower levels. “And so, we have decided not to execute these rebels today.”

The tone immediately shifts to one of confusion.

“They will compete as gladiators. Should they prove resourceful enough to survive, they will be branded as gladiators, and sponsored by our Princess.” Great, not only do they have to survive the damned arena, they have to survive any threats from other gladiators who will seek to take out well-sponsored competition.

Even from our vantage point I hear Cassian curse in disbelief.

“She has so graciously decided that all their winnings will be sent to any hurting corners of the Empire, should there be any to be found.”

The crowd takes a moment to process what he says. It even takes me a minute to comprehend the last part. He’d really send all the money that I’d earn as their sponsor to the poor? That’s a hefty bit of charity, even for him. There has to be some sort of catch?

“So, let these males fight! Let’s see how far they are willing to go for their people.”

There it is. They could choose to sit down and die in the arena, making themselves martyrs as Amarantha thinks they intended, and then, instead, they would look like they were not willing to make sacrifices for their people. If they fought, competed for whatever earnings were bet on them, then they would be heroes. A symbol of strength only the great Emperor Hybern could make. Father really is the best at these political games.

The crowd roars as trumpets blow three times.

Father motions me back to our seats.

“You don’t really think they can win, do you, cousin?” Dagdan questions.

The ground shakes as a giant strolls out of the tunnels. The creature is so large he has to bend over nearly double to fit. When he stands to his full height, his bald head is practically even with the edge of our booth. Terrible scars crisscross over his body like spiderwebs. Hybern went to war first with the land of Giants, the war had lasted decades. My Grandfather had taken many giants as slaves and forced them to kill each other in this arena. Some gladiators were able to earn their freedom, but the devastation that the Giants had wrought on our people made my Grandfather declare that no Giant could ever be made free. The poor creature had probably been chained here, fighting in the Pit long before I was even born.

“They survived Amarantha,” I retort.

The General bristles. “I thought you didn’t place bets on the first day?”

I reach for another glass of wine, trying to settle my nerves. “There’s a first time for everything.” Perhaps making an enemy out of her is unwise, but the bond chafes against my ribcage at the thought of her being anywhere near any of them. Better to keep her attention on me than on them.

Another horn blows, prompting the giant to move and I hold my breath as he reaches a meaty hand down to grab one of the Illyrians. The males scatter, Cassian going into a roll between the Giant’s legs, using the blind spot to his advantage while Rhysand drags Azriel out of the way with an arm around his waist. He’s practically carrying Azriel now, who’s broken wings seem to be getting heavier by the minute.

Cassian roars as he stretches out a hand, a wave of red tinted energy blasting from his palm. The arch or power slams into the Giant’s calf, blasting away a chunk of skin and muscle, splattering blood across the nearest wall.

The Giant roars as he falls to one knee.

Cassian sprints behind him, out of reach of the hand that comes sweeping down at him. This time, he’s the distraction as Rhysand uses the hand not holding Azriel upright to unleash a blast of dark, obsidian power.

My own magic flares in response. It is a darkness so like my own, the sight of it a siren call that has me leaning forward in my seat. If he can unleash a blast powerful enough to leave a gash across the Giant’s bare chest with those gorsian chains around his neck, how much damage can he do without it?

The Giant’s cries of pain echo throughout the amphitheater; using the distraction, Cassian continues to blast away at it’s leg while Rhys throws blow after blow at it’s chest. They fair far better than I anticipated they would, but I know better than to let hope get the better of me. It is far too easily ripped away in this arena.

As if on cue, the gates open again and a pack of wargs come sprinting into the arena.

The crowd erupts in cheers, and my heart once again thunders in my chest. What have I done? It takes all my training to not start chewing on my thumbnail. How am I supposed to save them from this?

Amarantha claps gleefully as one of the wargs breaks away from the pack to lunge straight for Azriel’s throat.

No! No! No- Azriel raises a scarred hand to blast the beast backward with a wave of blue tinted magic. There isn’t enough time to sigh in relief, not as the rest of the pack splits in two, one circling Rhysand and Azriel, the other taking a shot at the Giant. Those rows of razor sharp and needle thin teeth sink into the Giant’s already bleeding leg, momentarily distracting it as it swings wildly around the arena, arms pinwheeling as it fights to balance on one leg while the other flails in an attempt to shake the beasts off.

“They’re not supposed to attack the Giant!” Brannagh whines.

I gulp down my wine, hoping it will push the wave of nausea that rolls through me down. I’ve signed their death warrants. I’ve gotten my mates killed.

Cassian, in the chaos, has managed to find half of a spear, the blade rusted from the recent rain, but he hurls it with acute precision nonetheless, piercing through the oddly shaped skull of a warg snapping at Azriel’s wings.

Rhysand and Azriel have moved to stand back to back, their varying shades of magic weaving between their fingers as they prepare to strike the snapping beasts that circle them.

The Giant topples over as the three wargs held tight to it’s wounded calf find a nerve. There’s not enough room in the arena to let him fall without incident. The poor creature topples right into the wall opposite us, knocking away a section of stone and nearly dragging a Senator and his mistress into the Pit.

The Praetorians launch from our booth to aid the screaming couple.

It might have been funny under different circumstances, but I cannot peel my eyes away from my mates as the blast beast after beast away with their magic. Even wounded, even stunted by the chains, they are the most powerful wielders I’ve ever seen. Even if Cassian’s and Azriel’s magic sprays with less precision than usual without the siphons Illyrians are known for, every blow is calculated. They do not miss. Warg after warg falls, their leathery skin blistered or blasted away from multiple blows. Even wounded, the males remain in perfect sync, filling in any gaps the other might lack. They manage to kill five of the eight beasts, the other three still mercilessly tearing through the Giant’s leg, even as the guards try to push him off the wall.

Brannagh laughs at the tears that fall from the Giant’s eyes as he swats uselessly at the beasts. No matter how many times his massive fists slams against them, they will not let go. His blood runs like a river through the center of the Pit.

Many of the crowd laugh too.

These are my people? This is what I am to inherit? This misery and suffering and apathy towards the suffering of others? We are monsters!

As soon as I can get my mates out of this godsforsaken Pit, I will find a way to get them far, far away from this place, where it can never hurt them again. And then, when I know they are safe, I will make sure that this place burns.

Rhysand seems to take pity on his opponent, as he steps away from Azriel’s back to blast one of the remaining wargs off the Giant’s calf. From the distance across the arena, the blow is not a killing one, and aggravated, the warg turns its attack to Rhysand.

My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers himself into a crouch, hands splaying in the damp earth. There is a sword a couple feet from him, if he runs, he might make it there first. But he doesn’t run, he waits until the beast gets close before hurling dust in it’s eyes. While it’s distracted, a rope of star studded magic unfurls from his palm and wraps around the beast’s throat. Instead of killing it, he hurls it back at the others, knocking all of them free from the Giant’s leg.

The crowd boos.

My heart clenches in my chest. He could have let them end this fight now, could have let those beasts tear clean through the Giant’s leg and won by default, but he didn’t. He chose to fight fair, to do the dirty work himself.

The three beasts turn on him as he sprints for the sword. There’s just enough time for him to get a firm grip on the hilt before the first lunges, its claws tearing through his forearm as he fights to get the angle he needs to win. Blood splatters, those handsome features twisting in pain as he adjusts his stance. Cassian runs towards him, but he won’t make it in time.

There’s no more wine to distract me, I’ve fully bitten through my lip now. Please if there are any gods left to hear me, don’t let him die here!

Rhysand moves with the grace of a well-practiced swordsman, each step flowing into the next like a dance as he cleaves through one beast's head, and severs the paw of a second. In mere seconds, he manages to dispatch the rest, leaving the mangled bodies at his feet. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and under different circumstances I might have been too distracted by his beauty to notice the Giant move.

Rhysand might have been the better male, but that didn’t save him from the Giant’s hand as it swatted him across the battlefield like he was a pesky fly. I bite deeper through my lip to keep back a scream as his body bounces across the muddy floor until he meets a wall.

Cassian and Azriel roar in outrage and the tether that sits in my chest rattles so hard against my rib cage I think it might rip right out of me. This can’t be happening!

The Giant rises on shaking legs, then falls back onto its knees, using its meaty fists to bash against the arena floor, in what looks like the world’s deadliest game of Whack-A-Mole. Red and blue magic flashes across the arena as the Illyrian’s throw blow after blow, leaving bleeding gashes in the Giant’s fist. Across the arena, Rhysand rolls onto his back, forehead covered in blood as he struggles to get upright. He’s alive at least. Barely. But alive.

I vow to the Mother and any other god that can hear me that if they survive the fight I will find somewhere safe for them. I will do whatever it takes to keep them out of this arena for good.

“They are persistent, I’ll give them that,” Dagdan muses.

I feel rather than see my Father’s frown as he takes in all the chaos with the experience of a seasoned strategist. I know that he is calculating their odds, mapping out every possible outcome. I wonder if Cassian launching into the air, wings beating so hard to get him airborne that I feel a gust of hot air on my face, was part of his calculations? If he could have foreseen the blast of energy Cassian’s hurls into the Giant’s eyes, blinding him?

The Giant abandons his attempts at smashing them to grab at his eyes, large hands clawing at his sizzling flesh. The whole arena can smell burnt skin, but Cassian doesn’t let up, he aims blow after blow at the Giant’s head, until he finally falls over backwards, neck slamming hard against the already broken stone.

I look away, stomach in my throat as the resounding crack fills the amphitheater.

The crowd roars in disbelief as Cassian tucks in his wings and descends back into the Pit. He hits the ground running, footfalls heavy in the mud as he rushes to Rhysand’s side. Azriel is not far behind him. With their combined strength, they manage to get Rhysand back on his feet.

I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. They’re alive!

Father stands and makes his way to the edge of the booth again. “For whatever reason, the Goddess has smiled upon you three today! Today, you will live. Let us hope you remain in Her favor.” He doesn’t sound super thrilled by the prospect as he turns his back to the crowd, slate gray eyes pinched as they fall to me.

“Walk with me.”

I stand, trying to keep my singed skirts in my hands so he cannot see the damage I’d done. Or the blood from my palms. If he suspects I was at all nervous for the outcome, I could ruin everything. I must keep my composure.

And not run down the stairs to the gates and throw myself at my mates like every fiber of my being screams at me to do.

The guards follow as we exit the booth. In moments there will be chaos as beings scatter to find the Games Keepers and collect their winnings, or pay their debts, but for a moment, the crowd lingers in their seats, watching as the Illyrians are led out of the Pit.

“You embarrassed us today,” he hisses once we’re out of Amarantha’s earshot. The anger in his tone is enough to make me try and take a step away from him, but he throws an arm around my shoulders to keep me against his side. To any onlookers, we are just father and daughter having a chat. His voice is low enough that no one will hear the threats he hisses in my ear.

“You hide away in the River House for months, mourning a traitor who was plotting to overthrow me and now you make a spectacle of yourself! I should have you cast out into the streets!”

My only way out is to placate him. “I am sorry, Father.”

“Sorry,” he snarls, fingers digging tight enough into my shoulder to bruise. “Your apologies mean nothing! I swear, if you do not do everything you promised to do today, I will throw you into this arena! And I will use your own advice to keep you alive long enough to ensure you have a couple matches to prolong your suffering.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I meant what I said, Father.” Mostly. Perhaps I can secure passage for all of us out of here and we never have to think about the Empire again. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am with the idea. Yes, I just need to make it look like I am taking them as slaves, and once we’re out from the watchful eye of my Father, we can all run far, far away. Maybe I am more clever than I thought.

He leads us down the steps to a door that will eventually lead us to the gladiator cages and a guard swings open the heavy iron for us. Once we’re out from under the eye of the people, the rough stone walls closing in tight--a means to ensure none of the larger gladiators can make a run for the door and escape--he releases his grip on me.

Torches line the walls casting his face in near shadow as he pauses at the bottom of a second, smaller, set of stairs. I shiver despite myself as the door slams shut, sealing me in. I suppose at this point I should be prepared, but I’m not, and when his open hand slams across my cheek I lose my balance and slip down the last two steps of the staircase.

“Don’t ever question me again!” He hisses.

The guards pretend to not notice, as they always have.

I grit my teeth against the ringing in my ears, against the hot tears that threaten to escape me, focusing instead on carefully getting back on my feet. Stay down too long he’ll kick in my ribs like he used to when I was a child. Get up too fast and he’ll assume he hadn’t hit me hard enough. I put over emphasis into finding a handhold in the wall, making sure I keep my stinging cheek against my shoulder. The tremor in my hands is not feigned fear, I’ve been terrified of him my entire life, but I do exaggerate it just as my Mother taught me.

“Spoiled brat!” He grumbles as he stalks forward into the tunnel. “I coddled you too much.”

I glare at his back once I’m sure he’s no longer looking at me. I hate him! I’ve hated him my entire fucking life. He’s ruined everything. Taken everything from me. Everything I’d ever loved he’d wiped off the face of the earth, all because I had the misfortune of being a female. All because he couldn’t have a precious son.

I grit my teeth so hard they hurt as I brush my skirts off and follow after him. I will be glad when I am finally out of his sight. Far, far away from this stupid Empire. At least I have mates; someone out in this Mother forsaken world who will care about me; who won’t hate me just for existing. At least there is one thing he can’t ruin for me.

I am too distracted with my thoughts to note the paths we take. I distantly hear the sound of injured men groaning, catch a whiff of filth and animal waste, but it’s all a blur. This will all be a bad dream soon. Soon I will have my mates and I will never have to deal with him again. I can be happy. I will be happy.

By the time he finally stops walking, I’ve schooled my features into a perfect mask; have brushed a few loose strands of hair in front of my face to hide the red mark across my cheek. He will suspect nothing until it is too late. Then he can have his precious Empire. It will be the only thing left he can control.

A guard opens what looks like a cage door, the iron old and rusted, and the guards that have been trailing behind us step in first.

“Against the wall!” They bark.

There’s no light in the cell, just the flickering of the torch on the wall behind us. I don’t know what to expect.

“Fuck you, Imperial Pig!” Cassian.

I bite my tongue to keep back the grin that threatens to escape me, my mask slipping. He’s not so hurt that he can’t put up a fight. The thought warms something in my chest. Headstrong, stubborn, if the sound of scuffling coming from inside the dark cell is anything to go by, and sarcastic--everything I need to counter my reserved nature. I need that energy. I need him. The surety of that makes me square my shoulders.

“Easy, Cass.” Rhysand. His voice is smooth as silk, even if the words are a little slurred. “We don’t want trouble.”

“The fuck we don’t!” Cassian shouts. “I’m no one’s fucking pet!”

The guard at the door, once sure the others inside are secure, steps away to grab the torch off its perch in the hallway, and sets it into an old rung on the inside of the cell, bathing the room in its soft glow.

Father steps in first.

For a moment, I hesitate, heart in my throat. I need them. I need that strength I saw in the arena. Need that fire Cassian spews. The surety that Rhysand carries himself with. I need them. And if I show any sign of that, they're dead.

The guard, now back at the door, eyes me quizzically.

I draw a shaky breath and school my features back into a perfectly bored mask.

I can do this.

I will do this.

I won’t let Hybern take anything else from me, no matter the games I have to play.

I tell it to myself over and over as I step into the cell.

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

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neuvilette-tea-party · 13 days ago

Text

｡ﾟ•┈୨ Le temps de guérir Part 3 ୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Steb x F!reader

Part 1 - Part 2

You almost have a heart attack remembering your mentor and secret crush is now your unfortunate roommate, what else life has in store for you now, heh? Probably nothing more, surely...

Tags: Angst/comfort, fluff, pining, Steb definitely has guilt and PTSD, slow burn, forced proximity, bed bugs, shared shower, inadvertently erotic contact, community, oh no! there was only one bed!

Request open for Best boy Steb <3

You stretch with a grumble, feeling a headache approaching. You lay down your arms with a deep sigh, observing your bedroom, sniffing with the lack of order all around. Books, clothes, and a dirty plate on the ground.

You have to clean all that...

You yawn as you lazily go down your stairs, scratching your tummy, barely seeing in front of you with your eyes still full of sleep. You immediately head out to your kitchenette to prepare a well-needed warm coffee.

You are in full zombie mode, in complete autopilot as you pour the water in and dose the beans. You yawn behind your hand as you lay against the counter waiting for the coffee maker to heat up when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You jump out of your skin and almost trip on your feet.

“Dear...! Steb!” You shout, your heart sprinting in your ribcage like it would burst out any second, “Wha... Why are you here?!” You ask, flabbergasted.

He freezes mid-signing like he doesn’t know how to explain what is evident while all comes back to you like a punch in your guts.

The war, the kiss, the tension, the movie, your new roommate...

You facepalm yourself as your heart calms down slowly.

Dear gods, why did you have such a stupid idea? You berate yourself, hand on your knees

Steb looks at you, not knowing how to help without worsening the situation. You feel him put his hand on your shoulder delicately, unsure.

“It’s all right, It’s okay. I’m fine.” You temper with a thumb up, “Thank you Steb, it’s okay.” You stand back straight with a deep sigh, grounding you, “I’m fine, I promise!” You smile at him.

He slowly nods, releasing your shoulder, a hand scratching his neck.

“Have you been awake for a long time? Did you eat?” You ask.

He shakes his head.

“Oh Steb, you shouldn’t have waited for me like that. You’re at home here, you can rummage around and make your favorite breakfast, I don’t mind.” You explain, opening your cabinets, “What do you want? I can cook for you.”

He immediately shakes his head and hands.

“Taratatatatatata, mister. You are my guest, it’s my role to take care of you! I make killer chocolate chip pancakes, you’ll see!” You take out your large bowl and eggs.

Steb immediately signs you his intention, before scratching his neck.

“You don’t have to help, you know.”

He sharply shakes his head, notifying you that he won’t back down.

“Okay, okay, well... I don’t have chocolate chips anymore, do you mind cutting the chocolate tablets?”

You both wash your hands and start working.

You gulp, feeling yourself fidgety next to him. You give quick glances as he slices the tablet expertly with your big knife, clearly at ease with a blade. Your worktop is so small that you regularly hit each other elbows, creating knots in your stomach.

Steb is unaware of your turmoil and is fully focused on his task to make the best chocolate shards ever!

You whisk your dough until it is all shiny and liquid, mix everything, pour it into the hot pan with a cube of butter, and cook them. You flip them with your spatula when you notice Steb scratching his side with a wince, making you frown.

You serve the golden pancakes on two plates while Steb takes some topping off the cupboards and you go to sit and eat. As you push Steb’s plate toward him you see him desperately scratching the back of his neck with gritted teeth.

“Why are you scratching yourself like that?” You ask, looking at Steb scratching his arm.

He shrugs but winces in clear discomfort, never stopping the scratching. You squint at him and gasp.

“Steb! You are red all over!” You skirt the table to approach him and pull on the collar of the baggy shirt.

Sure enough, his neck is reddish and swollen as he scratches so much, and spreads all over his arms and surely his entire torso. Rashes all over his beautiful green scales. He picks up something off his neck and examines it between his two fingers, squinting.

His eyes round up and he jumps on his feet, grabs your hand, and pulls you on your feet, sprinting up the stairs. You can’t ask a single question he pushes you inside the bathroom with him and starts undressing before your very eyes.

You look at him, not knowing what to do about all that or yourself. Once he stripped down to his boxers he turns to you with a serious gaze and approaches his hands from your clothes. You slap them away immediately.

“What is this all about?” You demand.

You’re not about to let him undress you like that! Not without a nice drink first!

He looks dead serious as he signs.

“Zaunites bed bugs?!” You choke.

No need to tell you twice, you start undressing at once!

Disgusting little bugs!

Steb opens your buttons, helping you out before you throw all the clothes in the washer and turn it to the maximum temperature.

You are now both practically naked in the same cramped room. But frankly? You can’t give a crap, those critters are a real nuisance!

Steb grabs your arm and enters the tub, pulling you with him. He seizes the shower head and blasts you with fuming hot water. You sit on your ankles as he visibly knows how to treat the problem and lets him soak you, he scrubs your hair vigorously to drown the disgusting little bugs.

Yurk!

You feel his large hand traveling your body as he searches for the nasty critters, hearing a low growl emanating from the aquatic Vastaya behind you.

You are not especially knowledgeable on bugs, but each year Piltover and Zaun have an invasion of the creatures, and outside of devouring any fabrics of a house, they spread a lot of blood diseases, sometimes mortal ones...

You mentally slap yourself as you realize your undergarments are now see-through... That became a habit quickly, huh?

Steb turns the water off and makes you spin towards him, pulling you back on your feet. You try with more or less success to modestly cover yourself but his eyes are so deadly focused, like during your missions together, you understand that he does not realize the situation himself!

His mind is focused on getting rid of any bug on your skin right now.

He frowns, turning your face at every angle, his ears shaking in anger. He lowers himself before you as he inspects your chest, your tummy, and your legs, pinching the skin here and there. His face is right at the same level as your groin region.

You gingerly cover the region as naturally as you can, but as a perfectly professional Medic, Steb doesn’t register that detail, fully focused on his medical task.

He manipulates your limbs with great precaution, his ocean eyes scanning your exposed skin like a robot.

You do not disturb him in his task, only fidgeting your fingers. It turned weird really fast, exactly as you predicted! You reject him, invite him to live with you, watch an erotic movie, and end up practically naked together in the same tub...

If the god playing with you could take a five minutes break, you would appreciate...

He finally nods to himself and helps you get out of the tub. You take out a clean towel and scrub your body after checking it while Steb repeats the operation on himself, blasting fuming water on his scales.

He took you by such surprise it did not occur to you to tell him that you did not feel itchy at all... But better safe than sorry!

Coughing, you open the window for fresh air and for the steam to escape. You rummage through your cabinet until you find an old lemon perfume.

The lemon and the alcohol repel those little monsters and you vaporize it all over your exposed body.

You try to put some in your back when Steb exits the tub and comes to help. He takes the bottle and gently applies a layer on your back, delicately massaging the skin with the perfume.

“Thank you. Turn around, I’ll do your back!” You announce, agitating a pair of tweezers.

Steb sits on his ankles on the ground as you kneel behind him, tracing his scales to find the parasites. Those little bastards love nudging themself between two layers of scales, you take out five sipping well-hidden but dead, fortunately.

You meticulously inspect his large back, moving his back fins around delicately like a paper sheet but each time you brush them a strange shudder shakes his shoulders, his chest trembling slightly. It must still be sensitive after his wounds, you press your lips.

“I think it’s go-Oh my Lord they are some in your gills!” You notice as you inspect his back neck.

You trace one gill to slightly open it but Steb grabs your hand, his breath short, squeezing it lightly.

You have like a deja vue sensation.

He releases your hand with a short breath, the tip of his ears trembling, and starts signing. You gulp as the ground opens up under you. Fins and gills are erogenous zones for aquatic Vastayas, and you’ve been manipulating them around while Steb had to take it all silently.

“Thank you for telling me straight, Steb. I’ll be cautious.” You promise.

5 minutes, JUST 5 MINUTES for goodness sake!

The good news is that the water drowned and burnt most of the critters on his body so they come without difficulties. You delicately pull out the last ones, mindful of his gills and fins all over his body, and spray him down with the lemon perfume while he gulps, still tensed after that unfortunate erotic contact.

You hand him a towel and he pats himself gently before wrapping it around his waist, skin still bruised and reddish but his expression is appeased.

You sit down, wrapped in your towel and he imitates you, both catching your breath.

“Damn bugs!” You let out.

Steb nods slowly, a thin smile appearing on his lips and then gently chuckles. You look at him with a raised eyebrow as he rubs his face with his hands, throwing his head backward as his large shaken by his laugh, and after an instant you join him, unable to refrain from your own giggling.

Really, nothing will be spared to you two!

You both finish with a deep sigh, your feet grazing.

“God damn...” You grin, more amused than worried now.

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

You close the living room door and lock it with the key.

“All right, we don’t have a sofa bed or a kitchen for the next 48 hours for the product to take effect.” You announce.

Steb nods, back in his enforcer uniform that has been spared in the bathroom.

No upper room has been touched by the critters and everything seemed to have come from your old sofa bed.

The invasion was quite early, still!

“No more movies too.”

He shrugs with a lopsided grin.

“I don’t know you but I'm fed up with that house for now, let’s get outside!”

He nods eagerly and you pass on a coat end exit your nest to discover Piltover under a thin drizzle. You smile as you see Steb twitching his ears and opening his gills wide in the mist. You nudge him and you head up wherever your steps decide to guide you.

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

“Dear gods...” You let out.

Your steps guided you to ruins.

Steb’s house ruins to be more precise.

Nothing is left, all walls are down, no furniture survived, and it is only a hill of rubble.

Steb walks among the rest of his past with a closed but calm expression while you feel on the verge of tears.

This is... so unfair.

He did so much more than you, so why is he the one who lost everything?

You walk among the fragments of walls and roof scattered everywhere at a loss for words. You cough with the impressive amount of dust around, detailing the pure waste of all of this is...

An entire life

Disintegrated in a matter of minutes...

You take another step and lower your gaze as you hear the sound of glass, realizing that you stepped on a picture frame. You crouch to grab the picture delicately, discovering who you think is a younger Steb between two adults Vastaya, smiling brightly at the camera.

The frame is ruined but the picture itself is miraculously intact, like a small miracle.

You admire this instant of happiness suspended in time itself with a fond smile, discovering a tight, united family.

You approach Steb who just managed to pull out the parts of a destroyed electronic piano from the debris. You hand him the picture with a reassuring smile and he takes it, almost apprehensively, and admires it, his cheek scales waving intensely. He stands back up, eyes still fixed on the pictures as he gulps, almost like he is about to cry.

You look at him a bit worried but no tears roll down, he only fixes the smiles on the paper, eyes foggy with emotions.

“Hey! HEY! You! The enforcer! Come here!” A displeasing voice rises up behind you.

Steb does not move like paralyzed by the photo.

“Come here right now!”

You snarl and spin to discover an angry man with a woman following him, worried. You slide down the rubble and approach, frowning.

Now is not the time!

“Not you! The enforcer!” He dismisses you with a gesture of the hand like you were nothing.

You sniff and take out your enforcer badge.

“I am an enforcer. What do you want?”

“We want all the persons responsible for all of this!” He gestures to the destroyed neighborhood, “All the houses have been destroyed or pillaged, we saw none of you come to help us during the battle and now nobody came to help us rebuild! What are you doing exactly?!”

“We are doing what we can, sir. The building teams will be here shortly!”

“We’ve been served that charade for 3 weeks! And we see no one coming! What are we supposed to do, grab you all by the collar for you to finally do your job?”

“Sir, please calm down-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, I have children, we are abandoned. What do you plan to do to help us? Or do you intend to only rebuild the neighborhood of the nobles?”

“Everyone will receive help, no one will be left behind.”

“We’ve been left behind decades ago. You enforcers are here to protect the money of the upper crust and walk all over us! What did you two do during the war? Huh!? Anything?! You did something, enforcer?!” He shouts at Steb on top of the fuming remains of his house.

“Sir! If you want to scream at someone, I am right here!” You make a barrage with your own body, blocking the enraged man, “Leave him in peace, he needs time.”

“OH? Oh, he needs time, does he?! What a luxury, I can’t afford that luxury! I lost my house! Can he even understand that?”

“Yes, Sir, he can very well. This is his own house in ruins right here. Believe me, he understands perfectly your situation. We have a lot of teams working, someone will come and help. You need to trust me.”

“To trust?! Do you hear yourself?! We... We...” He stops shouting, voice overflowed by tears, breaking down in front of you.

The woman circles his shoulders to press him tight while your throat dries out.

What to say?

You have nothing to say to soothe such a wound, to appease such a trauma. All of those lives ruined, how many will truly be able to rebuild solid foundations and move on?

“Please...” The woman quietly says raising her eyes to you, “Just... Tell us Piltover didn’t forget about us.”

“No Ma’am. Piltover did not forget about any of its citizens. Ste... My colleague is in contact with someone really high up in the Kiramman family, he can plead for teams to be redirected toward you. We will do everything we can to help everyone, but it takes a lot of time.”

She lowers her gaze pensively and nods, taking the man still crying away to leave you alone.

You look at them walking away from you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

You are sure Piltover’s efforts will be redirected toward those neighborhoods... At some point.

But when?

A week? Several? 4 months? 2 years?

You bury your hands in your coat’s pocket with a gulp, feeling a bit dirty, and spin back toward Steb, still on the top of the rubbles.

He slightly turns his head in your direction as he hears you approach and hurriedly wipes something off on his cheek and folds the pictures to put it in his chest pocket as you finally reach him.

His breath comes back to normal but his eyes are swollen and red, looking in the distance.

He turns to you with a very tight smile and moves his hands into a question.

“They... They just wanted some information.”

He tilts his head and asks again.

“Yes, you may be able to help them in fact. But not now... We are here for you.” You gently smile, looking into his swollen eyes.

He shortly nods, blinking his third eyelids.

But you know... Deep down he feels useless and responsible. He still did not explain to you what happened, but he wears the weight of his regrets on his face with low ears and shoulders.

You take his shoulder with your hand and squeeze it as he did so much for you under his tutelage when doubts were swarming you.

“Hey... I am here with you. We will surpass all of that, together. Okay?”

His smile reappears shortly as his ears shake quickly.

“I am not abandoning you now. Come on! I’m sure there are still some memories buried under the rubble, we are not leaving with empty hands, I promise you!”

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“I did not know you played violin!” You exclaim, pressing the family pictures book against your chest as you walk towards the Grand Park.

Steb readjusts the strap of the violin case on his shoulder as he explains.

He has been playing the violin since early childhood, his parents wanted him to get into a group of friends the same age after they moved into Piltover. Apparently, baby Steb was quite shy and preferred the company of books and adults.

You give him a side look.

Evidently, seeing his house destroyed again weight on his mind, but he is evidently happy to have found the book intact, protected by a bookcase that fell just around it, and his face illuminated when you triumphantly lifted the violin case out of the debris with a stupid victory dance.

It will never be enough, but it is something at last...

His hand doesn’t release the strap of the case, holding it firmly like he was afraid it would disappear all of a sudden like the rest. The case is a bit dusty and bumpy but the violin is untouched, thank the Gods.

Steb suddenly stops before a building, making you turn to him with questions.

“A hotel?”

He nods with swift signs.

“Yes, you can’t sleep on the sofa for two days, but I’m not kicking you out.” You explain as you approach him with a confused frown, “You can still sleep in the house.”

He tilts his head, asking.

“Well, my... Bed.” It downs on you as you say it out loud.

But your bed is the last place to sleep in your little house.

His throat muscles tighten as his turquoise eyes round-up with the surprise.

You press your lips in a thin line, fidgeting your fingers.

Yep, yep, yep... 5 minutes of peace right?

But you can’t just kick him out to a hotel like that? All his stuff are at your place.

“Listen. We shouldn’t spread the bugs more than they already invaded the city. It’s only a matter of two nights.”

He tilts his head left and right, debating the rights and wrongs of that situation.

“You don’t even know the state of the rooms in that hotel, most of them may be destroyed and you still need a workstation.” You close the matter.

You spin away to let him see the fire spreading in your cheeks, heating up like crazy.

He follows you diligently as you pass the gates of the Grand Park of Progress and realize a lot of people are here.

“Ah! I think there is a shelter nearby!” You remember.

A lot of families with children are here, looking exhausted but with small smiles, simply happy to be able to enjoy the park for one hour or two and get some fresh air. Parents look tenderly at their kids coursing each other and sliding down the slides or swaying on the swings.

A small moment of peace.

There is even a small merchant of ice cream back in business!

You both sit down on a bench, Steb wrapped his enforcer jacket around his hips for more anonymity and you simply observe the passersby, inhaling the fresh air with some relief. You look at the children running around and laughing with a smile and turn your head as you hear a baby crying not far away.

You jump on the bench as you hear a squeaky sound right next to you and see Steb adjusting the cords of his violin, tightening them before trying again, repositioning his long fingers.

A long, clear note rises in the sky as he slides his bow gently on the cords.

You silently admire him as he tests his instrument with different positions, different notes ringing deliciously in the air. He looks so focused, his hands and fingers moving along the instruments with fineness, like a caress, creating magnificent sounds.

He turns his eyes to you as he feels your insistent gaze on him, his gaze traveling between you and the violin in a silent question. You immediately raise your hand in an appeasing manner.

“I don’t mind at all! I love music, it’s great being able to see a musician this close!” You invite him to continue.

He nods, a bit relieved, and straightens his back as he clears his throat, laying the bow on the cords and making it slide again.

He starts an infinitely tender melody you never heard before but would suit a lullaby wonderfully. You listen, eyes fixed on your mentor, gently cradling yourself to his music.

It is beautiful and also terribly sad.

When you listen to that melody you feel like listening to a tragedy, a story full of hope that will never have a good ending no matter the efforts to correct fate.

You gulp as you feel your throat contracting under rising tears.

This is the kind of sadness you can deal with and revel in, a cathartic emotion created by a skillful artist to alleviate everyone’s heart once the tragedy ends.

A moment of elegance and refinement.

Even the wind subdued just enough to carry the notes farther without drowning them.

You sigh, transported so far away from your mortal body, like you were on a new plan.

A magical plan, where music notes and heartbeats are the same, creating a powerful symphony of vibrant memories and dreams. A silent tear rolls down your closed eyes as you let yourself submerged by the emotions Steb creates with his skillful hands.

You think even the baby stopped crying, soothed by the soft melody.

You gasp, taking a shaky breath as Steb makes his cords resonate a last time as the melody ends.

It was... Marvelous, gut-wrenching, and you needed it you realize.

You reopen your eyes as you feel a knuckle caressing your cheek, discovering Steb wiping a tear off your skin with concerned eyes on you.

You cannot help but smile his way, your heart a little bit lighter thanks to him.

You sigh and look around, realizing several people joined in a circle around your bench to listen to Steb’s music.

“You have fans, superstar.” You grin at him.

His ears shake with a rosy shade spreading on his cheeks. He must not be used to have a large audience.

“Hey!” A voice rises, commanding both of your attentions.

A human woman and another Vastaya, a canine one, break the circle with a flute and a djembe to come closer.

They are more probably Zaunites than Piltovians, judging by their clothes.

“A jolly folly, you know this one?” She asks.

Steb nods and stands up.

“One, two, thee...” She counts down.

And they start a new melody, much more joyful and rhythmic. A lot of people start clapping in rhythm, familiar with the music, some grab a partner and start swaying together. You snap your fingers as you bob your head up and down, your feet twitching with the desire to dance.

The three musicians harmonize together as the crowd grows more and more, captivated by the joyful music.

Desperate for just a moment of frivolity.

The tempo wins over Steb he taps his foot and tilts his bust left and right with playfulness as the flutist bobs up and down with him, a smile wrapped around the flute’s head.

Everyone around you dances in some way, with partners or alone. Several couples start swinging with impressive mastery as others just sway their arms together.

A large round dance around the musicians starts to form and someone grabs your hand to invite you in.

You all strut around them in a circle, raising your arms in a hola with loud laughs. You cannot help but laugh yourself, holding on to the two persons’s hands while you spin, focused on Steb playing his violin.

He is really good you came to realize. The temp is very fast and you don’t think you hear any false notes coming from him.

The other two are really good too! They have evidently been playing for long years and it shows.

Steb and the woman stop, letting the percussionist throw himself in a frenzied solo with big smiles on their faces, abandoning themself to the art.

It culminates in a grand final with high, quick notes and a furious tempo making you want to dance until the end of the night!

No matter what happened, Piltover is still here, still standing!

And you are all still alive!

The last notes resonate under the applause and the shouts of the audience that grew exponentially during the piece. You clap your hands hard, breathless, and heads spinning while Steb nods and shakes hands with the two Zaunites, happy about this fleeting moment.

He passes back the case in his back, grabs the book, and heads towards you as the two musicians start a new music with an enthusiastic public. He nods and waves to people patting his shoulder, thanking him for his talent.

You both rejoin, pantless and a bit sweaty, but definitely happier.

“It was really, really good, Steb! You have a real talent.” You try to catch your breath, hands on your hips while he humbly accepts your praise with a nod and shaking cheek scales.

“Come on, I’ll pay you an ice cream for your performance!” You giggle.

You walk along the bank of the Park’s lake, licking your ice cream cones with childish delight. It is much less crowded around here, much more peaceful and calm.

You sit down on a new bench, facing the lake where ducks gently swim, a couple of swans just a little farther. You let out a deep satisfied sigh, contemplating the view.

“If you want to take a dive, I'll hold your cone.” You teasingly propose.

Steb chuckles as he bites down his ice cream, his gills wide open to take as much fresh air as possible. You chuckle with him as the sun slowly starts to go down, painting the sky in pink and mauve shades.

“This is beautiful...” You let out, admiring the scenery.

Steb nods slowly with a deep breath.

“I love this city... Despite all of its failures and defaults.” You admit, nodding to yourself.

He spins his head towards you, tilting it with questions.

“Okay... I don’t like everything! There are some aspects that can be improved. A lot. But still. There are worse places to live in.”

He nods, biting down his ice cream again like the cold is only a minor inconvenience on his teeth.

“Say... I think I saw you with sharp teeth in the picture, as for your parents? What’s up with that?” You ask curious.

Steb was raising his cone to his mouth again but stopped, putting his hand back down, his shoulders lowering a bit with his ears.

“... Steb?” You ask in a murmur

He licks his teeth pensively and lets out a deep sigh, his free hand rolling into a fist, gripping the fabric of his pants.

He purses his lips, hesitating.

“Forget it, Steb... I am sorry, I should not have asked.” You take his hand rolled in a fist and gently squeeze it.

His gaze lowers to your hands and then raises to meet yours, a lot of emotions raging and battling in his turquoise gaze. You frankly smile at him.

You press yourself against him and lay your head on his shoulder with a satisfied sigh.

“We’ll see the end of the tunnel at some point... I am sure of it. I promise to be at your side at that moment.” You declare, nudging your cheek against his shoulder.

You hear him gup, but,

Slowly

He lays his head on top of yours.

You both remain silent, observing the setting sun disappearing behind Piltover’s buildings, the Swan couple taking off together to disappear, flying through the sky.

You close your eyes, breathing deep, feeling Steb’s warmth sipping through your skin as his musk slowly reaches your nose.

He smells pretty good!

You reopen your eyes in a flash when you feel Steb’s finger on the corner of your mouth. He takes it off immediately, showing you the cream you had smeared over yourself that he just whipped off.

His lips wrap around his thumb to suck on the cream and you observe that action with a strange fascination.

You sigh, placing your head back on his shoulder.

How will you survive this love, you wonder

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

“Home sweet home!”

You close and lock the door after Steb with a sigh of relief. You just finished eating your take-outs under Piltover’s starry sky and now you need a good night’s sleep.

You see your closed living room door and sigh deeply again.

Ah yes... You forgot that little detail. Well, that is rock bottom for the both of you, nothin worse can happen now!

You lazily open your coat as you start climbing your stairs with a yawn.

You stop dead in your tracks with a cold realization.

Your room

Is in a fucking mess

You cannot let Steb see all of that!

Steb turns to you in surprise when you start sprinting up to your room.

You barge through your bedroom in a panic, it looks even worse than this morning! You grab the dirty plate and put it in your bathroom sink, you have no better options for now!

What worries you the most are all the bras and panties lying around waiting for laundry day.

You crawl onto your floor in a panic, gathering them into your arms when you hear Steb’s peaceful steps climbing the stairs and approaching your bedroom. You roll them all in a ball and stand up in a hurry in front of it when gentle knocks resonate at the door.

“Don’t enter, it’s a bit of a mess!” You try to sound as relaxed and unbothered as possible, kicking the clothes under your bed.

A silence occurs before you hear him walking away to the bathroom. You scrutinize your room like a robot to locate all the garments you missed and gather them in a hurry when Steb opens your door making you jump and spin towards him.

He holds the dirty dish with a confused expression.

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII, huh...” You hide the laced panties you hold behind your back with an innocent expression, “My kitchen sink is broken and I have to do my dishes in the bathroom sink until the repair man arrives.”

He tilts his head, considering the plates before signing with one hand.

“Don’t feel obligated to look at it, Steb, you are my guest!” You object.

He starts signing again but he slows down discovering the mess of books and clothes all over until his gaze stops on a laced bra lazily hanging onto your mirror.

“Ah!”You jump and take it off hurriedly, hiding it behind your back too “Get out please!” You demand with a high-pitched, hurried tone, “I need to put some order back to this room!”

He looks at you, a little gauche and embarrassed, and closes the door behind him.

You growl and throw the two undergarments under your bed.

You crouch and pile up your books, lifting them, and leave your bedroom to enter your small office to tidy everything. You glance at your workstation while you put your books back. You’ll need to give your key to Steb for him to fill forms.

You hear the sound of water in your bathroom and as you go back to your room Steb exits it with his toothbrush in his mouth and a plate now clean.

“I told you you were the guest here.” You grumble;

He shrugs and hands you the plate while brushing his teeth vigorously. You put it back on the table in your bedroom for now and quickly tidy up the room. You search for new male clothes around, but this was the last shirt apparently.

You only find pants.

Steb doesn’t formalize himself and passes them on in the bathroom while you put on your pajamas in your room. It’s not perfect but it’s not shocking you judge observing the state of the bedroom.

You brush your teeth and head to bed. You discover Steb reading the back of the book on your nightstand, bare chest. You gulp as you notice how large his shoulders truly are... You were not really in the headspace to notice all of those details that day under the tent...

And suddenly it downs on you again.

You’re going to sleep in the same bed as your mentor who tried to kiss you. You gulp. It is technically a double bed, it’s just on the smaller side, a bit cramped for two.

Steb raises his head at you with a tight smile, his cheek swales waving lazily like he is... pleased. His eyes are unreadable outside of some softness in the gaze. He show you the book and signs.

“Oh... Yes, it’s a good book.” You nod, “I can lend it to you once I finish it.”

He nods enthusiastically and his fins tremble harder, happy.

You mentally sigh once you are both under the cover, at a respectful and modest distance from each other. Of course.

Steb looks pretty relaxed all things considered. He has been pretty casual with you during this entire day. Clearly he doesn’t trouble himself like you do.

Maybe his former shyness and embarrassment are more the products of shame for having tried to kiss you of all people than some sort of hidden mutual fondness, you come to realize.

Piercing your heart.

You really need to wake up and stop dreaming, you are clearly not on the same page!

He turns his head to you and nods with a tight grin, and you turn off your bedside lamp.

And darkness and silence swarm you.

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Steb grips the cover, digging his nails into the fabric trying to remain calm and composed.

He feels your warmth waving though his sensitive Vastaya skin, mercilessly reminding him that you are next to him

So close

To him.

He rubs his face with his hands, sighing to himself.

How did it come to that? How did everything cumulate in this very situation?

He contemplates the ceiling through the darkness, his hand in his hair. Every time he closes his eyes, he feels the ghosts of your gentle hands manipulating his supersensitive fins back in the bathroom, sending his heart into a frenzy.

Those thin undergarments becoming see-through once wet.

This laced bra laying around.

He had to lock himself in the bathroom and splash his face with cold water to remain composed. He had to fight back the visions of you in this laced bra, squeezing and rounding up your... enticing breast.

He gulps, listening to your calm and deep breath.

He can almost hear your heartbeat.

He wishes he could nudge himself in your warm embrace to hear them both better...

Like when you laid your head so casually on his shoulder. He was so surprised and did not know what to do, he thought you were still angry at him until that moment.

But maybe not?

You touched him so causally that he felt emboldened to wipe your lips clean of the cream, but he could not make sense of the gaze you gave him.

He discreetly slides his hand under the cover until he can graze yours and gently

Secretly

Lock your pinkies together.

Feeling his heart pumping harder.

He sighs again, slightly appeased by that secret contact, and closes his eyes to sleep with you.

In your own bed

@aecarstairs @wiltyard @sanktastuff @mahirublue @chocalycake @rositabluemoon @blackwoodwinter @archangel1206 @marshallowy @crimson23capricorn @m0na-lis4 @chjopchjop @editedjeans @joshuhaos @dulcecita-luzita @cyberneticfrk @nottherealamber @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @sadlycerenity

#steb #steb my love #steb arcane #steb x reader #steb imagine #steb fics #arcane fic #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #fanfic #neuvilette tea party

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circeyoru · 3 months ago

Text

Maker of His Eyes = Requested

The Request

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Hunter Gear Maker!Reader]

The moment things like gates, dungeons, and mana appeared, everyday people evolved to what people will now call as ‘Hunters’. From then point on, control over these powerful individuals were needed, so then came the ‘Hunter Association’ appeared, soon there were ‘Guilds’ and more other terms that people have long grown accustom to.

What makes a Hunter? Their rank? Their class? Their power? Their wealth? Their fame? Themselves? The answer is all of the above. However, they were like unpolished stones. They—regardless of their rank—still require a safety net of sorts. Being in the Hunter business is no joke. Perhaps in the beginning, most could just punch monsters with their bare hands and throw random objects at monsters to complete the job, now when these things would return from time to time.

Protection was needed, not only that, but also equipment. Like how a firefighter would gear full gear before rushing into fire or a surgeon would don in protective suits, Hunters needed something similar. Such creations were requested and given to the brave Hunters, albeit not as effective, it was something.

Soon came the emergence of Crafter—either an Artisan or Blacksmith—that changed the playing field.

“Who’s request are you doing now, Apprentice?” Your master, Warwick, questioned as he put away his tools on the rack nailed into the wall of the workshop. “Don’t tell me it’s for that E-Rank again. Your talents are better placed elsewhere.”

“I’ve done all the requests I got and preparations for some of yours, Sir.” You shouted over the continuous working, you paused and craned your head to eye your teacher in the art of weapon making for Hunters. “You can cut my salary if that’s what you want. I’m still making this.”

Warwick sighed and scratched the back of his head, groaning as he spoke like the grumpy man he is. “That’s not what I meant. If you’re this soft hearted, people will just take advantage of your kindness. You’re a well sought out Crafter, heck, it’s never rarer for a ‘Creator’ to be found.”

You rolled your eyes at the title again. When you awakened, you felt nothing different, but you were more perceive when it came to news and concepts about the newly emergence of Gates, the things inside, and Hunters. Nevertheless, you were evaluated. When your result came back as <Unknown>, you were sent to another room, it was there that you were tested to be an Artisan and a Blacksmith after knowing you were a Crafter. Because of your rarity, you were taken in by the Hunter Association for protection.

Unlike an S-Rank Hunter, you were an ordinary citizen when outside on the streets or in a dungeon. You couldn’t defend yourself and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, your friend was unable to protect you as well. You honed your skills and craftsmanship, your teacher/master Warwick taking full responsibility as the best Weapon and Armour maker in Korea.

Soon, he was outmatched by your raw talent and many started to request your creations. With your wide range of work, you were later dubbed ‘Creator’, a class that set you apart from the others that where separated into Artisan or Blacksmith. Artisans craft artifacts like gears ranging from armour to jewelery, and Blacksmiths craft weapons, what the two have in common is that both could invent and create items that make use of the new elements found in dungeons.

You, however, could do all and more. While at random, you grant effects to your creations and sometimes controllable by the request given. Not only that, but you could identify the useful spoils from bad. Even going as far as to have a unique design in your head and start working. Such was your power and talent.

Now you mentioned about a friend of yours. He was a Hunter and had awakened earlier than you have, but as an E-Rank, later gaining the title that labelled him as the lowest of low. You heard whispers of association members that your friend’s mana level was worse than that of the Artisans or Blacksmith. You would bite the inside of your lower lip and leave.

Sung Jinwoo. E-Rank. The Weakest Hunter of All Mankind.

It was that one that when your friend was visiting your workshop and delivering some food for you that you snapped. It happened too abruptly. There was a Blacksmith newbie that was assigned to be watched by you and supervised by Warwick, mainly you, but the newbie loved following you around. That newbie was berating Jinwoo when you left the room momentarily, however, you returned earlier than expected and had the newbie fired by your authority. You even staked your job at the association. So of course, your request was fulfilled.

Somehow though, you managed to have missed that dark and obsessed look in his eyes in that moment you protected him. Good for him, but… Well, ignorant is bliss.

From then on, you had Jinwoo use anything of your creation to show that he was protected.

It was a day like any other, Jinwoo got up and ready for work as a Hunter. He arrived at the site, faking ignorant from the whispers and gossips of the Hunters around him when he made his appearance. He’ll admit, he was weak but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t even afford to quit because he needed money to support his family.

Then there was you. A Hunter—he mistakenly thought—dressed too causal for a raid, you were also idly standing by and maybe observing? He made his way over to exchange greeting with you. “Hi, I’m Sung Jinwoo, E-Rank. You should change into some protective gear or bring a weapon before heading into the Gate.”

You raised a brow at him and chuckled as if you understood a joke. “Oh, no no. I’m not a Hunter. I’m just observing what Hunters use as gears and stuff. Thanks for worrying though.”

Jinwoo noticed that you seemed to have avoided the whole topic of him being an E-Rank, like you didn’t register his rank but only picked up that he was a Hunter. He found himself sheepishly laughing along, “Haha, sorry, I thought you’re a Hunter because people need authorization to be in here.”

“Oh.” Your head jerked a bit and you looked back to where a safety line was visible. You turned back to Jinwoo and spoke a bit softer. “I think I might have crossed the line… In a literal sense.” You clapped your hands and your head bowed as like a prayer. “Please don’t tell anyone or report me.” Your head raised and you stared at him in the eye, “How about this? I’ll treat you after your raid’s done. I’ll be here waiting.”

Under normal circumstances, he would refuse and decline it. Truthfully, he wouldn’t even tell anyone on you since he knew no one would care for the word of an E-Rank. Yet, he nodded with a smile, “I’ll hold you to that.”

You smiled back at him. A sight that made his heart flutter and beat faster than danger.

Never had he looked forward to the end of a raid because of someone other than his family was waiting for him. There was you today. When the raid declared clear and the team went back to the entrance, he stayed at the back and swiftly left to where you’d be waiting. He was a bit disappointed when you were nowhere in sight, but when he walked further away from the site and pass the safety line…

You jumped on him with a scare and shocked the daylights out of him. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt much this time. You laughed for a solid minute before you wiped away your tears and smiled softly at him, “Job well done on a successful raid.”

He didn’t bring himself to say his teammates did most of the work while he was at the back doing nothing to help. He just smiled along and thanked you, getting up and asked where you’d take him. He remembered your smooth hands that grabbed his rough one as you dragged him away from his Hunter work to the pleasures he would have enjoyed. A moment in his trying times that he could relax and smile carefreely.

So started a friendship he slowly grow and twisted.

Any form of attention you give him, he ate it up like a starving stray. From time to time, you’d ask him about where he’d be raiding at and he would give you a location. You told him you purposefully target the lower ranked Gates without claim to a guild so you would be able to observe easily since security was more laxed.

A day he drended and prayed to never come happened sooner than he’d like. He was carried out by his teammates, the healers that joined the raid that time wasn’t as skilled. Wounds all over him and he was losing blood, not to mention consciousness. You, like every other time, were standing at the site waiting for him. His blurry sight caught your panicked look and rush to him, he heard your cries and gave you a soft smile to reassure you.

While he was laid on a stretcher, you ran off to where the loot was and grabbed a few items. The Hunters and workers around you didn’t interrupt you as they obviously saw the glowing aura around your form. When you returned, you pulled along the healer and tied what you gotten on them in some way and ordered for them to heal him again. The familiar glow surrounded him and he felt light and his body relaxed from stiffness.

Before his eyes closed and his consciousness faded, he just knew you were being pushed to be evaluated for your deeds while you tried to get to him. To be by his side instead of theirs.

How troublesome.

Note: A bit short and dull for my liking, but hope you guys like this.

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #yandere sung Jin woo #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere jinwoo #Yandere sung jinwoo x reader #yandere sung jin woo x reader #Maker of His Eyes

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celeste-clearwater-06 · 9 months ago

Text

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

#thorin oakenshield #xreader #thorin oakenshield x reader #peter jackson #thorins company #the hobbit #thorin x reader #the hobbit x reader #angst #happy ending #yayyy #i need thorin #tolkien #modern! reader

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 11 months ago

Note

hiiii!! absolutely love your crosshair stuff (i’ve been on a crosshair binge since season three started lol) anyways i was hoping you could write something that’s like post-omega and crosshair escaping tantiss and reuniting with hunter and wrecker (end ep 4) with the prompts

11. I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.

and

16. No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.

like i was thinking crosshair and the reader are married but canon happened so the reader stayed with the bad batch and this would be the first time her and crosshair are seeing each other again since the end of season one at kamino

no rush for any of this btw. thankssss

Hello, hi! Thank you so much for this request. I had something similar going through my mind after the episode aired so was excited to see this drop in!! I hope you enjoy 😊

Never Stopped

When Omega's cryptic message leads to a heartfelt reunion on Ryloth's nearest moon, you didn't expect her to be accompanied by the one man you never thought you'd get to see again.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: spoilers for S3E04, we love a good reunion, inner turmoil, fluff, comfort, pet names.

“I had help.” Omega’s statement hangs in the air until the light sound of footsteps on metal reaches your ears, and you turn alongside Wrecker to watch as someone steps out of the stolen transport.

No. Not someone.

Him.

For a second, you forget how to breathe, unable to tear your eyes away from the man you never dared hope you’d see again. The last time you’d seen him had been after the fall of Kamino, on that blasted platform in the middle of the ocean. You’d pleaded with him to come with you - to leave the Empire’s clutches - but he’d declined. Your stubborn, infuriating husband.

Maker, you’d missed him.

Before you even know what you’re doing, you’re running, crossing the inky darkness between the two ships, closing the distance between you as Crosshair takes the final step down onto the planet’s surface. He doesn’t have time to protest before your arms are around his neck, hauling him into a crushing embrace. His brothers might be wary, but you aren’t.

Crosshair freezes, caught off guard by your affection. In the short time it had taken you to reach him, he’d braced himself for a slap or to be chewed out. This was…unexpected. You’re warm against him, the softness of your body so familiar, as is the scent of your shampoo. Tentatively, he slides his arms around you in return, pulling you close to suffocate all space between you both, soaking up the feeling of having you back in his arms. “Kitten...”

The whispered term of endearment is all it takes, and a heaving sob leaves you before you can stop it.

Everything since the order was given crashes down on you – the shots he’d fired as you scrambled to escape Kamino, how relentlessly he’d chased you across the galaxy, Kamino falling, the distress message he’d sent to your old comms channel…it had felt never-ending.

But it was over now.

As you bury your face against his chest, the torrent of emotions overwhelms you. There’s a sense of catharsis, a release from the pent-up anguish that had threatened to suffocate you. The weight of his presence feels like a balm to your wounded soul, and with each sob that racks your body, it’s as if a burden is lifted, allowing you to finally exhale the turmoil that had gripped you for far too long.

He’s here. In one piece. Free from the Empire’s clutches, with Omega in tow.

Hunter and Wrecker’s tension eases slightly as they witness the reunion between you and Crosshair, but they’re not ready to let their guard down just yet. They exchange knowing glances before Hunter clears his throat. “We need to go.” He shouts across the distance, feeling guilty for breaking the moment but knowing that the Empire won’t be far behind.

You pull back slightly, hands still clutching desperately at Crosshair as he meets your gaze. He’s never been one to cry, but unshed tears line those sharp eyes you’ve missed so much. Silently, you swipe away your tears with one hand, the other finding his to guide him towards the Marauder. A blur of motion whips past you, and you startle, but with a click of his tongue, Crosshair stills the creature responsible, and a hound falls into step beside him as you lead him back towards the ship.

It feels too good to be true, too easy. The nervousness Crosshair had felt rolling through him as he’d forced himself down the steps of the transport returns. Fingers interlaced with yours, he can feel the skin-warmed metal of your ring. It’s still there after everything.

He feels nauseous as you cross the darkness towards the ship that had once been his home. He glances at Wrecker as you both pass him and the apprehension on his big brother’s face wavers for just a second before Crosshair looks away, unable to stand it.

Hunter has already ushered Omega inside, the young girl saying hello to Gonky, who beeps happily at her return. Crosshair lets you situate him in one of the back seats in the cockpit as Wrecker comes up the ramp, smacking the button to shut it as Hunter takes Tech’s seat and fires up the engines.

Tech.

Crosshair swallows, bile rising in his throat. His twin is gone. Omega had brokenly told him what had happened during one of her many visits to his cell. Guilt curls through him - his brother had insisted on the mission to Eriadu and had been keen to find him, which ultimately led to his sacrifice.

Crosshair barely registers the ship setting off or the jump to hyperspace.

A soft squeeze of his hand draws his focus, and his head tilts to look across at you. Your wide eyes, which he adores, look at him with concern and something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Hunter and Wrecker are in the pilot and copilot seats, Omega curled in Hunter’s lap as they catch up while Wrecker pets Batcher.

You can practically see Crosshair’s discomfort, so you lead him out into the belly of the ship, closing the cockpit doors behind you to give the pair of you some privacy. “I thought I’d lost you.” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath as you sit side by side on one of the bunks, bodies tilted towards each other.

“Have to try harder than that.” Crosshair’s answer is quick, and the vice-like grip of dread that had encircled his heart slackens as he hears you laugh - it’s a short and sharp sound, nothing like the melodic giggles he’d grown accustomed to during the war, but it’s something. And Maker, does it feel good.

You’d almost forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of his quips, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. But you spot something missing as you turn his hand over in yours.

His wedding ring is gone.

“They took it from me.” He’s quick to reassure you, seeing the pained expression on your pretty face. He hadn’t even been able to fight to keep it, having woken up on Tantiss without it. The troopers had quickly silenced him whenever he’d asked about its whereabouts.

Silence settles between you both for a moment, your gaze fixed on this hand - on the vacant spot. “We’ll get you a new one,” you state quietly, lifting your eyes to finally meet his.

Crosshair’s brows furrow in disbelief at your words. After everything he’s done and the pain and betrayal, he can’t fathom why you still want to be married to him. Guilt and shame churn in his gut, threatening to overwhelm him. “Why?” he asks, his voice low and raspy, his gaze searching yours for some semblance of an answer.

You reach out and gently cup his cheek, your touch sending shivers down his spine. “I promised to love you forever, and that’s a promise I intend to keep,” you say simply, your eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that Crosshair can’t comprehend. “Despite everything, I still believe in us - in you. No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.”

A lump forms in Crosshair’s throat as he struggles to process your words. He’d spent so long convincing himself that he was better off paying for his sins in that cell. But here you are, offering forgiveness and understanding. He searches your eyes for any sign of deceit or resentment but finds unwavering sincerity and love.

Crosshair reaches out, hand shaking as his fingers brush your cheek. “Maybe you’ve hit your head too many times, kitten.” Crosshair quips, a hint of his trademark sarcasm slipping through. Despite the gravity of the moment, he can’t resist teasing you. But deep down, he’s grateful for your forgiveness and unwavering love, even if he doesn’t understand it.

You roll your eyes at his remark, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe you just need a few more hits to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.” You retort, your tone teasing yet filled with affection.

As the playful banter lingers in the air, a moment of quiet settles between you both, the reality of the situation sinking in. Crosshair’s gaze softens, his hand lingering on your cheek as he soaks in your closeness. “I love you too.” He whispers, his voice barely audible above the hum of the ship’s engines. “I never stopped either.”

Your heart swells with relief and happiness, and with a soft smile, you press a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, feeling the slight tremble beneath your lips. “What happened, my heart?” You ask, your voice soft and concerned, brows drawn down as you watch how he shakes.

Crosshair hesitates for a moment. “They did…things. Some I remember. Some I don’t.” He answers vaguely.

You’re familiar with this game. He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to talk about it. And while you know he'll need to one day, today’s not that day. Respecting his unspoken plea not to delve deeper into the horrors he endured, you gently squeeze his hand, offering him a reassuring smile. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” You murmur softly. “But we need to get you out of those awful clothes.” You change the subject, wrinkling your nose. “Handsome you may be, but this is not working.” You make a vague gesture at his outfit.

Crosshair chuckles softly at your remark, the memories chased away for the time being by your attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll have you know; I make anything look good,” he retorts with a smirk. “But I suppose some fresh clothes wouldn’t hurt.”

You nod in agreement, grateful for the ease with which the two of you fall back into rhythm. “Exactly, and I’m sure I can find something more comfortable for you.” You reply, standing up and glancing around the small quarters of the ship.

As you start to pull crates out from the nearby storage racks, Crosshair watches you with a slight smile, admiring the familiar sight of you in motion. “You always know just how to take care of me,” he remarks, his voice low and warm, a tone saved just for you.

You shoot him a playful smile over your shoulder. “Someone has to.” You quip back, pulling out the crate you’d been looking for.

His kit crate. You still had his kit crate, with all your doodles on the outside – his name in Aurebesh, the squad’s symbol, a copy of his tattoo, and ever so slightly wonky hearts that he’d made a show of grumbling about but secretly loved.

Crosshair’s surprise is evident as he watches you retrieve a clean undersuit from the crate. He’d assumed its contents would be long gone - tossed aside, sold, or scrapped. The fact that you kept all his armour, along with his bucket, fills him with a strange mix of emotions. “Didn’t think you’d keep it,” Crosshair finally manages to say.

Before you can respond, footsteps interrupt the moment, drawing your attention towards the source. Hunter steps out from the cockpit – even with the door shut, he can still hear everything. His eyes meet Crosshair’s, and while he knows there’s a lot for them to talk about and work through, and he’s still not entirely sure he fully trusts his baby brother, he wants to offer him some reassurance. It’s the least he can do. “We were never going to get rid of it,” Hunter says, his voice firm yet gentle. “You’re still one of us.”

Crosshair finds himself at a loss for words. Emotions swirl within him, a tumultuous mix of gratitude and guilt. As Hunter’s words sink in, his gaze flickers back to you. Despite the doubts and fears that linger in his mind, one thing is certain: he’s home.

With a small smile, you offer the clean undersuit to your husband. “Here,” you say softly, your voice laced with affection. “Let’s get you changed.”

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