#yeah I’ll tag him too heh

[1driedpersimmon]

@cmoonghost I drew your Alfy 🥺 he is very cute n. Pretty n I love he… 🫶💕

[zweetpea]

Yandere Batfam X reader p2

Feat. the batfam! (Jason, Dick, and Barbara)

Part 2 of this!

Will be making a part three with Echo's birthday!

Tags: @sirentheblogger @xiqn04 @wpdarlingpan @midnightgrimoire @fantasyhopperhea @torye @sammydaboii @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @tatsuri-zomushiki @degenerates-posts @lostsomewhereinthegarden @ladylupuscrow @sheep-from-rad @pi1nkl0ver @roseytheteacup @justannie18

if you weren't tagged for some reason pls comment and i'll figure out how to fix it

You had been dropping Echo off for about half a year now. 

For some reason every time you had dropped echo off Damian was the one who answered the door, despite the fact that he hated you. He even once told you that he’d rather have a wanted thief as a step mother than you.

Regardless, today he wasn’t the one to open the door. It was a tall man who had jet black hair in a hairstyle reminiscent of MatPat. He was rather muscular and had big blue eyes. He just stared at you with wide eyes and a slightly agape mouth. His outfit was kind of basic: just a white tee shirt, a blue racer jacket, and some navy blue jeans.

“Um… hello?” You pulled Echo closer to you while the tall new man stared at you awkwardly.

“Hi… Hi! Uh, hi! I’m Richard but my siblings call me Dick.” He smiled nervously and held out his hand to shake.

You ignored his hand. “Well, siblings can be cruel.” 

Dick suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Heh, yeah.”

“So where’s the terror tot?” You said monotonously. 

“You mean Damian? Him and Bruce left for a gala in Switzerland last night.” He smiled shyly at you.

You facepalmed and sighed. “Why didn’t he tell me?” You pouted, very annoyed at your baby daddy.

Dick sensed your anger and tried to distract you. “Well Bruce asked me and Jason to look after our sister!”

You stepped back slightly. “Sister?” You tilted your head cautiously. 

“Hold on! We're doing what?!” Another man popped in from the doorway. He was slightly taller than Dick and had dark black hair with a long strip of white and blue eyes. He was wearing a worn-down bomber jacket, a black t-shirt and black ripped jeans.

Dick glared at him. “We’re helping take care of our little sister, JASON!”

He looked at you and propped one arm above his head against the door frame. He smirked at you and chuckled. “Oh so you’re the lovely lady Bruce can’t shut up about. Though I can’t exactly blame him. If you were mine I don’t think I’d ever let you go.” He looked you up and down with hooded eyes.

You and Dick gave him disturbed looks. Dick was the first to speak up. “Jason, stop being disgusting!” Dick smacked him on the back of the head.

“Can you blame me? She’s a beautiful woman! And she’s far too young for Bruce.” Jason looked at his older brother bored and slightly irritated. 

“I’m standing right here you know!” You growled, very vexed.

Jason smirked again. “I know. How about you come inside and keep me company.” 

She handed Echo over to Dick. “I’m late enough as it is. If I keep this up I’ll have my pay docked.” She turned to walk off.

“I have a trust fund! You could be my sugar baby!” Jason called from the doorway. 

“You are so disgusting.” Dick glared at Jason. 

Jason scoffs. “She’s hot. Plus I’m not wrong! She’s way too young for Bruce.” 

Dick brought Echo in and set her on the couch. She had gotten used to the place thanks to Damian so she didn’t cry without her mom. She did try to crawl away when Dick started to scold Jason. She almost fell off the couch when a certain redhead caught her.

“You both are idiots.” Barbara held Echo under the little baby’s arms.

“BABS!” Dick came over and gave her a side hug before taking Echo. “When did you get it?” 

She smiled. “Alfred let me in through the service door.” She had her hair tied back like usual and a green turtle neck sweater. She flopped herself on the end of the couch near where Jason was standing and smirked at him. “You boys would be lost without me.”

Jason glared at her. “Oh shut up!”

“Jason, be nice. We could really use the help Babs.” Dick sat next to her.

“I know.” She giggled. “So this is Bruce’s latest pet project?”

Jason sat perpendicular from them in the recliner. “You shoulda met her Ma, Barbie. She was a smokeshow. Way too hot for Bruce. In fact, I believe it’s my duty to take her for myself to make sure Bruce doesn’t get canceled for this inappropriate relationship.”

“JASON STOP!! You’re being inappropriate!” Dick scolded.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up! I saw the way you were looking at her! You act all high and mighty but you actually want to do exactly what I’m saying!”

Dick blushed and looked away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jason and Barbara could tell he was lying from the way he furrowed his brow. “She’s Bruce’s. He already called dibs and I’m not going to go behind his back. And you know what? I’m going to make sure you don’t either, JASON!!”

“Fine! Fine. Let’s just take care of the kid.” Jason grumbled and leaned his head against his fist, resting against the armrest of the recliner.

Barbara looked at him. “She’s not just a kid. She’s your sister.”

“Whatever!” Jason threw his hands up.

A little later Echo started crying so the three of them took her into the Kitchen.

“So what do babies eat?” Dick asked.

Jason shrugged. “I have some burritos from last night.”

Dick looked away thinking for a moment. “Well Echo can’t have solid food so you’ll have to put it in the blender.”

Jason shrugged. “If you say so.” He picks up Echo.

“THE BURRITOS NOT THE BABY YOU IDIOT!” Dick screamed. 

Barbara ripped Echo out of his hands. “Idiots, both of you. She left instructions for how to help Echo feed.” Barbara gave Echo her bottle and she started to suck. The littlest Wayne drank every last drop and Barbara burped her.

Dick smiled and gave her a thumbs up. “Wow! You’re amazing with her! You’re a natural!” 

“Thank you, Dick.” Barbara leaves to put Echo into her nursery. 

A few hours later you come to pick up Echo.

“Uh, Hello.” You grabbed your baby from Barbara. “It’s nice to see that she was in actually capable hands.”

Jason gasped. “Dick and I are plenty capable!”

You deadpanned at him. “Maybe so but Barbara was the first person in history to be awarded the Wayne Institute of Technology’s Scientific accolade while she was still in high school. I was very impressed with your work, Miss Gordon. Keep it up and someday you’ll be running Wayne enterprises for sure!” She shook Barbara’s hand and walked off with Echo.

Jason smirked and nudged Dick as Barbara was left their star struck. “I’ll share her with you.”

Dick looked down at his younger brother. “Deal.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Listen I’m going insane from how you write Stan and been rereading your spicy chatting headcanons and…. Am I too greedy if I’ll ask for sex call with him?? 🥲

when the pervy old man meets his match

tags: smut, nsfw, fem reader, phone sex, competitive dirty talk, established relationship, reader is just as much of a menace as Stan

hey honey thank you so much! here it is! it's honestly just full of dialogues lmao. sorry i wrote this in a depraved frenzy and did not look back. if there are mistakes, pretend you don’t see them. if it’s too filthy, no it’s not<3 mb I'll correct it later

your phone rings and it's midnight. a little devilish smile appears on your lips. you know exactly who it is.

“finally,” you purr, picking up. “was wondering how long it’d take for you to crack, old man.”

“tch. crack?” Stan scoffs. “sweetheart, i was givin' you a chance to call first. figured you’d get too desperate to wait.”

you smirk, rolling onto your back. ”oh, is that what you think?”

“i know it.” he laughs. “ain’t had my hands on ya in three whole days. bet you’re losin’ your goddamn mind over it.”

cocky bastard.

“hmm,” you hum in amusement. “who said i haven’t had my hands on myself instead?”

“heh, sure, doll, then you just laid there all frustrated, wishin’ it was me instead of your hand.”

“oh, no, Stan,” you interrupt innocently. “i came.” he stops breathing. “mm, and it felt so good, too, made such a mess. you would’ve loved it.”

Stanley goes silent. oh, you’ve got him now. “. . . the fuck’d you just say?”

you stretch out on the bed, imagining the look on his face. jaw tight. eyes dark. grip white-knuckling his phone.

“you heard me,” you coo. “been keeping myself nice and satisfied while you’re gone.”

a lie. a blatant, filthy lie. of course you want him. but you won’t say that. not yet.

“what’s the matter?” you murmur, teasing. “dont tell me. . . you jealous of my fingers?”

Stan lets out a harsh breath. “yeah, actually,” he growls. “bet they don’t even get the job done right and you still finish all needy and desperate, just wishin’ it was my cock instead.”

fuck. your breath hitches slightly, so tiny, but Stan hears it.

“. . . ohhh, that gotcha, huh?” his voice dips, turning low. “ya can play all confident, sweetheart, act like ya ain’t fuckin’ sufferin’ without me, like ya ain’t practically drippin’ just hearin’ my voice—“

you swallow. hard. your smile fades from your confident face

“but we both know the truth, don’t we?”

no, you don't give up. “you sound real worked up, Stanley. do you need me to take care of it for you?”

a sharp inhale from the other end. “heh,” he grits out. “you wish.”

“yeah, sounds like you’re getting all hot and bothered over there. you’re already touching yourself, huh? couldn’t help it?”

“hah,” Stan scoffs, but his voice sounds weaker now. oh, you’re winning.

“c’mon, baby,” you whisper in a honey-sweet voice. “tell me. are you hard?”

he exhales through his teeth. “maybe.”

“aw, poor Stanley, been away from me too long, huh? you must be so worked up, all desperate and aching. . .”

Stan grins. “sweetheart, i’m a grown-ass man. i ain’t desperate for anything.”

you pause long enough to make his skin prickle. then softly and slowly you say quietly “so you’re not hard right now?”

fuck. his body betrays him instantly. because, obviously he is. painfully so. has been since the second he heard your voice, if he’s being honest. but like hell is he gonna admit that to you.

“nah,” he lies too quickly.

you giggle. “liar.”

“shut up,” he mutters.

“sorry, Stanley, i cant shut up, thinking about how i’d drop to my knees for you, pull your pants down real slow, press my tongue right up against that thick cock and—”

“oh, for fuck’s sake—“

“you’d be so sensitive, all needy and throbbing for me. i could get you begging in five minutes.”

“like hell you could!”

your laugh is pure evil. “oh, really?” Stan knows that tone, he’s in trouble. “wanna prove it, old man?”

Stan grits his teeth. “you little minx,” he growls. “fine. you wanna play? we play. wanna know what i think?” your stomach tightens, you're so not ready to hear that. but it's so damn sexy when he gets like that. “i know you’re sittin’ there all wet and needy, waitin’ for me to take over.”

your breath catches as your fingers start moving faster.

“aww, see? can hear it in your breath, baby. you love lettin’ me take control, huh? love bein’ my little plaything?”

you grip the sheets.

“y’think about my cock, huh?” that bastard teases. ”you ache for it and dream about me splittin’ you open, fuckin’ you deep ‘til you cry.”

your thighs press together as you try to bring yourself to orgasm while he talks.

“tell me, baby, what’s your favorite way for me to fuck ya?”

you stop for a second, breathing. “. . .i dunno, you tell me.”

Stan groans and laughs. “that’s what i thought. you like it every way i give it to ya. you like gettin’ thrown around, pinned down, bent over. like when i take my time, when i tease, when i make you beg for it. like when i spread your legs and fuck ya slow, so deep your little cunt flutters around me, just tryin’ to suck me in.”

you let out a quiet sob, rubbing your clit harder. shit. okay. he came prepared.

“remember the last time i had ya?” fuck. he's dirty for this. “spread ya out on the kitchen table, pushed those pretty little legs open, had ya beggin' for my cock while i just tapped it against that messy little cunt.”

heat spikes through your belly. your brain melting

“and you were so fuckin’ wet, so messy for me. couldn't even hold still. had to pin ya down, keep ya in place, make ya take it nice and deep. and god, the way ya screamed when i finally gave it to ya,” he groans, pumping his twitching cock. “cried so pretty for me, took every single inch like a good fuckin’ girl.”

you exhale.

“aw, babyy,” Stan mocks. “gettin’ all squirmy over there? miss me poundin’ that tight little cunt open? miss feelin’ my cock knockin’ up against your cervix?”

oh, this bastard. he knows exactly what he’s doing. knows how to talk you into a goddamn frenzy, how to drag you through every memory, making you feel it all over again. but you won’t let him win.

“eh, big talk for a man who passed out immediately after a blowjob.”

Stan huffs.

“it's just,” you muse. “i think i might need to find someone who can actually keep up with me.”

“sweetheart,” he growls. “don't fuckin' start with me.”

you grin. “what, old man? afraid someone else could fuck me better?”

“honestly, you're such a fucking brat.” he mutters resentfully.

“and you're all alone, jerking off to the thought of me like some pathetic old pervert.”

Stan groans and that sound makes you clench around nothing.

“hehe, you stroking it, old man? pumping that fat cock real slow, thinkin’ about how tight my pussy is?”

his eyes widen. wow. . . you're too brave today. he likes that. “sweet moses,” you hear him groaning.

“tell me, baby, am i right? it's throbbing? just begging to be buried inside me?”

“fuckin’ hell,” Stan hisses. “fuck, f-fuck, shit. . .”

wide cocky smile appears on your face. oh you love this. love how you can hear the tension in his breath, imagining how he’s gripping himself too tight, trying to hold on, trying not to lose.

but he’s gonna. he’s so gonna.

“y’know what i was thinking about earlier?” you murmur.

Stan swallows. “wh-what?”

you grin. “how deep you get when you fuck me.” Stan's response is low whimper when he circles his leaking tip with his fingers. “no, seriously, you stretch me so wide, Stanley. get all the way up against my cervix, push me down into the mattress, just ruining me. i love hearing your groans when i bite your shoulder.”

his breathing is much heavier now, he's already so close.

“Stanley? you close?“

“y-you’re gonna fuckin’ regret this,” he grits out.

“what’s wrong, old man? you were all big and bad a second ago. now ya can’t even keep up? i know how bad you want it, how much you miss the way i take you so deep, so tight”

Stanley is so fucking close.

“you’re leaking, huh? and you’re still trying to hold back,” another mocking sympathy from you. “so stubborn, determined not to let me win. guess i’ll just have to break you, then. oh yeah,” you laugh when you hear another moan from him. “that gotcha, huh? i know you’d love that, you’d love me getting on top, riding you all slow and deep, keeping you right on the edge ‘till you’re begging me for it, begging me to let you cum inside of me.”

“f-fuck, baby, just. . . just like that,” his voice is shaking.

“you gonna cum, Stan? gonna make a mess all over yourself just from hearing my voice?”

“you—fuck—you little—”

suddenly his phone vibrates with a notification. you just sent him a photo.

he barely has time to open it before he sees you, spread out as you fuck yourself open on your fingers.

Stan sucks in a sharp breath. “what. . . the fuck”

“somethin’ wrong?” you coo.

silence, hes silent until you hear choked loud “oh oh oh, fuckkk” and you know he lost, so fucking hard. his orgasm hits hard, violent, brain-melting, his body tensing, groaning your name through gritted teeth. you hear the sharp inhale, the shaky breath, the low, drawn-out moan as he spills messy over his fist.

“awww, couldn’t hold out, huh?”

Stan pants, breathless. “fuck you.”

“you wish,” you smirk, giggling.

“okay okay. you won.” Stanley admits, rubbing his sweaty forehead. “you won, baby.”

“but you put up a good fight, old man!”

he groans. “hot belgian waffles, what the hell am i gonna do with you?”

“maybe bend me over the second you get home and teach me a lesson?”

Stan chuckles. “oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you just signed up for.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Why did they change Fellow’s and Gidel’s name for EN but not Rollo’s? So weird you’d think they’d at least be consistent and change all the names or none at all.

[Referencing this post!]

hchfxbjsbajCgwhq Deep breaths, everyone 😅 Deeeeeeep breaths…

I know a lot of us might be displeased with the name changes (moreso with Fellow’s than with Gidel’s) but let’s remember that, at the end of the day, they’re just names. They’re not erasing the original names, they’re not changing the context of the event story, and no one will force you to use the new names if you don’t want to. Your feelings are valid, but please be mindful about how you express them (because unfortunately I fear it can very easily veer into insulting or talking down to the localization/the localization team or fans who don’t mind/actually like the name changes 💦 It is partly for this reason that I did not include the other asks I received on this topic, as they could be needlessly inflammatory).

That being said, here are my thoughts on the matter: initially, I didn’t like the names. My automatic thought was that they sound like a corny 4Kids dub where they changed the Obviously Japanese Name (ex: Ichigo) to something Very Western (ex: Zoey). However, I’ll also be the first to admit that I also initially found the Japanese names odd because who names their kid FELLOW?? It’s like naming someone Person. I’m used to it now, but it definitely took me weeks and weeks to consider “Fellow Honest” a full name.

I’ve seen some people say that Fellow and Gidel’s names are meant to be silly sounding (and so the localized names are actually fitting), but I don’t agree with that sentiment. To my knowledge, no one in-universe ever laughs at their names or says they’re out of place. If the names were intended to be perceived as silly, there would be remarks indicating this. For example, “Tsunotaro”/“Hornton” IS silly because characters make explicit mention of how strange the nickname is. This is not true of Fellow and Gidel, so I don’t believe their names are supposed to be unserious.

I’ve also seen a lot of people poking fun at “Ernesto Foulworth” because “it sounds like such an obvious name for a scammer”. And yeah, maybe that’s true depending on who’s looking at it. I get where people are coming from. Buuut to play devil’s advocate, “Fellow Honest” invokes similar vibes. Both names have that element of honesty/earnest, but “Fellow” is more of a “John Doe” or generic name whereas “FOULworth” sounds bad since we associate the word foul with negativity. Essentially, both names are shady in their own ways but “Ernesto Foulworth” gets more flack because foul triggers an automatic negative association whereas fellow is more neutral.

So then I sat with the localized names for a little longer and the changes started to make a little more sense. To me, both sound very Italian, which fits given that Pinocchio has Italian origins. Additionally, “Ernesto” looks and sounds like “earnest”, which refers to being truthful. His surname, “Foulworth”, may be a reference to Honest John’s full name? Worthington Foulfellow. (I have no insights for Gino, unfortunately… other than making him “match” Fellow’s name better since they’re a pair?)

In all honesty (heh) though, I still don’t really like the new names even considering that context. I’ll probably keep calling them by their Japanese ones. I’ll never be a fan of any name changes because it means I have to go back and edit the tags on ALL my related posts, lol

Side note: shoutout to all the folks saying the names sound Ace Attorney-esque, how you think of Ernesto de la Cruz from Coco, and/or joking about how the EN names are Fellow and Gidel’s fake identities/aliases while they’re on the run from the cops 😭 I laughed too hard reading those comments cbwhebjzbwiwhwlek

Now, I’m not sure why the names were changed considering that names prior have largely been unchanged (Cheka, Marja, Najma, Rollo, etc.), save for maybe some spelling changes (Meleanor -> Maleanor, Baul -> Baur, Farena -> Falena, Leven -> Raverne, etc.). The only huge exception to this is Kifaji, who became Neji in EN. Here’s some theories and speculation going around in the fandom about Fellow and Gidel’s changes:

Copyright issues???? For example, you can’t really trademark “Fellow” and “Honest”, but you could maybe trademark “Ernesto Foulworth”. (This doesn’t explain Gino’s name or why they couldn’t trademark “Fellow Honest”.)

Another interpretation of copyright issues theory is that there’s weird legal stuff happening between Aniplex and Disney (international), which forced the name changes. (I think this one assumes a lot of tight regulations and hinges on how litigious big corpos and especially Disney are when it comes to “protecting” their brand and properties.)

Some have suggested that “Fellow Honest” is noun-adjective word order, which is uncommon in English. In “Ernesto Foulworth”, the first name looks and sounds like the adjective “earnest”, meaning the adjective(s) come first, which is more common in English. (This theory is a little incomplete though; there is no noun in the localized name to complete the thought. Additionally, Japanese also usually goes with the adjective-noun rule, so “Fellow Honest” would be an unusual name for JP too. And again, no explanation for Gino.)

… ITALIAn REP BABY 🇮🇹

[essentiallyleaf]

day 10. hate sex. with. nana.

472 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, hate sex, degradation, ass play, rimming, anything else that i’m missing?, this started as a brat taming fic in my mind, but honestly, you don’t tame shit in this one, dialogue only, basically improv, i know the pic is clashing, i just kinda like it that way.

notes.

meant for this to be a decent amount longer, but i am emotionally spent from answering an ask that i felt was much more important than all of this. i need to look at pokemon sleeping adorably now. unsurely, leaf.

“Ach-ptoo!”

“Don’t you dare touch me back there, boy”

“Oh, shut up, you were begging for me to fuck you in the ass just three days ago! Now stay still for a second”

“Mmmmmgh-yeahh”

“It’s just my thumb and you’re already mewling, you little bunny slut”

“Nnngh- I’ll choke you as soon as you let me ride”

“And, enlighten me, why would I do that?”

“Because you fucking love it, you idiotic dick with legs!”

“You’d be too busy cumming on my dick, and you know that”

“Fuh- Wanna bet?”

“You ever been to Vegas? Because you seem to be into purposefully losing money”

“Who said I was talking about money?”

“What are you suggesting, then?”

“I ride you, and whoever cums first gives the other five minutes”

“Five minutes?”

“To do what the other wants with them. Mmmmhh- Deal?”

“Deal. Straddle me”

“You have no idea what you just put yourself into”

“Can’t wait to find out”

“Mmmmhhh, can you even handle cumming twice in the span of five minutes?”

“I could handle anything. But I’m afraid you’re not gonna get to find out”

“Oh, such a powerful man”

“You’re the one who’s moaning here”

“Yeah, wanna join?”

“Aaaahh, fucking, slow down!”

“Already begging?”

“We haven’t even started, as far as I’m concerned”

“Really? Cause by the way you’re gripping onto that pillow, most would disagree”

“Mmmmgh- You have no idea”

“What? It seems to me, that I know a lot of things. Nnngh. I know you love how I’m riding you, I know you’ll come before me, and I know you’re a weak man, who only takes bets because his disproportionate ego can’t fathom the idea of a girl, and a smaller girl nonetheless, having him beg for mercy!”

“Mmmmgwaaaahhh, aaah, ah… aah…”

“Pathetic”

“...”

“Fucking pathetic little boy, you came in, how long was that, even?”

“Fuh- You sex-addicted bitch…”

“Heh. You don’t deserve any of this”

“...”

“Now lay still, legs up”

“What?”

“Fucking, bend your legs and pull them up to your chest! Is that hard to understand?”

“Why? Just, choke me and let’s get this over with!”

“Hmph. You came, moaning like a whore, and now you’re trying to run away with your tail between your legs? You wanna get away with a pair of tiny hands around your neck? You don’t have a clue, do you? Honestly, that’s just cute. You’re a cute little bitch, that’s what you are. Now, for the last time, your fucking legs. Up.”

“What do you wanna do?”

“This”

“Gwaaaahhh- Not your tongue there! Jesus Christ, fuck!”

“...”

“Please. Please. Mmmmggghh- Please, just beat my dick. Just, destroy it. Fuckkk- I’ll take anything”

“...”

“Whore, you whore. You bunny devil whore. Fuckinggg- You will see. You have no idea what- I’ll breaknngggaaaahh. Aaaahh. AAAAAAHHHHMMMMHHHFUH-”

“...”

“...”

“Honestly, felt like a punishment for me, more than anything”

-

footnotes.

i hope you have a great day today. especially, leaf.

[the-golden-comet]

🌸✨OC Questionnaire Tag +bonus Character Voice✨🌺

Thank you for this tag @mysticstarlightduck here, a character voice tag here, more questions from @ominous-feychild here and @fantasy-things-and-such here✨

My questions:

How good is your sleep schedule?

Do you have any siblings? If so, how good is your relationship?

What was the toughest time you had to endure while growing up?

What was the worst day of your life?

What's your worst nightmare?

If a monster asked you your worst nightmare, what would you tell it and why?

"What's your relationship with your family like?"

"Do you have any hobbies? if so, what ones?"

"Do you dream often? what about?"

"What is the one thing you would not wish on your greatest adversary?

And answering the questions With this voice:

"(sighs, done with life) Alright, what did you do now?"

Guess who has the perfect OC to answer these? That’s right: Come on out, Tyr:

From In The Realm Of Giants

Sucks. Getting jostled around in a jar isn’t the most comfortable sleeping space. Go figure, right? (Glares up at Tav)

No. I’m an only child. Mom died when I was five, and Dad’s been overprotective of his only son. Heh….probably should’ve listened in hindsight…

Right after Mom died, we were grieving. Dad grieved a long, long time. He was so paranoid he’d lose me too, that he didn’t let me outside our cottage home for a year. I had to really fight hard to show him that I can be worthy of leadership, that I’m okay, and he doesn’t need to smother me. I passed all the trials and he still sees me as this defenseless child. I’m twenty-two now; I don’t need to have him breathing down my neck.

Losing my mother. How Dad sat me down, tears welled in his eyes, choking out that Mom wasn’t coming back. I felt lost…confused….angry. D-damn it….

(Glares up at the giant from inside the jar) I dunno, Tav. What IS my worst nightmare?

(still glaring, words dripping with venomous sarcasm) OH GEE, I DON’T KNOW, GUSTAV. What WOULD I tell you?

I love my dad and my village. Yeah, he can be a bit overbearing at times, but I can see why. I’m a rebellious little shit, and I caused a lot of trouble for him. And the village…I would die to protect my people. Oh Dad, I’m sorry….I hope everyone’s doing alright….

Besides not getting eaten by a giant? I did my trainings to get all my marks. I guess you can call those hobbies….? I passed my archery test for the Mark of the Snake, led a successful pack hunt for my Mark of the Wolf, and passed the fishing trial for my Mark of the Bear

Usually it’s nightmares about getting eaten alive….being abducted by this dumbass didn’t help that—H-HEY! Don’t jostle the jar!! Fucker, you did that on purpose!! I see you snickering!!

(Glaring up at Gustav so intensely the sun couldn’t burn him to the same degree)

G: …..Huh? What? I wasn’t paying attention. 🤷‍♂️

Whew! I’ll leave these same questions for anyone else who wants to answer, as little or as many as you want in any order! ✨

Tagging (no pressure): @finickyfelix , @illarian-rambling , @saturnine-saturneight , @rivenantiqnerd , @noxxytocin , @pixies-love-envy , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @theaistired , @aintgonnatakethis , @willtheweaver , @autism-purgatory , @gioiaalbanoart , @alinacapellabooks , @fortunatetragedy , @theverumproject , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @wyked-ao3 , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @paeliae-occasionally , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , @jev-urisk , @thatuselesshuman , @lychhiker-writes +open tag! ✨

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a companion banter episode four : Harding

Banter written with my own Rook in mind, read more about him here!

Part 1 (Neve) | Part 2 (Bellara) | Part 3 (Davrin) | Part 4 (Harding) | Part 5 (Taash) | Part 6 (Emmrich) | Part 7 (Lucanis)|

-

Harding: “So you have rats?” Calais: “Yes! Two of them. Gus and Basil.” Harding: “Aren’t they like.. gross? Rats carry disease, right?” Calais: “Well sure, wild ones can carry diseases, but these have always been pets so there's way less risk. They've never been able to pick stuff up because they're in a contained environment." Harding: "Oh, right." Calais: "They like to cuddle into my neck while I’m asleep.” Harding: “Aw, that’s kind of cute.” Calais: “You should come and meet them sometime.”

Calais: “You seemed to really like Gus and Basil.” Harding: “They were so cute! Basil is my favourite, he was so cuddly!” Calais: “Yeah he’s a cuddler.” Harding: “They were so happy, scurrying around in my room, eating my herbs.” Calais: “And you didn’t even mind too much.” Harding: “They used their little hands!”

Calais: “Tell me about the Inquisitor please?” Harding: “Well.. he was really just a man. A good man, thrust into a position of power.” Calais: “Heh, thrust.” Harding: *giggle* “He may have said something very similar once.”

Calais: “Was he as handsome as the books made him out to be?” Harding: “The Inquisitor? He was pretty handsome, sure.” Calais: “Tall, dark hair.. riding in on a white horse..” Harding: “Why are you so interested in him?” Calais: “Big fan of his work, really.” Harding: “Is that all?” Calais: *chuckle* “No. I used to read the tales of the Inquisition before bed. I suppose I may have had a little crush on him at the time.” Harding: “Aww.”

Harding: “You know, the Inquisitor is taken.” Calais: “What?” Harding: “He’s with someone. Dorian, the Tevinter mage that helped us defeat Corypheus.” Calais: “Just because there’s a goalie, doesn’t mean you can’t score.” Harding: *Snort* "That's awful!" *giggles*

Harding: “You know, I could see if you can come with us when we meet the Inquisitor next.” Calais: “Not sure if I’d contribute anything to that meeting, but go on I suppose.” Harding: “I thought you admired him?” Calais: “Sure I do. So does half of Thedas. He must be tired of the fame by now, right? Not being able to travel normally, mountains of fan mail every day.. he doesn’t need me gawking at him as well.” Harding: “I don’t think he would mind hearing that he inspired you when you were young.” Calais: “He did a lot more than just inspire me, if you catch my drift.” Harding: *disappointed sigh*

Calais: “Did you have pets, back home?” Harding: “Yes, Contessa! She was a Mabari.” Calais: “Wait, you have a Mabari?” Harding: “Yes, or had. She passed away a few years ago. I’d love to have one again though.” Calais: “I’ll admit I’m not much of a dog person, but they say Mabari are human in their intelligence. Is that true?” Harding: “Not in my experience. She was kinda dumb, actually.” Calais: “Blessed are the ignorant, for they shall take their de-worming medicine without regurgitating.”

Harding: “So what was it like, growing up in the Necropolis?” Calais: “Peaceful. There’s nothing quite like the quiet of the graves to meditate in. I filled my days with reading books, speaking to spirits, and trying to make friends.” Harding: “Trying to?” Calais: “Never really worked. Sometimes someone would try and be friends with me, but I was too.. different. I couldn’t play tag, for example.” Harding: “Oh, because of your leg?” Calais: “Yes. And when we were studying I understood the material so well they thought I was bragging.” Harding: “Oh. That sounds like it was hard.” Calais: “It was, but even saying it was feels weird. Like you’re asking for sympathy for doing well.” Harding: “You’ve got friends now, though.” Calais: “Yeah. It’s nice.”

Harding: “So I’m guessing you don’t look back fondly on your time as a kid?” Calais: “I would like to forget I was ever young.” Harding: “Surely it wasn’t all bad?” Calais: “The moments I spent with dad were always a standout.” Harding: “Right, your dad the Eldritch monstrosity.” Calais: “Stepdad, I suppose. But I never knew another.” Harding: “You know why they call it a stepdad right?” Calais: “Why?” Harding: “Because they’re dads who stepped up.” Calais: “Maker give me strength.” *laughs*

Harding: “I have a hard time picturing Vorgoth as a dad.” Calais: “Allow me to describe it to you then. Imagine me, 3 or 4 years old, asking for ‘fly time’.” Harding: “Fly time?” Calais: “That’s when he’d hold me above his head and I’d spread my arms so I could pretend I was flying. He’d go extra fast down the stairs to make me laugh.” Harding: “Okay, that’s adorable.” Calais: “Now imagine him making wind noises to make the experience as immersive as possible.”

Calais: “So you do embroidery?” Harding: “Oh, yes. I embroidered this shirt’s collar myself.” Calais: “Any other hobbies?” Harding: “Plants. I love plants.” Calais: “Yeah, I got that when I visited your room.” Harding: “They make me feel at home, and give me peace.” Calais: “It must be a lot of work, caring for all of them.” Harding: “It can be. But most of my plants are pretty self sufficient. Even you could keep them alive.” Calais: “You are severely overestimating my power.”

[zepskies]

How would Beau comfort reader who’s gotten home from work and is feeling overwhelmed and sooky? I’m in need of comfort my the cutie patootie pls and thank you beloved 🫶🥺

Hello, my love!

I know it's been a while since you requested this @chernayawidow, but I’m so sorry you’re feeling down. It’s my pleasure to fulfill this prompt for you! 😘💞

AN: This is sort of a sequel to “Didn’t Mean to Stay,” but can be read as a stand-alone.

Word Count: 3,000 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, lots of hurt/comfort, fluff, and feels.

Imagine: Beau gives you the support you need.

You heaved a sigh while climbing up the short flight of stairs to your apartment. Why the hell you decided to live on the second floor, you had no idea…

Okay, mainly for the safety aspect of being a single woman living alone, but at least for the past year, you hadn’t been all that single (or alone, for that matter).

Seeing Beau’s truck in the parking lot reminded you that your boyfriend was already home from work. It was rare that you got here after him, but you perked up a little.

I hope he got something for dinner. Your stomach began to rumble at even the first stray thought of food. After the ridiculous day you’d had, you’d happily eat your weight in just about anything.

A hearty sandwich, Chinese lo mien, a whopping burger with fries…hell, you’d eat a whole damn bag of pizza rolls. As long as it was hot and you didn’t have to cook it.

Once you managed to insert your key and unlock the apartment, immediately there was too much sound coming from the living room. Guns and blasting and whoops and hollers. It all grated on your ears and your frayed psyche.

You grimaced as you locked the door behind you.

“Are we being invaded?!” you called.

Mercifully, the cacophony ceased as you walked into the living room and found your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. On the TV was an old western classic, The Magnificent Seven.

Typical, you thought. Your Texan cowboy loved his westerns.

“Sorry. Too loud?” he asked.

“Just a touch,” you replied.

“Well, I’m glad you're home.” Beau nodded at the TV. “Was gonna ask you what your Netflix password is.”

“What, don’t tell me you settled for 1960s cowboys?” you quipped.  

You dumped your purse on the coffee table and sunk onto the couch next to him. Beau slid an arm around your waist and pulled you in closer. You obliged by shucking off your shoes and resting against him, with your head on his shoulder. You let out a long sigh.

“Well, that was my fallback plan. See, damn Netflix booted me out and I’m really gearing up for that new season of Cake or Cake,” Beau said, with a somewhat childish smile that almost succeeded in tugging your lips upwards as well. Your brows drew together.

“Cake or…oh my God. You mean Is It Cake?” you asked. You nearly slapped yourself with your own hand as it came up to cover your eyes. Your shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Ah, yeah. That one.” Beau grinned.

“I just can’t figure out how I keep guessing so wrong," he continued. "It looks like a hat. It should be a hat. How the hell is it actually cake? These guys are just so damn talented, I’ll tell ya. I mean, I’ve eaten my fair share of quality cake, but I ain’t never eaten a hat cake…though that does sound good to me, now that I think about it. Heh, I could finally say, ‘if that ain’t real, I’ll eat my own hat.’ And I’d actually be able to take a bite.”

Now, normally you found boyfriend’s diatribes incredibly endearing. Beau was a talker, and you appreciated having him with you at social gatherings. Not only was he great at connecting with people (something you very much admired), but the man was damn good at filling a silence.

Today, however, he was feeding the headache pulsing behind your eyes. You loved him dearly. Yet you were tempted to dig your nails into your own arm just to stop yourself from snapping at him to please, stop talking.

“Speakin’ of food, that reminds me. My stomach’s damn near ready to eat itself.” He eyed you. “What’s for dinner, baby?”

Your hand slid from your face and slapped onto your leg. Your head slowly turned to him.

“I don’t know, Beau. What’d you cook?” you said tartly.

It was an effort, considering how comfortable you were while tucked against him, but you moved his arm off your hip and lifted your heavy-feeling body off the couch. Shaking your head, you trudged a path over to your room.

You didn’t see it, but Beau frowned. Though you heard him follow after you. You did your best to go about your business, unbuttoning your pants and starting on your blouse. You were just so damn tired, and probably still anxious. Even your hands were trembling and fumbling with the buttons.

Still, you sensed him coming closer, saw his sock-covered feet out of the corner of your eye. The rest of him was comfortably dressed in sweatpants and a wool sweater you bought for him last month; he was getting better, but still acclimating to Montana winters.

“You’ve been here all this time,” you grumbled. “You see how late I’m coming in, and you don’t think, hey, my girl’s gonna be tired. Why don’t I figure out how to work the stove so she doesn’t have to worry about feeding my six-foot-ass, bottomless pit—”

Beau’s hands stilled yours, and he took over unbuttoning your blouse to help you. He bent his head enough to catch your eyes, smiling a little at your grumpy face.

“All right, all right. I see your point,” he said. “You had a bitch of day, huh?”

“The longest of my damn life,” you said. The stress of each moment played behind your eyes. So much that they stung with unshed tears when you raised your gaze to meet his.

Beau’s brows furrowed in sympathy. He paused in what he was doing to stroke your cheek and press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“And I wanna hear about it, but first, you go take a nice long shower,” he said. “What do you feel like eating?”

“Food,” you said petulantly. But he was being too sweet for you to be all that annoyed with him. A reluctant smile was growing across your lips. Beau smirked.

“You in the mood for Italian? Chinese? Maybe feeling a little adventurous and wanna try that Greek place down the street?” he suggested. “I think they deliver.”

By now he’d worked your blouse open. His hands were finding their way along the curve of your waist, smoothly across your skin, then meeting at the small of your back. He pressed the heel of one hand there, where he knew your shitty desk chair often made you ache.

You gripped his strong arms for support and leaned into him. You let out a sigh and rested your cheek against his chest, where he dropped another kiss on the top of your head.

“Greek sounds good, actually,” you confessed.

“Mmm, hell yeah. You want chicken, steak, or lamb on your gyro?” he asked. You felt the reverberation of his hum, and it was weirdly soothing. Though his question reminded you of one of your favorite movies that you too often quoted to him: My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

“What you mean he don’t eat no meat?” you said with a giggle. Beau’s lips moved to your forehead, and you felt the shape of his smile.

“It’s okay, I make lamb,” you both said together.

He chuckled and held you a bit tighter, secure and comforting. “All right. Lamb it is…you think they got cake on the menu?”

When you laughed, it was muffled by his sweater.

After a hot shower, good food, and three episodes of Is It Cake later, you were falling asleep on your corner of the couch.

All through dinner, Beau had listened to you vent about your day. About the problems your coworkers had hoisted on you to solve in the midst of a massive project you were already tackling. How your boss then blamed you for not coming to her first before you overloaded yourself, and how you’d very seriously contemplated going to HR before you figured just dealing with it would cause you less grief in the end.

Your boyfriend listened and gave his two cents, both supportive and fair. That was another thing you liked about him; he was always fair.

Now, he roused you out of your drowsy state when his arms wrapped around your frame and lifted you up.

You whined in protest. “Whaaat? Don’t move me.”

“Nope, you’re goin’ to bed,” he said, in his sheriff’s voice that boded no argument. You grumbled, but you still snuggled closer to his chest and pressed your sleepy face into his neck.

Smirking, he walked you into the bedroom and laid you down on your side of the bed. He came to your place often enough that he now had his own side, complete with his own nightstand and a couple of drawers of your dresser, even a bit of closet space.

You really should’ve just told him to move the hell in already, but you weren’t like Beau. He was a man of action. He processed things quickly and made decisions just as fast. His job demanded him to be that way.

You tended to drag your feet. You also tended to worry, and weigh pros and cons, and you were cautious by nature. Even dating this man had been a slow process, for which he’d been very patient with you. (And you with him, especially in the beginning as he learned to open up to you.)

The evidence was plain to see, as he raised the blankets and helped you roll underneath them. You just took him by surprise when you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him down with you.

“Hey!” he laughed. He had to brace himself against the mattress before he crushed you. His knees fell on either side of your hips while your arms twined around his neck.

“You’re a wily one, even half-asleep,” he remarked. You smiled and threaded your fingers through his soft brown hair.

“Like a rattlesnake in the tall grass,” you teased. In fairness, the two of you had gotten into watching David Attenborough's nature documentaries.

Beau’s brows raised, his smile deepening.  

“Oh yeah? Better not mess around then,” he chuckled. “I might just get bit.”  

You snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You leaned up until your lips were nearly brushing his. Beau’s eyes lowered to your face, taking in all the things that felt more like home than his little trailer near the woods.

Just before you would’ve closed the small breadth of distance, you veered away from his mouth and went for his neck instead. He even flinched at the tease of your teeth playfully biting him.

"You little vixen!" He laughed deeply as he unwound your arms from his neck. He pinned you down to the bed and pressed his hips down into yours over the sheets. But it was his claiming lips that stopped you from fighting back.

Your shoulders trembled with giggles that he swallowed up, kiss after kiss. Your eyes closed as he dragged the sheets down away from your body. His hands caressed you through your thin tank top, brushing over a hardened nipple with the back of his hand, then squeezing your breast through the fabric.

You sighed into his mouth. “I know I kind of started this, but I’m really tired, baby…”

“Who says you gotta do anything?” rumbled his rich voice.

A tremor of heat ran through you. Even with your eyes closed, your exhausted body responded to his touch. His lips drew a hot, wet path down your neck, all while his hands did sinfully good things, sliding under your tank top and gliding against your skin. You let him take it all the way off, followed by your pajama pants and cotton panties, though he paused to squeeze your ass in appreciation.

“Someone’s been doing squats,” he noted, grinning down at you.

“Nah, just an extra slice of that honey cake,” you retorted. Apparently, the Greeks liked honey on everything.

Beau’s head tilted. “Huh. Well, I do like me some cake.”

You laughed, then jolted with a yelp when he slapped a bare cheek.

But you couldn’t just lay idle when he started on his own clothes. You sat up and helped him raise the sweater up and over his shoulders, but he stopped you.

“I mean it. You just lie back and relax,” he said, giving you a charming grin. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes; he was just too damn good to you.

While he finished taking off the sweater, your hands drifted down to the waistband of his pants. You caressed the hardening length of him, earning a hiss and a groan from him.

“Can’t I just…” you tried.

With difficulty, Beau grabbed your wrist. He raised a brow at you and guided you back down.

“For once, I’m ‘a need you to listen to me,” he said, kissing your cheek and then the other side of your neck.

You breathed a laugh, but it caught on a moan as his fingers brushed through your wet folds. He made a sound of approval. And those nimble fingers gathered some of your wetness and began circling slowly over your clit.

You sucked in a breath and arched against him. You even whimpered a little as his free hand wound through your hair, giving him further access to your neck. He hummed against your skin and grazed his teeth under your ear.

“I gotcha, baby. Whenever you need it,” he said, low and steady. You gripped his arms for dear life as two of his fingers slipped deep inside you. You panted into his neck, rocked your hips mostly in time with his fingers as they twisted and pulsed around your tightening walls. His thumb rubbed against your throbbing clit.

“Please,” you whispered into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. “Want you inside me.”

“We’re gettin’ there,” Beau nodded. He was breathing harder too, just from anticipation. The sounds you were making, the way you were squeezing his hand from the inside had him painfully hard.

“Now,” you insisted. Your hands moved to grip his hair, and your lips met his in a devouring kiss.

Beau matched your passion with closed eyes and furrowed brows. He’d had a plan for you at the start of this, but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t abide by your wishes?

So he withdrew his fingers from your slick pussy, even though you uttered a shuddering breath. It took everything you had within you to remain still and resting against the pillows as you caught your breath. You wanted to wrestle down his sweatpants yourself and show your boyfriend how appreciative you could be.

But you also appreciated what he was trying to do. You watched him with tired, but still hungry eyes as he kicked off the pants and the boxer briefs and returned to you, bracing a forearm above your head after he spread your legs and raised up your knees.

He lowered himself between the warm cradle of your thighs and kissed down your chest, licked between the valley of your breasts.

You arched up again when his tongue found your nipple, swirling around it, and finally taking it between his teeth. His hips rolled against yours, making his cock press against your core teasingly.

“Beau, for the love of God,” you moaned.

He chuckled. “Maybe you oughta learn how to be patient.”

You grabbed his bearded face between both hands and raised him up to you. He noted your challenging brow, but also your smile.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tease the rattlesnake,” you replied.

Beau laughed and ducked his forehead against yours. “Okay, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

He nosed at your cheek, angling for a kiss. You tipped your head back and welcomed his lips, especially when his tongue slipped past to tangle with yours. His forearm was braced above your head, but his free hand left your hip to line himself up to your entrance.

Another shudder went through your body as he finally slid home inside you. The shape and feeling of his cock was familiar as it stretched your inner walls, and you caught his moan in your mouth.

Your legs wrapped around his hips and squeezed, forcing him in deeper. His eyes screwed shut as he lost focus for a moment. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the feeling of you, or the sound of your voice, or the way you trusted him, but still tried to give as much as you took.

He pulled out nearly all the way, slowly sliding back in so you’d feel every inch. You clenched on him as a tremble ran through your body.

You uttered a broken gasp of his name that spearheaded goosebumps across his skin. And his next movements were faster, though just as deep.

He followed the encouragements of your voice, especially when he shifted his hips at an angle he knew would make you writhe. His fingers stroking your already sensitive clit, in time with his last wild thrusts, had you threatening to rip out a chunk of his hair. Instead, you gasped in his ear and dug your fingers into his hips.

His own release followed yours shortly after; he could only resist you squeezing the life out of him from the inside out for so long. And you held him afterwards, even though he still had a trembling arm braced above you.

Your hands smoothed up and down his back, trailing lightly with your nails. His breath was hot, but not uncomfortable against your neck.

You felt absolutely boneless as your legs slid from his hips. He pulled out of you soon after, but your embrace kept him from moving very far. He rested on his side, and you turned towards him. You both knew you’d have to deal with the sheets and the cleanup, but not just yet.

You carded your fingers more soothingly through his hair and drew his face back to yours.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered. And you didn’t just mean in this bed. “I haven’t had that in a long time.”

Beau’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You don’t gotta thank me for that.”

“Yeah, I do,” you nodded. Your lips formed a tired smile before they pressed softly to his. “I love you.”

Beau took a moment to brush a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. He’d believed in second chances before he met you…just not for himself. Meeting you made him swear by them.

“Love you too,” he said.

And the warmth of that bone-deep knowledge was more satisfying than even the heftiest slice of cake.

AN: God, I love Beau. I miss Big Sky. 😭 But feel free to let me know what you think of this one! It's only my second time, but I really do love writing this guy. ❤️

And tell me...are you team cake 🍰 or team pie 🥧?

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BA Tag List:

@deans-baby-momma @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @waters-2567

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[tinytalkingtina]

Born to Run

Part 1 of Running with the Devil, a Steddie role reversal series

4k words | Rating: E

Tags/CW: Role reversal no upside down AU with some canon divergence, Jock/Track Star!Eddie, Metalhead/drug dealer!Steve, appalachian Eddie, confident bisexual Steve, Eddie has a sexuality crisis but is in denial, Eddie's sleeping mind decides to take matters into its own hands, wet dream (contains spanking and public humiliation), running of both the literal and metaphorical kind, child abuse referenced indirectly (physical beatings that happened in the past)

Read now on Ao3, and be sure to read @little-annie's Part 2 from Steve's POV, "Metal Health will Drive you Mad"

The sex dream within this fic is brought to you by the Week 4 prompt "slap" of the @steddiesmuttyseptember event

Eddie was always a runner. If you asked Wayne, he apparently skipped straight from crawling to toddling around as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. When he got older, it was a release valve, for everything and anything shitty in his life.

He didn’t have to think about his mom pulling a disappearing act, or his dad getting himself arrested (again). The world would narrow until the only sounds he could hear were the rushing in his ears and the smack of his sneakers on pavement.

Running had brought him to where he was now, as he clawed his way up the proverbial high school ranks. Anyone at this party would look at him and only see the triumphant senior captain of the track team, fresh off a successful meet. Every keg stand, every heroic retelling of a close race, every sloppy makeout session with a cheerleader, kept the attention on the Eddie of the present. 

No one needed to remember the wide-eyed weirdo with patched baggy clothes, nearly ten when his classmates would only turn nine that year.

All around him, the crowd ebbed and flowed between the alcohol and the bonfire, the flickering flames and shadows making it hard to tell who was who. Someone stumbled into Eddie, breaking him out of his brooding.

“Whoops, sorry Eddie! Guess I’ll have to make it up to you later.” Before he could say anything, the giggling cheerleader pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. (He knew he went on a date with her about a month ago, but her name eluded him. Tina, maybe, or Vicki?)

He forced a grin back. “Of course you didn’t mean it sugar. Gonna hold you to that ‘kay?”

The girl possibly named Tina swooned at the tiny bit of accent he'd carefully slipped in. Just a touch could be charming to the fine folks of the Midwest, even if what he ended up using was way less Appalachian hick and more refined Southern gentleman than his momma's family had ever spoken in their lives.

As soon as her back was turned, he let the smile slide off. His post-meet high wore off too quickly tonight, and it left him well, twitchy.

An arm slung itself over his shoulder. "Ed my man, this party is wild! Your best work yet dude." Tommy grinned at him, already drunk. Neither of them commented on how close Tommy was pressing himself into Eddie. Or how Eddie wasn't quite moving away. But then again, the two of them had perfected the art of leaving things unsaid after what happened sophomore year, how close they had come to—no.

"Heh, yeah. Hey, where's Carol? She's gonna be pissed you abandoned her."

"Please, Carol's fine. She's busy talking with Lisa Carmichael. Speaking of which, she's really into you. Come on, get your dick wet, you deserve it after that 800 meter. We're fucking going to states!" His last sentence was said much louder, and a chorus of cheers and whoops predictably echoed back from celebratory partygoers. The twitchiness grew.

"I dunno man, not really feeling it tonight." Eddie tried to subtly back up a little bit, but Tommy just swayed forward into his space again.

“Trust me, you won’t be feeling like that when you're balls deep in a nice tight—"

"Tommy will you just fucking stop? What's with your obsession with my dick huh?"

A look of fear and hurt flashed across Tommy's face for a second, before it was replaced with a scowl. Fuck that was the wrong thing to say and danced way too close to the thoughts about—nope, they were not gonna talk about that.

Eddie carefully pat Tommy on the shoulder instead of thinking. "Shit sorry, it's fine, you're just looking out for me, right? I appreciate it, just not uh, really in the partying mood for some reason." 

Tommy managed to recover his grin. "Oh, duh, why didn't you say so? That fucking freak Harrington finally showed up about thirty minutes ago. Sure he's got something that'll make you unwind a bit. Here, have one on me.”

Eddie wanted to snap that he didn’t need pity money. He got the kegs supplied just fine on his own, hadn’t he? But Tommy was still holding himself tensely several steps away. Tommy, who in sixth grade biked over every other day even after his parents had told him to stay away from the trailer park. Who “accidentally” always had a second pudding cup tucked in with his lunch for sharing. Whose summertime freckles were just starting to fade but Eddie knew still trailed down all the way to his—. 

Besides, maybe weed would take the edge off whatever ugly thing kept rearing its insistent head inside him tonight. Help him forget about the looming pressures of the future and the things he wasn’t going to think about, help him feel normal again.

“Thanks Tommy, I’ll try and relax.” Eddie grabbed the money and set off down the path towards Skull Rock, where Harrington always held court. The chill wind rustling through the trees was a welcome respite to his overheated skin.

The walk over to the next clearing was only a few minutes, but by the time Eddie came upon it, the thrum of bass and general teenage debauchery had faded into a low murmur.

Instead, Skull Rock reverberated with the sound of tapping and gentle humming. Eddie’s heart picked up a little.

Steve Harrington made him nervous. It wasn’t necessarily how loud the guy was. Eddie could understand the need to fill a room up. He could vaguely remember a quieter pre-pubescent Harrington before his dramatic transformation, dressed in tiny polos and khakis and halfheartedly kicking around a soccer ball. Now, his entire wardrobe consisted solely of black and red accented with flashy gold rings. The thick combat boots he wore constantly made him tower over everyone else, and the ever-growing collection of tattoos scattered on his body thoroughly scandalized each and every teacher. What they all meant was a perennial topic of discussion amongst the student body.

A voice echoed down from one of the boulders: “Oh hey, look who showed up, it’s Eddie Munson himself! Heard from your sidekick Hagan you’re the reason Hawkins is going to States.”

Steve was stretched out, lounging on the top of the rock, a pair of drumsticks held loosely in one hand.

“Yup, we are. First time in five years actually.” The state championships. There would be college recruiters there, and with them the promise of scholarships that’d get him out of this town. Somewhere far away from the looming threat of the plant bending his back prematurely like it had Wayne’s. Somewhere no one had heard the name of Al Munson.

“Well then.” Steve practically purred as he smoothly jumped down to the ground. He gave his drumsticks a twirl before stashing them in his pocket. “You sure got ‘em, didn’t you Tiger.”

Yeah, there it was. Seemed like sometimes, Harrington could see right through him, like he knew about how his thoughts occasionally strayed to—nope.

Eddie crossed his arms and tried to keep his face neutral. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t you know it’s polite to thank someone when they compliment you?” Steve’s eyes sparkled with amusement. The fucker was toying with him. Worse, he was enjoying it.

Summoning every ounce of cockiness he possessed, Eddie stood up straight. Sure, this close Harrington had several inches on him, but it didn’t matter. Only one of them could throw the party of the year, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the unpopular weirdo in front of him.

“Shouldn’t you be the one thanking me? I let you sell your shit at my party.”

“Got a mouth on you, don’t you.” Steve smirked. “Tell me Munson, what’s stopping me from taking my goodies to, say, the basketball team’s next rager and skipping out on your little get together entirely? Don’t have to dirty my shoes at their parties. They choose to host at a house.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “Hey fuck you man, not all of us have—”

“Didn’t say I minded,” Steve plowed on, interrupting him. “Maybe I like the fresh air and the…view. Just like to enjoy them peacefully.” He stood there with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

Eddie could feel his face flushing but he held his ground. “Never stopped you from helping yourself to our beer.”

“Free shitty beer, just what I look forward to.” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I gotta say, wasn’t really expecting you to come here. Don’t you usually send someone else to get your fix?”

Eddie shrugged. “Needed a change. And we both know you overcharge Tommy.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” Steve barked out a laugh. “But he deserves the asshole tax. Just weed for you tonight? There’s all kinds of ways to unwind if your usual methods are leaving you…unsatisfied there Munson.”

Vividly, Eddie was reminded of the graffiti scribbled on the walls above the urinals near the gym: Score a touchdown, then score with SH. More often than not, Steve could be found spectating the games, quietly dealing underneath the bleachers. On occasion, one girl or another could be seen emerging from underneath and brushing dirt off her skirt. But there was that other rumor, one that no guy would ever admit to having personal experience with. That if you won, Harrington would give anyone weed for free if they got on their knees for him and—woah there. What was wrong with him tonight?

“Th-think the weed is jus’ fine, ain’t lookin’ for much else.” he stammered out. Shit, why did his accent have to slip now of all times? “I mean, weed is all I need. Those fucking pricks from Greencastle got under my skin.” Assholes thought they were so big, mocking his out of style sneakers. Those shoes hadn't stopped him from shaving half a second off the regional record, but he couldn't help but still feel the barbs from their insults lodged under his skin, festering.

Steve cocked his head as he stared at Eddie with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he broke into a disarming smile. Eddie couldn’t remember ever seeing Steve sincerely express happiness, at least not from this distance. He would have remembered how prett—how his eyes lit up.

“I’m in a band you know. Pierced Scepter. We play down at this shitty dive bar and yeah, usually it’s a crowd of four drunks and the bartender, but it doesn’t matter. Being on any stage is…fuck it’s awesome. But sometimes it’s a little too much to just pack it all up right after. So I come out here to scream my head off, get it all out. Better off terrorizing the birds than picking fights when my parents are around.” Steve unconsciously rubbed his palm as he laughed humorlessly. “Saves on the screaming matches at home and the. Well.”

“Didn’t realize rich folks got their own hands dirty like that.” Carol’s parents had left the task of punishment to her nanny, preferring to swoop in with carrots after the stick had been administered.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure my dad would say something about how ‘real men are responsible for disciplining their kids so they don’t get soft.’ Though what he considers ‘soft’ changes a lot based on his mood. And whether he’s wearing a belt or suspenders that day.”

“G-d, who knew our dads have something in common then?” Eddie snorted. “Never could keep my old man happy, was always doing something wrong. He took the belt to me so often in third grade I barely could sit down the whole year.” His first time in third grade anyway, the one before he was whisked away to the safe haven of Wayne’s trailer.

“And…I have absolutely no idea why I told you that.” He barely talked about his dad to Tommy and Carol for crying out loud. On visitor’s days he always made up some lie about why he and Wayne were driving close to the state penitentiary.

Steve let out a weird little braying bark of a laugh and shuffled his feet. “Right, you didn’t come here to cry over our daddy issues. Gimme a sec to get your stuff.” Steve reached behind to grab the lunchbox he carried his goods around in. As he did, his jacket slid open enough to show the exposed line of his clavicle above the low-cut collar of his tee. Eddie swallowed hard. Against his will, his eyes dipped lower, noticing a design over the top of his pec in black ink. Oh, a new tattoo.

Eddie squinted trying to make out what it was. “It’s been a while since you gave O’Donnell a reason to lecture us on the ‘decaying morality of the modern day.’ Is that a two headed monkey?”

Delight flickered over Steve’s face. “This? Yeah, it’s new. Supposed to be Demogorgon, the ‘Prince of Demons.’” At Eddie’s blank look he chuckled. “He’s a monster from Dungeons and Dragons, you know, the fantasy game we play in Hellfire Club. It was the final battle of a months long campaign and our characters were trying to escape Demogorgon’s lair. Most of the party was close to death, but at a chokepoint, my character took a last stand and gave the others enough time to escape. Everyone else got out, even if the bastard got me in the end. So, I got this as a tribute to my character's sacrifice.”

Eddie spoke without thinking. “Oh, that’s kind of similar to what Gandalf did: facing off against the Balrog to save the rest of the Fellowship.”

Forget fleeting glimpses of real smiles. The look of surprise Steve gave him was almost comically out of place on his face. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings?”

“While ago, yeah. The Hobbit too.” Back when he first moved in with Wayne, the man had found an absolutely beautiful illustrated set at a rummage sale. Eddie smiled to himself, remembering how excited he’d been to get his first real present ever. “Spent a whole summer running around during the day, then staying up way too late reading all night. My uncle had to confiscate my flashlight eventually.”

A snort from Steve jolted Eddie out of his memories as he realized who he was talking to. “Don’t tell anyone that Harrington, or else,” he ordered as he flushed for the second time that evening, “The rest of your dorky club of nerds better not start bothering me in the hallway just because I’ve read Tolkien. Not going to step in to save them if they forget their place.”

Steve’s expression shuttered as he stood upright. “Right, wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation with the rest of your jock buddies.” Eddie was taken aback by the bitterness in Steve’s voice. “They might explode if you admit to having interests beyond banging chicks, sports magazines, and beer. Your secret’s safe with me. After all, who’s going to believe the Freakshow? Here.” He shoved a baggie in Eddie’s face. “That should be enough for about a week. Now get lost before I double the price.”

Eddie opened his mouth to apologize. But the artificial sneer on Steve’s face made him lose his nerve. He just held out his money as he snatched away the weed. “Thanks, uh, have a good night Harrington. Help yourself to something from the kegs.” He almost made it to the edge of the trees before Steve’s voice called out to him: “Hey, Munson!” 

He froze and turned. Steve had clambered back onto Skull Rock, moonlight and shadows making him look otherworldly and malevolent, towering over the clearing. “Keep that attitude of yours in check next time, or else I might take my services somewhere else. But, if you need more help…unwinding, well. You know where to find me.” That knowing smirk was firmly fixed back in place on his face. 

Eddie couldn’t help it. He finally gave into his impulses and ran.

He didn’t think about those plush lips drawn back into a genuine smile as he quickly navigated back to the party. He didn’t think about those amused eyes seeing right through him as he knocked back a few cups of beer and danced a little with anyone and no one. And he certainly wasn’t thinking about that tattoo surrounded by chest hair as he staggered home to an empty trailer and collapsed into his bed.

“You look so good there, kneeling for me Eddie.” Steve looms over him, those ringed hands on his hips. Eddie realizes he’s naked in the clearing and flushes with embarrassment. When did he take off his clothes?

Any thoughts on how he ended up here are derailed when the wind caresses his body. Oh. Tendrils of air race over his exposed chest and glide over his heavy balls and dripping cock. 

“And look how much you’re enjoying it too.” He’s never been this turned on in his life, and it’s all because of Steve. All for Steve. He’s powerless to prevent a moan from falling out of his mouth. 

“You act so big at school, like you’re the top of the food chain yeah? A real king of the jungle. But you and me, we know better. You’re not a scary tiger at all are you. No, you’re just a cute little kitten.”

Eddie can’t help but whine as he spreads himself wider in invitation.

“Yeah, thought you’d like that.” Steve crooks a finger and gestures for Eddie to follow him. “Come on kitten.” Eddie begins to get up, his legs tingling with pins and needles.

“Mhm, no. I like you better down there. In fact, I think you should crawl.”

He shudders but obeys the sound of that voice, would do anything for it. He stays on all fours as the path unwinds before them, until they come to a door. Eddie moves as fast as he can to follow Steve through, tumbling into the void within. He flails, plummeting until a familiar wax-polished wood rushes up to meet his palms. Eddie doesn’t dare get up from his hands and knees as he lifts his head but-

The gym is filled to the brim. 

Their classmates sit silently, blank looks on their faces as they stare. They’re waiting for something to happen. White hot shame courses through his veins as he desperately tries to cover up.

The voice cuts smoothly through the haze of his embarrassment: “Look at them kitten, they’re all waiting for a show. Let’s give one to them.”

Steve nudges him onto his back. He grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his body, exposing Eddie to the crowd. No! His face is on fire as he tries to fight it, but he can’t seem to break free, his strength sapped away. Steve tightens his hold on his wrists.

“Settle down Eddie, let them see you. You love this.”

He knows Steve is right. He can’t hide how hard his aching cock is, slapping against his belly as he squirms. But he can’t help it, they’ll all know. Faint whispers drift down from the stands as the crowd watches him struggle.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” he begs, but the words get caught in his choked up throat.

“I think you’ve forgotten your place. Maybe you need a reminder that you can’t hide, not from me.”

Steve hauls him up and easily slings him over a shoulder. Eddie lays there limply, frozen and whimpering. He’s unceremoniously dumped on top of a teacher’s desk right at the center line.  Hands come up to squeeze at his nipples, hard. Just the way he does when he’s alone. His cock twitches and drools even more from the groping. 

Eddie blinks, and suddenly the bleachers are that much closer.

“Be happy kitten, all the attention is on you! Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Oh G-d. Every eye is fixed on him, the buzzing of interest growing louder.

“No, I don’t want this, I don’t want you!” He shouts as loud as he can but the words come out muted and garbled.

Steve barks out a cruel laugh. “God, you’re pathetic. But then you’ve always been so good at lying to yourself haven’t you? You were the one who kissed Tommy, not the other way around. But when he went in for more, you pushed him off and ran away.”

Through the blur of tears, he can just make out Tommy’s face in the crowd, wearing the same accusatory and hurt look he had two years ago.

Steve leans down to nibble at his ear. “And,” he whispers, his voice silky smooth. “Let’s not forget how in the back of your head you imagine me shoving you against a locker and making you take it. Or sometimes, I threaten you with my knife a little out in the woods, yeah?”

Without warning, Eddie is manhandled over Steve’s lap. “Good news, guess today’s your lucky day kitten. I’m going to make you take it until you admit to everyone what you really want.”

SMACK!

The first slap to his ass sounds loudly, echoing around the gym. Eddie nearly swallows his tongue trying to keep quiet. The spectators in the stands let out a gasp for him.

But Steve doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until Eddie feels like his ass is on fire.

He finds himself pleading for Steve to have mercy, slipping back into the accent he tries so hard to keep a lid on normally.

“Ha, there he is, finally. You can dress yourself up in a varsity jacket all you want, but we all know what you really are. Just a piece of trailer trash. You can’t run from this you dumb hick. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t. “Fine, then take your punishment.”

Smack after smack rains down on his ass. The pain builds and builds, and the crowd gets louder and louder. But underneath the humiliation, he remains hard and grows even more desperate. Every slap sends him thrusting, his cock trapped between Steve’s muscular thighs. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ha! And you jocks call me the freak. You’re the one humping my leg and yowling like you’re in heat. Pain turn you on kitten?”

That’s all it takes to push him over the edge. 

He cums to the sound of cheers.

Eddie woke with a jolt and a gasp, his whole body pulsing in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced. 

Trembling, he curled up into a ball and let the tears fall. This was nothing, just a passing thought his brain had gotten attached to. All he had to do was survive the year, and then he could be finally free of Hawkins, and the living ghosts that haunted him.

If only that had been the last time he dreamed of Steve Harrington.

Two weeks later, Eddie woke with a fuzzy head and even fuzzier memories of the night before, vaguely remembering a ringed hand stroking his hair. On his nightstand was a glass of water, some Tylenol, and a note from SH telling him to take it easy. 

After that his dreams changed. Sometimes he wasn’t humiliated at all, and those tattooed arms kept him safe and cared for. It felt worse almost, to have his subconscious offer up such happiness, only to snatch it away when he woke to an empty bed. He didn’t dare spend the night in the arms of a girl at her house, worried he’d reveal himself for the freak he was.

A full month of torment and countless hours of lost slumber later, Eddie finally had had enough. He grabbed his keys and tore off in the direction of Steve's house, praying that Carol wouldn't see his van in her neighbor's driveway at this time of night.

As he rang the doorbell, he didn’t know what to expect. But it certainly wasn’t the sight of a sleep rumpled Steve answering the door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Somehow, seeing his bare hands felt more intimate than the lack of shirt did.

“Munson? Gave me a heart attack, thought my parents were back a day early. What are you—”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupted, wide-eyed and feeling slightly crazed. “Can we talk?”

Ao3 link

It's finally here! This began life as a brain worm that Annie and I have turned into a whole fully expanded universe. We can't wait to write more with these two :D

Tagging a few folks who showed interest in the original Wiggly Wednesday post (but please feel free to ignore): @eyesofshinigami @augustjustice @griefabyss69 @hairstevington

@dreamy-jeans137 @eriquin @hbyrde36 @hotluncheddie

Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the runner divider!

[judesmoonbeauty]

Ghost House Report: A Requiem For You -Harrison Gray Epilogue

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. If you'd like to be added to my translations tag list, please comment below. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

Harrison: Prove it to me. Don’t leave me Kate.

Harrison: Right here, right now. Until I’m satisfied.

Harrison: ….Be prepared for tonight.

Kate: Mm…

True to his words, the taste of Harry’s scent immediately hits inside my mouth.

His tongue entangles with mine, sucking it, licking every inch inside of my mouth.

Wherever Harry touched, his fingertips, the inside of my mouth, they were all hot.

(…..My body’s sensations have returned.)

In response a hot tingle sparked from deep within me.

(I’m here. I want to…feel Harry more.)

Removing his tongue, he tightens our intertwined fingers.

Wanting to give Harry my aching heat, I wrapped my legs around him -

Harrison: …You trying to stir me up?

Harry released one of his hands and slid it up my leg.

Harrison: But now….I don’t think I can be kind to you.

Lifting up my legs, his fingertips mercilessly penetrate me, and tease my honey-soaked spot.

Kate: Ahhh…..

Harrison: …Yeah, that’s your reaction.

I want Harry to use his hand to unleash even more passion.

As I cling to Harry, both our body heat and breathing rise.

Kate: Ah…..Harry……

As I try to undo Harry’s pants with shaky fingers, his hand is placed on top of mine.

Harrison: What do you think you’re doing?*

My face flared with shame at his pointed remark.

Kate: ….That was mean….

I looked up an glared at him -

Harrison: Heh, that’s the face I wanted to see.

Kate: Mmm

With our lips completely consumed, and his hand still on top of mine, I slowly removed his pants.

I shivered as I felt Harry’s supple body sway.

As our breathes mix, my mind becomes hazy, but one sense remains sharp -

(Ah….Harry’s…..)

I felt Harry’s heat press against and penetrate me deeply.

Kate: —Nggh!

Harrison: …..You’re so warm inside.

Harrison: Feels good.**

His movements become increasingly stronger, melting me completely.

Kate: …..Nn, H-arry…….Aah, Haa.....

Harrison: …..Ngh, say my name more

Harrison: ….It’s not bad….hearing you call my name

Harrison: …Hey, Kate?

My moans became louder as I obeyed his sweet coercion.

Kate: Harry….HAAA….H-arry……

My core was so stirred by the excitement that I responded to Harry unconsciously.

Harrison: Haha…. you’re too honest with your feelings.

Harrison: That honesty….always saves me.

I keep calling Harry’s name provocatively, wondering how I look in his mint-colored eyes.

There was no time to think about my appearance with our bodies stacked on each other, we conveyed our thoughts with our gazes -

We were filled with passion together until we reached exhaustion.

Kate: …..Mmh.

Feeling something warm touch my forehead, I lift my heavy eyelids.

Harrison: Good, it’s you.

As the morning sun shines brightly on him, looks at me with relief.

Kate: ….Good morning.

The happiness of waking up to the smile of my beloved one warms my heart.

Harrison: Even so, you were being possessed by a ghost.

Harrison: You’re always getting into trouble.

Kate: I……I’m sorry.

(It’s true….Harry was there this time, so I was safe.)

There is no room for objecting, so I kept quiet.

Harrison: ……I don’t want to want to take care of a troublesome person like you.

Kate: Huh.

-My mind went blank.

His mint-colored eyes were as cool as ever.

(….I knew it.)

Kate: That’s a lie, isn’t it.

Kate: Harry….despite all of your complaints, you helped me in the end.

Kate: I know best that you’re a kind person

Kate: …I’ll try my best not to be too dependent on that kindness.

His eyes staring at me soften.

Harrison: ….Yeah, it was a lie.

Harrison: You always get into trouble, so I’m used to it.

Harrison: Helping you is something that I want to do.

Harrison: Just….promise me one thing

Harrison: ….Don’t leave me so easily.

His genuine voice engraves itself on my heart.

Holding my head tightly, he kisses my forehead again.

Kate: …Of course, that’s what I intend to do. I’m stubborn.

Kate: Even if you don’t like it Harry, we’re sticking together.

I hug Harry tightly, and bury myself in him, inhaling his minty scent.

Harrison: Yeah. Try your best not to be disliked by me.

Kate: …..You don’t have to tell me that.

Kate: Anyway, I know that your meanness is how you express your love, Harry.

Harrison: Huh, so does it make you happy when people are mean to you?

Kate: I didn’t say that.

Harrison: But you simply didn’t say it.

He grabbed my chin and locked his gaze with mine.

Kate: …..So crafty.

(Oh, even though you can see it clearly.)

Harrison: You’re the one who wants to stick to a crafty guy.

Kate: …..That’s right, Harry….I’m happy even if you’re mean to me.

Kate: Even when you act like that I feel as if you’re thinking about me, Harry.

(I said it.)

Rather than be embarrassed, I decided to express my feelings to Harry -

Harry’s face suddenly looks down.

Harrison: ….Yeah, it’s definitely you.

Harrison: That’s why I’m always thinking about you, Kate.

Harrison: Stick to me and let me be mean to you forever.

Kate: Ugh, of course you’ll keep being mean to me.

Harrison: Fuwaha…..in any case, there’s not point in leaving.

Kate: Mm……

Our lips come together as if sealing a promise -

My heart and body are filled with joy of being by Harry’s side.

*This line translates to, “What are you doing,” but the following line’s translation explains that Harrison is trying to make Kate to feel shame by his remark, so I chose to change this to “What do you think you’re doing?” to try and bring that out more.

**Technically, he just says good here, but his face screams “Feels good”, so I changed it to that.

[Master List]

Tag List: @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @sh0jun @letter-from-afar

Dividers: @/brokenbard

*Ahem* this was the first time I've ever translated Harrison smut....it was definitely interesting...ummm maybe...awkward(?) Other than translating is lines in other stories as a supporting role, this was my first Harry translation....I hope in time I can get a better grasp of his writer's style as I do more in the future. Anyway, it was a fun translation.

[double-vandammage]

Title: Unexpected

Word count: 2,404

Rating: 18+

Ship: Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels

Tags/Warnings: Shawn POV, Drinking, Fighting (mentioned), Blood and Injury, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Quickie, Hand Jobs, Making out

Also posted to my a03: aa_beatrix

This is what happened when they buried the hatchet right? Right? 🙀

Timeline is 2010.

My sister @taydaq and I decided to do an Art Trade and her only request was Shawn and Bret on a counter top. I decided to write older Hartbreak and this was the result! I hope both her and you guys like it. I certainly had fun typing this out. 😜 It's mostly Bret telling Shawn to STFU.

I used the prompt: "do right people with wrong timing get a second chance?" from nightprompts. I really liked it and was going to use it for another fic I have in the works, but it ended up here. 😏

Tysm for reading as always! 💕

Fuck, he was too old for this shit. Bar fights were a younger man’s game. He wasn’t twenty something anymore. Shawn had taken his fair share of beatings inside and outside of the ring, but he couldn’t afford to take risks these days. Two guys had gotten into a heated argument and in a millisecond the first fist was thrown. In Shawn’s infinite wisdom, he thought he could break it up. Now he was left rummaging around his kitchen trying to locate bandages, an ice pack, and quite possibly another beer. He opened one of the drawers and felt around, pushing various junk aside. “Oh for Christ sake.” he muttered. Unexpectedly his cell rang. “Yeah?” he answered without a glance at the screen to see who was calling.

“Did you forget?” the voice on the other end asked. Shawn stopped shuffling through the drawer, squinting at the nearby calendar. “What?” He hadn’t a clue what he was supposed to do tonight. It was likely the blow to his head earlier. “Dammit Shawn, I waited for your skinny ass.” he barked through the phone. “Oh shit. Was that today?” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re the one who asked to meet Shawn. Are you home? I’m outside.” Shawn looked toward his front door, “You are? Um, okay yeah. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, abandoning his search for the bandaids. He walked to the door, smoothing his disheveled clothes and hair. He had no idea the current state of his appearance, but it would have to do.

He opened the door where Bret stood at the bottom of the steps, clearly irritated. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, pocketing his own phone. “Heh, you should see the other guy.” he laughed, trying to play it cool. He hadn’t seen or talked to Bret much in the last few years. He wanted more than anything to be on good terms again and this was his chance to maybe repair the damage. Bret still had that same swagger and ruggedly handsome face. His hair had begun to show silver, but he managed to keep it long. “Oh don’t give me that. What really happened Shawn?” he demanded. “Alright, alright why don’t you start by coming in.” Shawn stood to the side of the doorway, motioning for Bret to enter.

Shawn led Bret to the kitchen, “I was trying to find something to patch myself up with and a nice cold beverage. Do you want one?” he asked, opening the fridge. “Sure.” Bret said, taking the offered beer. Shawn popped the caps off their drinks before hopping up to sit on his counter. He took a long swig of his beer, “How have you been Hitman?”. Bret stared at him puzzled. “Aren’t you a little old to be doing that?” he pointed. Shawn scanned his surroundings, “Doing what?” knowing exactly what Bret was referring to and began kicking his legs back and forth. “Jesus.” Bret muttered before taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t you want to take care of your face first?” he asked. “I can’t find the damn first aid kit.” he groaned. Bret wandered out of the kitchen, “Where’s the bathroom you idiot?” Bret said, setting down his beer and already starting down the hallway. “First door on your left.” Shawn shouted.

After a few minutes, Bret came back toting his first aid kit. “Most people keep these in their bathroom.” he stated. Shawn rolled his eyes. Bret placed the kit beside Shawn, opening it up. He surveyed Shawn’s face, taking in every cut and scrape. “Whoever did this sure banged you up.” he observed. “So what really happened?” Bret began taking out various supplies. Shawn watched as Bret meticulously sorted out different ointments and materials. “Well, not much to tell. Two dumb guys got into it and I tried to break it up.” Shawn shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I kinda forgot my age.” he smirked. Bret didn’t meet his gaze, but chuckled as he ripped open a packet of gauze and q-tips.

He poured some disinfectant on a gauze piece and moved into the space between Shawn’s legs. Shawn shifted nervously at the sudden proximity. Bret started at Shawn’s eyebrow, wiping gently at the open wound. Shawn sucked in his breath at the slight sting. “Sorry.” Bret said before moving down to his cheek. Shawn tried his best not to make eye contact as he helped to clean him up. How long had it been since he experienced a friendly touch from The Hitman? Bret then dabbed cautiously at Shawn’s split lip. When did it get so hot in here? Something in his stomach fluttered. It was a feeling he hadn’t remembered until now.

Bret threw the gauze into the trash bin and picked up a q-tip. He coated the q-tip with some of the ointment he had procured and delicately spread it across the cut on his eyebrow. He then carefully positioned a small bandaid over the cut before moving on to do the same to his battered cheek. “Ouch.” Shawn winced. He was definitely going to be sore tomorrow. “It’s already beginning to bruise, you got a plastic bag?” Bret asked as he opened the freezer door, pulling out an ice tray. “Yeah, bottom drawer.” Shawn replied, gesturing with his chin in the direction of the drawer. Bret filled the plastic baggie with ice and tied the end off to secure it. Shawn extended a hand to take it, but Bret was already back in his space to lightly press the cool plastic to the skin of his cheek.

Shawn tensed, his eyes meeting Bret’s. He wanted to say something witty or maybe just an asinine joke, but he was drawing a blank. Bret always had such an intense stare, but tonight he could see something soften in his eyes. “Feel okay?” Bret asked. Did he feel okay? Hell no. His face throbbed like a son of a bitch and for some reason Bret Hart was situated between his thighs icing his boo-boos. What the fuck was Bret doing here again? Shawn took in a deep breath, “Um, yeah, yeah I feel fine.” he answered, taking hold of the ice pack. Bret placed his fingers beneath Shawn’s chin, tilting his face upward to take one last observation. “Yep, you’re gonna be fine Michaels.” he decided confidently. “Thanks Doctor Hart.” Shawn teased. “Shut the fuck up.” Bret countered, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.

For a minute they giggled like two kids, forgetting they barely tolerated each other. Bret composed himself first, his eyes falling to Shawn’s mouth. His hand was still under Shawn’s chin, his thumb tenderly caressing the split on his lower lip. Shawn felt his chest tighten and heartbeat quicken. The fluttering in his stomach returned with full force. There were times during their careers where Shawn felt similar knots in his heart toward Bret. These moments were triggered by a passing glance, a handshake, a hug after winning a tag match, and even during their most heated segments.

Shawn dropped the ice pack to the floor as he threw his arms around Bret, dragging him roughly into a kiss. The plastic bag unfurled, ice cubes scattering around the kitchen floor. Shawn’s lip stung as their mouths clashed together. Bret’s hands braced against the edge of the countertop in response to Shawn’s sudden advance. Shawn was entirely prepared for Bret to pull away and dismiss him altogether, instead Bret’s hands found their way to his waist and kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm. Shawn gasped as the slit on his bottom lip reopened, tasting beer mixed with the metallic flavor of his blood. “Sorry.” Bret mumbled against Shawn’s mouth.

Bret moved his hands down to grip Shawn’s thighs, tugging his body closer to ease him off the counter. Shawn held onto his shoulders as he slid off the countertop, pressing in closer to Bret. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” Shawn confessed as he tried to catch his breath between kisses. Bret pressed his forehead to Shawn’s, “Shit, me too. What the fuck?” he asked before meeting his lips again. Neither of them wanted to waste time and began to lower themselves to the kitchen floor. It wasn’t graceful by any means, Bret had a bad knee and Shawn’s back was basically shot. Bret fumbled backwards in order to catch Shawn before they both crashed onto the hard floor. Shawn struggled on top of Bret, straddling him to regain his composure. He leaned forward to bury his face in Bret’s chest, attempting to muffle the cackle threatening to escape.

Bret covered his own mouth as he tried his best not to completely lose it. “So the thing about our age…” he said. “Old fucks.” Shawn laughed into the fabric of Bret’s shirt. He rose up, to look at his long time rival. “I think I forgot why I called you here.” Bret’s hands returned to Shawn’s thighs, his thumbs lightly rubbing at his jeans. “You forgot, period.” he said, reminding him. Shawn really didn’t want to talk now that he had The Excellence of Execution under him, kissing him was much more ideal. He took a risk, kissing Bret’s forehead before running his lips down to the side of his neck. He felt Bret softly grip at his ponytail. Bret’s eyes closed, relaxing as Shawn sucked at the exposed skin of his throat.

How much time had they wasted being angry with each other when they could have been making out on a kitchen floor instead? Shawn moved back to Bret’s lips which parted slightly allowing his tongue to slip inside. He let his mind wander to when they were both at the height of their careers, Bret wearing his pink singlet and black tights. Tanned skin glistening with sweat after a match, the water in his hair drying and beginning to fluff wildly around his head. God damn he was sexy and at almost sixty years, he still was. He could feel his erection already straining his jeans, his hips grinding into Bret. Bret’s hands had roamed to cup at his ass, following the rhythm of Shawn rocking on top of him. Shawn grabbed at his hands, forcing them off him and pinning them above Bret’s head.

Bret didn’t seem to mind his taking control. In fact he appeared to welcome it, Bret’s own hard on trying to gain some friction against him. Shawn reached between them, undoing Bret’s belt and pants with practiced fingers. He wriggled his hand deftly inside, grasping Bret’s slick cock. Bret moaned into Shawn’s mouth at the touch. He kept one hand steady on Bret’s wrists, securing them above his head. “That’s it Hitman, that’s it.” Shawn coaxed, breaking apart from Bret’s lips. He stroked Bret briskly, low whines emitting from him. Shawn kissed Bret’s cheek before nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Bret tilted his head back, his hips rutting madly into Shawn’s palm. He lasted only a few seconds before he released a mangled cry as he came.

“Still so sensitive at this age, huh?” Shawn mewed, kissing Bret's ear and letting go of his wrists. Bret covered his flushed face with one hand, “Oh shut the fuck up Michaels.” he said, breaking into a smile. Shawn brought their mouths together again and Bret wrapped his arms around Shawn’s neck, deepening the kiss. Eventually they lost track of just how long they had spent rolling around on the floor playing tonsil tennis. Reluctantly they had managed to tear themselves away from each other and sat with their backs to the kitchen cupboards. Bret reached up to the counter and grabbed his now lukewarm beer, taking a long gulp. “I was not expecting that. Hell, I almost didn’t come.” he said. Shawn raised his eyebrows, “I beg to differ.” he snorted. “Once again, shut the fuck up Michaels.” Bret grinned.

They sat side by side, quietly finishing the rest of their beers. Shawn didn’t know where to begin. He wanted so badly to apologize for everything and anything, even stuff he wasn’t guilty of. “I’ve missed you.” he blurted instead. Bret set his now empty beer bottle down, glancing at Shawn. “Honestly…me too,” he admitted. Shawn felt his cheeks redden. He envisioned their reunion countless times, but he truly hadn’t anticipated Bret had missed him, not even a little bit. Shawn had always been reaching for Bret’s validation, but it always slipped through his fingers. “I never meant to push you away, but a part of me- a big part of me doesn’t regret a single thing. I also know in the last 12 years, a lot has changed. We’ve changed.” he said. Bret sighed heavily, nodding his head in agreement.

“We don’t need a lengthy drawn out conversation Bret. I know you want to bury the hatchet as much as I do.” Shawn said. He extended a hand out to Bret, waiting for a handshake. “Are you ready?” he asked. Bret appeared hesitant, but only for a second before joining their hands together. “Okay Shawn…okay.” Bret said. “Consider this matter closed, no takesies backsies.” Shawn said gleefully, dropping Bret’s hand. “You can’t be serious for a fucking minute can you?” Bret sneered, leaning over to shove his shoulder into Shawn’s. They remained seated on the kitchen floor cracking up all over again. “Stay in touch will ya?” Shawn said, tapping Bret’s shoe with his own. “I will.” Bret said.

They were both silent as Shawn walked Bret to the front door. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but knew he had to go. This was possibly the beginning of something new. It was also entirely likely they wouldn’t see each other again after tonight, maybe a call here and there. It happened all the time. Shawn opened the door, the cool air wafting inside. “Thanks again…for this…” he said, motioning to his face. “Yeah, no problem.” Bret said, bringing his hand up to faintly run his thumb along the cut on Shawn’s bottom lip again. “Take care of yourself.” Bret turned to go, hastily stepping out into the night. Shawn watched as Bret took off, that pesky pull in his chest emerging once more.

He closed the door gently and wondered if the right people with the wrong timing got a second chance.

[1driedpersimmon]

More Sesame doodles!! Also. Can you guys tell when .. *that* happened.. yeah

[orangez3st]

Coruscant's Bests: Under Pressure

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.14.25: Future | Event Masterlist

↤ Prev [Wolffe × Nico] | ↤ Prev [Fox × Lesiil] | Part 5 of 5

Tags & Warnings: established relationship, star wars swear words (no irl foul language), criminal investigation, graphic description of victim’s body (just bits heh, pun intended), mentions of suicide, mostly conversations, fluff, comfort Character(s): Fox, Lesiil (OC), Wolffe, Nico (OC), BD-6 (Lesiil’s droid), side OC’s (Eisen, Veeli, Titus) Pairing(s): Wolffe × Nico, Fox × Lesiil Word Count: 10.9k A/N: Surprise crossover! For [Wolffe × Nico]’s part, this can be perfectly read as a standalone. But if you're here by [Fox × Lesiil]’s part, this is gonna be a really big spoiler for [Wolffe × Nico]’s story. Go check them out starting here if you're interested! Ah and, the ‘Future’ theme is for [Fox/Lesiil] bcs this is quite a(n unspecified) time skip since the Corrie Butcher case. Mostly this'll be Fox's POV. Also I'm serving a little LesFox fluff 🥹 Additional warning (also a note as to why I don't mark this as NSFW): There's only a pinch of implied sexual acts (worded as “it”) due to the NSFW happening in Wolffe's previous installment. Other than that, the rest of this fic is completely SFW (but do mind the tags above before reading below).

“Ocean spirits give me strength,” Eisen sighs. He pauses for a moment, planting both hands on his hips. “As much as I don't like him, this is straight up grotesque. Poor guy.”

His attention remains fixated on the bloodied pavement where there's a pile of… unrecognizable chunks of someone.

He wouldn't narrate further to himself. Instead, he squeezes his eyes close, his tendrils flicking in discomfort, and turns his body slightly around to face one wall of the tent.

CSF was called in merely seconds after the incident, a flurry of panicked comm calls flooding their emergency line. And one report from police droids on patrol later, the purple Nautolan detective is assigned as lead investigator. Apparently, it turns out to be another high-profile case. Of someone high-profile too, because the body belongs to Shon Vatore, an A-list actor and filmmaker nominated for Osk’arr Awards tonight.

He’d cheer if only the scene wasn't so gnarly.

“Keeping up with the gossip column, Detective?” one of the crime scene analysts strikes up a conversation.

Eisen had ended up walking towards the tent entrance anyway, not wanting to stay a second longer and trample around the area where the body is. “Oh you know me. Always up to date with this kind of thing!” he lightly responds, half-exclaiming. “I’ll be outside if you need me. I can't look at this, sorry. Too much for me.”

He’d been keeping up with the Osk'arr Awards that streamed live while working on some flimsiwork at his desk back at the station. Once he got home, he was just about to sprawl on his worn couch for late night bites with holos and chill when the Inspector rang him. Now his appetite is completely nonexistent.

Coruscant tonight reeks with tragedy and loss. It had been a night of glamour and celebration with all those celebrities attending the awards, but now the entire street where the official after-party was held is closed off and empty. Perimeters are set to prevent the media breathing down their necks. Police officers and on-site investigators, droids and natborns alike, scatter on and about their own businesses.

Before he can march away to help asking the witnesses, his personal commlink beeps of an incoming call. Once reading the name of the caller, he brightens up with a massive toothy grin splitting his face.

“Hey there, partner! What's up?”

“Evening, Eisen. Sorry to disrupt your work,” Lesiil's pleasant voice comes through, and he swears he can hear claps and cheers from the audience somewhere beyond the fourth wall. “Would you mind if I cut to the chase?”

Her urgent tone catches him off guard. “Uh yeah, sure sure.” He moves to a spot on the street that no one walks by. “What's this about?”

“With the ceaseless expression of tearful shock coming from my classmate combined with the Inspector giving me a call, I assume your team needs my help?”

He stares blankly at the pavement before pacing around. “Back up Les, I think I lost you. Inspector called you?”

“Oh, so you weren't told yet, then,” Lesiil is heard mumbling, sounding as confused as he is, before continuing carefully, “Yes, he did. The high-profile case that's taking over the holonews right now?”

“You mean the pile of mangled flesh and bone in white and gold Arrrma’ni? Oh yeah.” As an avid entertainment follower, he of course kept up with the red carpet stills– “Wait, what the heck are you– your help, Les? But you already resigned!”

“Inspector told me that Chief told him to close this case as fast as it was cracked open. I am to provide counsel in this case, so I'm acting consulting detective,” she elaborates calmly, “This case is highly risky to be let simmer too long as it could affect the Motion Picture Academy's public image in the coming future. If we could close this tomorrow, we should.” A pause, her tone growing lighter as she adds, “Chief's words, all that. Not mine.”

“Yeah I'd say this is tragic,” Eisen agrees, taking the information thoroughly to be put into later flimsiwork, “But there's a part of the galaxy that's probably celebrating right now.”

“How do you mean?”

“Right, I forgot you're not into films. You might wanna catch up to it since you're in this case anyway.” He refrains from rolling his eyes due to respect, and that Lesiil had worked with him for a long time. “Might as well brief you about the victim. Shon Vatore, Nic Erlonna’s toxic ex boyfriend. Both A-list actors. Broke up a year ago, made headlines ‘cause they were this dreamy power couple, okay? I shipped them too. But when the truth came out, I couldn't even look at this guy's face anymore. Pantoran charms, but all rotten inside. He was just the worst of the worst.”

“I see,” Lesiil solemnly says, humming. “And this Nic Erlonna? I have heard about her. Fox told me she's in relationship with Commander Wolffe.”

Eisen isn't surprised. “Yeah. You know Wolffe?”

“Of course. He was Railuu’s battalion commander. Good man, that Wolffe.”

“Right? They're so in love. Nicolffe, I mean.”

“It seems so!” She clears her throat. “Well, as much as I'd love to stay on the comm, I have an academic urgency coming up tomorrow so I'm unable to be out there with you. How about you take Beedee in my stead?”

For absolutely not comical purposes Eisen takes a look around cautiously before asking into the commlink, “Isn't that going against Chief's orders?”

“I will handle the consequences. I’m sure there's an alibi I can use since my study in law school is ongoing. This is called going around the rules, Eisen,” Lesiil says, as if she'd already planned this through before comming him, “And BD-6 is as good as me with his scans. Don't forget he's modified specifically as a competent crime scene analyst.” A little pause. “Isn’t that right, Beedee?”

A familiar trill goes through the comm.

Eisen melts a little inside. “I miss Beedee,” he nearly pouts. “Yeah okay, I'll take him down here. But I can't pick him up, I have to stay here.”

“Have one of the officers come by to my apartment, then?”

No. Not since one of the cases they handled together before Lesiil got assigned to the Coruscant Guard where BD-6 was badly damaged by a suspect because these officers couldn't give a shit to watch out for the droid's wellbeing. Eisen’s trust dwindles to their own police officers since then just a little because, well, they're the men of the unit. He needs to work with them. Just not trusting them with Lesiil's droid, is all.

“Ooohh I have a better idea.” He bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling. “And you'll definitely agree with me on this one, Les.”

[STATEMENT] It's been a while since I'm out at night.

Fox glances back and forth, between the binary translation transcript that hovers in one corner of his HUD (a generous modification by Thire) and BD-6, who's clinging to his backplate and the gap between his shoulder bell, the droid’s rectangular head looming over his shoulder. “A while?” he asks.

[STATEMENT] Lesiil goes home from her classes on the dot. Never have an evening out either.

Beneath his helmet, Fox sighs. “Why am I not surprised.”

He parks his speeder a block away due to the set perimeter for the entire street, and now he's forced to reach destination by foot.

Thinking about Lesiil and warm nights shared together – once or twice or perhaps thrice a week if he's not cramped up with senatorial demands and planet-wide security – makes his chest blooming with warmth. They've been together for months now, and everything is looking steady, personal boundaries kept as it is, their relationship tinged with mutual care and love for each other. He's never touched this phase of a relationship before, and overall it always feels special.

And such fact there is, it makes him sometimes turn to relationship advices. To Wolffe. To Bly. Heck, even the holoarticles in the net that's written by evident hopeless romantics who works three part time jobs to survive. It all seems sensible, but it always leaves him uncertain of what he'll do again, and the cycle always goes like that. Lesiil never complains or demands too much, as they, undeniably and excessively, buried under either work or projects.

Fox deliberately snails his pace along the dimmed pavement that's sparse of people yet, blue and purple lights of the planet that never sleeps reflecting on his armor and Beedee’s casings. “You think I should… take her out somewhere?”

Look at him. Now asking a droid for relationship stuff, out of all people.

[STATEMENT] You should, Mister Fox!

He chuckles lowly at the name, keeping his volume out of his helmet low. He'd insisted to omit the mister but the beskar’ad pretended not to listen. “Yeah? Any ideas?”

[QUERY] How about a nice restaurant topside?

Fox gloomily turns his head away from the pavement before him and the droid altogether, as if he could just unhear that statement by doing so. “I don't think I can afford that, Beedee.”

[STATEMENT] I don't think she cares.

He'd been here, but he indulges the beskar'ad anyway. “Yeah?”

[STATEMENT] She only cares how you would just be with her, Mister Fox.

“You're really sure about that.”

[STATEMENT] I am! I know her longer than you, Mister Fox.

Wolffe told him to always please the lady first with his own efforts. Or at least, if they insist and he can't do anything to stop the strong will of a woman.

Like Wolffe's own situation.

Lesiil fails to bring this up, but he pays it no mind. Perhaps the talk will have to come soon; to clear out any possible discomfort and awkwardness, and to provide more clarity and chances for initiation cues.

He's slowed his pace on purpose but once the edge of the perimeter slides into view, Fox picks it up, shifting to speed walks.

“I'll keep that in mind, Beedee. Thank you. Now we've got work to do.”

To make up for wasted time on his accord to talk to his girlfriend's droid wingman about taking her out, BD-6 lets out a small whoop, clinging tighter onto whatever ridge and gap his armor supplies as Fox breaks into a jog towards the central tent. 

Until one of the police droids strides in and halt their endeavors.

“Stop.” It raises both hands as if showing it won't cause harm, too. “You are not authorized to be here. Turn the other way and disperse immediately.”

Fox steps forward challengingly. “Former Detective Lesiil Thrace. We're here in her stead. This is her crime scene analyst droid BD-6, whose presence is explicitly requested by the case's lead investigator. Now you go check that again.”

It shifts its attention almost dumbly at Fox's pointing forefinger at it, before stilling on him. He gets a bad feeling about that.

“Non-sentient organic lifeform; detected. Classification: clone. You are not authorized to be here. Please disperse immediately.”

[STATEMENT] This is Marshal Commander CC-1010 of the Coruscant Guard. We have authorization!

Yeah you tell ‘em Beedee. Atta boy.

“Oi! I did let them in, droid!” A familiar voice shouts in a distance, and grows nearer followed by hasty stomps of boots. “I swear whoever handles your control center deserves a proper ear off.” 

[EXCLAMATION] Eisen!

A wide grin forms in the face of the purple Nautolan detective as he draws nearer, his towering and muscular stature almost puts Fox in a height disadvantage. With a sharp look to the police perimeter droid and a bat of the hand to shoo it off a couple meters to the side, it's almost comical. Proceeding to shut the narrower perimeter barricade ray shields that acts as the entryway, Eisen ushers them in and smiles again at BD-6. “Hey! Long time no see, little guy!”

They reconvene with a high-five.

[STATEMENT] Good to see you too!

“Commander Fox.” Eisen nods at him, who's been waiting patiently (BD-6 was loud with his trills and happy and Fox didn’t want to interrupt the joyful reunion), and clasps his forearm in greeting. “Thank you for taking Lesiil’s place, sir. Sorry to disrupt whatever your schedule is tonight.”

Fox reins in a shrug, his hands go behind his back. “In need of an outing anyway.” He wished tonight is a patrol night and not spreadsheets. “Just not expecting a murder crime scene.”

Making a way towards the center tent, Eisen beckons them to follow. He raises a finger. “So far the term's only limited to ‘crime scene’ only. No confirmation yet – we just got here and got these set up – whether this is self-inflicted or that somebody else is involved…” The Nautolan huffs a big sigh. “But yeah. Dead body, either way.”

“What's Lesiil got to do with this?” Fox asks. “She's not in CSF anymore.”

It's been burning in his mind. When he picked up BD-6 from her apartment, they didn't have much time for Lesiil to fill him in – just a promise that he'll drop BD-6 tomorrow morning before her classes when he makes rounds and a parting kiss.

“She’s ad hoc consulting detective to this case now. With that brilliant mind and top-of-the-world expertise, our Chief asked for her personally so this case is to be closed as soon as possible.”

I mean… she solved the Corrie Butcher case within one kriffing week.

“Outsource, freelance, third-party sort of thing,” Eisen continues to fill Fox in. “That means she has the power to help us in the investigation, limited to analyzing crime scenes and doing investigations of her own with the lead investigator's permit – that's me. And knowing me and Lesiil's partnership history, I'll just let her do what she does. Convenient.”

Behind his helmet, Fox lets out a noise of impression. Never know they've got something like this.

“The position also enables her to be present in court as a witness to testify and present her findings,” the detective supplies additionally, then switches to mumbling as if to himself, “If this ever gets there.”

Fox has made himself aware of the situation before getting here. BD-6 filled him in during the speeder ride. Osk'arr Awards after-party celebration turned to tragedy and loss when one of the nominees allegedly leapt off the rooftop and went splat on the pavement. Wolffe's girlfriend’s ex boyfriend. And emphasis on ‘allegedly’, because who knows it could've been murder?

Eisen flips over one flap of the massive tent for Fox and BD-6 to peer in. Said splat is… absolutely unrecognizable. There's a patch of blue and white, but the entirety is just… broken limbs, chunks of it, a massive blood splatter, and probably 50 or so bright yellow markers because of just how messy it is.

80 floors, he's heard. What the kriff.

BD-6 taps one leg against his shoulder bell repeatedly as if sensing his freeze response upon the stomach-churning sight.

“I can't take you closer in there, or else we have to put on hazmat suits,” Eisen says.

Fox takes in a deep breath and turns away, though his feet remain glued to the ground. “We can see just fine from here.” He switches off the HUD's zoom-in features and sighs deeply.

“BD-6!” one of the analysts beckons the beskar'ad with an enthusiastic wave of the hand, “Come over here! We need to sterilize you first before you get right into scanning!”

[STATEMENT] Coming!

“Can’t take it, sir?” remarks Eisen, a little too amusedly for Fox's liking. The Nautolan watches him bend down slightly so BD-6 can hop down safely and scurry off to the main scene. “I thought you guys have the stomach for it.”

Fox's helmeted glare intensifies the deadpan gesture itself. “Inspecting a grotesque crime scene isn't exactly in the Coruscant Guard's job description, Detective.”

“Right,” Eisen acknowledges with a small smile, sighing again as he takes the scene one last time. They move away from the tent, falling into a relaxed pace yet remaining cautious. “And to be honest, this is the goriest I've seen in my entire career.”

“Carry on, Detective,” prompts Fox, authority returning back to his cadence. “Anything I should know so I may fill in your consulting detective?”

Eisen sighs, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Not much yet. Witness statements are still pouring in. Once we collect everything I'll send all to Lesiil for her to skim through. Maker knows she loves doing that.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “So. From what we've gathered, Nic and Wolffe made an early exit. She looked pretty shaken. Witnesses saw them coming out of the lift, presumably from the rooftop, where allegedly Shon took the fall from. We're still trying to get security footage.”

The mention of Wolffe's name halts Fox in his steps.

No karking way.

Wolffe hasn't always been known as the nicest in the batch – that's Bly and Rex. Wolffe is blunt and direct with everyone he sees, but never violent. There ain't a single bone in his body that'd harm someone to the point of actually killing them.

But what he knows about Wolffe, protectiveness is his second nature. There's no other man who checks in and bonds with his squad like he is. Maybe he takes too much after his General with all the Jedi's paternal love, but it's the value that latches itself onto Wolffe's very personality. Wolffe could never kill another, especially with vengeful motives, if following the fact that the victim is his girlfriend’s ex. It's petty, and Wolffe would never do it without reason. The worst thing he's done and can do is learning droid mechanics with the sole wish of reprogramming a yapping droid that'd make his ears combust inside out if he ever finds one.

“Words spread, and they're divided into two,” Eisen continues, “One said he ended his own life, the other said Nic pushed him off.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Right?” the other man echoes his genuine disbelief, “I swear, there's only two types of people in the galaxy; Nic stans and Nic haters.”

“She wouldn't do this,” Fox insists, agreeing on Eisen's part. To put it bluntly, it seems obvious the detective does believe this incident is entirely self-inflicted (as obvious that the detective is also a big fan of the entertainment industry). “Based on what I've learned about her.”

Eisen hums. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Actually; a lot. Quite a lot. Wolffe is closest to him, both are each other's confidantes, and Nic Erlonna drops by once or twice to CG Headquarters.

“We need to question Nic, too. Hoping she wouldn't lawyer up. This must've been shocking.”

Fox rolls his shoulders back in newfound determination, turning to Eisen. “What do you want us to do?”

In the detective's hand is a datapad that seems to manifest out of nowhere. What the heck.

“We've found a set of fingerprints on the body… on the not bloody patch of skin, thankfully… and we're trying to match it with our database. Since we've determined our persons of interest are Nic Erlonna and Commander Wolffe as of now, we need to figure out if this is self-inflicted or premeditated murder.”

Eisen fixes a look at him that seems somehow hesitant, almost feeling bad, perhaps at the mention of person of interest followed by Wolffe's name. Perhaps the other man knows how close he is to Wolffe, due to Lesiil's unique connections with them all. Fox challengingly accepts the staring contest, the expression conveyed enough by the blank visor of his crimson helmet.

”And we were thinking… since you and Lesiil are close to him, we'd like you to approach them as soon as possible to gain information for the sake of this case,” the lead investigator settles, “We’ve reached Nic's PA and we'll make sure you'll be hearing something in the morning. Starting now, you have 24 hours.”

“How's mock trial goin’?”

Entering the lobby of the most lavish apartment building in the heart of Coruscant, not only Lesiil was still adorned in formal attire that one would wear in the courtroom, but with the sweetheart smile Fox always adores with every single beat of his heart, too. Yet as soon as he made that comment with the smuggest grin, her shoulders visibly slump.

“Please don't tease me like that, cyare,” she huffs, plopping down next to him on the plush lobby couch. “I have studied all night for the session to be postponed until Zhellday. And I missed Shon Vatore's crime scene last night for absolutely nothing. Can you believe that?”

Yeah, but his heart is melting to the way the Mando'a word for beloved rolls off her tongue flawlessly. He's still lost in how the early morning sun that pierces through the window casts a certain godlike glow onto her being. He doesn't even know what the word godlike is supposed to depict, but he's certain his beloved (even being grumpy) is an accurate depiction.

Lesiil pokes his armored thigh.

“I can,” Fox answers finally, his arm that's been splaying over the back of the couch sliding downwards to drape over her shoulders. “But you got enough sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“And you sure this is okay with your school?”

Uncomfortable with the motion, Lesiil shrugs off his arm and scoots a further back. “It will not hinder me.” She hooks her forefinger with his instead. “Chief sent me a permit letter and I've sent it to administration. We should be doing fine, I have it handled. The concern is unnecessary.”

Fox snorts. “Just asking, Les’ika.” Stars, sometimes he just wants to kiss her into the nearby wall so she'd just kriffing shut up. The last two sentences were unnecessary. “I can't even start small talks with you when all you're doing is slamming my commander’s concerned ass back down?”

Lesiil smiles apologetically. “Forgive me then, Marshal,” she says genuinely without the slightest bite of sarcasm. Then she slightly turns and reaches down, holding up an overnight pac– wait, that's his. “I brought you this.”

As soon as he grabs and unzips the reserve regulation pack he stows at hers, he peers inside and finds his crimson red dress shirt and grey trousers. “Civvies? These are yours?”

“Yours, you silly,” Lesiil laughs quietly, knowing full well he's cracking a joke. “I imagine we'll be doing a lot of talking and sitting down on a plush couch that's fluffier and way pricier than mine that it's going to make you uncomfortable, and I don't want to have your armor digging into the spot where the twin suns of Tatooine don't shine.”

Fox chokes on air and coughs violently into his elbow.

“Commander Fox and Detective Thrace?”

He hurriedly zips his pack close and gathers his discarded helmet. “Ah, that will be us.” His cyare gets to her feet first, patting her formal outerwear down and stepping forward to greet the actress’ personal assistant because kriffing finally. “But for my part, it's Former Detective.”

The red Mikkian lady in business attire reciprocates the gesture with equal professional demeanor, and shakes Lesiil’s hand. “Of course, apologies for that bit.” She shakes Fox's afterward. “Pleased to meet you. And call me Veeli. If you would follow me, please.”

They're led further into the building. Inside, the smell of luxury fragrance grows stronger, something that Fox would always encounter when entering one of the offices that belong to fat-pocketed senators. That, and the light elevator music that's slightly goofy for Fox's taste.

“On behalf of CSF, I would like to apologize for intruding on the muse’s schedule this morning,” Lesiil says in the middle of the silence.

“That's okay,” Veeli replies curtly, her narrow tendrils floating and flicking every once in a while. “She's empty at the moment.”

Fox, stashing himself in the back of the elevator out of habit, has his eyes intent on the ever adding floor indicator. “Is Wolffe up there?”

“He is,” the assistant replies without looking back at him, “He stayed the night to look after her.”

“That's very kind,” Lesiil comments, and the brief conversation ends there when they reach the designated floor. Not penthouse yet, Fox notices. He adjusts his grip on his pack, the weight awkward due to the folded clothes where the vast space provided is supposedly to fit his entire kit and backup body gloves. So where are we going?

His internal question is answered as soon as they're led out, met the two bulky natborn bodyguards that man an entrance that leads to yet another corridor. A private one, based on how it feels homey and seems decorated with personal touches. Holoposters of various films hang on beige-painted walls. Soon he realizes they're all the ones Nic Erlonna have been in. A filmography of sorts, a showcase of glory throughout her career, as if reminding the guests that are entering her home.

Then, another elevator ride. There's only three buttons on the panel. Veeli presses the second one, and the doors shut. No music this time since the ride is short, and once they arrive, Fox is already lost in awe at how massive the open floor plan is. Huge floor-to-ceiling window for a first wall, untinted to let the morning sun in. Zero dust. Squeaky clean marble flooring and expensive-looking rugs.

Kriff. Three floors of dwelling. In this huge ass building. Wolffe you spoiled son of a droid.

Veeli ushers them in and has them settled on the main seating area. “Please wait here for a moment. We'll be right back with you in a few.”

It had been quite a few.

Fox groans as soon as he sees Wolffe bounding down the stairs. “There you kriffing are.”

Wolffe, clad in a set of crisp dark silver shirt and trousers that makes him look ready to grab a random guy off a street to force his health insurance company on and would definitely beat them to a pulp if they refuse, scowls. “We just woke up.”

Fox stands and goes to meet the commander in the middle, saying, “Told you we could hear you.” With a shit-eating grin and typical reunion enthusiasm, they share a little tap to the forehead. “Su’cuy, Wolffe. I'm traumatized as kark now thanks to you.” Fox clasps him on the shoulder before letting go. 

Wolffe snorts, mismatched eyes taking a swift once-over at Fox, who's now dressed the same way as him for the sake of comfort, the crimson marshal commander armor stuffed into his pack. “As if you don't do it with your girl.”

“Do what?”

They turn to see Lesiil just pocketing her commlink as she makes her way from around the corner.

Fox scoffs. “Don't play dumb, Les’ika. You heard them going at it too.”

“I prefer playing dumb, actually,” she smiles innocently, studying the presence of the other man and quite visibly brightens up. “Commander Wolffe!” She shakes his offered hand, and Fox can see her almost vibrating with joy. How she's keeping her voice calm, it's a wonder. Royal etiquettes put into work, most likely. “Good to meet you again. I hope I'm not boring to your eyes yet.”

“Never, Thrace. You're a family friend to the 104th.”

“Then call me Lesiil, Commander.”

“Then it's Wolffe,” the man reciprocates with a kinder and welcome tone, his professionalism returning back just a smidge, “And I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Fox lets out a single dry, humorless laugh. “You apologized to her and not me? What am I, gundark meat?”

“Wolffe?!” a female voice yells from upstairs.

The commander scowls, rolling his eyes, before turning around to the direction of the staircase. “Down here!”

A moment later, a head peeks out at the turn of the stairs, platinum blond hair let loose but not messy. Nic Erlonna the actress. Fox studies her eyes briefly scanning over them three. “Um, what's going on?”

“Urgencies we can't ignore this morning,” Wolffe replies curtly, almost dutifully.

A loud sigh. Nico's head disappears from sight. “Okay, but I don't remember having an appointment this early. I didn't put any makeup on!” she yells again, then her full figure comes into view and descends the staircase at last. “Why wasn't I told about this?”

Clad in a simple t-shirt and what seems to be a cotton jogging trousers, the great actress that won so much award in her entire career looks just like a regular civilian (or in Fox's opinion; more like one of those natborn students that oversleeps after working on a project late into the night). Much to her dismay, apparently.

“Just…” Wolffe sighs. “You're fine.” He turns to both Fox and Lesiil. “The assistant let you in?”

The latter nods. “Yes, she did.”

“I swear, Veeli is now running things on her own. I'm scared for my life.” Nico sidles next to Wolffe and does a double take. “Oh. Commander Fox?” She enthusiastically thrusts out a hand in greeting, which he shakes. “Looking dapper with all that getup, Commander. Almost didn't recognize you.”

Fox merely nods, his hand returning to his side. “Ma'am.”

“How are the boys in your HQ?”

“Good, Ma'am.”

“Sorry I look indecent,” she complains mostly to herself once again, gesturing grandly to herself.

Wolffe sneers, “You're dressed and that's enough. Makeup isn't necessary for now.” The commander then beckons for the other woman who's been watching the interaction with a polite smile and a glint of amusement in storm grey eyes. “This is Detective Lesiil Thrace.”

Lesiil clears her throat. “Former Detective.”

“Yeah, that.” He rolls his eyes, though smiling a little, fondly. “This is Nic Erlonna.”

The blonde’s eyebrows raise sky-high in recognition and awe. “Oh, riiight!” Another introduction handshake, one piece of courtesy that Lesiil enjoys so much. “The famed Lesiil Thrace with all those notorious cases? An honor to meet you in person!” Fox bathes himself in pride for his cyare. Nico's grin fades, as if in realization. “But uh, just to be clear; what are you doing here?”

Lesiil lets out a quiet breath. “If I could put this gently without all these pressing deadlines, I would,” she says, “But this is about last night's incident, Miss Erlonna.”

Nico blinks in realization. “Right,” she mutters almost sadly, brightening up and putting on what Fox observes as a forced, pained smile, as if wishing she could stall this nightmare a little longer. “We can talk about it over breakfast?” she offers, gesturing to the side with an arm, to the direction of the dining room.

“Thank you. That's very kind,” Lesiil says with a polite smile, and the four of them collectively make their way. Fox knows he should just follow Lesiil's cues. She's the one who knows how to be a proper guest in someone else's dwelling – after all, he never does. Calling and leading a breach squad to take in an enemy of the state, that's what he does. That's all he knows.

“The least I could do,” Nico easily replies, and they find seating in the grand eight-person dining table. “But I still can't exactly understand why you're here, Detective.” Her tone is curious, not meaning to jab, Fox observes. “You announced your early retirement from police work, right?”

Fox has just finished seating Lesiil – something he'd learned after a couple of dinner dates, before taking one to her right himself. “That's correct,” his cyare answers.

“So?” Nico prompts again, who's already seated in front of Lesiil.

“I am acting as a consulting detective at the moment,” the former detective enunciates, “Meaning I, representing the CSF Criminal Investigations Department, am here to gather information for my own independent investigation so I can forward it to the police for further processing and guide them to solve the case as fast as possible.”

Nico stares long into Lesiil for a moment, taking every word cautiously, the playful glint earlier in olive green eyes had already dissipated. Nodding, as if thinking to herself. It's quiet for a moment. Wolffe and Fox trade a look, but the other man merely shrugs.

Stars. Even outside the cold confines of either assembly room or war room, they carry their habits to stay quiet when the ones with power are talking. And honestly, it's comforting still, somewhat. Like they can just be themselves still, outside the very institution they were born for.

“Didn't know you have that kinda stuff,” Nico says finally, breaking her mulling just as breakfast is served, the server droid making no audible noise loud enough to break the silence.

Me too, Fox thinks, until last night, apparently.

“It is a piece of information rarely made public and kept close among our peers only,” Lesiil says, picking up her utensils when Nico, as the host, does. Fox follows her movement meticulously. Something he's never done, again, but he's adapting. “And yours is a special, high-profile case, Miss Erlonna. High-profile cases such as this need to be handled delicately, and swiftly, because the pressing demands by the Motion Pictures Academy simply cannot be taken lightly. It would damage their public image, and yours.”

Neither of the four had already dug into their food. It's hearty and tasty, and looks very diet-balanced. The weight of the topic is dawning on them, but seemingly not as much for Nico. She's wolfing down her plate as if the conversation was never about what it is, after all. Like judging the choice of weather today or something.

“So on behalf of the institution and Coruscant Security Force, I hope you will be willing to fully cooperate with us.”

Another moment of silence, but briefer. He had breakfast already at the mess… but I suppose a second helping won't hurt. He looks at Wolffe, who's digging in at last. Yeah, just today. Kriff diet. This is home food.

“Okay,” Nico acknowledges at last, “But… won't that involve you guys reading me the rights to remain silent and call a lawyer or something?”

Lesiil shakes her head. “No. My early retirement no longer leaves me the power to read you your rights, and neither is Commander Fox.”

Yeah, as if he had it. As if he could. He and his unit is the brute force that gets thrown the harshest part of an op, after all. Not the legal part and stuff.

Lesiil continues, “However, with me being here, you are entitled to speak freely. Admit your side of the story very clearly and leave nothing out.” One hand comes from under the table, and it carries out a recording device, setting it on top for everybody to see. “It will be recorded and used in court, with me taking to the witness stand to defend your side of the story as well.”

“Wouldn't that be too excessive?” Wolffe breaks the full-minute tension, arms crossing across his chest, “You have recording already, why would you need to take the stand?”

Fox hesitantly turns. Lesiil trades an unreadable look with him, but he notes of her insistence – her Lorrdian blood better be kept a secret. “Let's just say I am a master at reading nonverbal communications,” Lesiil finally says, offering a smile of reassurance, “I will know whether you tell the truth or not.”

“If you don't,” Fox adds quickly with a firmer tone, eyes studying Nico's attentive demeanor, “Lesiil is allowed to refuse to testify for you.”

“And help the prosecutor build the case instead. Not for your team of lawyers,” Lesiil clarifies, and both of them collectively take the look of concern traded between the other couple. Lesiil lets out a small, quiet sigh, and reassuringly adds, “If this would be taken to the courtroom.”

Wolffe catches on. “So there's no charges against her?”

“Not yet,” Fox shakes his head.

“The victim's family hasn't filed any charges yet,” Lesiil elaborates further, “My CSF contact who is the lead investigator of this case informed me that the victim's family wishes to know the truth first beforehand, and is helping in the investigation as well.”

“Meaning if this takes a darker turn, there's gonna be charges,” adds Fox, having been briefed further by Eisen this morning via comms.

“Their lawyers were present,” Lesiil says again, spilling everything by this point. Nico perks up and is intensely listening again. “The family has spoken to us as such, and will be regarded as such unless something's changed.”

Wolffe lets out a huge sigh, turning to Nico. “His family a whole bunch of assholes too?”

Her eyebrows furrow, almost in doubt. That, or offended. “No, on the contrary. They like me, actually,” she mutters mindfully, “It’s just their son is– was that screwed up…”

After yet another brief look traded to each other they continue their breakfast in silence. Lesiil only eats about half, Fox notices. If they weren't in someone else's house he would've wolfed it down. Food can't go to waste, and this is good and homey.

Lesiil folds her hands on top of the table. “You can start your story whenever you're ready, Miss Erlonna.”

“I…” Nico huffs, nervousness bleeding off her person, “I can begin at the after-party. Is that okay?”

“As long as it remains factual.”

“Don't say anything!” shouts a new voice from the doorway. Veeli the assistant returns, with the usual datapad clutched closely and a new company to their group. The masculine voice earlier belonged to this yellow-skinned Zabrak with tattoos, brown hair slicked back and sharply dressed. They stop at the other end of the table, closest to Nico, and the new guy points a finger at her. “Say you want a lawyer, Nico.”

The actress sighs loudly. “Titus, relax.”

As they plunge into an argument, Fox eyes Wolffe and mouths who the heck is that? clear enough for the other man to answer manager.

“If I may speak,” Lesiil breaks out resolutely, her voice slightly raised among the chatter and almost sternly glowers onto the three. “These are neutral grounds. We are no police.”

The manager, Titus, glares back, his fists clench – Fox flattens his boots against the floor at the ready. “But you represent them, Detective.”

“For my own personal investigation that would help the police solve this case,” Lesiil calmly affirms, then more with a firmer cadence, “Miss Erlonna is pinned down by the media as we speak, and I reckon neither the muse or CSF want their name tainted by being accused of felony crime and unprofessionalism by the public, respectively. I serve as the means to accelerate this case to its final resolution within 24 hours since the incident.”

“And don't start about the Academy,” Nico butts in, voice lowered with apprehension, almost with fear. “My rep's in danger, Titus.”

The manager scrubs both hands down his face. “At least get a lawyer to defend your liability, Nic.”

“No. I wanna speak freely.” The muse turns to the assistant. Wow. The audacity of this lady disregarding any kind of law protection. “Vee, any news about Shon and me?”

“The incident is making rounds in morning holonews channels as we speak,” the Mikkian says, tapping and thumbing away at her datapad, “Viral social media tags. Mentions. Comments. Reactions, hates. It’ll be too much by lunch time.”

Nico gives a bitter smile. “Nothing I can't handle.”

Another moment of sympathizing silence. Fox feels like cartwheeling because what the kark was all that. The manager seems kinda stupid… but he appreciates his insistence as it's supposed to be done.

Lesiil forks a little more of the nerf sausage (It makes Fox proud by watching. No food waste it seems.), before she prompts as politely as possible, “Can we continue?”

Nico turns to the other two, sighing tiredly, and waves a hand. “Just… sit down. I was just getting started before you panicked nunas came in.”

Both newcomers stare with each other before relenting. “Yeah, sorry,” Veeli shrugs, looking down to her datapad instead. Titus takes a seat at the other end of the table, Veeli next to Nico. “What did you talk about?” she asks.

“I was only getting into it,” Nico rolls her eyes. Leaning back to her seat, her plate already clean, she begins with a sigh, “After that Bye Bye Bye by B’SYNC karaoke I headed outside for some fresh air. Some social me-time, as always. It was getting suffocating and I went up to the rooftop.”

“Is the rooftop supposed to be public?” Lesiil straight up asks, easily stepping back into the investigative air waiting for her return.

“It’s preserved for celebs like us to take a breather.”

“But not everyone knows about it,” Titus butts in, his voice uncharacteristically low and solemn after all that loud intervention, “That's why the security was minimal.”

Nico turns to him. “There were no security personnel or whatever, Titus.”

Fox sharply turns to Wolffe, questioningly, the other man nods just subtly in confirmation. Whose stupid idea was that?

The Zabrak’s eyes widen in surprise. “Kriff, really?” One hand flies to his hair, his dark brows crease into a frown. “But there were cameras.”

“My CSF contact who leads this investigation is looking into it as we speak,” Lesiil reassures, turning to Nico again. “Please continue, Miss Erlonna.”

“I was up there. Just thinking,” the muse picks up, “Then Shon came up to me.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh y'know, just the same old. Wanted to get back together, and I refused.” She quietly shakes her head. The entire table is enveloped with a wistful blanket at that moment, knowing what's next. “I just… didn't realize he would take such extreme measures.”

It's not after a full minute where everyone either drinks their water or finishes up their plates or just mulling that Fox begins to feel the silence stretches too long. It feels familiar again; that first orientation command-wide meeting where Lesiil introduced herself and began to present her findings – where she brought up about death. She gave them a moment of silence; to gather, to mourn again in a short pocket of time, before picking it up again. But he now knows behind such thoughtfulness, the gears inside her brain remain whirring and ticking; sprouting out plausible theories, connecting the dots.

It's exactly what he deems as his mirror; her mind is tirelessly working. Running on the clock, racing against time, never resting even in the midst of mind-cracking puzzles. Always finding a way out. Though in regards to strategy, his is far more excellent. He maps through and creates strategies in minutes, while she perhaps could supply every single possible risk to take into consideration. Together – a plan hatched into perfection.

Shame the Coruscant Guard isn't allowed to recruit natborns. Even if it is, he'd think twice before instantly picking Lesiil to take up office in HQ.

And her mind continues working. Always. Even after retiring, it remains complex. Trained, stimulated. Going back to the current situation, as the moment fits, she picks up again, “What exactly did you two talk about before it happened?”

Nico gulps the last of her water before answering, “It's just that I refused. He wanted to be friends. After what he did to me, I just… I couldn't. I don't want to. He was toxic throughout our relationship.” She lets out a wistful sigh, probably also wishing the water was wine. “I'd be an idiot.”

Lesiil prompts her to continue on her own.

“I was just about to leave,” Nico resumes, arms winding around herself to provide some comfort. Wolffe not so quietly drags his chair closer in protectiveness, their shoulders brushing. Nico leans into him. Fox softens at the sight. “Turned my back around and he called me, I turned and saw him already standing on that ledge. Tried to talk it out, even lied that I still loved him because if I'd taken him back he wouldn't do that.” Her voice breaks in reliving the incident. “But well, he did. I tried to grab him too, but he let go of my grip and–” she throws her hands up “–down he went.”

“Mersace fined us for the damage of your dress,” says Veeli a moment later.

“That could be evidence,” Fox says quickly, glancing next to him.

Lesiil meets his gaze, nodding. “I will inform my contact about it.” Her attention sweeps around the table. “We'll handle it. Now to the current problem; how would we know whether you're telling the truth at all, Miss Erlonna?”

Fox's breath hitches. Veeli gasps.

“Oh kark’s sake,” Titus facepalms.

Nico's eyebrows furrow, lips slightly parted conveying her shock, and perhaps offended.

“Are you kidding?!” Wolffe blurts out, his expression hardens directly at Lesiil, almost growling, “I thought you were on our side, Thrace.”

“I will, if there is sufficient documentary evidence. It should be security footage, but we're still looking through it. Even if we get a hold of it when it does show that you tried to save him and not purposefully letting him go,” Lesiil meets his hard tone fairly, but reined with an ample amount of respect, still. She shakes her head. “It won't be enough, because we also need to hear that it happened as you said.”

“Les.”

He'd better step in. The last thing he needs is his cyare embarrassing herself. Exhaling, Lesiil softens when she meets his warning glare.

“Don’t overstep,” he says, drawing the sternest tone he'd usually pull when she worked under him. He gently cocks his head in Nico's direction. “See for yourself. You can tell if she tells the truth.”

“I am aware Miss Erlonna does tell the truth. She's innocent,” she asserts – there’s something about it that makes Fox think this is one of the moments she won't back down. “But the jury won't, if this case gets taken to court and we still lack evidence by then. We're running out of time, that's why we need stronger documentary evidence to build this case where she's innocent.”

“This is not legal consultation!” he scolds, voice slightly raised, “So stop playing prosecutor for now and just lend your ear. Be a friend. An ally. That's why you're here.”

Silence ensues as Lesiil blinks at his outburst, glancing away to escape his scrutiny. No, not escape. More like; utilizing the pause in their bicker so that he could think that perhaps he's been the one embarrassing her at that moment.

Kark. He's not her boss anymore. Why is it easy to forget?

Wolffe lifts an eyebrow at him. Fox what the hell?

I just… He sighs, breaking the other clone’s scrutiny. Sorry.

“Let's just say we're in a focus group discussion for now,” Veeli calmly says, being the first one to speak.

Lesiil puts on a meek, guilty smile. “Apologies. For my insistence and on behalf of the Marshal Commander. I have an ongoing study in law school. I suppose I was carried away.”

One of many things Fox admires about her; where he ducks his way out of tough situations by just carefully making himself invisible, she confronts it with a flawless smile, admits her wrong, and clears presumed mistakes to start over. 

Nico is propping her jaw in her palm, low, with elbow on the table. “Yeah?” she drawls, yet not without interest. It's the tone someone uses when they're actually impressed towards something mundane. “That's cool, though.”

“You're laying out the entire game in case anything goes wrong by identifying possible legal loopholes firsthand,” Wolffe joins in, the air around him opposite of Nico. For less than a second his mismatched eyes glares at Fox before returning back to Lesiil with a look of pride. “You're good.”

Lesiil nods in thanks. “It's what a good lawyer would do.”

Kriff he's a shit boyfriend isn't he.

“I wanna recruit her when she graduates,” Nico declares with a sudden burst of energy. She turns to Veeli. “Can I? Do that?”

Fox holds back a sigh. “Let's focus on what we have on our plates first, Ma'am.”

“Yeah,” Titus bitterly agrees. As soon as he turns to Lesiil, he unwinds his folded arms. “But, uh, can you tell us just what's happening currently in your investigation?”

“Right now, generally, everything points to Miss Erlonna,” states the former detective, “You have a connection to the victim. The toxic former relationship and his constant harassment might be a possible motive for you to take him out of the picture, driving your actions – supposed you're guilty of manslaughter – questionable, because there was an option to issue a restraining order against Mr Vatore's harassment. It makes you look guilty for bypassing a lawful protection as such.”

“I just… didn't want to,” Nico mutters, the weight finally sitting on her stomach. She scrubs both hands down her face. “It'd make him look bad. Stupid, I know.”

Fox refrains from saying anything to that. He looks at Wolffe. Subtly, the 104th commander shrugs, his eyes rolling as if yeah she's an idiot I know.

“On another note,” Lesiil continues, not intending to let the progressive answer to Titus's question stalled, “We did find your fingerprints on the victim, Miss Erlonna. This strengthens your presence at the scene of the crime.”

“Around the wrist, right?” Nico enthusiastically clasps her own wrist, fumbling experimentally, mimicking her own grasp that attempted to save the dead guy. “That's where I tried to hold onto him.”

“Yes.” Lesiil’s forefinger curls on her chin in thought. “But such a fact is a double-edged blade, still.”

Wolffe huffs, his look impatient yet knows better than to rush the hassle. “Is there anything we can do at all?”

“Not yet,” Fox answers, the most recent briefing this morning still etched into his mind – every single progress mentioned. “But we're running out of time all the same.”

“He was just this… sick person.” All heads turn to Titus. The manager seems to be always overlooked, but if anyone knows what seems to be lurking in the entertainment industry – rumors and sick threats and conspiracy theories – it's him. His arms are crossed again over his chest, seemingly just resurfaced from his own deep lake of thoughts. As he's supposed to be; to salvage Nico's public image that perhaps has already been broken, bit by bit. He shrugs. “I personally think he was sick or something. Mentally ill.”

“Possibly,” Wolffe contributes without missing a beat, “Obsessive love to the point of this is a thing.”

“You think he'd write a diary or something?” Veeli chimes in, and insightfully adds, “He was into traditional stage plays. He was a poetic kinda guy.”

Fox fishes his comlink out. 

“I do think he would,” Lesiil says thoughtfully. Fox glances up, briefly witnessing the storm grey in her eyes brewing maps and connecting the dots, darting here and there as if mapping an imaginary plan, her mind fully at work.

Stars it feels like we're inside her mind. He can't even exaggerate how refreshing it feels. It's nostalgic. It always brings him back to that meeting room where she was first introduced.

“Inspecting the victim's mobile devices. Searching his residence. Residences, if there is more than one.” At last, she sighs, and Fox can hear the weight bleed off her shoulders. “This would take a while.” Then, gently, she says to him, “Tell Eisen about this?”

He doesn't look up, already pulling up the lead investigator’s comm channel. “Way ahead of you, DT.”

“So with her case,” Wolffe points to the woman next to him, “From her side of the story – it's a dead end?”

Lesiil nods. “Unfortunately. As I said, nothing about it can save herself for now.”

That earns hesitant looks traded among the four. With that said, it's as good as trust the process and wait it out.

“Trust me, I too wish my testimony, based on my analysis on nonverbal cues, could suffice in court to clear you out of suspicion and eventually rules the victim's death as suicide.”

“A great day, wasn't it, Beedee?”

[STATEMENT] I miss field work. Thanks for bringing me along, Lesiil!

She smiles fondly, offering a fist bump to the little droid perching on her back. “Of course.” Fishing out the key card to her apartment, Lesiil and BD-6 trades one last glance before entering the premises. “What would I do without you, after all, Beedee?”

The rest of the happy boops is a music to her ears. Homely soft amber warmth greets Lesiil once she steps in, immediately busying to take off her boots and stash it in the wee storeroom. Fox is here. His own white boots is where they usually are when he's home, as are parts of his armor. But… why only parts? Is he not cleaning himself up yet?

Beedee had scurried off earlier all by himself, the familiar weight on her shoulders already gone. She steps out of the little room, the door sliding close. She checks the front door lock mechanisms, locking it for the night. Fox is always home now during Centaxday nights. As she's about to turn and grab a look at the chronometer in the furthest wall of the living area, a pair of strong arms, still covered with familiar GAR body glove, wrap around her waist from behind.

“I'm sorry I was an ass.”

Lesiil melts into the embrace. No ‘welcome home’? she's about to joke, but the way Fox pulls her impossibly closer to his chest as if trying to absorb her under his skin. His dark locks tickling her ear and jaw as he presses his face close into her neck, nuzzling against the collar of her work attire. She always feels safe in his arms, but the way he tightens them around her denotes what she identifies as desperation.

Then it clicks.

She almost forgets about it because of the enthusiasm of going back to field investigative work (even though only involving reviewing available evidence and connecting them, writing up a request for warrant, and traveling to the other side of Coruscant to search for more evidence). It took a whole day, now the chronometer perhaps showing 2200.

She releases a slow breath, placing her hands stop his, that are clinging onto the flap of her jacket. Definitely not letting go anytime soon.

“Is this about when you scolded me this morning, my love?”

Fox hums. “That was uncalled for.” His voice is meek, muffled by her clothes as he nuzzles further into them. “You looked like you were going to stab me or something at the moment. Or cry.”

Lesiil can't help the amused smile threatened to latch onto her lips. “That was a poor observation, cyare,” she chuckles quietly. Slowly peeling his arms a little so she can turn around and meet his eyes – amber brown pools carefully studying every strand that makes up the tapestry of her soul. Eye bags, soft stress lines, a little frown thats’s always present when he's in doubt. He's the worst when it comes to hide his facial expressions, making it all clear for her to read. He doesn't mind. All for her to see. All that is hers to see, to admire, and to love.

“Fox.” She tucks away the locks that fall over his forehead, silver threads of hair among them. It always falls back, sweeping across his skin and kissing his eyelids – a futile attempt that she'd do over and over sgain. “I was never angry to begin with.”

His frown deepens. “I don't believe you.”

Lesiil can't help the chuckle tumbling off her lips. In a disguise to caress his cheeks, her smile grows in satisfaction when she feels the skin under her tender touch warms. “You silly man.”

“That's right.” He lets his head falls into her shoulder, hiding his face into the crook of her neck again. Her heart melts. Always does, when he's particularly clingy. “I'm still yours, right?”

“Please, as if I'm leaving you to your sad and lonely marshal commander duties.”

He sniffs. “That's cruel.”

One of her hands card through his hair in a loving pace, another arm splaying over his built shoulders. “You did nothing wrong,” Lesiil explains, “I admit I was carried away but you ground me, Fox. And I appreciate that, wholeheartedly.”

He hums. “You sure?”

“I am very sure, cyare.”

“But I raised my voice at you.”

“I’m not made of cheap glass, Marshal,” she says a little firmly, delivering a long kiss into his hair. A little greasy from daylong sweat under that helmet, but they're sharing the same predicament – just home after work. “Sometimes all I need is a firmer presence that grounds me. And that's you, Fox.”

Lesiil pulls always slightly. She wants to look at him in the eyes. Nothing more. It gives her joy to see if one thing amuses him, or if another displeases him. Gently, still wrapped inside the safe confines of Fox's arms, she cradles the sides of his scarred face. The long mark across his nose, the faded gash on his left jaw, and the little healed cuts on his eyebrow and the corner of his lips that she enjoys all for herself.

“Please don't sulk. Yes? This sight of you breaks my heart a little.” A soft peck to the scar on the corner of his lip. “I don't want you to be sad because of a small misunderstanding.”

The response is a sweet kiss to the lips. Then two, a little deeper than before. Then three, that makes her smile against his lips. Fox leans his forehead against hers, his gloveless fingers stroking her cheek lovingly. “Shower with me?”

She hums a no. “I’m afraid I still have a little work to do. Eisen is sending me the official report tonight and expecting me to deliver the news.”

“It all went well?” he asks, a little too energized. A smirk slide into his lips and adorns his already handsome, sharp-featured face. “You miss all that?”

“I admit I do. To go back and investigate on site, the entire process of it. Warrant, search, found, bag. Solving the puzzle, connecting the dots. It all felt good.” Smiling, Lesiil presses a long kiss to his lips, delivering her entire heart into the notion, receiving a honey-sweet smile in return. “Thank you for asking, ner al’verde.”

Her commlink beeps. Knowing it's probably what they've been waiting for, her cyare lets go immediately and leans closer to inspect the message together.

“Oh,” Lesiil grins, “Good news to be delivered.”

“It was the search warrants that took so much time, but we worked as fast as we could. We found the victim's mobile devices, various holonotes and holojournals. Every single means where he could possibly write his journal, we skimmed through every single one.”

Under the umbrella of nervousness and anticipation, Nico's hands are fiddling with the hem of her camisole. “That was fast.”

The holo figure of the former detective shifts, and then suddenly there's a little biped droid clinging onto her arm like some bird. She smiles at it in acknowledgment before returning to the holo. “My droid BD-6 processes mobile devices faster. We tend to get results on the spot.” The droid boops its confirmation. “And we did. We found various entries in his journals that spoke of his intention to end his life had you not reciprocated his feelings.”

Wolffe, who's reclined next to her on the bed and out of frame, hums his satisfaction at the revelation. Nico sighs heavily, heavy burden finally cracks and crumbles and vanishes off her chest.

“So…” she begins hesitantly, “So I'm cleared out of suspicion, right?”

All she wants is to jump and scream into the air and perhaps party while blowing off some fireworks as soon as she sees the detective nodding her head.

“Yes, and there weren't any charges to begin with. Just deadlines and media scrutiny, I suppose, Miss Erlonna,” Thrace smiles reassuringly, “Moreover, one of the family members came forward and told us of the victim's intentions. But they were threatened so they kept it a secret. It's crystal clear now that you are not at fault, at all. This is something the victim had brought upon himself.”

Nico lets out another breath of relief, her limbs still trembling from the extremity of it. From the toxic behavior to begin with. Way back to their relationship. Not my fault.

“Though I believe you will run quite a session with your lawyer team. Speaking as a law student myself, they would absolutely have a word with you about not issuing that restraining order in the first place.”

“That wouldn't be able to stop Shon.” She would usually return the slipped joke easily, but first things first. “It wouldn't make much difference. I know him. He was passionate. Guess when it comes to me it turned into a sick obsession that made me wanna barf every damn time.”

“Who knew it would've gone better,” the former detective remarks, “But as of now, you have nothing more to worry about, Miss Erlonna. As I said, the victim's family filed no charges in the first place, they have accepted the truth, and this case is finally closed.”

Gods she feels like crying. Her reputation – saved!

“I can't tell you just how relieved I am, Detective.”

Thrace nods deeply. “I am sure. I feel the same for you, Miss Erlonna. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Both Nico's hands fly to her chest, “No, Detective. Thank you.” A wide smile breaks in her face. “Alright! A celebratory dinner is in order! I'll go run and tell Veeli.”

Wolffe shakes his head – fondly, if that isn't obvious yet, with an extra roll of his eyes. Childlike woman. With no initial intention to step into the holocall, he'd kept himself from peeking in, yet listening off-frame. Yet when the holo shifts again from the corner of his eyes, he decides to abandon his report work the boys sent him and hops off the bed.

“Where's Wolffe?” Fox asks aloud, to which Lesiil shrugs and shakes her head. The shabuir is plainly standing there next to his smart as hell girlfriend, in a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms looking ready to sleep the night off, and a towel hanging off one shoulder, fresh from shower.

Wolffe smugly steps into the frame, crossing his arms. “What, karkhead?”

Fox mimics his gesture. “Nothing.” His scarred eyebrow, scaringly on the same side of the face as Wolffe's, rises. “You have it down bad for Nic Erlonna, huh?”

“Hm?”

“I wish I could just strangle you right now.”

“The hell are you talking about, Fox?”

The door to the bedroom slides open.

“We know how you two been playing it fak–”

“Commander Fox?”

Wolffe snaps his head up, watching how one hundred facial expressions passing across Nico's fair face spanning from shock and back again to shock as she draws nearer, and eventually gets into the holocall next to him.

“What–” she gestures between the two holo figures, “You two are together?!”

Lesiil, seemingly taking the initially serious call now has turned into a playful one, shrugs, an amused smirk gracing her lips. “Why, I thought that was obvious.”

Wolffe sighs loudly on purpose. “Don’t mind her.” He resists the urge to grab for one butt cheek. “She's a slow one.”

“Am not! I didn't know!” Nico fights back.

“You could've known.”

“Stop embarrassing me!”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“–no, cyare, they show genuine reactions towards each other now. You know, mutual comfort.”

He turns slowly to the holo.

“What?” Nico asks aloud.

Lesiil grins innocently – the sight is familiar with Wolffe. They've hung out together once or twice with the other command boys, after all. “I stated you both have a recently intriguing chemistry,” she declares.

Wolffe releases a breath, looking up to the ceiling. Dank farrik. They've caught on, have they.

“W-what do you mean?”

Force, this woman.

Fox snorts openly, abandoning his formal commander demeanor. “What, you think a master of reading nonverbal communications wouldn't pick up how you two have been faking it for months? Come on.”

“What?!” Nico exclaims, “But we sold!”

“To everyone,” Lesiil says, “But not to me and those who are like me.”

Nico huffs. “Who are you anyway?” Wolffe elbows her warningly. “...If I may ask?”

“That is a secret I will have to carry to the grave. A magician never reveals their secrets, after all.”

Does Wolffe know? No. He doesn't know. It probably won't make any difference if it's spilled anyway, and it's private. Fox seems to know. Very well.

“Yeah, but anyway, what the hell you two,” his vod says, “I bought it, until one of my men showed her and she straight up said ‘no it's fake’. At first glance!”

“You're exaggerating, cyare.”

“That's what you did, Lesii.” Fox turns to him and points an accusing finger in the holo. “Wolffe you son of a droid. You owe me an explanation, or I'm gonna tell Cody. You know how runny his karking mouth is. In exactly 10 minutes, the entire Republic army would know how fake you two were.”

A quiet laugh rumbles off his chest. Seems like we're made. With Lesiil being there as she claims, no way we're getting out of this.

“Ahahaha, oh gods,” Nico laughs awkwardly, sharing his mind, “That was such a long story.”

“Way, way back,” Wolffe agrees.

“Lay it all out,” Fox grins, glancing at Lesiil, who has the same amount of mirth and curiosity sparking in her eyes. “We've got all night.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @ladylucksrogue @msmeredithrose @filamentlights @heidnspeak

A/N: I can't say thanks enough for you enjoying their journey so far! It ends here for now. Who knows there'll be next? 🫵🏼🫶🏼💓

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Howdy! Jdjdjfh I hope you're still taking Gravity Falls Stan/Ford requests--

What if the reader and Ford/Stan (separate) were married, but the reader suffered a traumatic head injury in a car accident? This injury causes them to be unable to retain memories for more than a day. Every morning, they wake up next to this mysterious, handsome man who has to explain to them that they are married—and have been for years. The reader can't help but feel guilty about this situation. :( We need some lovey-dovey comfort

Sorry if this is long or complicated kfhfkfh thank you for your time!!

Have a good day/night :)) 💗 love your writing so much

you’ll always remember | Stanley Pines x reader

tags: sfw, memory loss, established relationship

a/n: hi, lovely anon! thank you for sending this in and for your sweet words!💗 this little piece focuses on Stan for now. but don’t worry, i’ve got something equally heartfelt coming for Ford too, ill post it a lil bit later

thank you for trusting me with your emotions and have a beautiful day/night, darling!

Ford version

you open your eyes and the next thing you feel is headache, your head feels. . . way too heavy, but sadly, not from oversleeping or the nice kind from sleeping in. it’s different type of pain. 

you rub your eyes, feeling lost and blink around the room, with fear realising you don’t understand where you are. your messy thoughts are interrupted by the bed creaking when you sit up and your heart does this awful little jump when you see him.

this man.  

this. . . mysterious man with a broad chest, an old tank top clinging to it. there’s golden chain around his neck, glinting against the soft peppered hairs of his chest. 

and you. . . you don’t know him.  

your stomach twists immediately. the room doesn’t look familiar, either, nothing does. these stacks of magazines, mugs, a nightstand that’s barely holding itself together. you hear a faint sound of birds outside, but even that won’t calm your mind 

“mornin’, sweetheart, sleep okay?”  

your heart lurches, panic curling up your throat. you try to get up from bed, but everything feels too heavy and weird, your body barely listens to you, your limbs hurt

you freeze, looking a bit scared, but more than all confused. “who— who are you?” 

Stanley sighs, nodding at your words, agreeing with you. it’s not the first time he’s heard it. you can tell from the way his face falls, his smile disappearing, but then he covers it up with a gentle grin

“right. uh, this part,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, so. you don’t remember me. look, baby, my name’s Stan. Stanley Pines. i’m your husband.”

your what?

“yeah, i know. sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true. you’ve got, uh. . .” he avoids your wide-eyed stare. “you’ve got a thing. memory stuff. from the accident. doc says you won’t remember much past a day. it’s been like this for a while now, heh.”

his tone doesn’t sound all that happy, because for Stanley it’s just as hard as it is for you. he explains it like it physically pains him to spell all this shocking nonsense out for you.

“i know this ain’t fair to you. shit, it ain’t fair to either of us. but i’m here. i’ll always be here, ‘kay? even if you wake up every day thinkin’ i’m some creep who wandered in off the street.” 

you just look at him, unable to understand what he’s talking about after the word “husband”. husband. . . gosh, feels like your brain just started to hurt more. your mind scrambles, clawing at the edges of something it can’t reach, no matter how hard you try.

“don’t— don’t look so freaked out, kid,” Stan says quickly, seeing your panic. “here, look—”  

he reaches for something on the nightstand, hoping each time that it will work. Its an old picture frame, a little bit worn, but when he holds it out with a hopeful look, you see yourself in it. laughing. leaning into him. his arm’s slung around your shoulder as he grins, his fez perched crookedly on his head. 

“that’s us,” Stan says softly, watching your reaction. “took that on our anniversary, up at lookout point. you love that spot, always goin’ on about the view. even dragged me up there at sunrise once.” he chuckles, but his eyes are watching you carefully, he’s waiting you to give some reaction, please just. . . please. he waits to see that beautiful smile of yours he always loved so much and you want to smile. you want to remember. 

but there’s nothing.  

corners of your mouth lowers and your chest tightens, guilt bubbling up inside. “i. . .” wait, what was his name again? damn. “don’t remember that. i don’t remember you.”

Stan’s smile wobbles for half a second before he catches it. “yeah, i figured. but that’s okay. s’not your fault, sugar.”  

you hate that. you hate how kind he is about it, how patient, but at the same time how broken his voice sounds.

Stanley sighs, rubbing at his face, trying to scrub away years of exhaustion. then he looks at you again.

with hope in his eyes.

“here, how about this?” he says suddenly, brightening. he pulls open the nightstand drawer and takes out another photo, this one of you, him and some. . . kids? it’s twins, a boy and girl in some funny looking sweater, both with brown hair, all of you standing by the lake. you’re holding up a huge fish, grinning from ear to ear, and Stan’s standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders looking so damn proud of his lovely little human.

“this was last summer,” Stan tells you, tapping the glass with his thumb. “we went fishin’. you caught that sucker all by yourself. wouldn’t stop braggin’ for weeks.”

a faint smile appears on your lips. 

“still got the tackle box you picked out, too,” Stan adds with a laugh. “you said the one i had was too ‘junkyard chic.’ you’ve got a sharp tongue on ya, y’know that?”  

your fingers tremble as you reach to take photo from his hands. you look at it, look at that person who looks like you, with a smile’s brighter than the sun and these eyes. . . sparkling, as if you’ve just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, staring down at your hands. tears spilling down your cheeks. “i- i don’t know how you do this. every day. i can’t- i can’t even remember, Stan.”

the first time you said his name. 

“hey, hey.” his hand comes up, hovering over your shoulder, rubbing it slightly to calm you. he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you yet, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you look up and he’s already leaning closer. “don’t you dare apologize for this, sweetheart. you didn’t ask for it. none of this is your fault, y’hear me?”  

you nod weakly, but he isn’t done.  

“you’re still you. still the same stubborn, beautiful, funny, smart, pain-in-the-ass i fell for, okay? you’re stuck with me, like it or not. you take all the time you need, honeybun. i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

you nod, still doubting, lowering your eyes to that photo again. 

“now, how about we get some breakfast? you always say my stancakes are the best damn thing in oregon.” Stan smiles at you because you’re his whole world. and even though the pieces don’t always fit in your mind, Stanley still loves you with this kind of affection that’s lived a thousand lifetimes and he knows, somewhere deep in your mind, you love him too. he just gotta try a bit harder.

when you meet his eyes, for the first time, you feel something painfully familiar deep inside of you. as if he’s the one you’d always reach for in a sea of faces. and you laugh softly

“i say that, huh?” 

“every time,” noticing that little change in your voice, Stan grins and winks at you. “c’mon, let me prove it to ya, baby.”

even though your head’s a mess and your heart feels like it’s been put through a blender, you want to believe him. you take his hand, noticing a ring around his finger and only now you realise you are wearing one too

….

“but what if i never remember?” you ask as you trace the edges of his beautiful face with trembling fingers, trying to commit it to memory.

he just smiles and wraps his big hands around your waist.

“then i’ll just remind ya every day. as long as it takes.”

[thebest-medicine]

64 with ler Fjord & either Caleb or Molly? 🥺 dealers choice, but as soon as I saw that one I immediately thought of Fjord being a bully

Prompt 64 - “Relax, I’m not gonna kill ya, I’m just gonna make you wish you were dead.”

A/N: i love this for fjord. OMG. also, so… there’s this 6k ler!fjord lee!molly slightly fjolly decently mean interrogation fic im working on for tickletober and this line fit into it reaaaally well for a part where molly is in the stocks and… well… consider this my fic preview hehe (I’ll tag it here eventually when it’s posted in oct.)

,,,

“EheheHEHEHEHEEHEE- YOHOHOU’RE KILLIN’ MEEHEHEHEHE!” Molly whines through frantic laughter.

“Oh relax, don’t be so dramatic. I’m not gonna kill you.” Fjord speaks calmly, as though soothing a child. “I’m just gonna make you really, really wish you were dead.” His voice is sweet as the words drip out like honey, and Molly shivers from more than just the tickling sensations lighting up his soles.

“PFFFAHHAAHFUCK!” Molly cries — both in the sense of crying out aloud during his cackling, and in the other—more literal—sense, as tears bleed into the cloth tied over his eyes. He clasps and unclasps his fingers. He presses deeply into the seat and strains uselessly against the stocks — all for nothing. His laughter rings out boisterously as Fjord continues to scrub the brush up and down his foot, then switch to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Overwhelming, but never enough to get desensitized to in any one place.

“PLEHEEHHEEASE!” Molly shrieks.

“What happened to that attitude of yours?” Fjord snickers, looking up from his feet to take in Mollymauk’s squirming, desperate form.

“Don’t knohohohHOOW! I dohOHON’T know wHERE—” Molly babbles incoherently, still trying to bargain with his captor.

“You don’t know where your attitude went?” Fjord laughs, pulling the brush away from his soles for the first time in far, far too long.

Molly heaves in deep, shaky breaths. “I- heh- I… What?”

Fjord hums, sounding amused. They sit in the ‘silence’ of Molly deliriously catching his breath.

“Maybe I should believe you…” Fjord says after a little time passes and Molly sounds less frenetic.

Molly tries to give his best hopeful, honest smile. It’s hard without the eyes.

Molly picks up the sound of Fjord getting up from his seat, a little relief washes over him.

Then the brush is back, and Mollymauk is wailing out a surprised bark of laughter. “WAITHAHAHA— WAIT!”

“But, on the other hand..” Fjord sighs, bringing his other hand to tickle along the sole of Molly’s right foot as he brushes up and down his left. Mollymauk almost wishes for a gag with how loudly he shouts and shrieks through desperate laughter. The hand and brush switch. They switch back a little while later.

“Hmm.” Fjord says, stopping again after a few minutes. “What do you think?”

“I thihihink I am going to die here.” Molly whimpers, smiling defeatedly.

“Not if you tell me the truth.”

“I am telling yohohohou the truth.”

“Well, I have to make sure you’re not lying.” Fjord says, and then the terrible brushing starts up again.

“Whyhyhyhyhy would I still behehehe lying- hehee?! Plehehehehease!” Molly argues as much as he can get out as he’s laughing.

“You tell me.” Fjord replies, not letting up. “Maybe you’re just a masochist.”

Molly definitely does not hate being on the receiving end of an evening like this, it’s true. He would take a moment to consider that if he had a brain cell that could focus on anything other than the incessant scrubbing of the hairbrush along his soles. It scrapes across the balls, the arches, the heel, up and down, up and down, over and over. The slick oily liquid covering his feet lets it glide with almost no resistance. All tickles, no resistance — yeah, Molly is probably going to die here.

He’s wheezing by the time Fjord stops again. He hesitates, half-pleading through his laughter, wondering when it’s going to start up again.

It doesn’t… And Fjord doesn’t say anything.

It still doesn’t… And then, finally, Fjord’s pulling down the blindfold. “Hey, there.”

Molly’s eyes adjust weakly to the light, the blindfold is damp with his tears. He mutters some kind of reply before closing his eyes again. “Fjord…”

“Mollymauk.” Fjord says, leaving the blindfold down around his neck and standing back up.

…

[UPDATE: read the full thing here!]

[more sentence starter fic prompts]

[other sentence starter fics]

[read further CR drabbles on ao3]

[amberstormblade]

Yes it's 3:30am but we can ignore that because I just finished writing a fanfic about a fanfic. Is that weird? Maybe? No clue! Anyways! This is inspired by @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands 's Black Sheep, Come Home and everyone should go read that because it's amazing and makes me feral!

I might put this on AO3 too but for now it's just here!

i'm so sleepy, g'night folks! happy reading!

(Sorry for tagging you guys, I can undo that if you want)

The world seemed to shake as the dragon’s dying cries echoed through dimensions. A bolt of adrenaline shot through Rex as he realized what was about to happen. They had been inside the starter base as a sort of preparation as they hadn’t known when they would be visible again and didn’t want to risk instantly burning if previous experience was anything to go by. They’re a little nervous, it took a bit to adjust to everyone actually seeing them last time and even if they’ve been able to correct Legundo on where to look, it’s still something to get used to. 

Rex walked towards the center of the room. They took a deep breath and started looking at where their hands should be to try and see if anything had happened yet. Something had changed just, not how they had expected. It was like there was a crack in reality. A small, bright, jagged thing that was just floating there. They went to touch it but it moved with their hand, as if it was attached. Before they could even begin to comprehend what was going on, more cracks began to appear, spider-webbing their way up their arm.

“Okay… this- this is weird, yeah. It’s uh, it’s gonna be okay though. Because once it’s done, I’ll be visible again! So I guess I just… trust the process?” Rex was glad Legundo was in a separate dimension, that way he couldn’t hear their voice shaking. 

The cracks started to get brighter as they reached their neck. They started to burn. Rex’s breathing started to speed up as they felt like they were running a marathon in the desert. They could feel their throat as it seemed to close in on itself, could feel as their knees shook and gave way. They remember what Legs had said, that first time they had died. 

“Inevitable, heh.” The sudden raspiness of their voice catches them off-guard. Coughing does nothing to clear their throat. “Guess the timing was off? Inevitable, all the same.” The cracks have reached their chest now, seeming to gather around where their heart should be and spread out like veins. Rex struggles to stand back up, not really knowing where they would go, not really knowing what to do. They take one step towards the bed, two, they collapse again as the cracks reach their knees. It’s like their legs have been bound and any attempt to move them just causes more pain.

The burning is more intense now, not in the way of lava or fire, but in the way ice burns your hands from holding it too long. The cracks were draining any warmth that their body had held and it was like they were freezing over, at risk of shattering.

With a great deal of effort, they curl into a ball and just hug themself. Rex was glad Legundo was still in the End. Sure, it’d be nice to not be alone but they also don’t want him to see them like this. They wonder for a second if he’ll have a second funeral for them, mourn them a second time, but quickly dismiss the thought. They were lucky to get anything at all the first time, why would he bother to do the same thing twice? Maybe he won’t even realize they’ve died. Knowing how paranoid he is, Rex wouldn’t be surprised if he thought it was all part of some plan to get him. They might of laughed at the thought if it hadn’t been for the feeling that something was trying to crush them to death. The cracks writhing around their form seemed to be connecting, tightening to the point that they could no longer feel their limbs. They could still feel the tears falling down their face at least. Even if they had been able to move, they probably would have let them fall anyway. Not like anyone could see them. Quiet sobs slipped past their lips, as the burning cold sank in and the cracks grew brighter still. A part of them made a selfish wish. If this truly was the end, they didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe the Universe was kind, because a dull thud came from behind them. They would have recognized the sound anywhere. It was someone respawning at their bed or in this case, returning from the End. 

It was Legundo coming home.

“Rex, I’m back! You would not believe how-” His rather cheerful call was quickly cut off and they could feel as he rushed over to them. Quickly kneeling in front of them, Legundo reached out as if to touch them but hesitated at the last second. “Rex? What’s going on?” The worry in his tone was touching, in a way.

Rex tried to speak. Nothing came out at first, just a hoarse, rasping noise. Clearing their throat, they tried again. “...Don’t know. Started… after dragon. Hurts.” Broken sentences are all that can be managed but they get the point across. “Dying maybe… you alone?” They take a deep breath before, “sorry.” There was so much more they wanted to say, but their throat seemed to seal over again, leaving them wheezing for air.

“Hey- hey! It’s gonna be alright! I uh…” He trails off, digging through his things. Legundo pulls out a healing potion, probably one he had gotten from the End, and uncorks it. His hand hovers over Rex again. “I’m gonna touch you now, okay? I can see where your face should be pretty well so I think I can help you drink this. Just, bear with me, okay?” He lays his hand on Rex, flinching back for a second as though he had been shocked. Shaking out his hand, he puts their head on his lap. He cups their jaw oh so gently, as if afraid he might break them. Using his thumb, he traces their lips, carefully parting them. Lifting the bottle, he pours a small amount in their mouth and waits. It’s a struggle, but they swallow it. The sweet taste of watermelon lingers on their tongue as they breathe a little easier. Another mouthful has Rex sucking in their first proper breath since this began.

“...hey, ‘Gundo I- I don’t know how long I have. This didn’t happen last time. I think… I think I might be-”

“Don’t.” He cuts them off. His hand that had slipped from their jaw to their shoulder tightened slightly. “You’re not dying. You said you were going to protect me? You can’t do that if you’re not here. So- So no. You’re not leaving me alone again Rex so you’re going to get better! Okay?” His voice is thick with tears as he pulls them into a deep, bone-crushing hug. Instead of feelling restrictive, however, it felt freeing. It felt like home. A promise between two lonely people that they weren’t going to be alone again, not if they could do anything about it.

Straining to move their arms against the numbness that had overtaken them, Rex returned the hug. The cracks covering their form seemed to reach a crescendo as they flared brighter than the sun. The two just held tighter to each other as Rex cried out in pain. A sort of crackling sound could be heard for a seconds and then, just as suddenly as it all had started, the light and noise stopped.

Rex could still feel Legundo’s arms around them but couldn’t bring themself to open their eyes until, “Oh, you’re colorful.” They were still close enough that the whispered statement seemed to tickle his ear as Legundo leaned back from him slightly.

Painstakingly slowly, Rex opened their eyes. They looked down to see their familiar blue and yellow jacket. They looked up to see Legundo looking directly at them. Their face faintly reflected in his glasses. “Yeah,” They breathed, afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment somehow, make everything suddenly revert. But no. 

There were no disappearing acts that would be happening today. In the next few days they would probably fall back into their familiar routines of secrets and cryptic actions. They would have tense moments and heated exchanges. But, they would also remember this moment. They would share a look followed by a fond smile. They would both find excuses to exist closer to each other, soaking in the contact that they craved but didn’t dare ask for. They would allow themselves a second of vulnerability, because that’s what helped them sleep at night. Someone always by their side to keep the nightmares at bay.

Moments like these aren’t easily forgotten. They both rest easy that night, knowing no matter what, they’ll always remember what it feels like when someone cares.