#now I have five feet of rope I’m not sure what to do with but I’ll figure it out

[gatheringbones]

[“Turns out that being a lesbian outside of the privacy of your own home was quite hard. I’m not talking about the various manifestations of homophobia—oh, that old thing. I’m talking about scoring. Picking up chicks. (As it turns out, I would come to prefer the type of woman few would recognize as female, the type who would cheerfully deck you if you called her a chick, but might, if I were lucky, see me as such: a chick, a babe, a femme fox.)

In the oeuvre of Mr. Spillane, being a lesbian seemed so easy, like shooting fish in a barrel. In my favorite lesbian novels, No Blonde is an Island and My Gun is Quick, all a gal had to do was brush up against another woman by the water cooler and, watch out, the sapphic sparks would surely fly. Lesbianism was something any woman could do, no special equipment, messy creams or liquids were required.

But when I walked into my first dyke bar in New York City, I had a rude awakening. It was like transferring to a new high school. No, it was worse than that. A new junior high school. You walk into the class on the first day and everyone turns to stare. Your clothes, your hair, the way you move, it’s all wrong. You have to change everything or die a horrible and lingering death.

I guess the moral of this story is that there are some pursuits, such as lesbianism, that one can’t learn from a book, no matter the author. A more crass sort might make some tasteless jokes at this juncture about “boning up” on lesbianism, or about “hands-on experience,” but the reader can be assured this dyke will not sink to that level.

I watched the other women dancing, talking, flirting. All transactions were conducted in a lingo as incomprehensible to me as straight guy sports speak. My late-seventies disco fever look was out of place here. Everyone looked like they’d raided the closet of their bigger, older brother while he was out repairing refrigerators.

I was the only one wearing makeup.

Someone approached me: “This is a gay bar.” I shriveled up and a gust of wind blew me out into the street.

I had no skills. No lesbian skills. I was stared at, rather than cruised, at the bars. I couldn’t find a way of singnaling to another dyke that I was open for business, a friend of Dorothy, in the life, on the bus. Let alone desperately horny.

Somehow I managed a few invites to lesbian parties. I’d figured out that wearing lipstick was wrong, but I was still doing it. I’m such a congenital WASP that my lips disappear without makeup; I couldn’t imagine having sex without lipstick. I had tried to pull a lesbian look together: oversized second-hand men’s clothes, an unbuttoned black vest, but Annie Hall does not work on someone five feet tall.

Nor could I play softball. When something is thrown at me, even if it is specifically designed for that purpose, I automatically duck. All I had going for me in the lesbian skill department was ownership of a cat. Enough to break the ice, but not cinch the deal.

Certainly I couldn’t just come out and ask some other dyke to show me the ropes, so to speak. The seventies were still going on even though it was now the eighties. Feminism and lesbianism had kind of merged, become one big multinational entity with Andrea Dworkin as CEO. You had to be sneaky to get laid.

Yikes. It had been so easy with men. All you had to do was bend over at the bowling alley and something would happen.

After two years, the drought ended. I saw a sign that advertised: “Double-X-Rated Christmas Party for Women.” The party was held in the basement of a Catholic church. Perhaps the priests had passed out upstairs and had no idea what was going on. Or perhaps the priests were the drag queens working the bar. Nevertheless, I was there as soon as the doors opened. And the doors were not the only thing that opened.

I walked into the basement where the party was taking place and saw rows of thrift store tuxedoes, second-hand prom dresses. The doorperson made it clear that these outfits could be borrowed for the evening. After they checked their coats, many party-goers were borrowing outfits from the racks and disappearing into the bathroom to amend their attire. As the evening went on, I noticed more and more women trading in their flannel and denim for sharkskin and taffeta.

At this, my first encounter with the women who produced the WOW Festival and would later open the WOW Cafe in a tiny linguini-shaped storefront on East Eleventh Street, I fell in love. In love with all of the women, with their outrageousness, their unruly desire. I wanted desperately to be a part of whatever it was they were doing…if the WOW Cafe had been a support group for lesbian skeet shooters, that’s what I’d be doing now.

Instead, I found theater, or it found me. And the theater, it seemed, offered a wonderful solution to my involuntary celibacy: the casting couch. In theater you are encouraged to have sex with as many people as possible; it’s an integral part of the process. At least at WOW it seemed like the shows were almost an afterthought to the flirting, a byproduct of the endless parties where women of every imaginable gender rubbed up against each other.

This last paragraph reads like a natural cue to cross-fade to the Story of the First Girlfriend, doesn’t it? At this point, I should see a stranger across a crowded room, our eyes should lock, and the violins should swell like wieners on the grill. But this scene isn’t part of my coming-out story. Who even remembers my first girlfriend? Not me. I remember lots of bodies, I remember rooms lit by lots of small lights, and above all else, I remember lots and lots of Rolling Rock. This movie doesn’t end with a soft-focus closeup on two women kissing; this is a coming-out story that crescendos into a crowd scene. It’s a wide-angle shot. The climax of my coming-out scenario isn’t a closeup on a lesbian couple but a panorama of a lesbian world.”]

holly hughes, from what comes first, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#holly hughes #lesbian literature #history stuff #gender stuff

[seiya-starsniper]

I don't know if you're still doing the flower language prompts, but I wanted to send about twelve and narrowed it down to two lol.

So for Dreamling: Sunflower, dwarf ("How many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?") and/or Tarragon ("Here's all the reasons why you shouldn't like me")

🤘 five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes my beloved, so happy to hear from you!!! <3 I did my best to combine these two because they’re SUCH GOOD PROMPTS and they also fit the @monsterfucktoberbingo theme so well. Hope you enjoy!!!

Square: Cryptid

Flower Prompt Game!

----------

When Roderick Burgess unveils his circus’s latest spectacle, Hob is one of the only spectators who doesn’t gasp or recoil in abject horror at what he reveals.

“Behold! I have captured the omen of Death himself!” Roderick declares loudly. “Many have decried his existence, but here he stands before you!” he gestures to the chained being. “Look upon his horrid form. Does he not strike fear even in the bravest of men?”

Well, he certainly struck something in Hob, but he wasn’t sure that the feeling was fear.

The creature on display was absolutely stunning, if Hob were honest, but he can understand why his appearance would seem a horror at first. The thing certainly wore the basic shape of a man, with pale white skin that seemed to glow under the harsh din of the spotlight, and messy black hair that fell down to his shoulders. But where his feet would be, there were instead large, golden talons with long obsidian nails that dug deep into the dirt below them as the creature struggled to keep his balance.

And his hands. They were barely hands at all, with only four fingers on each, and white nails so long they were practically claws. The skin too, from finger to elbow was ashen black as if burnt, but when Hob looked closer, he could see the skin there shimmered like the rest of him in the light. 

The most significant part of the creature, though, was his wings. They were what Hob expected an angel’s wings to appear like, large and spanning the length of his body. Except, instead of white, these wings were pitch black, with the very tips of them colored a deep red, as if dipped in blood during war. Hob so badly wanted to see the full wingspan of the creature, certain that it would outdo even an albatross, but, understandably, Burgess had completely bound the creature’s wings in both rope and chains in a measure to keep him from escaping.

Burgess cracks his whip near the creature’s feet and he snarls at the crowd, who jeer and yell in response. Burgess cracks the whip twice more but the creature has gone silent, glaring defiantly now at all its unwanted audience. 

When its eyes land on the area Hob is seated in, he swears it is his eyes the creature locks his gaze onto. And oh, even from as high up as he is, Hob can feel the ice forming in those cold blue eyes. It pierces through him like a hot knife through butter, and Hob finds himself willingly drawn in, wanting to move closer, wanting to reach out and touch this magnificent being—

The lights cut out shortly after, ending the show for the night. Hob goes to bed that night and dreams of the creature on the stage, dreams of talons and feathers, and drowning in an ice cold lake the color of the being’s eyes. 

When he wakes in the morning, Hob is resolute. A creature as magnificent as that does not belong in chains. He sets fire to Burgess’s circus arena later that night, and he and the creature (Dream, he called himself) steal away into the night.

—-

“Why are you helping me?” Dream asks him one afternoon after they’ve been on the run for three days.

“Would you rather I left you to rot in Burgess’s circus?” Hob shoots back as he’s skinning the stag Dream hunted and caught them for dinner.

“You had a life in that village, did you not?” Dream says, refusing to let go of the subject and stomping his talons into the forest floor. “Why throw it away for something like me?”

Hob shrugs. “I’m a widower with a dead son,” he replies. “Not much of a life by anyone’s definition. Besides,” he adds, “You looked like you needed saving.”

“So it’s pity then?” Dream snarls, unfurling his wings to their full length. They brush against the nearby trees and the sheer strength of their muscles snap a few branches clean off. Hob realizes he had been right about Dream’s wingspan. It was wider than that of an albatross, and they were absolutely gorgeous. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Hob says before he can stop himself.

Dream stumbles back and retracts his wings, clearly caught off guard by the revelation. 

“You don’t mean that,” Dream says, looking anywhere but at Hob. He’s got a furiously red blush that starts at his cheeks and seems to crawl all the way down to his chest. It makes him look even lovelier.

Hob smiles despite himself. “Maybe that’s why I saved you,” he chuckles. “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.”

“Then you are an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Dream replies, before he stomps off. 

—-----------

On a particularly cold night, Hob wakes to find himself covered by one of Dream’s wings.

“This means nothing,” Dream mutters, even as he presses his chest to Hob’s back. 

Hob can’t help but grin like a fool. He reaches out to run a finger along the bend of the wing that’s currently serving as his blanket, and delights when he feels Dream shudder behind him.

“Your secret’s safe with me, you big softie,” Hob chuckles before he falls back asleep, feeling more content than he has in years.

—------------

They’ve been on the run for almost a year before Burgess and his men manage to catch up to them. They’re cornered at the bottom of a valley, and Hob knows if they can make it to the river and cross it, they’ll be all right. Burgess’s men are all on horses that wouldn’t dare cross the rushing waters. 

They’re almost to the clearing when Dream stops suddenly and says, “Leave me.”

“What?! No, I’m not leaving you!” Hob exclaims. “Come on, we’re almost at the river—”

“Burgess’s horses will cross the river,” Dream replies. “He’s desperate to get me back, alive or dead. And you are tired.”

“I’m fine,” Hob insists. 

“You’re not!” Dream argues. “You’re practically limping and you—you have done more than enough for me. If I leave you now and fly north, they’ll stop following you and come after me instead.”

“Sorry sweetheart, you’re stuck with me,” Hob replies, pulling out his sword and getting ready to fight as he hears Burgess’s men grow closer. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Dream yells. “Roderick Burgess had been hunting me long before we met, and he will continue to do so until one of us is dead. You cannot possibly want to be on the run forever.”

“And if I do?” Hob asks. “Dream—how many ways do I have to tell you I want this—want you—before you’ll believe me?”

Dream hisses, and before Hob can say anything else, he finds himself lifted high into the air as Dream takes off with the both of them, rushing at full speed towards the river. His long white claws dig into Hob’s skin and Hob holds on for dear life as he buries his face into Dream’s neck to avoid the whiplash of the wind.

When they finally land, Hob can no longer hear the neighing of the horses, or the yell of Burgess’s men. Dream practically drops him to the ground, and Hob realizes the other had used the last of his strength to get them to safety. Before he can collapse, Hob catches him, and after a quick look around, manages to find a small cave that they can use for shelter for the night. 

“That was bloody brilliant, love,” Hob sighs happily once they’re inside and lying side to side. “Think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Dream mumbles. “Love me, at all. I have caused you nothing but harm, and you will always be on the run so long as you stay with me. I cannot give you any of the comforts of a human life, not money, status, or a family.”

“I know,” Hob replies gently, taking Dream's dark hands in his. “I’m not asking you to. I told you before, all I want is you. You can give me all the reasons you want about why I shouldn’t, but I’ll still choosing you.”

“Idiot,” Dream says, but his tone is fond. He then wraps a wing around Hob and scoots closer, so their bodies are flush against each other. “Though I suppose you are my idiot.”

Hob smiles and presses his lips to Dream’s. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #monsterfucktoberbingo #the sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling

[coltermorning]

Something New (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Just a filthy little fic I wrote so you have something better to focus on when your family is annoying you at Thanksgiving :)

Author’s Notes: Five minute read time

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, high honor Arthur Morgan, rough sex, orgasm delay, bondage, breeding

AO3 Link

~

Something New

Word count: 1800

He pushed into you again and again, your body straining with taut, overused muscles.

“Arthur,” you pleaded.

His nonresponse was answer enough, as was the low laugh that followed.

He had your hands tied through the rungs of the headboard above you, your feet mirrored below as the rope cut in, painful due to how hard you were straining against them. Needing to touch him. You always had to be touching him, and he knew that, the stubborn bastard.

“Told you,” he said, rocking his hips into you so slow you could die. “I’m taking my time with you.”

“Please,” you breathed for what had to be the hundredth time. You knew it was no use, but you needed him fucking you harder than this. The build up was too much for your wearied, touch-starved body.

“Begging ain’t gonna get you nowhere.”

You’d figured as much. As it stood, this was probably his idea of punishment, given that you’d already made him come once. While it made satisfaction bloom within you at the time, now you realized it wasn’t a good thing. Because now he was fucking his spend back into you, making you strain with want so harsh you were willing to give him anything to find your pleasure. Anything.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it,” you groaned, head lolling back when he drove a particularly slow, grating thrust into you.

He chuckled again, the sound taunting. “You won’t.”

“I will,” you assured him.

His hand shifted from your hip upward, his fingers skimming over your ribs. Without warning, his mouth landed on your hardened nipple, sucking against you while his finger circled the other.

“I can’t take this,” you breathed, all patience lost.

He released his mouth from you and met your eye. “This is what happens when you make me fill you before you’ve found your pleasure.” He continued his torturous pace.

“I need you.”

“You have me.” His amusement stretched into a grin. “Or is this not enough? You too greedy for this to satisfy you?”

Partially. You knew what he could do to your body. You knew how much he was holding back.

Your lack of an answer had his attention flicking back to your nipples. He brought his other hand up and started rubbing, circling, teasing. All while he pushed into you so lazy and sure. “Such a needy girl.”

“Please, Arthur. Anything.”

“Anything?” His gaze was playful when those blue eyes met yours.

“Name it,” you breathed. You couldn’t imagine what he could ask of you that the pair of you hadn’t already tried.

Instead of answering, he moved away, his cock sliding out of you entirely. You whined in protest until you felt his hands on your ankle, working against the rope tying you down. You dared a look down, watching as he unknotted the binding, his deft hands so distracting. Not as distracting as his bare body, his cock so hard against his belly and covered in his spend and your slick. You almost couldn’t believe he was untying you but were so curious as to why that you didn’t move an inch when the first ankle was freed and he moved on to the next.

Once he had them both undone, his eyes skimmed up your body as he grabbed your ankles and pushed them up, moving forward. His gaze landed hungrily on your soaked entrance, and he got back on the bed, pushing your legs toward you so that they fell over his shoulders when he boxed you in. You half expected him to duck down and fuck you with his tongue, but he didn’t. Instead he got close enough for his cock to rest against your swollen heat, lining himself against you as his gaze met with yours.

“I’m gonna fill that pretty little cunt again.”

The words had your walls fluttering around nothing. You needed him inside of you so bad it hurt. “Do it.”

He shook his head, his smirk returning. “You ain’t getting me.”

What wasn’t to understand about that? You wanted him to spend inside of you with every fiber of your being.

When you just stared at him in barely contained stillness, he went on. “I’m making sure it takes this time.”

Oh. Oh.

“You want that?” he teased, sliding his cock against you. He leaned over you, stretching your legs out where they still hooked over his shoulders. When he got so close he could likely feel your hammering heart, he looked you square in the eye. “Want me to breed you, girl?”

Consequences had been damned a long time ago, but knowing he wanted that…

He didn’t move a muscle, waiting for a response. And you couldn’t deny him a second longer. Your arousal at those words was a tidal wave.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His mouth turned upward at the edges.

“Good.” And he didn’t hesitate before pushing into you, driving so deep at this angle that you cried out. “That’s it,” he said low, his own pleasure taking hold.

Every moment he had dragged this out was worth it. He took you fast and without restraint, all his strength turned on you. It was ecstasy. His chest pushed against the backs of your thighs at every thrust until there was no separation, no part where he ended and you began. Just pure, unfiltered pleasure. He drove so deep you were moaning for him again and again, louder than you’d ever been. It was everything you’d been waiting for. Everything you wanted and then some. I’m making sure it takes this time. Those words kept flooding your brain, hitting you at every rock of his hips, every drive of his cock. You were so soaked that you could feel your wetness lining the inside of your thighs. It took your pleasure-logged brain a moment to remember that that was his spend too. He came mere moments ago, filling you once already.

“Arthur,” you moaned at the thought.

“I know,” he said. “Just last a bit longer for me.”

You didn’t know if that was possible. He was hitting a spot so deep inside of you that pleasure shot through you at every thrust. So much so that your hands were tugging painfully hard on your bounds, pulling the rope so taut it was a wonder it hadn’t snapped clean in half. You needed your hands.

“Arthur,” you said again, breathlessly. “My hands.”

“You learned your lesson?” he said without missing a beat, though his own voice was worn through with exertion. He met your eye, and you nearly came from their sharp blue, all that intensity trained on you. He was close.

“Yes,” you whined.

“Who finds their pleasure first?” he demanded.

“I do.”

“Good.” And, still fucking you deep, he reached up and tugged on the end of one knot, immediately releasing it through sheer strength alone.

Your newly freed hand found his face in less than a second, your back arching into all he was giving you. There was something about touching him, feeling all of him in every sense. You didn’t even care that one hand was still tied. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly when you reached the nape of his neck, just like he liked it.

He groaned, his pace growing faster still.

His hands moved from your thighs to your lower back, lifting you slightly. That was your undoing. He drove into you so hard you let out a needy cry. He did it again and again until you felt yourself unraveling.

“I’m gonna-”

“Not yet,” he said, quick and sharp.

You didn’t know what he was waiting on. By the state of him, any longer and he would come before you again. Maybe that was the goal. Maybe he wanted you to come around him while he let go, making you pull every possible ounce of pleasure from him. If that was what he wanted, you could deliver. Because much longer and you wouldn’t be able to hold back.

“Fill me, Arthur,” you breathed.

And he made a noise so torn between a groan and words that his rough voice broke over it. But you still recognized it—you first. A growl of a demand.

Gladly.

With the constant force of him rocking into you, the angle from which he stole your pleasure away, you let go of your restraint and soared.

Arthur groaned loud enough to muffle your outcry, nearly collapsing on top of you when your orgasm burned through you. He had stopped dead, spilling inside of you, and you took every bit of it with pride. Seconds passed, and your walls were still fluttering around him. You were nowhere near coming down. You whined his name, clutching his shoulder, trying to keep from falling apart completely. All that you were met with was the solid wall of muscle that was Arthur.

“That’s it, girl,” he said, his voice so goddamn attractive like it always was after he came. “Just take it and relax.”

Relax wasn’t in your current vocabulary. Certainly not in your capability. But you would gladly lay there pinned beneath him, filled with his spend twice over.

He gave the slightest bit of movement, and it had your core fluttering around him again, pleasure shooting through your body like it never left.

“Shit,” he cursed, his head falling forward. He usually never allowed for this—he got sensitive so easily. He was always pulling out by now, certainly not going for round two for another half hour at least. But this was different. This was…

“You making sure it takes?” you teased quietly, your eyes flicking from where your bodies met to his downturned face.

He met your eye, the pleasure and the satisfaction in his gaze enough to heat your skin. “Damn straight.”

“You want me to have your baby, Arthur? Want to see my belly all swollen from your spend?”

His eyes rolled back slightly before he closed them, letting out a low groan. “Don’t talk like that while I’m still inside you.”

“Or what?” you said, running your hand up his shoulder, up the back of his neck, pulling on his hair again. He let out a little satisfied noise you wanted to hear every day for the rest of your life.

“Or we’re going a third time. If it don’t kill me first.”

You laughed then, finally feeling all that pleasure give way to contentment. “That certainly raises our chances of this taking.”

When he met your eye again, that playfulness was back. Your Arthur.

“I love you,” you said on a smile, unable to resist.

You brought your free hand to his jaw. He smiled and leaned forward, only speaking when your lips met. “I love you more.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

[silver-pieces]

prisoners

Pairing: Cassian Andor x fem!reader

Word Count: Almost 8.7k

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate here.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut (unprotected p in v sex, slight breeding kink), physical pain & trauma, depression, nightmares, prison, prison labour, open sea & dark water

A/N: For the prompt ‘Nightmare/Soulmark’ in Andor Bingo, created by @sw-andor​ This fic features major spoilers for Andor S1. Keef = Cassian. Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​.

“What’s she doin’ ‘ere?”

“I think that’s obvious.”

“Yeah but, she’s a woman.”

“What do they care? Man, woman, we’re all just slaves - ”

“Oi! Table five.” Kino barks from behind you. He stalks over, meeting everyone’s eyes with a glare. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeh’ve given us a woman,” the redhead says. “No offence, love, but why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the other birds?”

“Shut it,” Kino growls. “It doesn’t matter why she’s here. She is. Now stop wasting my time and get back to work. Unless you want to get fried.”

Your feet shift nervously at the memory. Hot, electric pain. Everyone else stiffens too, a shared sense of dread filling the sterile air.

He takes you by the shoulders and pushes you towards one of the men. “Keef.”

A man with dark hair and even darker eyes looks up at the sound of his name, his gaze falling on you as he pauses mid-crank.

Your lips part, and your gaze lingers on the sight of his sleeves rolled up, his arms tensing with each push so hard, that, in any other circumstance, you might find it appealing.

“Show her the ropes.” Kino lowers his voice to a menacing growl. “And make sure she understands what’s at stake.”

The man gives him a subtle nod.

“You’re down four now, boys,” Kino says, his gaze shifting to you, “... and girl. No more distractions. Let’s get this done!”

They get back to work - a synchronised effort that you struggle to follow, only adding to the chaos happening around you. There are lasers and cranks and drills and pieces of machinery that they have to manually fit together. And the sounds are overwhelming - hardened voices overlapping with the whirring and clanking of the machines.

“I’m Jemboc,” the older one next to Keef says. “This is Ham, Xaul, Melshi, and Taga.” He goes around the table, pointing at each one.

You say your name in return, but it comes out feeble, your throat still not working properly. Xaul, the redhead, pins you with a look. Melshi mutters something to himself, shaking his head.

“Here,” Keef grunts to get your attention, beckoning you to his side. There's a lilt to his voice that pleases your ears. “Watch what I do closely. You have to pull your weight around here, or we all get fried, you understand?”

You manage to nod.

He removes the crank from the machinery and sets it aside, his hands moving deftly from one task to the next. You’re drawn to his hands, the display of skill and strength sending heat down your spine. His brows are lowered, his gaze focused.

Each part requires something different - to pull, crank, lift, reach, press, load. It's heavy labour, but he proves himself more than capable.

"It's easy once you get into the swing of things," Jemboc's voice taking you out of your trance as he steps beside you.

"Right.” You’re not sure you want to get into the swing of things.

The older man frowns at you, but there's a kindness in his eyes.

"Are you getting it?" Keef growls to you as he lifts his hands and backs away from the table.

You nod.

He draws near and ducks his head down, a patient look in his eyes. "Any questions, you can just ask me."

Your heart flutters. Heat rises to your face, though you're not sure why. "Thanks."

With a nod, he turns back to the table and starts loading alongside the others, letting you stand by his side and watch.

No more words are exchanged apart from the occasional barked order from the others - push!, lift!, and hands away!

They get more frantic as time passes. Kino calls something out and your table groans in response.

You realise that they're falling behind.

Get back to work. Unless you want to get fried. Shit. There is no way you're taking that punishment again if you can help it.

Stomach in knots, you step up beside Keef. "I've seen enough, let me help."

He eyes you, a muscle feathering in his jaw, before handing you the crank. As your hand closes around it, he mutters, "Be careful."

A shiver runs down your spine. His voice is low and smooth and it does something to your body that momentarily distracts you from this hell.

Hesitantly, you take the crank from his grip and fasten it to the piece of machinery.

"Table five, your productivity levels are unacceptable. Proceed to the centre of the room and remain on program."

The soles of your feet tingle with each step on the floor. Your head is spinning, heart pounding, mouth drier than a desert.

The others at your table stand with you in the centre of the floor. For a second, you allow yourself a glance over at Keef.

He’s staring straight forward, a dead look in his eyes, but the tiniest shuddering expanse of his chest betrays his fear.

You close your eyes and wait.

No no no no no no no no no -

It slices through your body and your muscles seize with pain. A cry escapes your lips. Your knee hits the floor painfully hard as your legs give way, and the cries of the others violates your ears, inescapable.

It's over in seconds, but it feels like hours.

Your lungs draw ragged breaths. Tears leak from your eyes, and you wipe them away before anyone sees.

Stand. The others are already getting up - you need to follow, quickly, before they decide to punish you again. But your legs are too weak.

A familiar outstretched hand enters your vision.

Your gaze trails up the veins in his forearm, to the sleeves bunched up over his biceps. "Come on," Keef urges softly. "You have to get up."

With all your willpower, you reach up and grab him by the forearm, his hand closing around the inner side of your forearm, bracing you there to help you up.

"Ah!" you hiss, pulling away as a sudden burning sensation flares where his hand touches you.

“Shit!” He grits out, exchanging a confused look with you, and then looks down at his own arm, where you touched him.

Your breath halts as you see it - the symbol burned into your skin, on the inner side of your upper forearm. It’s a simple slashing of lines, but the meaning it carries is far more significant - a soulmark.

He’s staring at the same symbol on his own skin in stunned silence.

“Keef,” you breathe.

Then the deep warped voice of the prison interrupts.

“Prisoners on program. Proceed to your quarters.”

He takes one frantic look at you, and then turns his head forward, following the prison directive and raising his hands behind his head on program. The sleeve, you noticed, he pulls down to hide the mark.

You quickly do the same, assuming the position, even though every fibre of your being is flooded with shock.

As you file through the doors with the others, you can barely hear anything over the pounding of your own ears. Your mind struggles to make sense of what just happened, let alone process everything else that’s happened to you in the last twenty-four hours.

Keef falls in line behind you.

Instantly, you feel his eyes on you, the heat prickling at the back of your neck.

The line of prisoners shuffles along through a long corridor, passing the night shift, stopping and starting up again until you're at your quarters.

"Jemboc, give her the orientation," Kino directs the older man, before leaving you behind to deal with another group of men.

Jemboc turns to you. "Come on, I'll show you your cell."

As he takes you down through the hallway, you see Keef emerge out of the corner of your eye, and when he reaches his own cell, so do you. Directly opposite from each other.

Your eyes meet.

Stars. Finding a soulmate is rare, practically unheard of for most. But he’s here, and the mark is burned into your flesh, still throbbing with fresh pain as you run your fingers over it.

Jemboc starts explaining what the lights on the floor mean, but you can’t seem to take your eyes off of Keef, raking your gaze over his tense form, brown hair mussed and grown out, dark eyes you could lose yourself in, even as you listen to Jemboc listing all the various rules.

“You understand?” Jemboc asks you.

Not really. “Yes,” you reply with a nod, dragging your eyes away.

“What are you in for, anyway?”

“Loitering.” You’ve grown numb to the anger.

“I see.” Jemboc pats you on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay, sister. We all will be, soon.”

“Hey!” The bark of another prisoner cuts him off.

It’s Xaul, pushing past the others, stalking towards you with a deadly glare.

You take a step back on instinct, and Jemboc folds his arms defensively, but it’s Keef who gets in his way.

With a growl, he pushes off the wall, getting in Xaul’s face before he can reach you. “What’s your problem, huh?” he growls. “You’re scaring her.”

Xaul growls, jabs his finger in your direction, and shifts his glare to Jemboc. “Not her.”

They exchange unreadable glances.

Jemboc scowls and takes him by the shoulder, leading him out of earshot from you. The two of them begin talking in low, urgent tones, Xaul shooting you another glare.

Your hands curl into fists at your side.

Hesitantly, Keef turns to you, his head ducked low in sincerity. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice coming out softer than you’ve heard before.

“No,” you say, even as warmth fills you at the concern in his devastatingly brown eyes. Stars, but the sight of him pleases you. “I think we need to talk.”

“Agreed,” he nods, holding his forearm with his other hand, his eyes briefly glancing down, “but we don’t have the time or the privacy in here.”

You draw nearer. “How long is left on your sentence?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes dart to Xaul and Jemboc. “I wish I could tell you. I - ” he cuts himself off as the floor lights start flashing.

In seconds, the hall clears as the rest of the inmates scramble to get into their cells. Keef pushes you towards yours. “Go.”

With his push, you step up into your cell before the lights can turn red. What was it Jemboc said? Seven seconds when the lights start flashing, then they turn red. And if you’re caught in the red light, you die.

On instinct, you turn back around to see Keef again.

Your soulmate.

He stands in his cell across from you, an unreadable expression on his face, his mouth in a grim line, as the lights begin to dim.

The floor lights turn red a second later.

There is no way to get to him now, and no way of talking across the hall without everyone in the surrounding cells hearing you. That’s not an option.

He lingers at the edge of his cell, and so do you, for a time, struggling with this new feeling inside you - this urge, compelling you towards him. Even if you don’t know him yet, you want to.

So you’re paralysed in silence; staring at each other across several feet of deadly flooring.

The murmurs of the other inmates eventually peter out, and as the snoring starts to rise, you feel your eyes growing heavy.

You curse beneath your breath.

Keef must hear it, because he raises his chin and nods in understanding, retreating from the edge of his cell and into darkness.

Grimly, you turn away from him, towards your bunk.

They're everywhere. They're watching you. They know what you've done. You're going to be punished -

You wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

"Hey, hey, breathe." Keef's hushed voice carries across the cell.

Your eyes dart around until you see him, a broad mass in the shadows, sitting on the edge of his bunk across the way.

The soft sound of the other men snoring in their cells settles over the silence.

"It was just a nightmare," he whispers across the corridor. "I'm right here."

You blink back tears, and push yourself up by your elbows. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You run your hand down over your face. There’s been a lot of that lately.

A few shifts in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of your cell counting the seconds going by, running your fingers over the soulmark on your arm, unable to stop thinking about him.

You’ve memorised his form and features with almost no effort - the cut of his jawline, occasionally peppered with stubble if he hasn’t shaved, being your latest obsession.

And you can feel when he looks at you, too. Devouring glances out of the corner of your eye that set your cheeks aflame.

It’s like your body is on high alert at all times. Working alongside him throughout the day, barely able to exchange a few words without anyone overhearing, passing by each other, brushing past each other so close your skin hair raises, but not touching, never touching, just savouring the few small moments in his presence and then trying to go to sleep every night knowing he is a only few feet away from you.

But it’s worse, somehow, when you do manage to turn your brain off. That’s when the nightmares come.

It’s relentless and repetitive; nothing but the Empire and memories of pain, torturing you through your sleep.

Keef’s been developing shadows beneath his eyes as well. You wish you could talk to him about it, but he doesn’t seem to want anyone else to know about your soulmarks, and shit, neither do you. It's hard enough to even admit to yourself, let alone have the others staring at you, judging you more than they already do for being the only woman here.

And if the prison ever found out, they could take you away from each other. Your gut clenches at the thought.

Fuck. Trying to drag your emotions out of the gutter before you break is becoming harder everyday. The weight on your shoulders is crushing you, and you can’t see any light at the end of this tunnel.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you confess, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He stands, coming to the edge of his cell in the low, red lighting. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Don’t let them break you.”

You fiddle with your mattress. Don’t let them break you? They already are, and it isn’t your choice.

“Listen to me,” he says, raising his voice to a low growl.

You look up at him, drawing in a shaky breath.

“You had a nightmare, but you woke up from it.” The urgency in his baritone voice calls to you, and you stand, approaching the edge of your cell as he continues. “That’s all this place is. It’s a nightmare. You don’t realise it while you’re inside, but you’re in control. All you have to do is wake up.”

“What are you saying?”

He meets your gaze, an intense, unreadable look in his eyes. “I'm saying, hold on. Just a little while longer. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, before you realise what you’re saying. You blink and look away from him, frowning. “I can.”

His words paint a picture in your mind, one of you, years from now, out of here. On some beach planet or forest town, enjoying the sun on your face. This place, a distant memory in the back of your mind.

Just a nightmare.

A slight smile finds its way onto your face at the thought. You meet Keef’s gaze again, the fierceness in his eyes amplified by the red of the floor, and nod in gratitude.

“I’ll try.”

His shoulders relax slightly, and he nods. “That’s all we can do.”

You sleep.

There’s a warmth in you when you wake, a buzz from the memory of last night. That was the longest conversation you’ve had yet, and even if you couldn’t talk openly, it still felt real.

When you first open your eyes, you’re drawn to his cell on instinct, drinking in the sight of him every chance you can get.

But it’s like he hasn’t moved all night. He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall at the edge of his cell, arms still folded, and he’s staring at you, his dark brows furrowed, the slight stubble peppering his clenched jaw telling you he hasn’t shaved since yesterday. Movement draws your gaze to his arm, where his knuckles shift back and forth, running over that small mark on his arm.

Heat slowly rises to your face.

The floor is still red. The others are awake too, the few you can see from your cell having breakfast or pacing around their small cell. The slight murmur of muted voices blending together.

“Did you sleep?” you ask him.

He gives the subtlest shake of his head.

Your heart sinks.

It’s not just being around him that you can’t bear, it’s also seeing him suffer and not being able to help. You have to keep holding back these strange, rising urges to comfort him. It doesn’t help that he has those big, soulful brown eyes that could melt you down into the cracks of the floor.

You’re not in love, but he matters to you more with each passing day, and that feeling is killing you.

Damn, you thought you’d grown numb to everything, but suddenly the despair is back with a vengeance, and you have to look away to blink back sudden tears.

“Hey,” he calls to you. “You okay?”

Shaking your head, you blow out a breath and chant in your head, don’t break, don’t let them get to you.

He curses, and then he’s pushing of the wall to pace his cell. His shoulders tense with each breath.

You draw near the edge of your cell, watching him try to walk out the tension in his body, your heart caught between desire and despair.

It’s a vicious cycle of suffering between the two of you.

Then the floor lights shift from red to white.

“On program!” Kino calls out.

Prisoners load out of their cells, slowly getting into their line with murmurs and sluggishness.

Keef is already on the floor when you tentatively step down, enduring that moment before your feet touch the metal with your heart in your throat every time. White lights means it’s safe, but -

He approaches you suddenly, closing his hand around the nape of your neck, tipping his forehead against yours. Warm electricity floods through your veins and over your skin at his touch.

“Keef,” you stutter out, shocked at his public display, even as you sink further into his touch. The sounds of shock and angry voices from the men around you start kicking off, but you ignore them.

“Please,” he breathes, his forehead pressed firmly against yours, his face inches away, “it’s killing me. I know you’re scared - I know. What can I do?”

You shake your head. “I - ”

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Kino.

You pull him off you and step away.

He shudders at your touch, and you realise with a jolt that you took his arm right at the soulmark. For a brief moment, he cradles his arm, before Kino approaches and the two of you join the others in line.

“Hm?” The man raises his eyebrow at the both of you. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“It was nothing,” Keef responds. “Just making sure she’s okay.”

Kino glances at you, an unreadable look on his face. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say, but even you can hear the shakiness in your own voice.

He blinks, searching your gaze. Then he grabs Keef by the arm and leans in to whisper something in his ear.

As Keef listens, he sets his eyes on you, before giving Kino a firm nod.

Apparently satisfied, the older man steps away and raises his voice to the rest of the men.

“Time to face another day. Everyone, move.”

As you begin walking forward, you turn your head to whisper back to him, “what was that?”

“Don’t worry,” Keef whispers. “He’s on our side.”

The tension is high at table five.

“I don’t think they should be next to each other today,” says Taga, eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

“Why?” Keef growls.

“Does he really have to say why?” Xaul interrupts. “You like her.”

“It could be a distraction,” Ham mutters.

“No.” Keef glares. “She stays by my side. Kino’s orders.”

“Oh, ‘Kino’s orders’? Fuck that. We don’t want to get fried 'cuz of you,” Xaul growls.

Keef turns his ire on Xaul. "And when was the last time that happened? If memory serves, not since she started here, under my guidance."

A mutter goes around the table.

"Table five, get moving," Kino warns as he passes by.

"Let's get this done," Keef growls, and that's the end of the discussion.

The next days feel different, and the same.

You try to hold on, like you promised him, but the nightmares and the sleepless nights are getting worse.

You touched each other for the second time ever, felt the warmth of his hands on you, breathed the same air, the memory of seeing the depths of darkness in his brown eyes up close is carved into your mind, and now the yearning inside of you has developed; a deep ache in your bones.

The others can sense something more is up between you. You feel their eyes follow you; but you can't bring yourself to care whether they notice the way he always rushes to your aid, or the soft exchanges of words, or the way the two of you never move too far apart. You can't fight this growing need to be around him. You're soulmates. Whatever that means.

"Doctor! We need the doctor!"

Your ears prick at the commotion at table two. Everyone keeps working, but out of the corner of your eye you watch as Kino goes over to investigate.

"Is it another panic attack?"

You push down on the drill.

"...he's not breathin'"

You lift it up and inspect the results.

"Shit. I’ll call the doctor."

Your table begins to lift the cog off the table to load it on the rack. You step away, watching them move. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man keeled over on the floor.

A little bit of your soul cracks.

Keef returns to your side, and it’s brief, but his arm brushes against yours.

He doesn’t even need to say anything - you meet his brown-eyed gaze and all the hurt in your lungs evaporates.

“Unit Five-Two-D on program.”

He flicks his gaze up to the entrance, a gleam in his eyes.

You put your hands behind your head and turn to face them as the doctor is lowered onto the floor.

The man is dead.

There’s a strange anticipation in the air, like the way the air gets dry before a storm hits.

You watch them carry the man away in a bodybag. You catch Xaul and Jemboc exchanging a look. You catch the way Kino nods subtly to Keef as he walks past.

Everyone goes silently to their quarters - not even a whisper.

“Fall out!” Kino yells.

You turn to Keef. “What is going on?”

He pulls you aside, leaning in with his voice down low. “Do you trust me?”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow, whatever Kino says, I want you to follow immediately. No hesitation. You understand?”

“What - ”

“I can’t explain. I wish I could, but - ” His eyes catch on someone over your shoulder, and his mouth closes in a grim line.

You glance back and see Xaul, watching from a distance, arms folded, jaw tense. He’s never seemed to trust you, and you don’t blame him, but the way he watches you at all times is hard to get comfortable with.

“I don’t understand,” you turn back to your soulmate and search his eyes, “but... I trust you.”

An unreadable expression flashes in his eyes, and then everything is swept away as he takes you by the waist, cups your chin, and sweeps you into a gentle kiss.

For a nanosecond you freeze, before the rush of adrenaline fills your veins and you melt against his lips. The soulmark pulses on your arm, and the most amazing feeling overtakes you, of drifting high up in the clouds and watching the sun rise. You pull him closer, threading your fingers through his hair. The bristle of his five-o’clock shadow makes itself known with each movement, desire pooling in your core as you move your body against his. He feels so real, solid and alive, and it’s breathtaking.

The sounds of the world around you only vaguely registers in your head. Men, shouting at you.

Fuck them. Nothing else matters. You’re in the arms of your soulmate and you never want to leave again.

Then one voice, Kino’s, pierces through your haze. “Oi! The floor!”

Your eyes fly open as Keef breaks off the kiss and pushes you towards your cell with a growl.

You barely have time to react. Between the flashing lights, you lunge for the safe zone, leaping up into it seconds before the place is bathed in red.

“Fuck!”

You turn around.

He stands in his cell across from you, panting, his hair mussed from your attention. His eyes are wild, staring at you like he’s waiting for you to drop dead.

The instinct to reassure him overwhelms you. “I’m okay,” you say, stepping away from the edge. “I made it.”

He closes his eyes, running a palm over his mouth, and his shoulders rise and fall with a deep, shuddering breath.

You look down at your soulmark. That heightened feeling is fading, fast, each second you’re not back in his arms. A vision enters your head, of you, throwing yourself across the hall, even though you know that ends in death.

“You two lovebirds have a death wish?” Kino yells from his cell.

Shit.

“I told you they were distracting each other.”

“Gonna get us killed.”

Murmurs ripple down the hall. Heads, poking out of their cells.

Keef shakes his head, eyes swimming with anger. His voice is low, but you still hear it above the din. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that risk.”

His words should fill you with regret, but a part of you, a small, stubborn part, thinks that maybe it was worth it anyway, just to touch him again, to feel his arms around you, the dominance of his kiss.

You close your eyes, a hand going to your mouth on instinct, fingertips trailing where he had his mouth on yours.

“Enough!”

Kino’s bark gets everyone’s attention instantly. The chatter dies down.

You open your eyes, and Keef is staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. Heat rises to your face.

“Everyone knows what the plan is. Yes?”

Mumbles of men in agreement echo through the hall. You tilt your head, trying to discern any information you can, but pick up nothing. Nothing except that Keef looking towards Kino’s cell with fire in his eyes - tense, almost like hope, but darker.

Anger.

“Good. Now’s the time to rest. Tomorrow, we fight.”

A chill runs down your spine.

He’s shirtless in the morning.

Instantly pushing yourself up, your gaze locked on his chest, his stomach v, his arms, you catch his attention with the sudden movement.

He snaps his gaze to yours, pausing mid-stretch. His arm pulled across his chest, braced against his other arm to stretch his shoulder, the ropes of his biceps on full display for you.

“Hi,” you say.

Your swear his mouth curves just slightly, a twitch in his face, and he nods at you.

“Hi.”

All the blood in your body has left your brain. You continue to stare at him like an idiot while he does some basic stretches, before the lights flick to white, and Kino yells his daily on program! while Keef slides his shirt back on.

You fall in line in front of him.

He stands closer to you than normal, pressing his up front against you, his breath fanning against the back of your head as he leans in. His lilting voice sounds lowly in your ear, a lilting, baritone sound. “Remember what I said?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “F-Follow Kino,” you manage to stutter out.

He hums in approval. “Good girl.”

Your thighs clench together.

He’s getting more bold in front of the others, more playful, and you can’t help but feel excited and nervous by the shift. Why has he stopped hiding?

The line starts moving forward, and you follow the person in front of you to the showers as normal, trying to focus on anything but what he just said.

He thinks there’s a chance you could both escape, you think, and then immediately regret that line of thinking. But it’s too late. That future you imagined - the one that he planted in your mind with his words, shifts, and suddenly he’s there beside you in each vision, relaxing, laughing, grinning like an idiot.

Fuck.

The shift begins, the men exchanging knowing glances that have anticipation and dread growing in your belly. You know what this is by now, you’ve put the pieces together despite their weird reluctance in telling you.

This escape plan is really happening.

The new prisoner arrives shortly after your shift begins, and when Keef returns from the bathroom soaking wet, you barely have time to react before shit hits the fan.

Obeying Kino’s orders, you watch as together the other prisoners hijack the lift and short out the entire system - no more hot floor.

As he reaches the top, Keef turns back to pin you with a wild, furious look in his eyes that fills you with fire. He jerks his head for you to follow him.

So you do.

You climb. You run. You follow.

A guard catches you and tries to pull you away, but Keef is there in a flash of red and the smell of burning flesh, grabbing you by the hand and telling you to run as the man slumps to the ground.

The loading platform ends in a sheer drop to the sea. Your stomach drops as you pull back, glancing around as others begin to jump.

This is insane.

“I can’t swim!”

You barely hear Kino say it over the sound of the wind and the other prisoners, but then he says it again, and there is no doubt.

You step up beside him. “Me neither.”

Keef stares at you in shock.

And then he’s gone.

One of the men drags him off the edge by accident, and a shriek escapes you. “No!” but you can only watch as he disappears from sight.

A second goes by, then two. More men rush past.

There's nothing but the sound of blood pumping in your ears. No matter which way you think about it, if you follow, you're dead. There's no way you can swim that far, and if Keef tries to help you, he'll probably just die with you.

You fall to your knees.

Others race past you still, flinging themselves off the edge one by one. Kino stands by your side, watching them with an empty gaze.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and find yourself subconsciously cradling your arm, the soulmark on it beginning to throb painfully. Follow Kino, he said, but you’re not sure Kino has any moves left. There’s none you can see; no way to survive.

Maybe you should just jump anyway and let fate decide.

“Nothing.” Kino looks down at the gun in his hand. “We’re going out, one way or another.”

You nod and take in a deep breath of salty ocean air. “Agreed.”

He says nothing.

“Ah!” Your soulmark throbs again, and you grip your arm, hissing through your teeth. “Fuck off!”

“Sorry?” Kino growls.

"It’s uh,” you pull back your sleeve to him, “my soulmark.”

He blinks. “Damn. Keef?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains you two then.” He nods, casting his gaze out to sea. “I... I have a family.”

You peer up at him.

“I just wanted to see them again.” He looks down at the gun in his hands again.

“At least you know you tried,” you offer. “Sometimes...” Keef’s words ring true, pouring from your lips even as you hear the memory of his words spoken in your mind. “...that’s all we can do.”

The two of you linger in silence. Below you, the forms of men swimming away from the prison spread out, reaching towards the horizon. The soulmark on your arm is aching something fierce now, calling you to the edge. But it’s the realisation that Keef must be feeling this pain too, that hurts even more.

You hope he is trying anyway, down there, despite the pain.

He’s probably thinking the same thing about you.

Damn.

You stand. “Give me the gun.”

Kino hands it to you without even looking, his eyes remaining fixed on the horizon.

You turn around, facing the inside of the prison, and point the gun at one of the panels of the wall. The sound of the blast almost deafens you.

The panels sizzle where the blast hit, but as you approach, you can see them peeling away from each other at the seam. Without hesitation, you wedge the barrel of the gun in the hole, and with all your strength, try to peel the panel off the wall.

“What are you doing?” Kino growls.

You glance back at him with a half-cocked shrug.

“Finding something that floats.”

Wet.

Cassian’s fingers close around sand. His lungs are on fire, exacerbated by the stinging salt he inhales with each breath. Everything hurts.

A shadow relieves him from the sun. He looks up and for a moment, it’s you, the beautiful image of you reaching down for him tilting this world on its axis. Then he blinks, and Melshi comes into focus.

“We need to disappear,” he’s saying, scanning their surroundings.

Cassian tries to push himself up, but there’s a terrible ache emanating from his soulmark. It was easy to ignore in the sea - everything hurt. But now it spreads through his body, an urging like no other to wade back out into the dark waves - to go back for you.

He wants to punch the man who tackled him off the edge. Whoever it was. But as soon as he hit the water, swimming was the only way to survive.

“Did ya hear me? Keef?”

With a grunt, Cassian sits up and brushes off his hands, wincing when his arm throbs with the movement. “Did anyone else make it?”

Melshi squints. “If they did, they didn’t follow us.”

Yeah, that’s what he thought. Even if, by some miracle, you did make it, you could be miles apart, with no way of finding each other.

It would be enough to know that you survived, but he’s never been that lucky. No. He thinks of you, of your tentatively hopeful expressions that get him through the day, that beautifully trusting look in your eyes right before he kissed you, and has to tilt his head back to prevent his eyes from watering.

His soulmate. Dead.

He thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance he could save you.

“Keef.” Melshi stoops down beside him. “We have to move.”

“What do you know about soulmarks?” he murmurs.

Melshi sighs. “You’re dehydrated, mate. C’mon.” He goes to lift him up.

“No - no!” Cassian resists, pushing Melshi away and scrambling to his feet. He shoves back his sleeve and bares his soulmark. “I need to know! I need to...” He cuts himself off with a grimace as pain pulses through the mark.

Melshi stares at the mark, wide-eyed. “No shit. The girl?”

Cassian can only nod. “She doesn’t even know - my real name.” He chokes the words out past tears. “I thought I could save her. But she’s... she’s probably dead by now.” It feels like he’s separated from his body, like someone else is saying these things.

“Wouldn’t you know?”

Cassian stills. “What do you mean?”

Melshi hesitates.

“What do you mean?!” He grips at his hair, heart thudding in his chest so hard it might burst. “How would I know?!”

“I don’t know! It was just a story, back home - people said the marks are like homing beacons. So if she’s dead, your mark would... stop working.” He cringes, muttering, “it sounds stupid when I say it like that.”

Cassian looks down at it the throbbing, aching mark. He focuses on it, and - there - the throbbing pulls towards the sea.

He looks out at the waves. “She’s alive.”

His legs carry him forward, back into the sea. The sound of Melshi yelling behind him is a distant worry over the beating of his own heart, the very blood in his veins burning to get to you.

Then arms close around him, pulling him back. “You’re insane!”

He snarls and shoves Melshi back. “Get off me!”

“You’ll die!”

“I have to go back!”

Melshi lets him go. “Okay okay, just - just think about this! You’re no use to her dead.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand. If she’s alive - ”

“If she’s still alive, she’ll need more than just one man swimming out to rescue her!” His gaze darts down. “Is it getting better or worse?”

“What?”

He points to Cassian’s soulmark. “It’s painful, right? Is it getting worse?”

Cassian looks down at it. “It’s been about the same for a while now.” Fucking painful, but, “...maybe a little less than before. I don’t know!”

Melshi nods. “So she could be getting closer.”

“If that is how it works.” Instinct - the mark - tells him it does, but the panic in his chest won’t go away. He needs to see you. “So what do I do then? Wait around for her to find me? She can’t swim, so how - ”

“I don’t care!” Melshi interrupts. "But if you don’t return to shore with me, I will knock you unconscious and drag you back.” There’s a deadly serious look in the man’s eyes.

The ache within him isn’t going away. He’s not sure how much more he can take. But Melshi is right - it would be a death wish to swim back.

The prison is a blip on the horizon. Could you have really made it, somehow?

Melshi eyes him aggressively, waiting for him to make a move.

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “You really care about me that much?”

“You’ve been a bloody pain in my arse, but you were instrumental in our escape, so I figure I owe ya.”

With a nod, he looks back towards land, skimming his fingers over the waist-high water. “We wait here then.”

“They’ll be sending ships looking for us.”

“I won’t go any farther inland.”

Melshi shakes his head. “Fine.” With a splash, he begins wading toward the shore. “Then we’d better find some shelter for the night.”

It’s midnight. Probably, anyway. Cassian has no sense of time here, except that it's been dark for a while.

He sits with his face tilted up to the stars. The sea breeze is a cool rush of air, swaying the tree above and rustling his hair across his face.

He needs a haircut again.

The mark on his arm has steadied to a slow, aching pulse every few seconds, nothing more than the sensation of a mending bruise.

Melshi is right - he can feel it in his veins that you're getting close.

So he's waiting.

Sleep will not come to him tonight. Like you, it eludes him, and in its place, the unnatural sense that something is missing.

It's subtle, at first. A crashing of waves that don't fit the slow, steady beat he's been listening to all night.

Then, the sound of voices out there. A man's, deep and grating, and yours.

He'd recognise it anywhere.

He peers around the tree, out towards the sea, and sees a shape floating on the water.

“Melshi.” He hisses his companion’s name, getting up. “Melshi! It's them.”

“Huh,” Melshi starts, half awake.

“It’s them. I’m going to get her.”

He groans, shifting his arms up to cover his face. “They’re actually here? Wha’ are the chances? How?”

“I don’t know.” Breathless, Cassian turns toward the sea, towards the place his soulmark has been calling him towards all night. “But I’m going to find out. Come on.”

He runs to the water.

Sand sprays beneath his feet, then water splashes, and then he’s wading, then swimming, towards it. The shape blotting out the stars on the horizon morphs into two silhouettes sitting on some kind of raft. They’re slowly paddling their way towards the shore.

Cassian wants to weep with joy when he hears their voices - first Kino, then you.

“Is that - ”

“Keef? Keef!” you cry out, your voice hoarse.

His palm collides with the raft - a smooth white panel, and there you are, sitting on one side with a salt-streaked, wind-struck, beautiful face, staring down at him in wonder.

“Well shit,” Kino croaks, glancing at you. “You were right.”

Your hand rests over your soulmark as you stare down at Cassian.

Stars. There is so much he wants to say, but none of it seems like enough for this moment. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you - he can’t.

But as the waves gently rise and fall, Kino clears his throat pointedly. “Much as I love being surrounded by water...”

“Right, right.” Cassian grabs hold of the panel. “I’ll take you to shore.”

The soft strokes of the sea abuts his efforts as he pulls the raft behind him, until the sea floor shallows out and he can put his feet beneath him.

“You should be good now. You can stand,” he says, instantly returning to your side of the raft. “Melshi’s with me, on the shore.”

Kino nods, sliding off the edge. “We should bury the panel.”

“Agreed.”

You hesitantly dip your legs in the water, and Cassian places his hands on your waist ready to help you down. “I’ve got you.”

In the darkness he can barely see your face, but he could swear there’s a heat reflected in your eyes.

It feels good, coming to you aid on instinct. Putting his hands on you.

As he holds you steady, you gently slip off the edge of the raft and collide against him with an oof as you land.

Despite his exhaustion, his shaft hardens. To go from be denied his soulmate for so long, to this...

“Here,” he says, roughly pushing the panel towards Kino, his eyes never leaving your face. “Go see Melshi. We’ll catch up.”

The man grunts something, and begins to wade to shore with the panel, and then he’s forgotten as Cassian is drawn back to you on instinct.

His arms tighten around your waist, and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s struck.

You cup his face, gaze flitting between his eyes and his mouth, your breaths mingling, and then suddenly he’s pressing his mouth against yours.

You let out a cute little gasp against him, and his chest flutters, as you yield to him.

Yes. He burns with the rightness of this moment, and yet braces you against him as he deepens the kiss, like he’s afraid you’re going to slip away. He doesn’t quite believe you’re real yet.

Your fingers dig into his hair, and he likes it, the way you pull him into you with the same hunger and desperation he’s feeling.

“Cassian,” he breathes suddenly, pulling back for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours. “My real name is Cassian.”

“Cassian,” you repeat, and then your mouth curves into a smile - a fucking smile.

He almost groans. His soulmark pulses warmly against you. “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding against him.

“You’re my soulmate.”

You nod again, clinging tight to him. “Yes.”

A low, reverent chuckle escapes him, and you let out a light giggle in response; together relishing in the intimacy of this moment.

And then you cant your hips, and his laugh turns into a groan, a new kind of bliss making itself known in the hardening of his length beneath his pants. He thinks he’s never seen anything as beautiful as the look in your eyes. Full of passion - a beautiful, twisting flame, but also, understanding. You barely know each other, and yet it’s like your souls know each other intimately; bound together by something greater than either of you can fathom.

With a swift motion, he sweeps your legs out from underneath you and hitches your thighs around his waist so you're floating in the water, anchored in place by him alone.

You press yourself into him, arching your back and leaning forward to brush your lips against his.

He kisses you with all the fervour and unfulfilled need building inside him. His hands come around your ass and dig in, tugging your crotch against him so you can feel his hardness.

Another heady, submissive gasp escapes you against his mouth, and when your legs open further to let him settle against you, he's done for.

“I know you’re probably tired,” he murmurs, “and we should probably get to shore, but I...”

You're nodding before he even finishes the sentence, making his heart soar with the needy look in your eyes. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, yes, please, Cassian, please.”

With a breathless laugh, he drops your thighs and takes you by the waistband of your pants instead.

Together, you work to pull it off of you. It’s awkward, messy, not how he imagined this going, but it doesn’t matter. The mood is playful as you struggle to pull your pants off beneath the water - you, bracing yourself on his shoulders, and him, trying to pull it off your legs and getting splashed in the process.

But then suddenly you’re fully naked from the waist down, and your laughter quietens as you draw close to each other again.

He can’t see your naked lower half beneath the dark water, but he can feel when you wrap your legs around him again.

Slowly, he places his hand on your bare thigh, treating the moment with all the reverence of a ritual, his soulmark tingling in anticipation and sending a shudder through his body.

With his other hand, he cups your face, searching your gaze.

“I’m clean.”

“Same.”

“Birth control?”

Something like pain flickers in your eyes, and you shake your head. “Not since... before.”

“Right. Of course.”

He hesitates.

The two of you just escaped prison, and if he’s learnt anything, this is not the kind of galaxy he wants to risk bringing a child into. He’s not even sure if he’ll survive tomorrow.

“What do you want to do then?”

“We could die tomorrow.” You shift in his arms, pulling yourself flush against him until his hardness presses firmly between you. “Fuck it.”

He tilts his head, a slight grin curling on his face. Stars, when you say it like that... With a clench of his jaw, he pulls you down slowly and impales you on his hardness.

His head falls back. You’re fucking tight. A raw, incredulous groan rises from his throat.

Your reaction has his head spinning - fingers winding through his grown-out hair and pulling desperately against him. He loves little hiss you make.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze and his seed almost spills, only holding himself back with the barest restraint. Must savour this moment. Finally being inside you - his soulmate.

He pulls you in for a hungry kiss. Heat rises between your bodies as you give yourself over to his touch, opening your mouth into his kiss and arching your back for him.

It’s too much. Unable to stop himself, his hands grip you by your thighs and he fully impales you, forcing your tight, inner channel muscles to give way and let his shaft thrust full inside you.

You brace his shoulders and writhe in pleasure. “Oh, Cassian, please, m-move - ”

That’s all he hears before his instincts take over, and he uses all his strength to thrust, desperate to wedge himself so far inside you he’ll never leave.

He plants his feet on the sea floor and braces you against him as you cant your hips for him. Your bodies are working overtime to create that toe-curling friction, thrusting into each other with bruising force, the waves splashing and breaking over your entwined forms.

Your mouths clash in a tangle of heated, desperate kisses that burn him from within. The tension is pulled taut between you, soulmarks thrumming in time with each other as you desperately unite your bodies as one.

He rocks his hips up between your open legs and hits home harder and harder with each slosh of the water. His hands grip you by the back of your shirt, fingers scrambling against the fabric to pull your body down as hard as he can.

Your head lols back in the water, a gasp escaping your throat. “Cassian! Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop - oh!”

He grunts in approval. His hunger for you grows, seeing you so vulnerable like this for him, desperate to hold out as long as he can to pleasure you. His thrusts grow even more frantic and sloppy - a fast, brutal jerking rhythm of pounding up into your cunt.

“My hope,” he murmurs in Kenari, barely hanging on to his sanity. “Better than anything I’d ever dreamt of.” He drinks in the sight of you, wet and vulnerable and all his, and his hardness gives a heady warning pulse of heat. He groans. “You’re everything. You’re mine.”

You let out a whimper in his arms, and then you’re tensing, your thighs, clenching around him with newfound strength.

“Cassian,” you moan through gritted teeth, “Cassian!”

The first jolt of pleasure wracks through his body without warning. At the realisation that you’re climaxing, he’s had it - he can’t hold back anymore.

He groans in disbelief. His brows draw together, the deep, intense, deliberate jerking of his body against yours faltering as pleasure takes over. A sound comes out of him, a mix between a desperate plea and praise, and then he’s coming inside you.

Fierce, intense waves of heat pulse into your raw, messy, clenching cunt.

His pleasure deepens as you open your legs even farther to receive his spend inside you. With a growl, he pulls you against him and jerks his hips against you once more, finishing himself off.

“Yes,” you moan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his. The change in angle shields your face from the starlight, but the sound of your shuddering, desperate pants of breath are clear as day. You’re high on this shared bliss together.

“Don’t want to wake up,” he murmurs against your lips.

“You think I’m a dream?”

He traces up your arm and wraps his hand around the back of your neck. “You’re too good to be real. I’m not that lucky.”

You chuckle. “You are now.”

“We’ll see.”

It isn’t until the next morning, when he opens his eyes to the first rays of sun and you’re still there, asleep in his arms, that he finally allows himself to believe.

#andor bingo #andor #andor smut #andor fanfiction #star wars #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #cassian andor #cassian andor smut #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x y/n #soulmates #soulmate trope #soulmate fanfiction #soulmark #soulmarks #soulmark trope #soulmark fanfiction #sil's writing

[kaminocasey]

25 Days of Life Day: Day 3 - Sledding with Hardcase

A/N: I've not been sledding in like ten years, so if this is awkward, oops. Also, s/o to @idledreams for inspiring me with the lap sitting. Bless <3

Warnings: Minors DNI; suggestive content, lap sitting, crude-ish jokes? 501st shenanigans.

The snow is coming down in giant beautiful flakes, sticking to the ground, and you can’t help but smile, knowing the 501st boys are probably having the time of their lives right now. So you put on your coat, gloves, hat, and boots, pour yourself a cup of caf, and walk out the door of the medbay, heading down toward where you think the biggest slope is. 

“Hiya, chief.” Fives greets you, holding a lid of one of the long crates that holds ammunition and weapons. 

You look and see a ton of the men of the 501st are, not just Fives. They really do get creative when they want to have fun. 

“Chief.” General Skywalker nods, smiling. 

Ahsoka greets you as well. 

You nod back. “General. Commander.”

“Come to join the fun?” Ahsoka asks you, grinning.

“Came to help out if someone gets hurt.” You chuckle. 

“Smart.” Skywalker pats you on the back and walks off, Ahsoka in tow. 

“Hardcase was looking for you.” Kix’s voice comes out of nowhere and you turn to find him bundled up, arms crossed, grinning teasingly.

Hardcase had taken a fancy to you in the last few months but neither of you had said as much. Mostly just flirty banter and awkward silences were all you were capable of, apparently. You’d like to change that, though. Maybe you could let him know how you felt today. 

As if you were on the same wavelength of thought, Hardcase calls your name from the bottom of the slope, waving up at you. You wave back with a wide grin. 

“Come down!” Hardcase shouts up to you.

“Absolutely not! I’m here to make sure you don’t hurt yourselves!” You laugh. 

He shakes his head, amused, and starts running up the hill to you, his feet only sinking into the snow slightly, making the trek a little harder than he originally thought it’d be. You can’t help but smile at his ambition and just how cute a dangerous trooper could be. 

You remember the first time you met Hardcase. He had been in a minor explosion and got some pretty nasty burns. He’d just laughed it off and said “It happens”. Now, the two of you somehow always manage to gravitate together. 

“You look nice and toasty today.” Hardcase greets you when he finally approaches you.

“Oh, yeah. So warm.” You try to keep your teeth from chattering. 

You see Fives and Echo go down on two of the “sleds” yelling something about a race and you and Hardcase laugh.

“You wanna try?” Hardcase asks you, picking up one of the crate lids. 

“If I get hurt, who will help-”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Kix suddenly appears out of nowhere again. 

You give him a warning look and he smirks. 

“Give me that.” Kix takes your caf and pushes you toward Hardcase.

“Come on.” Hardcase pulls you to the edge of the hill, sitting his crate lid/sled down in the snow. 

How did you get roped into this? You probably should’ve just stayed in the medbay today. 

“Nope. Absolutely not. Sorry.” You shake your head.

“You’re not scared are you?”

“No.” Yes…

“I’ll go down with you.” Hardcase offers.

A few of the other 501st guys standing nearby start snickering at what Hardcase just said and he rolls his eyes. 

“Ignore them.” He chuckles, sitting down on the crate and patting his lap. “Come on.”

“Oh…” Your cheeks immediately start burning at the realization that he wants you to sit on his lap. “You sure you don’t wanna go on a date first? Normally lap sitting isn’t until the third date.”

He laughs and you can’t help but laugh with him. His smile has always been infectious. 

“How about just this once lap sitting can come before a first date and then I promise as soon as we get planetside, I’ll take you out. Somewhere without any of my vod around.”

Hard to say no to that, right?

Caving with a sigh, you ease yourself down onto Hardcase’s lap, trying to ignore the whistles and teases coming from his brothers.

“Atta girl.” 

You try to ignore the warm feeling that gives you as you feel him underneath you, and pressed against your back. Instinctively, you lean against him, warmth flooding your veins and his hands press against your stomach.

“This okay?” He asks you, his breath warm against your neck and you nod.

It’s honestly more than okay.

“You better not let go of me.” You murmur, breathless.

“I promise not to let go of you.” He grins.

“COME ON, CHIEF! YOU GOT THIS!” Fives yells up from the bottom of the hill, grinning wildly. 

“DO I?” You shout back, a nervous laughter bubbling up. 

“Yeah you do.” Hardcase gives you an encouraging squeeze. 

“DON’T BE A BABY!” Jesse yells up next. 

“Ugh. Okay. Do it.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Do you remember that night a couple weeks ago when we crash landed and you didn’t even flinch?” He asks. 

“Mmhm…” You mumble.

“Easier than that.” He promises. “By a long shot.”

You open your eyes and lean back slightly to look at him, he’s glancing at your lips and you feel every nerve ending in your body stand straight up. 

“You promise?” You look down at his lips as well and he starts to lean in but it moves the sled and all of a sudden, at full force, you’re plunging to the bottom of the hill.

A scream rips its way up your throat and you immediately grip Hardcase’s legs so hard he’s sure to bruise.

And then… it’s over almost as quick as it started. 

You’re clutching your chest, breathing heavily. 

“You’re okay! You’re alright! You did so good!” Hardcase praises. “I’m so sorry. Kry pushed us. I’m gonna go kill him.” 

You carefully get up and stand there as Hardcase runs back up the hill, making Kry take off, laughing. Echo comes over and steadies you. 

“How comfy was the sled?” Fives winks and you give him an obscene gesture before making your way back up to the medbay. 

Later that night, there’s a knock, followed by a familiar voice outside your barracks. You pace toward the door, opening it and finding Hardcase with his hand up on the doorframe so he’s leaning closely to the door.

“Hey.” You smile, softly.

“We were interrupted earlier.” He smirks. 

You barely give him time to finish his sentence before you grab him by his sweatshirt, pulling him into your quarters and crushing your lips to his. 

“Remind me to find you in the next near death experience.” He chuckles between kisses.

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting  @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley

#25 Days of Life Day #25 Days of Life Day 2023 #Hardcase x reader #x reader #Tcw hardcase

[pullhisteeth]

Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

-

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

-

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

-

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

-

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics. 

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

-

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

-

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence. 

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

-

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson requests #eddie munson request #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie fanfic #eddie imagine #eddie fic

[tennessoui]

MR AND MR SITH I LOVE IT!!!😭😭😭

I’m just picturing them doing the Angelina and Brad pose and it’s sending me

ok i was thinking about this au this morning so here is 1.1k of a writing warm up set in the mr and mr sith au where the jedi have captured master skywalker to take him home (they think he's been held hostage this entire time), but they accidentally pick up sith obi-wan instead and no one is prepared........

(1.1k)

Ena frowns down at Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, a bad feeling sprouting in her chest. This all feels wrong, but it isn’t. She knows it isn’t.

“He really fought back?” she asks Mal as soon as he enters the room. “But you told him we were Jedi, right? That we came to rescue him? That he was safe?”

Mal puts his hand on her shoulder. The touch is supposed to be comforting, but Ena isn’t sure how much she wants comfort right now. “I did,” he swears. “But he’s been held captive by the Sith for so long, Ena, who knows what they’ve done to his mind?” “He doesn’t…he doesn’t look tortured,” Ena says, looking over Master Skywalker’s bound figure. They’d had to physically tie him down with rope and chain once they’d subdued him, apparently. Apart from the livid bruise along his cheekbone, he appears uninjured. His hair—auburn and rather short—falls messily over his face.

“You and I both know that sometimes the deepest scars are ones we cannot see,” Mal tells her, squeezing her shoulder once.

“And the child?” Ena asks. “Has the med droid finished looking him over?” “Healthy,” Senaka reports as she comes into the room, montrals twitching at the change of Force, a heaviness in the air that they know comes from their captive even though they’re not sure why. “Five standard years of age, I believe, with a ridiculously high midichlorian count. He’ll be waking up within the hour, I’m sure.”

“Master Skywalker has clearly bonded with the boy,” Mal reports, hand rising to tug at a padawan braid that’s no longer there. “It was only when we separated them that he stopped fighting us. He didn’t even notice Senaka had a force collar until it was already on his neck.”

Ena feels a headache brewing behind her eyes. She knows what they’ve done is the right thing.

It doesn’t feel right though.

To tie a venerated, traumatized man to a chair, to win a fight against him by subduing a child…but they had had no other option. 

After six years of no information, the Jedi Council had finally caught a whisper about Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker’s location. Four Jedi Knights had been dispatched to follow this rumor to its bitter end, to track down Master Skywalker, rescue him from the clutches of the Sith who stole him away so long ago, and bring him home.

Their informant had confirmed that a man with yellow eyes was often seen on the same planet, in the same city. So they’d had to move fast.

And when Master Skywalker had not been receptive…when he’d killed Knight Avas…Ena knows they’d been forced into making a decision that felt wrong but must be right.

Mal squeezes her shoulder once, opening his mouth to say something. Before he can, Master Skywalker shifts slightly in his chair before he freezes completely. Awake.

His eyes flash open a second later, pale blue glowering right into Ena’s soul. “Where is he?” he spits, words spoken in an unexpectedly Coruscanti accent. “What have you done with him?”

“Master Skywalker,” Ena says, holding out a hand to try and soothe the fury thrashing in the man’s eyes. He snarls the moment she comes too close. “The boy is fine. I swear it, you know the Jedi would never hurt a child. We won’t hurt you either. It’s over. You’re safe.”

Master Skywalker rears back as much as he can in his current position. “I want to see him,” he commands. “Bring him to me.”

“We can’t do that,” Senaka shakes her head slowly. “You’re…volatile, Master. You could hurt him.”

“You will let me see my child,” Master Skywalker snaps, voice seeping with danger. “I—”

It is the patter of little feet that interrupts him now, and the three Jedi turn around immediately. Not before there’s a blur of movement from the door and the boy careens between their legs, running to throw himself onto Master Skywalker’s lap.

Though the man’s arms are bound tightly behind him, Ena can see the way he automatically tries to hold the boy, shoulders jerking forward before he sinks back with a snarl of frustration.

“Papa!” the boy is saying over and over again, rubbing over the Jedi Master like an affectionate tooka cat. “I can’t feel you! Papa, why are you gone?”

“I’m here, Luke, it’s alright. We’re alright,” Master Skywalker murmurs, voice becoming impossibly softer as he leans far enough down so that he can tap their foreheads together.

“Master Skywalker, we mean you no harm,” Ena tries to say, taking another step forward. Senaka is right. Master Skywalker killed a Jedi only a few hours ago. He’s unstable. He’s dangerous. 

“I don’t know who that is,” the man snaps as the child—his child?—hides his face in his neck. “Release me at once. I have no ties to the Jedi Order.”

“What?” Mal looks shocked then shaken. Ena understands. None of them ever knew Master Skywalker, but everyone in the Temple had heard of him. He was legendary. A perfect Jedi. To hear that he doesn’t even recognize his name…it shakes Ena to her core. “No—you—you are Master Skywalker. Do you—Anakin. That’s your name. Anakin Skywalker. You’ve been missing for six years. You were kidnapped by the Sith on an undercover mission to Nyrel. We never stopped looking for you.”

The man in front of them freezes again, face expressionless as the seconds tick on. Slowly, a red eyebrow arches its way up his forehead. “Oh,” he says like he’s suddenly realized a great mystery of the universe. “Oh, I see.”

The child on his lap tugs at the front of his robes before deciding to tug at the bristles of his beard instead. “Papa,” Luke says in that way children do when they are demanding attention. “I can feel Daddy though. He’s not feeling good.”

Skywalker’s nostrils flare at this, and he cuts his eyes from the far wall down to the boy and then up to Ena. “Did you hurt him?” he demands, voice like ice. “When you captured me. Did you hurt him?”

“The boy? No—you can see, he’s fine—”

“A man,” Skywalker shakes his head. “Golden hair. Blue eyes. Tall.”

“No, papa,” Luke tugs at Skywalker’s beard again. “No. He’s okay. But he’s not feeling good things.”

Skywalker’s attention is fully on his child. “What do you mean, Luke?” he asks, voice gentle and coaxing.

“Angry,” Luke says. “Daddy is angry and close.”

For some reason this makes Master Skywalker smile, lines around his eyes crinkling with the force of his joy. “That’s very good then, Luke Love. Do you know why?”

Ena feels Mal shift next to her, unease growing in the air around them as Master Skywalker turns his face up to them. “Why?” Luke asks.

“Because our friends here really want to meet your daddy,” he says. “And I think your daddy’s going to be absolutely charmed.”

#asks #mr. and mr. sith au #obikin #i imagine when anakin comes aboard he probably darth vader at the end of rogue one's the three jedi #and then carefully cradles obi-wan's face in his hand and does the who did this to you (about the bruise) #and obi-wan is like your old jedi colleagues #and anakin blanches because obi-wan knows now......cover blown #life over #etc etc #no i dont think obi-wan would then come clean about being a sith tho #the moment would have to be right

[marchtothefuckingsea]

A Demon’s Oath - Crowley

My Masterlist.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, injury and gore.

hurt/comfort, enemies to allies

Summary: "I'll give you five minutes to leave my sight. After that? Pray I never see you again." 

I flipped the angel blade in my hand as another demon came at me, swinging around and sinking the blade into his chest. The blade came out with a sharp yank, and I was ready with it just in time for the other demon I had kicked in the gut. I shoved the empty meatsuit to the ground with a grimace, and continued deeper into the warehouse. All my senses were on alert. 

I thought I heard a shuffle on the concrete floor, the sound of a shoe scraping the stone ever so slightly, and I whipped around. There stood the king of hell himself. Crowley. I narrowed my eyes at him, readying my blade. 

"Calm down, darling. I'm sure we can be civil about this." He raised his hands in what was meant to be a non-threatening gesture. 

"Like that's ever happened before." I spat. 

He snorted. "Only because of you Winchesters." He argued. "I would be more than willing to have a calm discussion." 

"Anywho," He clasped his hands together. "No need to stall. I know what you're here for." 

"You don't know jack." I tried to hide my surprise. 

"You're here to kill me, are you not? My wonderful mother wants me dead, and in return she'll decipher the Book of the Damned so you can rid our dearest Dean of the Mark of Cain." He paused. "Did I miss anything?"

I shifted into a fighting stance in response. 

"Well, go on then. I'm giving you a head start." At the arrogant tone of his voice, I lost it. I lunged, but was immediately flung into a concrete pillar. The angel blade clattered to the ground. 

While I was pinned by his demonic magic, he picked up my blade and examined it lazily. "I'm glad to see you came prepared, at least. I have to say, I respect you for that more than your brothers. You're not as stupid as you look." 

"Thanks." I responded sarcastically, gritting my teeth. Crowley turned the blade over in his hand a few times, before dragging the tip of it over my stomach experimentally. I hissed in pain, struggling against my invisible bonds. 

"Listen, I know why you're doing this. You're desperate. Otherwise, you wouldn't be working with that bitch mother of mine."

The demon king watched my blood run down the blade, down the handle, and over his knuckles. "I can't say I understand where you're coming from, but I guess I can't blame you." 

He tucked the knife into his jacket, and his gaze hardened. The invisible force released me, and I fell to the floor with a groan, pressing an arm to my stomach. I staggered to my feet, leaning heavily on the pillar.

"I'm giving you five minutes to leave my sight." He said, meeting my glare. 

"And after that?" 

"Pray I never see you again." I watched him for a moment, realizing he was serious. He was going to let me walk away, just like that.

My pride would take quite the hit, but I didn't have any other tricks up my sleeve. He had taken my angel blade, and it would be pointless to fight him now. With one final distrustful glance, I forced my feet to carry me out of the warehouse. They dragged on the gravel as I approached my car, woozy from blood loss. I was seeing double as I drove back to the bunker, but I didn't care. We needed to cure Dean very, very soon. And without Rowena's help, as much as I hated to admit it, there was no way we could do it. 

-

"I'm not telling you shit." I spat at the demon, wrenching against the rope that tied my wrists to the chair. She had managed to get the upper hand on me. She knocked me out and I had woken up only a few minutes ago with a punch to the jaw. 

"You'll tell me where the witch is, or I'll kill you." She growled, slicing across my arm. I hissed in pain. 

I glared up at her. "That wouldn't be very smart now, would it?" 

"Then I guess you're not leaving 'till you give me what I want." The demon bent down to my level, her black eyes glittering. 

"Good luck on that one, sister." I was cut off with a groan when she cut my other arm with the serrated blade, deeper this time than the other. 

 She paused, waiting for a response from me of any kind. When I didn't give her what she wanted, she plunged the blade into my shoulder. I let out an agonized sound, clenching my teeth. She pulled the blade out before licking my blood off of it. I glared at her in disgust. 

"I could do this for hours, you know." She started. "Days. Weeks, even." 

"Yeah, and so could I." I grit my teeth. "But something tells me you don't have that kind of time."

"I'll make it." She snapped. I could tell I hit a nerve. 

I shifted in the chair, blood running down my chest. It was sticky and uncomfortable. But most of all, it was something that was not supposed to be outside of my body, and definitely not in these quantities. 

"What if I did tell you where Rowena is?" I asked cautiously, working at a thin spot in my sleeve with a fingernail.

The demon shrugged, her back turned to me. "Then I'd let you go." 

I gently wiggled my fingertips into the material, pulling out a razor blade. I began to work at my bindings. "That simple, huh?" 

"That simple." She agreed. The rope came away from my wrist, and I carefully untied the other. 

As soon as I rose from the chair, dizzy from blood loss, she turned on her heel to face me. "Oh please." She sighed in annoyance. With a flick of her hand, I was slammed into a brick wall. I groaned, black spots dotting my vision. I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. 

"You're a Winchester, and I'm not stupid." She said, calmly twirling the knife in her hand. I watched, unable to do anything else. Her eyes were indecisive until she paused and eyed me over. 

"Last time someone looked at me like that I-" I began to quip, but I ended it with a sharp gasp. The demon plunged the blade into my stomach. I didn't feel anything at first, just shock and numbness. It wasn't until I was dropped to the ground and the blade had been pulled out that I felt the white hot pain.

 I twisted onto my side, but the demon was quicker. She grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. Everything spun for a second, but I wasn't sure if it was from the shock, or from teleporting. All I knew was when my eyes focused, we were in a dingy hallway. It was dimly lit by torches on the wall. 

She yanked me alongside her, leaving me no choice but to follow. My heart pounded in my ears and my drooped head allowed me to watch the trail of my blood that was left behind us. We turned a corner, and then several more. I was barely conscious. By the time we made it to a set of doors, I hung limply from her grip. She all but dragged me through them. 

I was shoved in front of her, where I managed to stay on my feet for a shocking three seconds before crumpling to the floor in a heap. I could barely make out my surroundings, or the voices discussing something. My whole body shivered and I felt like I was freezing; I knew it was shock. 

"My lord." The demon said formally. "They know where the Winchesters are keeping Rowena." 

"And?" I recognized the accented voice, but my brain was lagging. 

"They will not give up the information." 

"Isn't that supposed to be your job? You want me to do your job for you?" He snapped, raising his voice. I cringed when I realized it was Crowley. I twisted onto my side, gasping at the pain in my stomach. 

"No, my lord." She stammered. "I was hoping you would have better luc-" 

"Off with you." He sighed in annoyance, waving his hand. "I'll deal with them." 

There was a tense silence before I heard her footsteps retreat. The doors snapped shut with an eerie finality. Fear took over, and I began to struggle onto my forearms. 

He rose from his throne, and polished shoes came into view. My breath hitched in my throat when he stopped in front of me. 

"I didn't come here by choice." I tried to defend myself. "I'll leave." 

He said nothing, instead opting to kneel beside me. 

"Get away from me." I broke off with a ragged cough, squeezing my eyes shut. Another bloody cough wracked my body. I fell back onto my side shaking and gasping for air.

I felt arms around me. Crowley pulled me against him. His arm across my back forced me to lie somewhat upright so I didn't drown in my own blood. I pressed a hand to my abdomen in a pathetic attempt of self preservation. 

As soon as the coughs subsided, I barely waited to catch my breath. I began to struggle against him weakly. His grip on me tightened and I couldn't stop the whimper of fear that escaped my throat. "No-"

"Relax." He muttered. "I'm not going to harm you." 

"Let me go." I coughed. 

"I'm afraid you wouldn't even make it out of this room on your own in your condition, love." He shifted me in his arms, pushing me back down to the floor. My face screwed up in pain at the slight movement. 

His hand moved to my shoulder, causing me to react out of instinct. I gripped his wrist weakly in defense. I knew it wouldn't stop him at all, but he paused, looking between my bloody face and my grip on his hand.

"I'm not going to harm you." He reminded me. I shook my head, trying to push his hand away. 

This time he grabbed my hand, holding my wrist in a firm grip. I struggled, panic in my eyes and my breathing ragged. I flinched as he passed his hand over my shoulder, but there was no pain that I had been expecting. I felt a slight stinging sensation, and then nothing. Not even the pain that should have been prevalent because of my injury. 

I moved my shoulder, and was surprised to find it was healed. My tired eyes flickered to Crowley in surprise. 

"I told you I wasn't going to hurt you," He explained. "And I'm a man of my word." 

"But you-" I hissed in pain when he passed his hand over the worst injury to my abdomen. It stung a hell of a lot more than the other, but I guessed it was because of the severity of it. 

"Things change all the time, do they not?" He watched as I struggled to my feet, mirroring my actions. My head spun and I swayed. 

"I'm not telling you where Rowena is." I muttered. He put his hands on my biceps, steadying me. I instinctively flinched at the contact, before I realized we were somewhere else entirely. It took my eyes several moments to focus, but I recognized the warehouse where I had tried to kill him.

"Those idiots are out of the loop." His voice was laced with annoyance. 

"So what do you want from me?" I asked, meeting his gaze. He was closer than I expected, but I held my ground, afraid to admit that I wasn't sure if I would stay standing if he wasn't steadying me. 

"A favour. In the near future." Crowley answered.

"I didn't ask for you to heal me or whatever it is you did." I argued, pulling away from him. I stumbled, but managed to stay on my feet. 

"I promise I wouldn't ask something of you that you are incapable of doing. Or anything that would put you in harm's way." He muttered the last part. I gazed at him distrustfully. 

"I sent a text to your brothers." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "They'll be here to pick you up shortly. And one more favour," His eyes seemed to soften.

"Be safe." 

#supernatural #spn #crowley spn #crowley #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural oneshot #supernatural angst #supernatural whump #supernatural x reader #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn oneshot #spn angst #spn whump #spn x reader #crowley spn fanfiction #crowley spn fanfic #crowley spn oneshot #crowley spn angst #crowley spn whump #crowley spn x reader #crowley fanfiction #crowley fanfic #crowley angst #crowley whump #crowley oneshot #crowley x reader #doctor who x reader #reader insert

[prettyflyshyguy]

It's wip wednesday motherfuckers and its 3am so you know what that means, here's an unhinged writing excerpt that's barely edited (WOOHOO WE MADE PROGRESS TONIGHT)

“Hey, hey look at me.��� Dean’s vision was hazy, but he could see the stranger was tied up the same as he was. Sitting a few feet away in a wooden chair, his mouth was taped over, otherwise he seemed unharmed. His head jerked up at the sound of his voice, he tried to speak but only a muffled cry escaped the tape clamping his mouth shut. “Hey, it’s gonna be ok. Everything’s gonna be ok, help is on its way, I’m gonna get you out–”

“Oh I’m counting on it!”

The stranger whimpered and frantically looked around for the source of the voice that echoed through the room, glancing back at Dean with a harrowing look in his eyes. He rattled the chair he was tied to, the wood scraping on the old floor making a noise that pierced the emptiness of the space. Dean grunted as he felt the sound scrape the inside of his brain, pain throbbing in his temples like a hangover on crack. Great, I’ve been drugged. Despite the discomfort he tried to focus his senses, he could hear the racing heartbeat of the tied up man, but not much else. 

The source of the voice sauntered into the room from a shadowed doorway, her boots crunching on the broken glass and rubble on the floor. The tied up man’s breathing became sharp and shallow, and his heart rate spiked as he watched her pace around the pair slowly. Dean watched her also, noting her attire resembled the crowd from The Black Rose. A tacky leather skirt and jacket combination, dull and dark colours. Her hair was short, one side tucked behind her ear while the other half shadowed one side of her face. She had dyed it black, he could see light organge regrowth peeking in at the roots. She had a gentle face, with a warm smile that contrasted with the black lipstick and panda-like eyeliner that seemed to be the trend as of late. Dusted with freckles, she had a youthfulness about her, but he guessed she was somewhere between the ages of twenty five to thirty five, as the lines that crinkled by her eyes and mouth when she smiled gave him an indication. He considered he might have thought her to be attractive if she was wearing a more palatable getup, though all the people that frequented that bar confounded him. He watched her carefully as she stood behind the man, gripping the back of the chair he was bound two with both hands and settling in a gentle lean hovering over him as he bowed his head in silence. Dean noted that he still only heard one heartbeat in the room.

“The hell’d you do to me?” 

“Just a little dead man’s blood. It’ll wear off soon.” she smiled at him. He examined her face. It was the kind of smile he’d practiced in the mirror. An attempt at faking genuinity. The kind you make when you want something from someone. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, he thought. 

“Oh c’mon you think you hunters are the only ones who are in the know-how?” 

He glared at her in silence, staring up from under his furrowed brow. “Oh don’t be like that, I just want to talk.” she continued to smile. Dean returned the gesture, not attempting to hide that his was fake.

“Ok, sure, let's talk.” He looked down to the stranger sitting under her. He was shivering slightly. “Why’s he all taped up then, huh?”

“He’s not who I wanted to talk to.” the man jerked in his seat, crying out. He sobbed slightly as the woman placed a hand on one shoulder, gripping him tightly. “I just need Max here to prove a point, that’s all.”

“If you so much as scratch him I will kill you.” Dean hissed. 

She laughed. “God, you know I was told you hunters were all the same. And to think, people say we’re the ones who are all alike. I mean seriously. If I wanted him dead, don’t you think he’d be dead by now?” She removed her hand and the man breathed out, slowly looking up at Dean, his eyes pleading for help. Dean flexed the restraints holding his arms to the chair. The rope dug into his wrists and it scratched his skin as he pulled and tugged in protest. The woman smiled wider. 

“I saw what you did to the fridge. Damn waste of good blood.” She walked out of the room, returning a moment later dragging another chair in one hand, and holding a blood bag in the other. She placed the chair next to Dean and Max, settling herself a few feet away from both in a triangular formation. “Especially for someone so hungry.”

She pulled the cap off of the bag, and with unwavering eye contact she stared at Dean as she leant down to take a deep sip. Max whimpered softly as he watched her, too horrified to notice the way Dean stared at the bag. 

She paused for a moment after drinking, savoring the moment before addressing Dean once more, “You are hungry, aren’t you, Mister Winchester?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, “Please, Mister Winchester was my father. Call me Abraham.” his eyes flicked between her face and the blood bag. She watched him with that soft look in her eyes, observing him as he tugged at the rope and shuffled restlessly in his chair. 

“Ooo, I don’t know about that.” she said after a moment. “You seem more like an Edward Dalton type.”

Tilting her head back, she took a deeper drink from the bag. This time, Max watched Dean instead, eyes growing wide as he saw his mouth ajar, eyes fixated on the bag, his body lean forward slightly pulling at the ropes holding him back, as if he was entranced by the sight of the woman partaking in such a disgusting act, or worse, he longed to be in her place. Max sobbed again, and violently shook the seat, the rope cutting his skin as he was tied much tighter to his chair than Dean was.

#shy talks #not art #yeah its live free twiharder again #not me gritting my teeth and sobbing as I have to write Dean insulting goths #but its all for the sake of character POV #and you know i'm committed #not tagging this specifically cause i might delete later #what the fuck do you MEAN “new followers will require context for this Shy”

[haverdoodles]

The Gift

— (Dorian & Ellana)

.

Ellana wrenched her door open. “What?”

Dorian stood agape on the other side of the threshold, one hand still awkwardly raised to knock. Slowly, he lowered it, staring at her with visible incredulity.

“My goodness,” he said. “I didn’t know it was possible for you to look terrible.”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed. “Dorian, I am not in the mood —“

“Yes, yes, as I’m sure you’ve already told the five others who came knocking already. Fortunately for you, I am not daunted by the thought of being maimed.” He gestured impatiently. “Now, let me pass, will you? We haven’t got all day.”

Ellana bared her teeth in a silent snarl but did as he bade, stiffly stepping aside as he whisked his way confidently into her quarters.

“Now, then.” Dorian stopped in the middle of the grand room and spun towards her, bracing his hands on his hips. “The ideal would be to whisk you away from your exciting life of slaughtering demon hordes and toying with royalty for a day, but unfortunately Lady Josephine has forbidden me from doing so. She appears to be holding you hostage.”

“Important dignitaries are arriving at Skyhold,” Ellana replied. “I am to entertain them for the week.”

Dorian arched a brow. “Yes, and don’t you sound excited for it! You are exuding about as much enthusiasm as a cold, dead fish, sweetness.”

Ellana turned to shut the door. “If being the Inquisitor was meant to be enjoyable,” she said, resting a hand on the polished wood, “Then there would be far more clamouring for the position.”

There was a moment of heavy silence between them, swiftly broken when Dorian sighed. “Ellana. Come here, will you?”

Ellana obeyed, her bare feet padding soundlessly over stone and plush carpet to reach him. She stopped mere paces away, tilting her head back to meet the worried eyes of her friend, observing as they glowed gold in the sunlight.

“As I thought,” he said. “You are not alright.”

Ellana stiffened, and Dorian was swift to raise his hands placatingly. “I did not come here to lecture you,” he reassured her. “I am sure the Commander is already itching to do so. As a matter of fact, he is most likely on his way over here now.”

“Not yet,” Ellana responded. “Cullen is still pacing around his office, but he will make up his mind soon.”

Dorian pointed at her. “Alright, that strange, all-knowing connection you two have? Frightening. Please refrain from showing it off around me, it gives me the shivers.”

Ellana crossed her arms, ignoring him. “Dorian. Why are you here?”

He smiled fondly at the ice in her voice, unperturbed by her lack of welcome. That was a part of Dorian that Ellana had always found odd - he never seemed to fear her, not really. Even the most courageous of her Inner Circle knew when to back down in the face of her wrath, and yet Dorian barrelled on ahead without a care in the world. It was baffling and more than a little infuriating, but a small part of her couldn’t help but be relieved that someone she knew would not stand down against her. It was like an odd sort of anchor. It made her feel less invincible, more real.

Dorian offered his hand, to which Ellana slowly accepted after a long moment of suspicious squinting. He lead her across the room to her armoire, where a lovely golden mirror rested, catching the sunlight and reflecting it in lovely beams across the stone wall.

“What is this about?”

“I know your secret,” Dorian said, smiling slyly over her shoulder in the mirror’s reflection. “I will admit, it was not one I had been expecting.”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed into sapphire slits. In a dangerously soft voice, she replied, “What secret.”

“Nothing life-threatening, sweetness, unless you expect to be choked to death with a rope of diamonds by an unseen assailant,” Dorian replied amusedly.

“Do not toy with me, Pavus.”

Dorian met her eyes in the mirror, gold brushing against sapphire. “I know you secretly adore fine things,” he said. “I know that you have a private collection of silks hidden in your armoire, and a locked box full of shiny odds and ends that Te’lise has been collecting for you. I’ve seen the way your eyes catch on the finery in Val Royeaux and linger there, though you always look away before someone notices.”

No one was supposed to know.

Mortified, Ellana could only watch as her icy white pallor flushed a deep pink at his words. Fear and humiliation, two very unwelcome sentiments, twisted harshly in her gut. “I’ve had enough of this,” she said tightly, pulling away from him. “Get out. Now.”

“Ellana –”

“How dare you,” she snarled, turning away from him. Her hands clenched into trembling fists by her sides in an effort to provide some semblance of self control, though really all she wanted to do was whip a dagger out and stab something repeatedly. “Is that why you came here, then? To, to mock me? I thought that you, of all people – “

“Ellana!” Suddenly Dorian was in front of her again, staring down at her with wide eyes. “Maker’s breath, no. Never. I…” he trailed off, looking lost. “I apologize,” he said finally. “I did not think that through. I had intended to be lighthearted about the matter, but it is clear that this means a lot to you.”

He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. “I didn’t come here to hurt you,” he said sincerely. “I come bearing a gift, only I wasn’t sure how to go about it.”

“A gift.” She repeated flatly.

“Yes, though I fear I might have spoiled it with my careless behaviour,” Dorian lamented. “Here, face the mirror again, sweetness. I promise I will play nice.”

Ellana gritted her teeth, tempted to refuse. The earnestness in Dorian’s face stopped her, however, and with a sharp sigh of displeasure she finally did as he bade, reluctantly gazing at herself in the mirror.

Dorian’s hands rose from behind her, and a blur of silver passed across her face to rest lightly against her neck, icy cold against her skin. Ellana shivered, and her eyes widened.

It was a necklace.

The jewelry was comprised of two simple chains fused together at the ends, designed to create an elegant silhouette against the wearer’s neck. Two simple chains, and yet as they caught the sun and lit up like starlight, Ellana thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Oh,” she whispered very softly.

“I went with a simple design. That way, if you ever decide to wear it in public, no one can accuse you of being ostentatious.” Dorian was saying distractedly, brushing her hair over one shoulder so that he could clasp the piece on properly. “That isn’t all. I had the piece enchanted.” His eyes met hers in the mirror, bright with excitement. “Tap it with two fingers.”

Warily, Ellana did, and watched incredulously as it disappeared before her very eyes. She could still feel its weight against her skin, but there was nothing there. “Dorian…?”

“Tap it again.”

She obeyed, and the necklace was back as if it had never happened.

“I know you keep your secret a secret for a reason,” Dorian told her quietly. “You are a very private person, and as the Inquisitor there is more pressure on you than anyone else in Thedas to maintain a flawless, indestructible front. You do not want the world to know that you are just as much of a living, breathing person as anyone else, do you.”

Ellana thought of the locked box in her desk drawer, and of Te’lise pressing shiny pebbles and glittering gemstones into her hand each time she returned from a day trip, her face alight with an understanding smile. “No,” she responded. “I do not.”

Ellana turned towards Dorian. “You…” she started, and stopped. She felt strangely incapable of speaking. “Why?”

Dorian smiled at her. “You are my best friend,” he said. “Dare I say my only friend in this cold, barren wasteland that is the South. In mere months you have shown me more unconditional support than anyone else in my entire lifetime, and that… that truly means a lot to me.”

“Your best friend.” Ellana repeated. The title felt odd on her tongue, foreign. “I did not know that I was… friend… material.”

Dorian laughed, the sound echoing out into the chamber and bathing it in warmth. “I will admit, you aren’t the most approachable sort, but you are my best friend nonetheless.” He ran an approving eye over her. “Ah, as I thought. You wear it well.“

“Dorian. I…” But what was there to say? The words died in her throat, and she was left staring at him a bit helplessly.

Dorian gave her a half-smile of understanding. “No need to thank me, I can’t stand sappy confessions. Just do me a favour, will you? If you decide to wear this publicly, I want to be there when the Commander eventually notices. Nothing will be more priceless than watching him trip over his own feet.”

“You are incorrigible,” Ellana said, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, face softening ever so slightly as he chuckled.

“I know.” Dorian replied, raising a hand to rest it against her back. There was nothing left to say.

It was odd, being cared for in such a manner. The necklace was a welcome weight around Ellana’s neck, grounding her after what felt like millennia of wandering Skyhold as a fading ghost. She felt real. She felt… pretty. Ellana slowly raised her arms, wrapping them loosely around Dorian’s waist.

The two friends stood together like that for a long time, stirring only when Cullen did eventually come knocking.

#dorian pavus #ellana halesta’melin lavellan #they’re best friends :3 #haverdoodles #haverdoodles oc #art #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #dorian dragon age

[mitsuki-komori]

Alsjxnjsajxhsjkzzndbalalz

Leo sleeps so comfortably in his bed… For some reason, this morning was just extra comfortable… He can’t help but wanna sleep for longer than usual… But of course someone thinks differently.

“LEO! Get out of bed! We’re going!” His older sister’s loud voice gave Leo a headache.

“Huh…? Go where? What…?” Leo mumbled as he was still waking up… Ugh, he felt so hot and cold at the same time.

“What do you mean ‘go where’?! We’re going training!” And without another word, Leo was picked up by a flame paw and placed on his feet. He stumbled from the sudden dizziness and rubbed his eyes.

“Training…? But… I really don’t feel good…”

“Did I ask for you excuses? Don’t be weak! Your enemies won’t care how you’re feeling, now get dressed.” Mereoleona dismissed Leo completely and left the room.

Leopold sighed and sat down, even though he just slept, he’s still exhausted… This was supposed to be his day off from all of the tiring missions, but he guessed not… He’s usually always down for training, but this was just annoying… All he really wants to do is go back to sleep…

Just like that she’s gone, and he’s given no time to even eat breakfast… Knowing her, Fuegoleon has probably been roped into this too.

Leo loves going out on training trips with his siblings… but he feels like his head is gonna explode. Leo rests his head on his pillow… a few moments won’t hurt… 

“LEO, WAKE UP! DID I SAY YOU COULD SLEEP?!” Leo sprang up, wide awake. He looks up at Mereoleona. 

“Sister? Um…”

“I said GET READY!”

Mereoleona once again puts Leo on his feet and gives him an intimidating look. “I just dozed off…”

“I don’t care, you have five minutes.” She says as she walked out of the room. Leo could feel her presence outside.

Leopold slugged over to his bathroom and splashed water on his face… His stomach really hurts… he feels like he’s gonna… ugh…

Leopold stumbled over to the toilet and threw up. How disgusting! It tastes horrible and now his throat burns…

Leopold sits still for a few moments before pulling himself up and grabbing his toothbrush. Was he sick? That wasn’t good… But he doesn’t want his siblings to worry… The training won’t last too long, right? He could bear it… surely he could. It’s just a day, he’ll be fine.

“About time.” Mereoleona says as Leo opens his bedroom door.

Leopold shrugs and he follows his older sister.

Leopold goes with Mereoleona outside where Fuegoleon was waiting, it seemed he had also been roped into this. “Sister, can I go back to bed? I really—“

“No excuses! If I wanted you to sleep, I would’ve had you sleep. The only way to get stronger is to train, don’t be lazy.” It seemed Mereoleona wasn’t going to let Leo get a word out… It really irritates Leo.

“Ah, I see you got Leo too…” Fuegoleon nearly sighs, but he doesn’t. As he looks at Leo, he notices the tired expression he wore. “Are you doing alright, Leo?”

“He’s fine, the training will wake him up.”

Leopold stares at Fuegoleon for a few moments and nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get going.” He supposed training would be good… not like he has a choice. Maybe he really just needs to be woken up and he’ll feel better?

“How did you sleep, Leo?” Fuegoleon questions. Leopold takes a moment to process the question before answering.

“I slept fine… before someone woke me up.”

Mereoleona shot a warning glare at him. “Do you plan on staying weak forever? Because sleeping isn’t how you get strong!”

Leo sighs and doesn’t bother arguing. Fuegoleon puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to come along if you don’t want to…”

“No, no… I want to, I’m just still waking up… Let’s just get to the place…!” Wherever it was…

Getting started through the infinite trees and Leo already feels his stomach twisting. Was he gonna throw up? No… He’s not that sick, is he? It’s better to not make his siblings worry…

Leo’s legs felt heavier with each step he took… And his breath was shallow and his head was throbbing… Not to mention this overwhelming heat! Why was it so hot outside?! He didn’t understand why the sun had to be so blazing hot during the summer. Stupid summer…!

He feels so weak, maybe he should’ve eaten something… And he’s really thirsty too… Did they bring water? Ugh, he feels so nauseous… He wants to throw up right now… Why couldn’t he have just stayed in bed? He really wished Mereoleona could be easier on him for once… this treatment can get really stressful sometimes…

They were quiet as they walked down the path for a short while before Fuegoleon spoke up. “So where do you have us off to now, sister?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Fuegoleon raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, really? Then I look forward to seeing what it is… Hey, is Leo doing alright?”

Mereoleona tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“He just looks a little off… How was he this morning?”

Mereoleona groaned in annoyance. “Ugh, that kid is always complaining. He kept going on about how he doesn’t feel good.”

Fuegoleon turns his head to her. “He doesn’t feel good? We’re still close to home, maybe we should go back and—“

“He’s fine! Just being dramatic, what’s a little cold on a battlefield?” She says with a scoff.

Fuegoleon glanced back to Leo, who followed closely behind them, nodding off to sleep as he walked. “Yes, but we aren’t on the battlefield right now, Mereoleona. You’re far too hard on Leo… If you do this too much, it’ll just slow his progress.”

Mereoleona shrugged. “He looks fine to me.”

“It’s important for people to get the rest they need… Did he say he actually wanted to go when you woke him up?” Fuegoleon asked Mereoleona with a serious look.

Mereoleona rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, you’re far too serious. How is he to get stronger if he doesn’t actually train? If anything, you’re too soft on him.”

Fuegoleon could feel himself getting a little irritated. Mereoloena was missing the whole point he was trying to make. “You’re missing the point. It’s not healthy for him if you keep doing this.”

“I’m just— Oh, would you look at that? I think I just found our lunch!“

Fuegoleon followed Mereoleona’s gaze and they saw a flame boar.

“So it seems…”

Leopold rubs his eyes and sees the boar, he feels nauseous by the thought of eating it.

“I’ll leave it to you then.” Fuegoleon tells her. Mereoleona nods and goes on to chase after it.

A boat without the proper seasonings was plain and boring, but it was the best they got during these adventures. Mereoleona loves making everything the most challenging it could be.

“Leo, are you not gonna eat?” Fuegoleon asked with a tint of concern in his voice. Leo was just sort of staring at his food with a grossed out expression.

“Um… no, I’m not hungry.” He replies. Fuegoleon raises an eyebrow.

“You’re usually always hungry… and you should eat.” Fuegoleon suggests, Mereoleona eyes the plate.

Leopold shook his head. “I’ll eat later…”

Mereoleona takes Leo’s food. “If you’re not gonna eat it, I am.” Leo doesn’t argue.

Fuegoleon couldn’t help but feel worried. Leo really doesn’t look like he’s doing too good. He’s pale and his eyes looked more dull than usual… Maybe it’s his instinct as an older brother, but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated with Mereoleona that he made him come with this condition.

“Sister, I think we should go home.” Fuegoleon states. Mereoleona snapped her head towards Fuegoleon.

“Now why would we do that?”

Fuegoleon sighs with how oblivious Mereoleona was. “Because Leo is sick. We can save training for another day.” 

Mereoleona shook her head and laughed. “Like a measly sickness will stop him! Do you hear yourself? If he can’t handle a little sickness, then—“

“Mereoleona…” Fuegoleon warned. Leo was already lagging behind, could she not see that?

“What?” She didn’t like being interrupted.

Fuegoleon spoke seriously. “Listen, not everyone is as strong as you or me. Leo is still young, he’s still developing… He might be a strong fighter, but that doesn’t mean his body is. A sickness to you might not be much, but to him it could be worse… It also means his body can handle as much as us. We’re experienced mages, considered the best in the kingdom, we are adults. Leo is still a teenager and he’s not the same as us… He needs the proper rest.” Fuegoleon hoped that his words weren’t going in one ear and out the other… 

Mereoleona was about to reply with an annoyed response when they heard something from behind them.

Thud

Huh? That noise… that thud… Fuegoleon and Mereoleona both stopped their bickering as they turned around behind them and saw Leo passed out on the ground. Fuegoleon immediately rushed to his side. 

“Leo? Leo, are you alright?” Fuegoleon flipped Leo over and put a hand to his forehead. “He has a fever.”

Mereoleona stood there, silent…

She didn’t actually think Leo felt that bad to the point he’d pass out… Why didn’t he say so?! Well… suppose he did… but he… Maybe Mereoleona should’ve paid more attention?

Was he really that exhausted to this point? That’s stupid. He should be able to deal with a little fever…! Mereoleona isn’t that hard on Leo, she’s just building character.

However… causing him to pass out on the ground wasn’t really building character…

Ugh, how annoying…

Fuegoleon picked up Leo, carrying him on his back. “Come on, we’re going back.”

“What?”

“Leo is in no condition for any training. We’ll just have to save it for another day. Sorry, sister.” Fuegoleon said as he started to make he way back to where they came from.

Mereoleona gazes at her little brother’s weak form and sighs in defeat. “Fine…”

Fuegoleon walks into Leo’s room with a small tray and a bucket of cold water as he sits beside Leo’s bed. He sets the tray down and gently shakes Leo awake. “Hey…”

Leo cracks his eyes open and groans in pain.

“Here, drink this…” Fuegoleon gave Leo a small cup of liquid.

“Ew…” Leo mutters as he drinks the medicine.

“I know… take some pills and here’s some water…” Fuegoleon gestures to the tray where he had the necessary things.

Leopold covered his eyes with his hand. The room was too bright. Fuegoleon notices and closes the blinds. “So… you didn’t tell me you were sick.”

Leopold shrugged. “I didn’t think it was that bad… and I tried to tell Mereoleona, but—“

“You told Mereoleona and thought she’d let you off the hook?” Fuegoleon jokes. Leo chuckled and coughed, his throat dry.

“I guess it was a dumb thought… I should’ve told you.”

Fuegoleon nodded. “Yes, you could’ve… but you just need to take care of yourself more. You have the flu.”

“I have the flu?” Leo repeats. Fuegoleon nods in confirmation.

“Yes, and it’s that much more important that you’re sure to rest… putting your body into overdrive is the last thing you want to do.”

“I know, but…” Leo trails off.

“Listen, I know you want to get stronger and Mereoleona is the strongest out there right now… but her methods aren’t suited for everyone. She’s just oblivious to exactly how rough her methods can be.” Fuegoleon explains with his usual inspirational voice.

Leo was quick to shut that off. “No! It’s not too rough! I really do get stronger when she trains me, I was just… tired today…”

“Tired?”

Leo is silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry.”

Fuegoleon tilts his head. “For what?”

Leo’s head sinks and he lays back. “For making you guys have to stop the training early.”

Fuegoleon shook his head with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, missing one day of training isn’t the end of the world. Plus, I think Mereoleona is the only one who really cares about it that much.”

“Ugh… I’m tired… I feel like I’m gonna throw up…” Leo complains as he rests his arm over his eyes.

“Aw, I’m sorry. I’ll give you the week off. Just be sure to drink water, take your medicine and rest and you should be fine after a few days, maybe a week at most. You’re strong.”

Leo nods and falls asleep soon after.

Fuegoleon stands up and walks out of Leo’s room. “So… you heard that?” He asks.

Mereoleona nods her head. “Yes.”

“Do you understand?”

She rolls her eyes and walks off. “Yeah, whatever.”

The next few days went by fine. Leo slept, took his medicine, and Fuegoleon stopped by whenever he had the chance. It’s been 5 days and Leo was feeling a little bit better.

Leo still felt a little bit guilty about missing out on that training… He wants to make up for it. Maybe he should try training now! He’s feeling like he has enough energy for a little bit of training…

Leo sat up and got dressed before grabbing his grimoire and heading outside.

Mereoleona heard noises… like mana and ruckus. She follows the noise down the hall and it leads her outside. That’s when she spots her little brother in the middle of a training session… What the hell was he doing?! He looks like he’s about to faint, that’s no condition to train in.

“Leo!”

Leopold froze at the shout and snapped his head in Mereoleona’s direction. “Oh, sister, what’re you—“

Mereoleona’s fire paw lifts him up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-I’m training…?”

Mereoleona groaned in irritation and looked at him with disbelief. “I’m not talking about that! I’m saying what are you doing?! You’re sick, you shouldn’t be training.”

“But… you said you get stronger from training?”

“Not when you’re sick! Are you stupid?” Mereoleona scolds him.

“You told me that didn’t matter!” Leo argued.

Mereoleona sighed and calmed down. She supposed she did teach him that… Out of everything she’s taught him, this is what stuck? Is she the reason Leo overworks himself so often?

Maybe Fuegoleon was right… Is she too hard on Leo? Leo’s training himself to almost pass out because that’s what she taught him.

“Just come with me, you’re going back to bed.”

Mereoleona felt better about the situation once Leo was back in his bed. “So… training while you’re sick…”

Leo nods. “You taught me that I should be able to deal with things like that…”

Mereoloena leans against Leo’s wardrobe. “How do you feel when I train you?”

Leopold tilts his head and he gives his sister a look of confusion. “Huh? What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it.”

Leopold thinks to himself for a few moments. “Um… I get stronger?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Leo was quiet for a moment. “Oh, you mean like… emotionally? Well, you stress me out a lot… since it’s usually pretty intense.” He finally answers, unsure of how she’d react.

“…How stressed?”

Leo wasn’t sure if there were any right or wrong answers here… “Mereoleona, you know I’m fine, right? It’s not like you’ve been hurting me or anyth—“

“I wasn’t saying that! I don’t care, I’m just curious…”

Leo doesn’t believe he’s ever felt so confused in his life. What the heck was she trying to ask him? “I mean… sometimes I feel like you don’t care about me that much.”

Mereoleona looked mad at that reply, Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Mereoleona cut him off. “I do, huh?”

“Uh…”

“Jeez… you’re acting like I’m gonna punch you for no reason… Is that what you think of me?” She sighs and doesn’t take her eyes off of Leopold.

“I know you care about me, I guess I just… it’s just been stressful lately…”

Leo felt his palms start sweating from that indecipherable glare his older sister had locked on him.

“Then just say so next time…”

Leo’s eyes get wider as his head perks up, seemingly not expecting such a simple and calm answer.

“Wait, what? So—“

“Just don’t annoy me about it too often!” Mereoleona abruptly walks out of the room. Guess that conversation was over…?

Leo didn’t know, nor did he have the energy to continue looking into it. He lays back down and closes his eyes.

“Hey.” Leo’s dreams fade as he starts to pick up on a voice… “Hey!”

Leo opens his eyes and looks at the source… Mereoleona. Leo glances out the window and looks at the beautiful autumn leaves. He liked fall, it wasn’t too cold or hot. “What is it…?”

“Me and Fuegoleon are going out to train, are you gonna come with?” She asks Leo.

Leo rubs his eyes… training… Oh! “Oh, you guys are going out to train? Sure! Just give me a few minutes.”

Mereoleona nods. “Alright, take as long as you need… but not too long.” She mutters as she leaves.

Leo very much enjoys not being yelled awake by his sister less often than a few months ago…

“Take as long as I need… I just know she’s lying…”

#Leopold Vermillion #Mereoleona Vermillion #Fuegoleon Vermillion #Black Clover #fanfiction #angst #fluff #passing out #sick #sickfic #flu #fainting

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (12/?)

When Rhonda got to work Monday morning, there were more cars at the diner than usual, and she had to park at the Dairy Queen next door, leaping over detritus left from a snow plow on the berm in between lots. The cloud cover was low and leaden gray and slushy ropes of half-melted snow wound across the asphalt like contrails through the sky.

She stomped through the back door, trying to knock the chill out of her feet. It was odd being back on the job after the excitement of the weekend, and she felt like she was only half tuned in this morning, wondering how the little family was faring back in the mountain valley, like an overeager owner leaving a puppy home alone for the first time. She couldn't help worrying. It was in her nature.

After clocking in, she was securing her things in her locker when Shandrika came in through the bathroom door and headed right for her.

“Mornin’, Rick,” Rhonda said, rummaging around in her purse for her nametag, her hand sifting through wrinkled receipts and chapsticks, half an old mint Lifesaver, pen caps and loose change. When Shandrika didn’t answer, Rhonda looked up. The other waitress looked tense, her shoulders bunched up around her neck.

“What is it?” Rhonda asked.

“The FBI is here,” Shandrika said. “Asking about that couple you served last Friday night.” From the door of the restroom Rhonda could hear the clink of cutlery, the low murmur of voices. She could feel the blood slowly drain from her face.

“Did you say anything?” she asked, her mouth dry.

Shandrika grunted. She had no love for the police. “They’re talking to Clarice now, but I don’t think she remembers them.”

Rhonda wasn’t sure what all was safe to share with Shandrika. Nothing, probably. Still, she wanted to ensure the other woman stayed mum. She reached out and touched her friend’s arm. “Whatever they’re saying about them, I’m sure it isn’t true.”

“They’re not saying anything about them, not really. Just showing around some pictures. All I know is they wanted to get away from here and those two goons.” Shandrinka narrowed her eyes. “You’re not caught up in whatever this is, are you?” There was real concern in her voice.

Rhonda reached up and pinched her own cheeks to bring some color back to her face, taking a deep breath. “Of course not,” she said breezily.

“Good,” Shandrika said, turning back toward the door. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. I suggest you do too. Whatever this is, we want no part of it.”

Rhonda took a steadying breath before walking out into the restaurant. She hadn’t gotten more than five feet behind the counter when one of two men in business suits standing at the formica dinette caught her eye.

“Good morning,” she said, reaching behind her to tie the strings on her apron. “Can I get you fellas some coffee?”

There were a couple of other similarly dressed men walking amongst the other tables, trench coats trailing behind silvery shined shoes. They looked out of place and menacing, leaning down as they were and talking to the patrons. The diner was full and the low murmur of voices had an excited bent to it – the other customers giddy over the prospect of federal law enforcement intrigue.

“No thank you,” said the one on the left, who reached into his pocket and held up a badge with FBI emblazoned across the top. “I’m Special Agent Kent,” he went on, pointing to his compatriot as he repocketed his badge. “And this is Special Agent Bryson. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“My goodness,” said Rhonda in what she hoped was a convincing way. “I can’t imagine what about.”

From his own pocket, Agent Bryson – darker complexioned in a broody, minatory way — silently pulled out two pieces of paper that had Mulder and Scully’s pictures on them, laying them out on the tabletop in front of himself so that they faced Rhonda. Her heart started pounding, but she kept her cool, giving the pictures only a quick glance.

“We’re looking for these two people. We have reason to believe they may have been in here Friday evening. Possibly with a baby,” said Kent, lowering himself onto one of the stools.

“They don’t look familiar,” Rhonda said, turning up the sweetness in her voice and amping up her accent just a touch.

“Maybe if you took a closer look?” The man named Bryson finally spoke. His tone was civil, but there was a coldness about him that Rhonda didn’t like.

“Well sure,” she said, leaning forward to squint at the pictures. She pulled back. “No, sorry.”

“Rhonda, is it?” Agent Bryson clarified, and she nodded at him. “Your manager said you were working Friday night.”

“I was,” she said, reaching into her apron pocket for her order pad. “And I do need to be getting to work this morning, too. You sure I can’t get you fellas something? On the house?”

There was a taller suited man approaching them, who carried himself with an air of authority. Kent looked over his shoulder, saw the man, and began to stand from the stool. “No thank you,” he said as he stood.

Bryson remained where he was, watching Rhonda with humorless eyes.

“Agents,” said the man who was clearly in charge as he got to the counter. “We’re done here.”

Bryson slid the pictures closer to Rhonda. “I think I’ll leave these here,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Just in case.”

Rhonda smiled and leaned forward to look at the photographs again, a show of being helpful. “You know,” she said, “these look an awful lot like the pictures from your badges. Same backdrop. Are they colleagues?” She shouldn’t have really said anything, but she couldn’t help the dig. It was unconscionable what had happened to her new friends.

When she looked up, the agent in charge was looking at her curiously. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, bald, with big flat glasses that caught the light when he turned his head. Rhonda swallowed thickly.

“Why don’t I hang these up on our community bulletin board?” she offered, having no intention of doing so. “That way anybody who might remember them can take a look. Y’all got a card or something I can post with it?”

Both Kent and Bryson reached into their pockets, but their boss was quicker on the draw and said “I’ve got it.” He reached into his lapel and pulled out a pen, then bent down to scribble something on the back of the card. “My mobile number is on the back,” he said, handing over the card. “If you have any information, please don’t hesitate to call.”

When Rhonda reached out to take the card, he held onto it a half a second longer than she expected him to, and then was gone, Kent, Bryson and two other agents who’d been interviewing patrons trailing in his wake. Before the door closed behind them, Jerry breezed through it, his face one of intrigued surprise.

“Shoo,” he said, sliding into the seat Kent had just been sitting in. “What was that all about?”

Rhonda reached for the pot of coffee and plunked a mug in front of Jerry, trying to figure out what she planned to tell him, when from behind her, Clarice spoke up, sliding an order into the pickets at the window.

“Order in,” she called out, then turned to Jerry. “That was the FBI,” she went on, “they’re looking for people who were maybe in here on Friday night.”

“I was in here Friday night,” Jerry said, practically vibrating with tattletale excitement. “Who are they looking for?”

Clarice’s eyes wandered to the pictures the agents had left, and Rhonda did the only thing she could think of, and poured the coffee meant for Jerry’s mug on top of the flimsy photographs.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed, whipping out a towel from under the counter and sopping up the mess, sliding the pictures into a liquidy heap which she then dumped into the slop trash next to the bussing station.

When she turned back to Jerry, Clarice was filling him in on what he’d missed.

“I wonder,” Clarice said suddenly, “if it was that table in the corner that sat down right at the end of my shift?”

“No,” Rhonda said quickly. “I took that table if you remember. It wasn’t them.”

“What’d they look like?” Jerry asked. “The people they’re looking for.”

It was then Rhonda did something she swore she’d never do. She poured Jerry a new cup of coffee, slid it in front of him, and just before Clarice could describe Mulder and Scully, Rhonda said, “Jerry, it’s finally next week.”

Jerry turned to her, confused. “Next week?”

“You know how I always say ‘maybe next week?’”

It slowly dawned on the man what Rhonda was saying. “You mean you’ll go out with me? Really?”

Clarice shot her a look like she’d grown an extra head, but she just smiled sweetly. “Really, Jerry.”

Jerry fumbled for a moment and then said “How’s about Saturday?”

“It’s a date,” she said, turning away and shooting him a coquettish look over her shoulder while she made her way over to table eighteen.

Later, much later, when things quieted down in between breakfast and lunch and she had a moment to herself to think, she pulled the business card out of her apron pocket and gave it a look.

Walter S. Skinner, it said, Assistant Director, and gave an address and phone number in Washington DC. She flipped it over to take a look at what he’d written on the back. Where Rhonda expected to find a phone number, instead she saw the words “say nothing.”

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #wip #family fic #but not fluff #not at all

[fairy-writes]

Okay instead of the stripper part how about being a 'secret' lover and they have a kid or two and Jayce was SUPER shocked and just really surprised Viktor never told this but he just never asked and turns out the lover was like a robber type assassin that has been causing the counselors trouble lately and then like before it turn to like a huge thing and later in the end his lover was a change person and Jayce decide to trust her now.

Thank u so much for ur time and telling me what u are comfortable with.

Have a lovely rest of ur day/night❣️❣️

HIDDEN LIVES

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Requester: kuro-nokeiyakusha

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends (2021)

Pairing(s): Viktor x Female!Reader

Genre(s): I don’t really even know. Fluff?

Notes: No trigger warnings that I’m aware of! 

Also, this is probably one of my only female reader inserts for Arcane :) 

Also, also, this takes place between acts 2 and 3 of the show. 

I ended up tweaking the request a little bit and omitting the whole assassin/robber part. I wasn’t sure how to fit it into the story. I’m sorry!

__________________________________________________________________________

Jayce wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He really hadn't meant to tail Viktor as he walked home. He hadn’t really intended to hide every time Viktor looked back. 

Who was he kidding? Of course, he meant to. 

He just didn’t know anything about Viktor’s life, so he was curious. 

Jayce ducked behind another building as Viktor made his way deeper into the depths of Piltover. He was making his way to the outskirts. Jayce could have sworn he had an apartment closer to the Academy. 

Eventually, Viktor pushed open a white picket fence that led to a yard with green grass and a large apple tree with a rope swing attached to it. 

A tree?

Where had Viktor gotten the seeds?

The house itself was quaint and small, more of a cute little bungalow with two steps leading up to the front door. Jayce hid behind a dumpster as he watched his friend close the gate behind him.

“Daddy! You’re home!” Came a child’s voice, and Jayce watched as a child—no older than five—with fluffy brown hair much like Viktor’s came barreling out of the house and down the pathway. Jayce couldn’t tell what Viktor’s expression was, but he heard the warmth in his voice when he spoke. 

“Yes, I’m home, Pavel. Where’s your mother and Adela?” He said to the boy, who pointed inside the open door just as you came out. 

You were pretty, hair pinned neatly out of your face, and dressed in a maternity dress to allow for your obviously pregnant belly. You had another child—the same age as Pavel—propped on your hip. The little girl had your hair and was too far away for Viktor to see what colors her eyes were. Viktor held Pavel’s hand as they both made their way up the stairs. Viktor leaned in, kissed your cheek, and then dropped a kiss on the little girl’s head. You and Viktor exchanged quiet words that Jayce leaned forward to hear.

And promptly fell out from behind the dumpster. 

You all stiffened and turned to see what the noise was. Viktor was the first to stop Jayce and frowned. Then, you set the little girl down and ushered both children into the house. 

“Jayce? What are you doing here?” His friend asked as Jayce got to his feet, brushing dust off the seat and front of his trousers. 

“I uh… well… I wanted to see where you lived.” He mumbled the last part as he approached the fence and leaned his weight on the gate. He half expected Viktor to start yelling, to cast him out and say he never wanted to see him again. 

But that wasn’t Viktor. 

Instead, he sighed and gestured for Jayce to follow them inside. You looked like you were about to protest until Viktor said, "This is my work partner. You’ve heard of him, Jayce Talis?” That was all it took for you to relent and allow Jayce into your home. 

The inside was just as lovely as the outside. However, it was also starkly different than Viktor’s sense of style. With floral decor everywhere and a bouquet of flowers on the coffee table and dining table. He must have let you decorate the house. Jayce spied the children peeking out of a half-closed door down the hall. He smiled and waved, but they just shut the door as quickly as possible. 

You led the two men into the sitting room, gesturing for Jayce to sit on the couch across from you and Viktor. You looked… vaguely upset. With your eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Viktor, on the other hand, looked concerned. He set his crutch aside as he sank into the couch’s plush cushions and gave a sigh of relief as he took the weight off of his bad leg. 

“Now, why are you following my husband home?” You asked, cradling your pregnant belly protectively, and glanced at Viktor as he set a hand on your thigh. 

“No need to be so harsh, love. He’s my friend.” He said, and you rolled your eyes. 

“He followed you home.”

“Husband?” Jayce cut in. Viktor looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Is it so odd that I am married?” He asked, and Jayce spread his hands out in front of him.

“You never said anything!” At this, Viktor shrugged,

“You never asked.”

Through careful conversation, Jayce discovered you were a fellow Zaunite, had married Viktor six years ago but had known him since childhood. You were overly cautious about your words. You obviously were choosing them carefully. 

But Jayce didn’t mind. 

He could tell you were in love with Viktor, and that was enough for him. 

#arcane #arcane league of legends #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #fairy writes

[bourbon-ontherocks]

🪥-wise j’étais au bord de la syncope pdt la 1re scène du parloir 🕴️ shouting match. longing looks. there’s a literal wall between them. going from "I don’t need you" to "pls get involved in this mess and let my kid hide evidence" to "thank you" 😭😭😭😭 their other scenes were for the books too--asking her to work her magic, but she’s under pressure when suddenly "ouf c’est de l’or massif", mentalité de pie 😂

the carat-dec joke was so precious (mdr), les rapports se réchauffent !!! I’m glad there weren’t proper callbacks to earlier eps this time (except for the bookshelves!!), it left room for New stuff. plus some bits felt comfortingly familiar, like adam’s gestures when he asked morgane to get to the point (la petite graine !) 🥲❤ oh, & re: céline’s slippery slope… confirms she and adam are basically the same person. royal couple of getting roped into dates with people they’ve antagonized 😆

don’t you think "ça voulait dire quelque chose" was a bit too much? I wish both of them were in the dark about the other’s feelings. how are we gonna get that sweet, sweet pining if they know mutual affection is a real possibility? (+ don’t want roxane to become The Obstacle) we need a couple irremediable misunderstandings, stat 😈 tho the shot where they’re finally face to face outside was 😙👌 five feet apart but they were feeling awfully close 🥰🥰🥰❤

God, le parloir !! 😱😱 I'm glad I already knew about that scene before otherwise I would have died on the spot 😭 The way they look at each other, the way they talk, and you're right the evolution too, Adam compulsively yelling "I don't want to be involved with this" while actually being totally involved with this, Morgane being so angry, Adam qui s'exécute à toutes les conneries qu'elle lui demande sans rechigner (se baisser alors qu'on entend très bien, lui montrer le dossier à travers la vitre, arrêter de la regarder -- speaking of, arrêtez de me regarder j'arrive pas à me concentrer si c'est pas un aveu qu'il la trouble 🥹🥹, demander à Théa de planquer une pièce à conviction...)

Lol, mentalité de pie, le retour 😂

100% agreed re Adam's gesture, I too thought about the little seed joke!! And also I'm not sure I'd say their interactions are warming up, but they do seem to fall into reassuring, familiar patterns 🥲💕 Also the fact that Adam basically ran to the prison since Morgane's not even done with her check-in that he shows up in the parlor 🥹🥹

Oh gosh I didn't notice the ginormous parallel between Céline and Adam's date, to me Céline's arc felt like something exactly similar that happens in Engrenages, but I love how it applies to Adam and Roxane (hopefully not with the same outcome though?)

Now for "ça voulait dire quelque chose"... Oh boy...😱

I don't think it was too much at all, considering how Adam's previous words (ep 1 flashback) literally drove Morgane to quit and disappear for six months, and it probably would've lasted forever if it wasn't for this providential case. And I think he's aware of that, aware of his mistake, so this is his attempt at making up for what he said ("ça voulait rien dire") which obviously hurt her. I think she needed to hear that it actually meant something. And also for him it's perhaps the first time he's vocalizing out loud that he actually cares about Morgane, and that she's not just a pain in the ass. (Okay actually he said it before. It's just that he told her the exact opposite an hour later so the message may have gotten a bit confused lol).

ALSO HE TOLD HER THAT LOSING HER WAS HIS BIGGEST REGRET IN LIFE AND NOW I CAN DIE IN PEACE THANK YOU VERY MUCH 😱🥹😭⚰️

And I don't think this is going to end all their misunderstandings, because he instantly tempers it with the words "collègue" et "amie". After how hard he broke her heart, Morgane is probably done living on false hopes, so she's not gonna try and read more in those words than what he actually said. And what he said was I care about you as a friend (sure Jan).

So for me they're both still in the dark re each other's feelings. They probably picked up on the fact that they do not hate each other (well, Adam probably thinks she does now, but that she actually didn't when he kissed her lol), but they most certainly have no idea of how deep they're actually pining for the other's affection 💔

Also this whole scene 😘😘😘 And the five feet apart shot, the way they slowly walk towards each other, et leurs pas sont absolument SYNCHRONES ???? No wonder it's literally the first thing I giffed from that new season 😭❤️

#julia's adventures with the hpi anon #anon #ask #hpi #tf1 hpi #hpi tf1 #hpi season 3

[cheesy-clown]

So actually Dave and Buck headcanons off the top of my head ? Them as a duo

To me they can be either romantic or platonic. As my rule goes whatever is funnier for the moment /bit. So if you wanna see them as freinds, yeah, lovers? Sure, boyfriends/ married? All floats. But at the minimum I feel they have each others backs. Loyal to the other if one needs the other. Questions later act now

So what can I see the two doing together? Anything really, dancing for one, perhaps Buck knows how to dance, and if he doesn’t Dave is willing to show him the ropes. And if you consider HR canon then there’s a 50/50 chance that they end up accidentally fusing.

Dave probably trusts Buck a lil but with his instruments, the man definitely own a few. Can Buck play them? Absolutely not, but when he does air play/ fake it , it gets a laugh out of Dave.

Buck will sometimes drag him to the casino if he has the cog bucks to cover it,being subtle to teach Dave how the games work in the real setting. But they don’t always have to go, sometimes a low stakes game to help him practice and get it out of his system work. No real loses, maybe just the loser buys the next round of oil. Dave is probably good at poker and games that require you to have a poker face. Look at the man and his charm and persona. I’m not saying it’s not real, but definitely in his specific line of work at cogs some of it he just has to grin and bear. His charm and constant energy to sum it up makes it hard to tell when he’s bluffing or not in a game.

Ok so what about when neither wanna do what the other usually does. Simple, they watch movies, they sit down somewhere and talk about things. To me both of them are very touchy people when they like /trust you. Hand holding , leaning onto your shoulder. Small little acts of contact means a lot to them both. Buck may one day just lean a little closer to Dave after a bad losing streak. Or Buck will take Dave’s hand to thpin (ha) him around to cheer him up. It’s these little acts that the two can be still for just long enough to enjoy it. Cuddling is something they absolutely do, romantic or platonic sometimes you just need someone there.

That’s all for now, again I tried to write where you can see it romantic or platonic. Just two cogs five feet apart because they’re not gay-

#mozz shitposts #mozz rambles #Mozz writes #woah new tag #not tagging these into the main fandom tags #as these are just me writing and not stopping

[awkwardgtace]

Valentine's Surprise

honestly wrote this last minute. My sense of time is utterly horrible and realized valentine's was today... yesterday :D.

Human Corus has a big surprise for his tiny girlfriend Mira

Valentine's Surprise

Mira stared at the vent, considering for the hundredth time going to spy on Corus. He asked her not to, but it had been all day she’d been stuck in his room. He was doing something important in the rest of the house he didn’t want her to see. Normally it was fine, but her curiosity kept burning. It made it almost impossible to do anything else.

Another ten minutes passed before she gave in. She started her climb from the window of the house set up in Corus’s room. She could get a better angle on the desk corner here. She started climbing immediately, except the human of the house knew her too well. Not even halfway to the top and the door of the room opened loudly. She looked over to see Corus staring at her, he didn’t even have to seek her out.

Mira decided to ignore him and keep climbing. Of course the man decided to put his full weight in the steps he took to approach her. They both knew she wouldn’t fall, but it would hamper her progress. He put more weight into the step that had him standing right in front of her. Her rope swung in the air. She glared at the human who had a casual smirk as he stared at her.

“I’m impressed,” he said. She huffed and resumed her climbing. The warmth of a hand below her did make her smile to herself a little. “I thought for sure I’d come in here and find you hanging from the vent trying to get back before me.”

“Maybe I did beat you and I was getting back to my house,” she said. Mira glanced up at him, her heart skipped a beat at the shock that switched to a warm smile. His hand was still just below her, but he let her continue her climb. He knew to wait for her to let him grab her.

“I guess that would just prove how amazing you are.” His hand touched her feet, a silent question. For a few seconds she considered refusing. The warm look on his face certainly made it harder.

“I’m even more amazing for ignoring all the noise you made today and only deciding to climb on top of your desk just before you came in.”

Corus laughed. Mira took that chance to slide down her rope, settling into the open palm. His laugh made her bounce a bit, but she easily freed her hook. It landed next to her. The laughing did set it off course when she pulled it back. Thankfully the human just grinned, trying to hold back more laughter as she wound the rope back up.

“Well, I’m finally done and ready to show you what I’ve been doing,” he whispered. His hand was brought up to rest in front of his eyes. It was times like this she could almost forget the danger he could pose. The danger he made a point to work against. “Would you come with me? Maybe without the hook?”

Mira grabbed her gear and stared at it. Corus wouldn’t leave her trapped, he added ways for her to get around in most places. Still she always brought the hook with her. A line of defense along with an escape. She looked up at the human she loved, he looked nervous. He probably thought she’d get annoyed at the request. Mira just smiled and pulled the rope from her waist.

“Hold me near my open window, I’ll put it inside,” she said. The hand moved quickly, he was lucky she never got motion sick with him. Once near her window she climbed to the edge of his fingers. He tilted his hand knocking her off and into the house. “Hey!”

Before she could make more of a complaint, he offered something clearly wrapped by Kaya to her. She shot him a glare, but took the package anyway. He shifted, dropping his weight to the ground. His eye took up her view as he stared at her.

“Change into that first? I’ll be changing too,” he whispered. She looked down at the package with a small smile.

“Five minutes,” she said.

“Perfect.”

Corus moved carefully now. His steps left almost no sign of his movement once he walked off. She closed the blinds of her window and stared at the carefully wrapped package. Mira ran her hands over it, feeling the soft fabric beneath. She tugged at the careful wrapping Kaya had done for him. They were the only one who could avoid that tape Corus and Zeke used. Once she pulled the wrapping free she gasped.

Pulling it up she found a dark purple almost black dress. As she held it in front of her, shoes her size fell to the floor. Ones she’d seen in the movies Corus liked to watch sometimes. A deep black with a bit sticking out at the back to make her look taller. She quickly changed into the dress, awed at how perfectly it fit her. The fabric wasn’t like the costumes Corus and Zeke got for her and Kaya. This was soft, like what Corus usually wore.

Mira spun in the dress, the skirt flaring around her . There was a kind of weight at the ends so it didn’t fly up as high as she expected. She admired the weight, it would help if she decided to climb while wearing it. The weight was light enough she wouldn’t face any struggles. Far off she heard a door opening, Corus was on his way back. She slipped the strange shoes on, she was pretty sure humans called them heels. 

She stumbled on the first few steps. These things were hard to balance in. She still managed to get to the window and throw the blinds open. Corus was wearing a suit, at least she thought it was a suit. That’s what they called it in the movies where humans dressed like him. He kept his lighter steps as he came to kneel in front of her. The offered hand felt different somehow.

Mira pulled herself up on the fingers closest to her. His other hand came close, giving her another option for balance. She gratefully accepted it, stepping forward until she reached the center of the hand. He lifted his hand up while she was standing until she was even with his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Mira felt her cheeks redden. She looked away, but Corus didn’t appear to expect an answer. He stood up to his full height, for once not pulling her against his chest. “Close your eyes for me?”

“O-ok,” she said. She slid her eyes closed. Something about tonight was different, special somehow. It made her heart start racing.

Mira paid close attention to the movements of the human holding her. The subtle way he tensed his hand as he walked. The way he kept his steps light, but now and then added more weight to make her bounce. She could hear the faint beating of his heart and the massive lungs breathing near her. Sometimes she felt she could lose herself in just hearing him. Knowing the gargantuan being near her was alive and would do anything to keep her safe.

Her eyes almost slipped open when his hand started to move. One of his fingers covered her face gently. He knew her well. She chuckled as he held her face. He added the littlest bit of pressure which only made her laugh more. A click echoed above her. She heard it a few more times before Corus seemed content with whatever caused the noise.

“Keep them closed a little longer ok?” he asked. She nodded. The finger blocking her vision was gone, but she kept her eyes closed.

She felt something moving around her, but nothing made her feel in danger. If anything, knowing Corus was doing something helped her feel safer. After everything he’d done for her and her home she trusted him. He never stopped trying to improve, to be someone safe for her. He never lashed out anymore. That person who could hurt her by accident felt like a phantom of a bleak past.

“Ok… open your eyes,” he whispered. His breath blew past her and made her shiver.

Slowly, Mira opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was how dark the room still was. The flickering of a light above her drew her attention, long white candles were sitting on the table. A dark red cloth covered the wood she would normally be standing on. She noticed a large silver dome near the two of them. Corus reached out and carefully lifted it from the table. Mira gasped at what had been hidden.

A small table decorated in a similar way to the one she stood on. The long white candles flickering with fake light she’d grown to know well. A dish that had food on it that actually looked like the meals Corus ate except for her size. She was so focused on the things sized to her, she almost missed the human size dish next to it. One of Corus’s hands flew over her again carefully pulling the chair out from the table that existed just for her.

Mira looked up at him, overwhelmed by the love she met in his eyes. She walked forward, constantly looking back up at the human. He just kept a soft smile on his face. She sat down in the chair he held out, jumping as he pushed it back towards the table. She looked at the dish, at the human sized dish, then back at the human staring at her.

“What’s all this for?” she whispered. Corus leaned forward until he was right next to her. His breath washed over her, a minty smell blew past her. 

“I wanted to give you a romantic, candlelit Valentine’s day dinner,” he murmured. He made his voice deeper than normal. The tone sent a shiver down her spine. “I want to take any chance I can to show how much I love you. My life’s only gotten better since I met you, like you were a light that finally woke me up. Things like this are the least I can do.”

Mira let his breath wash over her for a few seconds. The words slowly settled in her heart. She didn’t know what Valentine’s was exactly, or if there was something she could do for him. Those words meant so much to her, he was just as important to her life. If she hadn’t met him, hadn’t had bad luck, she’d be lost and alone. There was one small thing she could do, stepping out of her seat and approaching the massive lips. She leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss against the sensitive skin. The human shivering from her touch always made her smile.

“I don’t know exactly what Valentine’s is,” she started, keeping her hands on the lips to keep him quiet, “but I love you, and I love this… You aren’t the only one whose life changed. I can never explain just how different things would be without you in my life. Thank you, my unbelievable human.”

A hand wrapped around her pulling her close. Corus pressed his own lips against her. The intensity was the only remnant of who she’d watched when he moved in. She loved it, the careful pressure deepening the kiss he gave her. She placed her own small kisses on the lips around her. It felt like hours before he pulled away. She stared up at the greedy eyes and loving smile of the human who held her. The only human who she’d trust blindly with her life.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he breathed, “I love you, my little miracle.”

#gt #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t #g/t writing #gt writing #gianttiny #gt community #g/t community #OC:Mira #OC:Corus