#drizzled with a bit of honey

[katierosefun]

holy fuck . . .. cheese and honey on toast SLAPS

#caroline talks #don't mind me. i just didn't really want to make lunch but i was like 'you need to eat something' #so i toasted some bread. got sad bc i don't have hummus. bc i want a meal that's like. dippable for some reason?? #idk why. i might make some kind of. tomato beef dip later tonight for dinner bc i've been. craving. #chips/something crunchy plus something that u could just. DIP. #anyways. made toast. melted some mozz cheese on top of that. #tossed on a shitton of crushed red peppers #drizzled with a bit of honey #and [chef's kiss] EXCELLENT lunch #could easily see myself just having this as a light dinner. just when like. i don't want to cook #and i'm hungry but i am so tired and etc #and it was just. GOOD

[ktsphere]

My lunches have got so much tastier & probably healthier since I found out you can just put a whole fancy salad with a little dressing or hummus or guacamole in a wrap

#today i have goats cheese and loads of veg #with a drizzle of honey and balsamic vinegar #literally takes 5 mins to chop up a bit of pepper tomato and onion #add a handful of spinach #ive also got a side of chopped veg and guac because there were loads of reduced avocados in the shop this week #kt.txt

[exactlyfullcollector]

#It’s Summer vacation again! Here’s to less work feeding the kids their mid-day meal or dinner this summer! #It’s time to start thinking about how to feed your kids #prep their meal real quick and still feed them every bit of a healthy feel😉👌. #A bowl of Ree's greek yogurt #granola and chopped fruits of your choice and drizzle of honey or date syrup is a great yummy🤤 option. #Stock up with our Greek yogurt #granola #coconut chips and almond nuts for the summer. Also available for bulk requests. #For your preference #our Greek yogurt comes either sweetened or unsweetened. #Granola #coconut chips and almond nuts are available in different sizes. #Kindly send a DM for any enquiry or send a direct WhatsApp message via the link in my bio. #rees_yogurt #greekyoghurt #greekyoghurtbowl #greekyogurtinlagos #granolainlagos #healthydessert #diy #summermeals #kids #gbagada #lagosnigeria

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

so what you're gonna do is you're gonna trim the top off a bulb of garlic, using the knife's edge to take off the tip of every individual clove, that's important. you're gonna place the garlic face-up in a square of tinfoil, drizzle with olive oil, wrap completely in foil, place in baking tray, repeat with a copious amount of garlic bulbs. you're gonna put that baking tray in an oven set to 375-400°F, for 30-50 minutes, until soft and browned. you're gonna toast some good bread, slather generously with butter and honey, maybe a tiny lil bit o' salt. and then. you're gonna SQUEEZE. OUT. THAT. ROASTED GARLIC. onto the butter honey toast. and you're gonna eat it. food stolen directly from the plate of the gods. that's what you're gonna do.

#recipes #food #leftover roasted garlic will last over a month in the fridge so make a big batch #i warm it up in the mornings slap it on toast and that's breakfast #delicious and the garlic breath gives me Poison Point ability

[slttygeto]

tags: japanese is not reader’s first language (or mine so sorry if i made a mistake!), and she has an accent and struggles to pronounce a sentence (it wasn’t warm), established relationship, satoru is whipped.

word count: 0,3k. very short :)

satoru loves you like a breezy summer night. it’s hot for most of the day, yet when open the balcony door at 3am, you sigh in content at the icy air. he loves you like the smell of waffles coming from the kitchen, they’re not burnt or undercooked, they’re crispy and golden and you sprinkle some nuts on top after cutting slices of banana and drizzling some honey. but what satoru is sure of, is that he loves you as if he were there the day you were created.

he admires what you do with adoration, admiration and love. he doesn’t need to give verbal praise for you to know that he is so proud of you.

“so when I went to check my plate in the microwave, it was not–it was not warm—“ you struggle a bit with the pronunciation of the japanese phrase, your accent slipping and you cover your mouth in embarrassment. you were telling your boyfriend about how you should fix the microwave, but somehow managed to struggle so much with a sentence. satoru is quick to remove your hand and join in the laugh, but he pulls you towards his chest carefully and throws his head back.

the heart that once felt empty, unsatisfied was now filled with nothing but love. pure, unconditional love for a person who came into his life on a whim.

“it was not warm,” satoru repeats lowly, the words gliding out of his mouth with so much ease. he is an expert at this, given that it is his native language. he resta his hands on your shoulders as his eyes rake over your face. the slight flush to it is adorable, he thinks.

“it was…not warm,”

“good job,” his voice drops a volume lower, his hands holding your face as his thumbs caress your cheeks. “my smart girl, knows so many languages that her brain gets a little fried sometimes,”

“it does,” as you sigh, you get on your tip toes and peck his lips. but once is never enough for satoru, so he pecks you again. and again and again.

“enough. you have work to do,” your hand pushes softly at his chest, giggling when he starts to kiss under your ear.

“work can wait,”

“what if it’s an emergency?”

“let em die—“

“no!”

based on what i found on google, “it wasn’t warm” translates to “Atatakakunakatta” so i thought why not! if it’s wrong tho, do correct me pls!

note: based on a cute thing @aurelianamu told me abt her and satoru :) this one’s for you best friend!

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo jjk #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo comfort #gojo imagine #gojo headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanon #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[elixrr]

“Wait, Y/N—” He stops you in your tracks. He needs a rundown. He needs a repeat on why you're leaving him. “Why— why are you—”

“Why?” You stop yourself from crying out loud, “Because you're killing yourself over me.”

He stops in his tracks. Him? Killing himself over you? What are you saying? He's fine, he's perfectly fine, as long as he's with you!

“Wh– What makes you say that? Please, love, don't go away. Don't leave, tell me what's wrong, I can make it right!”

“You were making your way back up in life before we started dating.” You begin. Your voice became soft and sorrowful, holding in layers of guilt for this poor, poor man before you. “You were making money for yourself, and you were finally helping yourself become financially stable.”

“So it's the money?” He lets out an exasperated laugh, as if he were relieved at the circumstance. He smiles with slight relief in his eyes, and he reassures you, “Don't worry! I'll find more jobs, then I'll earn enough to buy you more things. Hell, the money you gave me when... when you told me you were leaving, I– I can use it!”

His smile stays for a bit, but it fades when he watches your expression sadden.

“It wasn't about getting me gifts. You need the money for yourself, not me. I'm fine with everything I have. I gave you the money because you need it to take care of yourself again.”

You can't bear to look at his confused face. He's such a sweetheart, and it hurts like hell to leave him, but it's for the best if it means he only has to support himself, and not two people.

“But... If you just need me to be financially stable, that's fine. I can do that, then afterward, I can buy—”

“Honey, that's not it. You need the money for yourself and yourself only, don't count material things for me.”

“But— I just... I don't want you to leave. We can work this out. We can work it out together.”

You pause, hesitating. The door stands tall behind you. You don't want to leave him; he's your darling, but guilt overrides your heart, and you take your stance.

“I wanted to work it out with you, so I've tried. We've discussed this so many times, remember? But when you did become financially stable again, you wasted it all away for me on Valentine's Day. I loved that gift— I love you, I love you so much, but I can't keep watching you destroy yourself.”

He finally feels the tear rolling, and yours begin to pour.

“And since you only begin to listen when I'm on the verge of leaving, I feel like it would help you more than it would hurt if I left.”

“But I can't do this without you!”

He runs up to you, trying to hug you, but you're out the door, and he falls to the ground, sobbing on his knees and watching you leave. It's terrible, it's horrible, but he can't bring himself to stand up and chase you. To his surprise, you kneel by him and hold his cheek.

“I don't want you to do this alone. But you have to, if it means you'll be able to live again.”

And there's a pause between you two. It's raining, drizzling raindrops coat your hair and lather across your clothes, as it does with his. The air is thick; bridges are burning. This was not something he could ever recover from, but you have a whole future ahead of you, away from him. Was he holding you back the whole time? Did any of this interfere with your work? With your mental stability?

Please, take him back. Keep him with you.

“I left a great sum of money with you.” You pull yourself together and stand. Your sudden stability towers over his— considering as he lacks it. “If you section it correctly, you'll have enough to pay the bills for almost two years, and you'll have money left over for about three months to buy yourself luxurious food and some nice clothes. If you don't look for luxury, that will last you a while, more than enough to look for a whole new job.”

“I don't care.” He finally manages to cry out, and he holds your waist in a final, desperate attempt to keep you with him. “I don't care. I– I don't want money,

I just want you.”

But he can't keep you. You glance at your driver and signal for her to wait. You lift your ex-boyfriend back up and take him back into the house, seating him on the couch. You take one final look around the shabby living room, and you sigh.

“I'd tell you to come back when you can handle everything better, but by then, I'm sure you'll have met someone new.”

“But what if I don't?”

“Then feel free to come back when you're comfortable. I'm glad you're so kind and loving, but I simply just couldn't stand watching you waste your future away for me.”

You stand up and kiss him one last time. He, like usual, doesn't process it in time to kiss you back, and before he could reciprocate, you bow and wave a goodbye, and you're out the door.

You grab the doorknob and— before you close the door, you turn around and mutter the quietest, soon meaningless ‘I love you,’ and you gently close the door,

and that was the end of it all.

You said that he should build a new future for himself, but with his tearful eyes glaring hot, burning laser beams at the door, it's very safe to say that this future is starting off terribly far from a good one.

He needs a restart; he's realized it before, but he never wanted to start over like this—

He never wanted to see a future without you in it. But you're gone. All that's left are the remaining photos you haven't taken, as well as the money you've left for him.

He hears the car drive off into the distant future.

He hears the car skid into your new future.

He knows why you left him now, but he doesn't know why you needed to.

If only he could get you to repeat it one last time. But there are no repeats.

All you've really left him with is a restart.

– LYNEY, FREMINET, HEIZOU, GAMING, xiao, EARLY KUNI(KUZISHI)

#genshin x reader #character x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #freminet x reader #freminet x you #gaming x reader #ga ming x readet #gaming x you #ga ming x you #heizou x reader #heizou x you #venti x reader #venti x you #bennett x reader #bennett x you #xiao x reader #xiao x you #genshin fic #genshin impact fic #character x y/n #genshin x y/n #angst #light angst #angst no comfort #angst no happy ending #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #this is some deadplate ronan inspired type shit

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

babe, there's somethin' tragic about you

This pose and palette came to me in a vision while listening to from eden, so of course i had to draw it! i haven't made hels to pay fanart in a bit but it still occupies my mind rent free. In fact this AU is so good that it lives in its own private penthouse in my brain sipping bourbon and eating figs drizzled with honey, i love it so much

Outstanding AU written by the brilliant @aquaquadrant and illustrated by the skilled @lunarcrown!

{textless version under the cut}

#ive been listening to from eden NONSTOP like its a problem #tw eyestrain #seattlesaltsartowrk #hels to pay au #hermitcraft fanart #hermitblr #tango tek #tango fanart #tangotek #hozier lyrics #hozier

[mariclerc]

Hiiii,,

Im in a very angsty mood and was wondering if u could write charles x driver!reader where reader gets in a crash similar to jules’? Maybe have her in the hospital for a bit and charles is scared that he’ll lose her? Thanks ahead of time. Hope u have a nice day!

thanks for this request! I made the effort to write angst, since it is the first time I do it. I hope you like it!!

Fighter | cl16

Summary: where you have a serious accident on the track and Charles's memories of it aren't the most pleasant ones.

Warning: a little bit of angst, a worried and scared Charles, injured reader, some swearing.

a/n: This is the first time I've tried to write angst, so sorry if it's not quite perfect. There's going to be a little point of view from Charles. Let me know if you want a part two of this <3

Part 2

“Are you excited about the race, coeur?” Charles asks you as you enter the paddock. (heart)

You nod. “Yep! I think we can give Red Bull a good fight, and you? Are you excited?” you ask him as you stop to sign some autographs for the fans.

“As long as you don't pass my shiny red car on track, everything's fine.” He says and you roll your eyes with a smile, he giggles.

You two have been a couple for years, specifically since you were both racing in European F4, and although it took you a bit to get up to F1, you finally did it and this was your fifth season. You currently race for Mercedes and there is always that rivalry with the Prancing Horse, a rivalry which you both do not pay much attention to since, if it were up to you, you would support each other on the track as you do off track. You are the most loved and appreciated couple in the paddock, people love the dynamic of the two of you, how you are with each other and so on, and knowing each other from karting and then being a couple and staying together until now is not for everyone.

“Well, I think it's time, see you honey!” you said as you walked up to him to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Be safe, okay?”

“You too chérie!” He said as he also gave you a kiss on the cheek and you both walked to your respective teams. “Love you!”

You enter the Mercedes hospitality and go up to your driver's room and change into your racing suit and then go to the starting grid. Everyone was making the final preparations to start the race and the formation lap, you start in 4th position behind Fernando Alonso and in front of Esteban Ocon, maybe you have to make a good start, but you are confident that you can reach the podium together with Max —who starts first and Charles —who starts second... It's going to be a busy race.

***

So far the race is going well, already in the last part of the race, you are in third place fighting with Max for second place, there is a chance of rain but nothing to worry about...

Or at least that's what you thought...

The track began to get very wet even though it was a "light drizzle" and overtaking became a difficult task, likewise, no driver went into the pits to change tires and there was no warning from the FIA as to whether the drizzle was going to evolve into a storm.

Fighting with Max for second place, you got lost and the car took a turn until the nose was almost inside the net that separates the track from the stands, your head, despite having the helmet, was pushed back... You only remember the big impact against the barrier and your head going numb.

Charles' pov

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please tell me y/n is okay?” I tell my track engineer as I see Y/n's car under the barrier.

“Apparently not, but they say she's fine.” my engineer answers.

But of course she's not fine, fuck it, she's not fine at all. All the cars line up on the pit line while y/n's strong crash repeats on the screens of the circuit, I get out of the car upset and needing answers.

“Shit, shit shit. Why the hell didn't they report about the rain? They think this is a fucking game?” I say to myself as I take off my helmet and throw it somewhere in the box, Andrea hands me a bottle of water and I take it. “I don't understand, I... The same thing can't be repeated, fuck it.” I murmur as I place my head in my hands. “It's incredible that years go by and the same old fucking shit is always repeated, because of them and their inability.”

Upon hearing over the circuit loudspeakers that the race was not going to resume, Andrea takes me to the Ferrari hospitality and I go up to my driver's room where I change out of my racing suit for my Ferrari t-shirt and a pair of jeans, I don't mind going to the "podium" like that and standing in first place, I just need to know if she's okay.

A couple of years ago I lost important people thanks to the same reason: a racing accident, both were horrible accidents that left a mark on me but none like the one I just witnessed. First it was my sports godfather, Jules, his accident left me scarred for life, thanks to this a new safety device was implemented —which doesn't do much to be honest. He died thanks to an accident that left him in a coma for months... Every day I went with my father to the hospital to see him, to see if he was still with us. Then it was one of my childhood friends thanks to karting, Anthoine, It was in an F2 race on the same circuit where hours later I would take the pole position that would give me my first victory in F1, but what happened to him was instantaneous... The next day they announced that he had passed away, my first victory was dedicated to him.

Just as I'm on my way to the "podium" Fred and Toto pull me from the side. “They take y/n to the hospital.” Fred says looking at me.

“Shit... Fuck, why her? Damn tell me if she's...” I couldn't finish speaking because Toto interrupted me.

“Go with her kid.”

“We'll take care of the rest, but go with her.” Fred says, patting me on the back and I run to Andrea to look for my things in the hospitality so I can go, I feel frustrated with myself and I know it's not my fault, but I wish it hadn't happened to her.

***

The sterile white of the ceiling swims into focus as your blurry vision starts to clear a little but you can't fully open your eyes. A rhythmic beeping cuts through the silence of the room. You try to speak, but your throat feels raw and unused. Strained voices filter in from beside your bed.

“...How long has it been? Do they know anything yet?” says Charles with his voice tight with worry.

A female voice is heard, calm but firm. “Mr. Leclerc, we're doing everything we can. The doctors will be with you shortly to explain the results of the scans.”

”But it's been hours!” says Charles with cracked voice. ”Can't they just tell me if she's going to be fucking alright?”

You hear the soft rustle of clothing and a sigh. The beeping quickens slightly.

“We're doing everything we can, dear. She's a strong girl.” The nurse says leaving the room.

He squeezes your hand again, his voice dropping to a frustrated whisper. His eyes don't leave your face.

“Just like Jules... just like Anthoine... why does this always happen? Why you my dear?” he says to himself. “I wish... I wish it had been me and not you amore.”

The door creaks open and the doctor enters the room. Charles straightens up, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

“Doctor, you have an update?” Charles asks.

“We've run some additional tests. There seems to be a minor head injury causing some swelling. It's putting pressure on...”

Charles doesn't wait for him to finish. “Is it serious? When will she wake up?”

The doctor sighs. “It's difficult to say for sure, Mr. Leclerc. Head injuries are unpredictable. But we're monitoring her closely.”

Charles lets out a defeated sigh. The doctor places a hand on his arm.

“She's a fighter, Mr. Leclerc. Just like you.” The doctor says and then leaves the room and gives way to the nurse.

Charles manages a weak nod, his gaze returning to your still form. He leans closer, his voice barely a whisper.

“Come on y/n, wake up. We have a race to win... together.” he whispers.

A faint flicker of movement beneath your eyelids goes unnoticed by everyone in the room. A single tear rolls down your cheek, tracing a path through the dust collected on your hospital gown. The faint movement under your eyelids becomes more pronounced. Your brow furrows slightly, as if struggling against the weight of unconsciousness. A soft groan escapes your lips.

Charles' head snaps up, his eyes widening in disbelief. He leans in closer, his voice thick with emotion.

”Y/n? Can you hear me love?” Charles says whispering.

Your eyes flutter open, blurry and disoriented. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room assault your vision. You let out a low moan, squeezing your eyes shut again in protest.

“Hey, hey, easy. It's okay, you're safe, you're in the hospital.” he says urgently.

A wave of nausea washes over you. You try to speak, but your throat feels raw and scratchy. ”Charles...?” you say weakly.

Your voice comes out in a hoarse rasp, it's barely a whisper, but to Charles, it's the sweetest sound in the world. A relieved smile breaks across his face.

“There you are! Don't you ever scare me like that again, okay?” His voice slightly breaks.

He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is warm and comforting, the nurse speaks.

“How are you feeling y/n?” the nurse asked softly.

You try to lift your head, but a sharp pain shoots through it. You wince and let out a small cry.

“Easy, easy, don't try to move princess.” he says concerned.

“What... What happened Charles?” you said with a little confusion in your voice.

“You had a big crash during the race, don't you remember?” he asked softly.

You shake your head slowly, wincing again. Images flash in your mind — the roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the sickening impact...

“The car... The rain... I... I lost control” you whisper.

Tears well up in your eyes, the memory of the crash is terrifyingly vivid. Charles takes your hand in his, his grip strong and reassuring.

“It's okay love, you're okay now. That's all that matters.” he whispers.

He squeezes your hand gently, a silent promise hanging between you. The ordeal is far from over, but for now, the simple act of holding hands speaks volumes. You've survived the crash, and with Charles by your side, you'll face whatever comes next, together. You manage a weak smile at him, the sound of his voice a grounding presence. However, the celebration is short-lived. A dull ache throbs behind your eyes, intensifying with each passing second. You squeeze your temples shut, trying to push the pain back.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asks, noticing your discomfort.

You open your eyes, a grimace forming on your face. “My head... it feels like it's splitting open.”

The nurse step forward. “That's normal after a head injury, dear. We gave you some pain medication earlier, but it might be wearing off... Let me check your vitals again, okay?”

The nurse bustles around you, taking your temperature and blood pressure. Charles doesn't take his eyes off you, his concern evident.

“Is it serious? Should they give you more medicine?” Charles asked.

“Let's see how she's doing first... Y/n, can you turn your head for me, please? Slowly, to the left and then the right.”

You try as instructed, but a searing pain shoots through your neck, making you flinch and cry out. Tears well up in your eyes again, a mix of frustration and fear.

”See? She can't even move her neck! There's something wrong!” Charles says quite alarmed and almost furious.

“It's alright, Charles. It's likely just muscle stiffness from the impact. We can give her some medication and a neck brace for support.” The nurse says calmly.

“Will I ever be able to race again?” you say a little worried with a trembling voice.

The question hangs heavy in the air, Charles reaches out and strokes your cheek gently. ”Don't worry about racing right now, you need to focus on getting better. We'll figure out the rest later.”

His voice is firm, but his eyes hold a flicker of worry. He knows how much racing means to you... For both of you it is the most important thing in your lives, but now that is in the background.

”Exactly... Right now, rest is the most important thing. We'll get you the medication you need, and we'll monitor your progress closely.” The nurse says as she looks for medicine and the neck brace.

The nurse injects a new pain medication into your IV. The relief is slow, but it gradually takes the edge off the throbbing in your head. The nurse places the neck brace on you, although it needs to be tight, as this prevents neck mobility. You lean back against the pillows, exhaustion washing over you.

“Get some sleep, love. You'll feel better I promise.” he smiles weakly.

You nod weakly, your eyelids drooping. Despite the pain and uncertainty, a sliver of hope flickers within you. You're surrounded by love and support, and that makes all the difference.

As you drift off to sleep, you hear Charles whisper a promise in your ear.

“Everything will be okay baby, I promise... Just stay here with me, okay?” He says and you give a slight thumbs up, you feel your whole body weak and destroyed.

The road to recovery will be long and arduous, but with Charles by your side, you know you can face it head-on, even with a throbbing head and a stiff neck.

The fear of not racing again persists in you, but obviously it is not something you can control, Besides, you don't know exactly if you will spend months off the track. What you do know with great certainty is that you have Charles' constant support and that is enough for you.

#formula one x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles x reader #charles leclerc #charles x you #mariclerc fics

[talesofesther]

heartbeats

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt could recognize your heartbeat from a mile away. Today, however, you are not alone. There's another heartbeat moving with yours; it's gentle, small, and different, but it's there with you.

A/N: A little cute story that I wrote on a whim. <3

Masterlist

There was a time when Matt didn't think he could find happiness, maybe even considered himself undeserving of it. A time where he saw nothing but loneliness in his future; part of him was okay with it, saying it was safer this way; and the other part felt hollow, empty.

Unknowingly though, you put an end to that time.

You came into his life unexpectedly, unplanned, and quite suddenly. The day had been rainy—sun rising with a slight drizzle and moon appearing in the distance with a downpour—it was dark out when Matt was making his way out of the subway, the sound of heavy rain hitting the pavement overwhelmed his senses; and then, there was a soft tap on his shoulder. Matt had heard your heartbeat before you even touched him, it was steady, strong yet somehow gentle; when you spoke, voice sweet as honey to his ears, Matt figured your heartbeat was the most perfect he'd ever heard. You ended up asking if he wanted you to walk him somewhere, given that you had an umbrella and Matt didn't. He'd call it a bit of a cliche meeting, but maybe cliche was just what Matt needed. A few days later he asked you out for dinner, as thanks for your kindness, of course.

You entered his life suddenly, and then never left again.

And now, as Matt expertly chops vegetables on his counter, he smiles to himself at the memory from nearly a year ago. It's a Friday night and you'll be arriving from work shortly. Matt makes dinner on Fridays, you never ask him to, but he likes to hear the smile on your voice whenever you walk in and smell the fresh food in the air of his apartment.

The door downstairs is opened then, and Matt could recognize your heartbeat from a mile away. This has been your routine for quite some time now, yet every time Matt feels your heart coming closer to his, he feels this shiver running up and down his spine, this soft twisting of his stomach—maybe it's because he loves you.

Today, however, you are not alone. Matt lets go of the knife and vegetables in his hands, cleaning them in a towel before coming to stand in his living room; his brows furrow as he focuses his hearing. There's another heartbeat moving with yours; it's gentle, small, and different, but it's there with you.

Matt holds his breath when he finally hears you opening the door of his apartment, and he's already smiling when he hears you taking off your shoes and letting go of your purse—you feel at home with him, and his heart swells with joy.

"Matty?" You call for him as you round the corner and step into his living room. There's a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice.

"Sweetheart, hi." His instinct is to immediately take you in his arms and kiss you until he runs short of breath, but he still hears that soft heartbeat accompanying your own, and he feels glued to the floor.

"Is everything okay?" Matt asks, his worry escaping him as he fiddles with the edge of his sleeves.

"Yes," you chuckle, and the sound lights Matt up. "But, as I was walking back home, I came across... something." You explain slowly, taking a tentative step closer to Matt.

Matt feels you taking hold of his hand, his thumb instantly runs over your knuckles to feel just a bit more of your skin. You're holding your breath now, and Matt doesn't know why until... his fingers buried into something soft, nearly velvety; it's fur, he quickly realizes as he moves his hand—carefully, gently—and reaches a pair of pointy ears and thin whiskers.

A cat. You brought home a cat.

"She's a stray," you explain in a near whisper, "she was all alone in the streets, terrified of the heavy traffic. I couldn't leave her there."

He's not sure why, but Matt feels the back of his eyes burning. Maybe it's because you're so purely good that the mere thought of any animal being in distress is enough to trouble you. Maybe it's because you brought this cat to his apartment instead of yours, and it reminds him that you spend nearly all of your time here nowadays. Or maybe it's just because amidst the soft fur, Matt can still feel your own hand holding onto his, and in some way, this feels like a promise; that you love him too, that you want to stay.

"What does she look like?" Matt manages to croak out.

He hears that beautiful smile of yours when you speak; "She has grey fur, with a few white marks around her body, and big yellow eyes. She's also really small."

"Yeah, I can tell," Matt's own smile escapes him again as he runs his hand over the cat, feeling the small frame of her laying on your arms.

You get on your tip toes so you can press a kiss to Matt's lips, his free hand instantly finds the small of your back, holding you to him just a tad longer. "We don't have to keep her, I just wanted to get her safe for the night and then we can take her to a shelter in the morning," you suggest.

Matt pouts, his brows furrowing comically, "but I'm already attached."

You're chuckling again and Matt knows that was the right choice. The cat, however, seems fed up with your excitement, she jumps from your arms and begins to explore every nook and cranny of Matt's apartment.

With your arms now free, you bring them around Matt's neck, placing little pecks along his jaw, "Good, because I kind of am too."

Matt hugs you close, tightly. He can hear the soft pitter-patter of paws roaming around his apartment, along with the steady rhythm of his favorite heartbeat. He thinks he can used to this; to happiness.

"She'll need a name, you know."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Matt’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock imagine #daredevil #matt murdock x you #marvel x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock x reader #my story

[underoossss]

idk if this fit ur blurb request but can i request a first bf steve with reader. they have a fight and reader thinks theyre over but steve and them talk through it bc he doesnt want to break up?

thank you for your request! I love this, miscommunication + idiots in love 💕

——-

You close your eyes as you lean you head on the cold tile of the shower. The warm spray of water falls on the nape of your neck and down your back much like the tears that cascade down your eyes. You squeeze them shut when your heart pangs with pain once more. Steve and you are over, the stupid fight you had earlier in the afternoon triggering the breakup. How funny is it that your first ever fight is also your last?

Stepping out of the shower, you go through the motions of getting dressed and ready for bed. Your eyes are tired from crying, but the tears don’t stop as you recall the end of your conversation earlier.

Can we just leave it? I’m done. Steve said, running a hand through his hair and motioning for you to get in his car.

He wasn’t there to pick you up today, leaving you stranded in the rain. He claimed you didn’t tell him you worked until 4pm instead of 5 today so he showed up an hour late for you but on time for him. You told him you’d mentioned it yesterday and the arguing had started then. Granted, you had an awful day at work, and from the tension on Steve’s shoulders he had a bad day too. Or as it seemed maybe he was already planning on breaking up with you, and the fight gave him his chance.

The drive back to your house was silent and tense, as you held your breath to avoid crying in front of him and all but ran to the front door as soon as he parked. You didn’t take off your rain soaked clothes for another hour, too heartbroken and busy crying your eyes out to mind. It was only when you started to shiver that you went upstairs and took a long hot shower. It didn’t soothe the ache on your chest one bit.

Hair towel-dry and brushed you leave the bathroom and head to the kitchen to have some water when the doorbell rings. There’s still a light drizzle outside, and you know you didn’t order any takeout so you’re more than confused about who could be ringing your doorbell. Leaving the glass of water on the kitchen counter and pretending you don’t look a puffy mess from crying, you cross the living room to the front door.

Steve stands on the other side, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a plastic bag with unknown contents inside. His hair has some droplets of rainwater clinging to the ends and so do his eyelashes. He wears a dark blue sweatshirt and jeans, and a face so pretty your heart aches at what you lost.

“Steve? What are you doing here?” You ask, eyebrows meeting in the middle as you furrow them in confusion.

“I wanted to talk to you, I don’t like how we left things earlier?” The hand that was in his pocket scratches his chin, his eyes wide and vulnerable as they look at you.

You twist your lips to keep yourself from crying. “You want to break up officially then? Ok, do it.” You wraps your arms around your chest, protecting yourself from what will come next.

“Break up?” Steve’s eyebrows raise towards his hairline comically, mouth falling open in shock at your words. “Babe, what the hell?”

“Don’t be mean, Steve.” You shake your head and press your lips together as a tear falls down your cheek like a small traitor. “You already said ‘I’m done’, I got it.”

Steve, wonderful and beautiful Steve takes a step closer to you, face a mixture of confusion and pain. “Baby, you think we broke up? Just from that fight?”

“What else am I supposed to think Stevie?” You whisper, looking away from his sweet brown eyes and swallowing hard the knot in your throat.

“Honey, I drove you home. I would’ve hugged you goodbye but you ran out of the car before I could.” Steve shakes his head. “I thought your were pissed at me, not that you thought we broke up. Can we talk?”

You blink a few times at him as your mind tries to catch up. Steve’s always been a gentleman, of course you’d think it was normal for him to drive you home even if he broke up with you; the rest, well, you didn’t stay in his car for him to say anything else did you. Nodding and stepping back from the door, you let Steve in and close the door behind you.

Now in the warm light of the living room, Steve has a clear look at your red-rimmed eyes and the way his face falls brings fresh tears to blur your vision. “Oh, baby.” Steve frowns and pulls you to his chest, hugging you flush against him as you let yourself cry. “I’m sorry, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“We were both so angry, when you said ‘I’m done’ I assumed—” You take a step back and look at him, his face pained from seeing you in pain.

Steve’s hands hold your face gently, the kiss he presses on your forehead is just as soft. “I meant I’m done fighting, not that I’m done with us. You’re the best thing in my life, you know that.”

Your boyfriend —you can’t believe you thought you’d have to say ex before it— leads both of you to the couch, where you sit down facing each other. Steve takes you hands in his as you lean your face on the headrest, embarrassed, happy but still hurt from the heartbreak you put yourself through hours before. “I’m sorry, we were both under a lot of stress, I forgot you said 4pm and I shouldn’t have let it start a fight between us.”

You shake your head, “I shouldn’t have gotten mad either, I was already annoyed from work and let it get the best of me. I’m sorry too, Stevie.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Steve shakes his head, “I know you like clarity, and I was very vague earlier. I should’ve said I wanted to stop fighting, instead of saying I’m done. I mean it baby, I wanted to end our fight not our relationship.”

You nod, “I shouldn’t have assumed, but I was scared to ask. I thought you found an excuse to dump me.”

“And be an idiot who lost the most perfect girl in the world?” Steve shakes his head and you give him a small smile. “It was our first fight, that’s all, it doesn’t mean my feelings for you changed.”

“I’ll call you to remind you next time my schedule changes.” You whisper, shifting closer to Steve, “I should’ve done that today.”

“And I’ll write it down, somewhere I won’t forget.” Steve’s hands find your hips and pull you closer until your legs are thrown over his and he’s looking down at you, an adoring look in his eyes. “I love you.”

You hold his cheek and smile, “I love you so much.”

Steve closes the gap between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a soft but passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you as he leans closer, humming against your mouth when you run your fingers through his hair. He kisses you until you’re breathless and his lips place scattered pecks on your cheek, your chin and one more on your nose. It makes you laugh and the smile Steve gives you in return could power up all of Hawkins.

Rewinding to the memory of him standing in your doorway makes you pause. “What was in that bag you brought?”

Steve’s smile turns sheepish as he leans in to kiss you again, a sweet thing that gives you butterflies. “Well, I uh– thought you were pissed at me so I brought some snacks and a movie so you could forgive me.”

You smile widely at him, stomach flipping incessantly and heart beating loudly with affection. This man really does own your heart, no wonder thinking about losing him wrecked you. “You are the best thing in my life, you know? You don’t need snacks to get me to forgive you but they’re appreciated.”

Steve chuckles and wraps you up in his arms, face pressed to your neck. “Sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s okay.” You smile, soaking in his warmth and breathing in his familiar scent; feeling at ease, and safe. “We really need to communicate better though.”

Steve’s laugh is a beautiful sound next to your ear.

#I hope you like this 🥺 #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #ask

[fallencrescentmoon]

Defrosted heart

— one of furina’s champion duelist, suddenly found to be in the arms of the chief justice right before a trial of the court

• neuvillette x nb!reader fluff headcannon

•.•.•art credits to original artist @waternaeng on twitter•.•.•

“Mon amour!” The voice that sounded like honey to his ears made the chief justice, mousier neuvillette snap out of his dazed state, as the rain outside starts to become a drizzle.

“Good morning Ma belle” a small smile starts to grace the normally stoic face of neuvillette as his sees you walk towards him. Sitting on the chair of the judge waiting for the trial to start, he beckons you towards him as you get closer.

Once you are in reach of his arms, he pulls you onto his lap, pushing his face into your neck, starting to nibble it slightly. Your hand instantly goes to his head starting to brush your fingers through his hair, playing with his long hair avoiding his two blue horns(?)as he starts to relax even more to your touch as the rain outside completely stops.

To most seeing the chief justice in a state such as this would be nothing less than shocking, most saw him as polite yet cold and stern. They would not believe that it was the very man that holds every trial in Fontaine would be hiding in your neck, holding you so closely it almost looks painful to the outside view.

Just as you both get comfortable in each other’s embrace the top doors to the opera house open with none other than lady Furina, walking into the room going towards her chair at the very top of the court room. Both being unaware of her presence, you both stay in the embrace now with your head of his chest and his chin on your head, arms wrapped around your waist as you arms wrap around his arms. Both of your eyes closed just relaxing in each other’s embrace.

Just quietly sitting on her chair, Furina looks down to the both of you with a small smirk on her face.

•heheh hey sorry I’ve been inactive but I’m back! I love Fontaine rn so erm there will be quite a bit of lyney and neuvillette stuff hehe;) hope you like this~

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin #genshin impact

[liveontelevision]

Who Wants Pancakes?

@alcoris-shiz requested some Radioapple stuff and i hope this is okay 😬 I haven't written for any ships yet, so this is my first shot at that 🎉

18+ Smut-ish, Mentions of Blood

♡♡♡

Lucifer didn't think the proximity would become a problem, I mean, he purposely made his office as far from that damned radio demon as possible and it still wasn't enough of a buffer to keep him off his ass. Still, other than having an occasional argument or just hearing some insulting mutters in passing, it wasn't all bad. The hotel was finally picking up and getting some residents, and he did make a promise to lend a hand where possible.

Something Charlie suggested early on was weekly hotel staff breakfasts. It was a fond memory, though a distant one, to have a hot plate of pancakes with her parents, so she was quick to suggest Lucifer start making them one day of the week for everyone to enjoy. Unfortunately, that does include Alastor. He agreed with delight, willing to do anything for his dearest daughter even with the slightest hesitance.

After a few weeks, it actually became something Lucifer looked forward to. Sure, he had to deal with the more extreme personalities of some of the staff, but it's been quite a while since he cooked and he was glad to get the chance to enjoy it with Charlie, again. Alastor had actually never joined this routine, which he had to admit, sent a stir of emotions to Lucifer's head.

Was he too pompous to even accept pancakes? What could that damned fool be doing that was so important, he couldn't sit down for a mere hour? Should he consider trying different recipes? He knows Alastor is a cannibal, but there had to be some exceptions.. But why should he care?

He often embarrassed himself by entertaining the idea of trying to satisfy him in any way.

"Who's ready for pancakes?" Lucifer pushes the kitchen door open with his back, his arms stacked with plates upon plates of freshly made pancakes as he sang out the phrase with a smile. An audible hum emerged from each of the staff members seated at the table, the scent filling the room. He skillfully slid the plates free of his arms and lined them up on the table before snapping his fingers and allowing each plate to portal in front of the hungry demons. He actually spent these past few weeks learning about who likes what; Angel loved having whipped cream decorating his plate, Husk was a fan of honey baked into his, and Niffty's always looked like an icecream sundae with the amount of toppings she'd want. A classic syrup drizzled plate appeared at the head of the table, a seat fit for a king. So, when Lucifer wiped his hands clean of any baking reminents that might have been stuck on, he was struck with disbelief to a devilish smile meeting him, seated at the head of the table. At his seat.

"Well! What a pleasant surprise! I'm so glad to see you could finally join us!" Lucifer's chipper demeanor wavered as he spoke through his clenched teeth. Alastor slowly slid Lucifer's plate across the table to be in front of the seat next to his, a chair that was always left open, in the hopes that a certain demon would join. Well, here he is.

"Good morning! I've found myself with a bit of free time this morning, so I thought i'd kindly grace you all with my presence. I'm sure you've all been missing me this past few weeks, I do apologize for any worry i may have caused." Alastor smiles brightly, completely ignoring the fuming angel who sat down hard in the only available chair. Charlie was quick to reassure Alastor, simply stating that she's glad to see him and how she's just happy to see him join breakfast. But Lucifer was clearly not entertained by that answer, since it's simply just not true. Lucifer let's out a crood fake laugh before picking up his knife with a white knuckled fist.

"What, am I to simply watch everyone enjoy their breakfast? Am I to pick through the trash for my food? How crude!" Alastor puts on a woe-is-me fit, raising his arm to fain over his head in a fainting motion. Charlie loudly cleared her throat to gain her father's attention, then nudged her eyes in Alastor's direction before holding her hands together in a pleading motion. How can he say no to those puppy dog eyes? He can't, unfortunately. With a dramatic dropping of his utensils, Lucifer huffed his way into the kitchen, tying his already dirtied apron back around his waist.

Mumbling some angry profanities about a certain deer demon, he listened to the muffled conversations and laughs that went on right beyond the door. As he began to mix the batter, he heard the door swing open.

"I appreciate your work, Your Highness, but I am especially particular about my food. I'm sure you wouldn't mind me watching your methods, hmm?" Without any answer, the radio demon took a seat at the island across the counter, crossing his slender legs and propping his head up with his hands. Lucifer let out a quiet, "Oh Brother -" before quickening his pace with the whisk. "Now now! Don't let that frightful scrowl ruin my pancakes. I keep hearing of their excellence and I expect just that." He tuned in, his smile only becoming increasingly petty.

This went on the entire time. Lucifer made his pancakes with a scowl, his eye twitching at every little note or critique that came out in Alastor's staticky tone. Afterward, he was finally able to join his daughter for breakfast. Even if his plate had gotten cold, and everyone was essentially done with their own food, he made it a point smile and acted as if he didn't waste his morning on this red-headed prick. Lucifer began to clean up the table, with some help, but he surely didn't mind when Charlie had to take everyone to the lobby for an exercise that was supposed to start sooner than earlier. The worst part? The plate made fresh for Alastor sat perfectly untouched.

"Oh, come on! That fucking piece of ... " Lucifer grumbled, essentially cleaning up everything but that plate, simply too angered to look at it. He brought the dishes to the kitchen, plopping them into the sink. He set his ring to the side as he washed the dishes, humming a tune to calm his previous rage. Menial tasks always did help with that. A static song overwhelmed Lucifer's humming, snapping him out of his little trance and making him whip his head around, to see an all too close radio demon, holding his untouched pancakes in front of him. Lucifer groaned and rolled his eyes before returning to the dishes.

"Oh wow. So! Are you here to help me clean or make fun of how I do the dishes? Either way, I don't need it. Do me a favor and fuck off." Losing his cool for a moment, his final statement come out as a gravelly growl. Alastor let out a despicable cackle, placing the plate down next to the sink, having to lean over Lucifer to do so. Lucifer scoffed when he felt his back lightly brush the other's Torso, attempting to keep a blush from running across his face.

"Why no, good sir! I don't intend to help one bit, not to worry. I simply enjoy seeing a powerful king, such as yourself, acting as a meeger housewife." His voice was far too close to Lucifer's ear, a chill running up his spine as he felt his hot breath against the side of his cheek. In his best attempts to keep his cool, he stood rigged for a moment before continuing to scrub a plate that was already spotless.

"Don't forget your place, good sir - " he spoke in a mocking tone," - I could kill you with a snap of my fingers." He spat out, his face still not visible to the demon towering over him.

"Oh, I don't doubt it! Well, I won't interrupt you again, I am here to simply enjoy the view, as I said before." As he stepped away to sit back into a bar stool, a hushed static ran over Lucifer's body. His eye twitched as he continued to clean his dishes, hoping that ignorance would make him lose interest and find something better to do. It didn't

Alastor's eyes boar into his back the entire time. After a hasty clean-up, Lucifer was quick to set aside his apron and dust off his vest and sleeves to get the hell out of the room. The white noise of static was becoming unbearable. After letting out a sigh of relief, Lucifer blindly went to pick up his wedding band, his hand reaching out and meeting nothing but empty counter space. He began to panic, looking around frantically, patting down his pockets, even reaching into the sink.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck - " In the nervous state, he took no time to look back to Alastor, if he did, he'd be greeted with his smile growing impossibly wider.

"Missing something, your highness?" Alastor said with an innocent tone, batting his eyelashes at the king. Lucifer whipped his head around and slammed his fists on the counter in front of him, cracking the marble.

"What the fuck did you do?" His devil features were quick to sprout, starting with his tail that stuck straight up like a cat in distress, the tip just barely flicking. Alastor could feel the heat of the small flame that sparked at Lucifer's crown, sitting right between his lengthy horns that tore through his flesh. His eyes squinted with a terrifying red glow, completely enraged at Alastor's unphased expression.

"Oh, dear! Could you possibly be looking for this?" Alastor wiggled his hand in front of Lucifer's face, flaunting his own wedding band sitting pretty on his red claws. Lucifer wasted no time to reach out and grab it, but of course, Alastor easily got away by standing from his seat.

They danced around the kitchen for a moment, Alastor cackling at every near miss, which only pissed the king off more. His power was used poorly, making him run out of stamina much quicker than he would prefer, but still long enough to tire out the radio demon just as much. They stood a few feet away from eachother, panting heavily. Letting out a final growl, Lucifer flooded the room with his large wings and lunged out in one final attempt. Alastor, not exactly planning out his next move, popped the ring into his mouth in one smooth motion. Lucifer stumbled and stopped mid lunge, the sheer confusion hitting him more than anything.

"What in the unholy hell - What did you do?! Why??" The situation became comical for a moment, his rage dying down as he tried to wrap his head around the bold move.

"You want your ring back, Sweatheart? Come and get it." He spoke awkwardly, attempting to get his words out before opening his mouth and showing off the wedding band that sat right on the center of his tongue.

Lucifer immediately flushed red, his wings curling around his body before tucking behind his back again. This wasn't what Alastor originally had in plan, but seeing his reaction was just as well. He placed his hands on his hips and bent forward to meet Lucifer's eyes and present him with a much better view of his opened mouth.

They stood there for a moment silently. Alastor shut his eyes and hummed for a moment, closing his mouth and slipping the ring on the tip of tongue before sticking it out to present to Lucifer. It took him far too long to make the decision, but Lucifer took a painful grip onto his shoulders and smashed his open mouth against Alastor's presented tongue. He was far too startled too grasp the situation in time, allowing Lucifer to skilfully wrap his forked tongue around Alastor's prying the ring off and into his own mouth. He pulled away, their tongues still connected with a line of saliva for a moment.

Lucifer placed his hand below his mouth and gently spat out his ring, sliding it carefully on his finger still covered in their mixed spit. He never broke eye contact with the dazed deer demon. Lucifer smirked, crossing his arms across his puffed out chest with pride, as if he won something. He let out a satisfied hum before his eyes followed Alastor's body moving towards him. Standing nearly toe to toe, Lucifer had to crain his neck to see Alastor's glowing eyes.

"Do it, again." His voice was low and gravely, a loud static screeching for a moment causing Lucifer to hiss and cover his ears. Taking the oppurtunity, Alastor took a strong hold onto Lucifer's jaw, pulling him upwards until he was struggling to keep his feet on the ground. He held onto his wrist, an angry glint in his eye, yet silent.

"Did you not hear me, Your Highness? Do. It. Again." He couldn't prevent his face from heating up at the demand, slightly gasping for breath. Mustering his strength, he rolled his eyes and sent a wicked grin to Alastor, his face still held in his hands.

"Sure~"

Lucifer took in a fistful of the demon's red hair and yanked it towards his face, making their lips crash together in a heated attempt to take control of the situation. Alastor lost his grip, allowing Lucifer to firmly plant his feet back on the ground. He kept a tight grip on his hair, keeping the towering demon at his level by bending him over uncomfortably at the hip. He continued to wrestle his forked tongue around Alastor's mouth, no matter how hard he tried to keep up with the king, he couldnt help but melt into the moment. And he feel absolute shame because of it.

After what seemed like meer seconds, Lucifer pulled his hair back, causing his neck to uncomfortably crane backwards. He fell to his knees, the only way to break the discomfort of his current stature. He panted heavily, his arms dropped to his side in a beautiful display of obedience. Lucifer's irises glew a shade of blood red at the sight in front of him. He leaned down just slightly to meet his eyes, finally having the upperhand, "I'll do it again, Sure. But - you have to admit that I won." He grinned almost innocently, making Alastor's limp expression immediately turn into a snarl.

"Go on, then. Admit defeat. You lost."

He'd never admit it, but Alastor found himself in an absolutely helpless situation. He was overpowered.

"Sire, you can't possibly be serious, I would hardly call this a game, don't -" before he could attempt to charm his way out of it, Lucifer readjusted the grasp on his hair to lift his head up by his ears. He yelped.

"Ahha! That's a fun noise! Go ahead and do it again, Darling. I'll give you what you want~" Lucifer kept a tight hold on the other demons ears, feeling them twitch in his fist. He leaned down slightly just hovering over his lips, before yanking his ears forward to connect them with his. The sudden motion made another quiet yelp come from Alastor's lips, but it was muffled between their heavy breaths combined.

He reached upwards, grabbing Lucifer's vest and pulling him down until his knees hit the floor painfully. The sudden jolt caused Lucifer's teeth to graze the inside of his cheek, a small amount of blood mixing in between their lips. Alastor tasted it almost immediately, grabbing Lucifer's sides and pulling him into his torso, sloppily trying to lap up any of the angelic blood that spilled from his mouth.

Lucifer pulled away, pushing on Alastor's chest to keep a distance. As they caught their breath, Alastor licked his lips clean of the golden blood that he managed to obtain. He let out a low growl, before picking up Lucifer by his waist and tossing him hastily onto the counter. Pulling him right to the edge, their bodies completely pressed together, he locked their lips again. Lucifer lost his powerful composure for a moment, gripping Alastor's back and letting out a pathetic whimper into the kiss.

Alastor responded by biting Lucifer's lip, allowing more of his sweet blood to spill into his mouth. He slipped his hands between the two of them, slicing the threads of each button that held his vest and shirt together with ease. Pulling his shirt to the side before he could even realize his top was undone, Alastor pulled away from his lips and let out a heavy breath at the nape of his neck before anchoring his pointed teeth at the softest part of his skin.

Lucifer let out a careful moan, quick to cover his mouth lazily to hold back any other noises. His hand was quickly ripped away from his lips, Alastor guiding it back to the top of his head. He quickly took a grasp of his hair again, desperate for anything to anchor himself to reality.

After leaving a lovely trail of bloody bruises and bites across his entire chest, tainting the procelain white skin, he stepped back to look at his work. Lucifer was a panting mess, hair stuck to his forehead and eyes dazed. His shirts had fallen off his shoulders and he was still attempting to catch his breath. Alastor recovered much quicker, wiping the trail of glowing blood that flowed down Lucifer's chin with his thumb and licking it clean himself.

"Well, I suppose I'll admit to defeat and leave you to your duties, your highness." He swipes some invisible dust from his coat before holding his hands behind his back and heading towards the door.

"Ah, and might I say, you make quite the meal!" He said chipperly, leaving a stunned Lucifer still seated on the countertop as the radio static that once flooded his senses slowly ceased.

♡♡♡

Also just saying, I took some inspo from a radioapple drawing I saw on IG and i cannot for the life of me find it again so I'll include it if anyone finds it :,)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel smut #lucifer hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer morningstar #alastor smut #hazbin alastor #alastor and lucifer #lucifer and alastor #lucifer x alastor #help me i'm dying #radioapple #hazbin fanfic #hazbin fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

the way i need enemies to lovers smut with cal where reader is a sith lord and gets hurt but cal being the good man that he is, takes her back to his place and things happen yk 😰

i love this so much and I hope it's alright that I changed the prompt a teensy bit. instead of being sith, reader is just a darkside-user more generally. also gender neutral. thank you so much for the request!

Balance (Cal Kestis x reader)

Summary: You encounter Cal Kestis a few too many times, and you can't explain the way that the Force seems to be conspiring to put you two together in a room.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors DNI; gn!reader; inappropriate use of the Force; reader is a darkside user and honestly doesn't know how fucked they are; semi-graphic injuries; porn with plot; toxic relationship lowkey; blowjob; mutual masturbation (sort of); penetrative sex; unprotected sex (pls be safe irl y'all); if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 12,765 my hand slipped

The first time you encounter Cal Kestis, you nearly kill him.

You’d heard the rumors, of course, whispered with bright eyes and furtive expressions in shithole Outer Rim cantinas of a flame-headed being cutting down Inquisitors and Imperials. When you first overheard a snippet of the tall tale, you’d nearly choked on your cheap spotchka. Right, you remember thinking, a fiery figure opposing the Empire. Did they run out of good gossip today? 

Most rumors have at least a kernel of truth at their centers, and you figured it was the same with this one. And besides, you are indifferent to the Empire, at best; you’ve been avoiding their attention as much as you can, but you suspect that the thick cloak of the darkside you wear like a mantle has kept most of the Inquisitorius oblivious. They’re looking for Jedi, who cannot resist continuing to do good in a galaxy rotted to its core, and you stopped being a Jedi long before the Empire rose to power. They probably pay no mind to one lone figure who straddles the line of light and dark, temptation and virtue. 

But that doesn’t mean Jedi pay no mind to you. Most of them, you can avoid; you fight when necessary. Currently, you’re thinking a fight might just be necessary. You’re on some planet you’ve already forgotten the name of, densely populated and urban. You stand with one foot propped on the edge of a rooftop, neon lights glimmering on wet permacrete. Rain drizzles in a fine mist. You gaze placidly across the gap to the next building—to the flame-headed being. Without even needing to try, you feel his Force signature: he burns in the Force, even as he tries to hide it. His coppery hair ruffles in the slight breeze, stubble darkening his face. 

With a steadying breath, you tilt your head to one side. “Got a name, friend?”

“Not one you need to know,” he calls back. His posture is loose, casual, but you sense the whipcord tension in his Force aura; he’s on the alert. 

As he probably should be. 

“If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?” You offer him a disarming smile. “Seems only fair, right? Equitable partnership.” 

He snorts. “There’s no partnership.” 

“Fine,” you huff. You tell him your name anyways, and he mouths it silently, but none of that tension dissipates. You take the moment to appraise him a little more closely: lean body, self-assured slant of his shoulders, faded burn scar cut across his face. Heat licks up your spine.

“Cal,” he eventually says. “Cal Kestis.”

You smile wide at his honeyed voice. “Nice to meet you, Cal Kestis. Mind moving out of the way so I can continue on my merry way?” 

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s no trace of regret in that gorgeous voice, only immense exhaustion. 

Your saber hilt twitches against your back as your hand flexes nearly out of habit. Taking another deep, cleansing breath, you shrug as if his answer means nothing. The dark tide of the Force surges through your body, tingling in your fingertips, sharpening the smoggy night air into fine detail. “Well, can’t say I didn’t ask nicely.” 

And then you leap, going from a dead standstill to a flurry of action in the space of a heartbeat. As your unstable crimson blade screeches to life, bathing the rooftops in flickering light, an answering snap-hiss echoes around you. Blue beam clashes with red, showering sparks over both of you. 

Oh, he’s strong, and for some reason that makes your skin flush. You bare your teeth in a mockery of a smile and shove. He staggers back, feet slipping for a moment in the gravel surface of the rooftop, before he recovers. 

“I’ll give you this one chance to stand down,” he says, voice thick and low and oh how it makes you shiver. His eyes glint in the blue light of his saber. 

“Funny,” you snap, “I was just going to say the same to you.” 

A frown tugs at his mouth. Lowering into a defensive stance, his eyes never leave yours as you languidly swing your saber in a half circle around you, content to draw this out. You’ve killed your number of Jedi in the name of self-preservation—necessary sacrifices to ensure the continued balance of Light and Dark—but there’s something about the way his green eyes harden into sharp gems the longer you twirl your blade, the casual power in his veined forearms, the absolutely pure gold energy he radiates in the Force. 

With an aggravated shake of your head, you press the attack. Overhead, backhand, thrust, thrust, parry—you and Cal settle into a dangerous dance. Bright light bursts where your sabers connect, sparks skittering across the gravel. For anyone watching nearby, the pair of you probably look like blurs of red and blue light—another light fixture among this technicolor urban landscape. 

But for anyone skilled in the Force, the radiance of your sabers dims in comparison to the pillars of energy you both become. One golden and bright as a thousand suns, shot through with faint tendrils of inky blackness; one glowing in shadow, a black hole ringed by its event horizon, smears of golden light. 

Both the light and the dark are present in this fight, and you smile grimly. In all things, balance, as your master used to say. 

The memory is a distraction, and Cal manages to break through your guard and punch your nose. Searing pressure spikes through your head, warmth dribbling down your face. 

You merely grin at him with blood-covered lips. “You’ll have to do better than that, Kestis.” 

And again the two of you become a flurry of attacks, parries, counterattacks, feints. In the distance, the low drone of a police siren reverberates off the tall glass buildings of the downtown area. You’ve been spotted. Time to end this now. 

You make a show of appearing to be tiring, breathing coming in heavy gasps, your saber still meeting Cal’s in time to stop him from separating your limbs from your body, but just a fraction slower than what you’d begun with. And you give ground. Just a half step at first, and then several steps. Cal seizes the opportunity to push you back, force you into submission, gain the upperhand—

Not knowing he’d lost this fight the moment he’d placed himself in your path. 

The Force is with you. In the Force, your arms seem to glow with terrible, purple-black ultraviolet power as you surrender yourself to its currents. There is no longer you and your saber; your saber is you. There is no longer you and Cal Kestis; there is you and the last piece of yourself that you’re willing to atrophy. Veins of golden Light criss-cross under your darkly shining skin—and as you stand firm once again with your back to the low roof edge, you will those golden veins to flush, to swell. You’re going to triumph here, and it’ll be with the approval of the full Force.

Cal’s face gleams with sweat, his brow furrowed, delicious mouth curved down in a frown. You lick your lips. 

“Yield, Kestis,” you say. One last chance. 

He just grunts, and in a blur of motion, separates the hilt of his saber. Another beam of blue snaps to life. Fear flares in you for a moment—but the Force remains with you, and you let the emotion siphon into your cracked, bleeding kyber. Plasma spits off the sides of your blade as you block attack after attack after attack; you’re an infinite well of patience—but that siren is getting closer, and you know that time, unlike your patience, is of the essence. 

In a flash of inspiration, you reverse your grip on your hilt mid-parry, then swipe the angry blade out and up. A cry of pain, and one of the blue sabers retracts as the hilt clatters to the gravel. Cal stumbles back, cradling his left arm to his chest, his remaining saber held in front of him. 

You can’t help the surge of pleasure at besting your opponent, even temporarily. As you twirl your saber again, a spotlight suddenly beams down on the two of you. With a grimace, you swing the saber down towards the soft juncture of Cal’s neck where it meets his shoulder—

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of the calm, resigned look in his eyes. Your blade hovers mere centimeters off his skin. 

Amid the roar of hovercraft, the police siren, and the rushing of blood in your ears, he murmurs your name.

“Kark it all,” you spit. Gathering the Force within you, you shove him back. A shout of surprise, a flash of blue, and then he’s tumbling over the edge of the building. You retract your blade and dash in the opposite direction without a second thought. 

Your master had always been honest with you about how little he, or anyone, truly knew about the mysteries of the Force. During your years as a padawan, you spent countless hours in meditation chambers deep below the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, feeling the constant ebb and flow of the Force around you. The first time he brought you there, your master explained in hushed tones how the temple had been built millennia ago over an old Sith temple. The Force resided in a nexus point there; streams of energy flowed from all over the galaxy and converged—and then diverged—from the temple. 

Sitting in meditation now, you breathe deeply and steadily as the memory crests over you. 

“But, Master,” you asked, “if the temple used to be a Sith stronghold, doesn’t that mean the dark side of the Force is strong here, too?” 

His kind, patient eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is right, my Padawan. In all things, there must be balance. Light and dark only exist because of each other.”

A frown tugged at your lips at that, and you cocked your head to the side. “But aren’t we supposed to resist the darkness?” 

“Yes,” he said. “The darkness is an overbalance—an overabundance—of emotions, passions, fears. The Sith, and all who use the dark side, manipulate the Force to their will, instead of letting their emotions, like the Force, flow through them.” 

Something about that didn’t feel right. “But—” 

Your master held up one hand, forestalling the line of questioning you were about to launch into. He stepped through a large, arched doorway into a dim, echoing room. “Come, Padawan. Perhaps meditating will provide the answers you seek.” 

You inhale slowly and open your eyes, squinting against the bright blue glare of the hyperspace lane. No matter how long or how hard you meditated under the temple, you grew no closer to an answer than by asking your master. Despite your frustration, you kept returning to the chambers below the Great Hall. The Force there was...comforting. Balanced. And yet, so infuriating in its mystery. You could feel both the light and the dark, and neither were good or bad. The Force just...was. Perhaps it was the long hours you spent in the tunnels and vast echoic chambers there that you developed your keen sense for the composition of the Force.

Standing, you groan softly at the ache in your knees. As you settle back into the thinly padded pilot’s seat, you massage at the joints, wondering just when you’d gotten old. 

Probably when that droid shot through your master’s heart on Geonosis, and you’d physically felt the Force tip off-balance half a galaxy away, deep in meditation on Coruscant. The memory is painful, and digs its festering claws into your heart yet again. 

The Council hadn’t even needed to tell you your master had perished in the opening salvo of the Clone Wars. The morning after his funeral, with both his and your sabers in your pack, you’d fled the temple.

The old fool, you think, slashing the memory of him from your awareness.

By now, you’re used to the pit of emotions yawning in your very essence. You hold onto your fears, your angers, your anxieties—but also your loves, your passions, your desires. Without even really thinking about it, you reach for the loose compartment that holds your master’s saber. Its duranium-plated hilt is slowly corroding, matching the slow degradation of yourself. The blade jumps to life with a snap-hiss. The green glow it casts is almost sickly, the blade bright, but thin and tremulous. It’s been weak since he died.

As you stare, eyes burning, into the flickering core of your master’s blade, you reach into the Force for the kyber at its heart. No matter how many times you brush against the crystal with your mind, you’re never prepared. A screech, unending and agonized and fearful, rends through your consciousness. For a moment, the green sputters, crimson taking its place. 

You drop the saber, gasping. The hilt clatters to the floor and blade retracts, and you’re left again in the pressing silence of hyperspace.

In all things, balance, drift the words through you once again. Green against crimson. Crimson for blue. You think about Cal Kestis, his blinding presence; you think of your vacuous silhouette; and you take all the rage you can muster and twist it into your own heart like a dagger. The joists of your ship groan in response.

The second time you meet Cal Kestis, you almost wish you’d killed him all those years ago.

Just a few months after that first encounter on rain-slicked rooftops, you caught wind of a rumor that the flame-headed being attacked the Fortress Inquisitorius itself. This time, you didn’t discount the story, having witnessed first hand—for however short a time—the Force-empowered determination of that single human being. None of the rumors about Cal Kestis surprise you anymore. 

But you routinely have to curse his name as the Inquisitors have now turned their attention beyond just Jedi. The cloak of the darkness is no longer enough on its own to hide you from the long gaze of the Empire. You’ve taken to hiding out on barely populated Outer Rim worlds, hanging around long enough to establish some kind of routine, before the gentle ripples of the Force lapping against your subconscious grow into towering, dangerous waves. And then you hop back in your ship, barely more than scrap welded to a hyperdrive, and scuttle off to the next system. 

Which is where you find yourself now. Koboh could be promising. As you crouch at the edge of an exposed cliff, you study the cosmic anomaly that orbits the planet. The Abyss. You’re not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it creates a strong enough disturbance in the Force that you’re hopeful it will mask your own signature. And, you admit to yourself as your gaze lowers to the breathtaking landscape spread out below you, you’ve hidden in worse places the last few years. Koboh seems promising, indeed.

You spend a few days studying the locals, trying to get a feel for how life works here. For the most part, everyone here seems like they’re from off-world—which is good, because it means you won’t stand out for very long as a newcomer. Everyone here is a newcomer. And everyone here is more concerned, it seems, with the things that lie in the dirt than in the world aboveground. All the better for you. 

Concealing your saber hilt against your back like always, you make sure your ship, bucket of bolts that it is, is well-hidden enough to dissuade any potential scrappers. Tucked high on an outcropping, you hope most folks won’t care too much to check out the shiny metal bits not covered by plant matter. Not when it’s several dozen feet above solid ground. 

And you make sure you look as uninteresting as possible. With your saber out of view, you could pass for a refugee without issue. Force knows you’ve been weeks without a proper shower; you can feel the dirt and grime on every inch of your skin. Your clothing, usually neat and tucked in, is dusty, torn, and stained with dried blood. 

Yes, you’ll fit in nicely here. 

As you pass beneath a metallic archway decorated with a massive horned skull, you reach out in the Force, making sure that none of the town’s inhabitants can get the drop on you. You bypass squat, square buildings that are probably homes of some of the folks here. None seem of interest. Instead, your gaze is trained on the larger, multi-story building near the center of town. As you draw nearer, you realize the sign above the door reads, “Saloon.” Perfect. 

The door opens to admit you into a hallway; at the end, you wait in front of another door for a moment while a mechanical eye studies you. Chattering in a deep, unintelligible voice, the eye withdraws, and the second door whooshes open to reveal the barroom. 

No one turns as you descend the few steps to the floor. Crates and clutter stock most of the booths along the side wall, a few folks talking quietly at smaller tables or sitting alone and nursing a drink. Quiet, staticky radio music plays over the speakers. 

Behind the bar is a tall, four-armed droid who skids to a halt where you lean against the counter.

“You’re a new face,” the droid says. “Name’s Monk. What can I get you?” 

You quirk an eyebrow and give the droid, Monk, an alias, your sixth one in as many months. Then you say, “Got any spotchka?” 

“Indeed I do,” Monk says. “Shall I start a tab?” 

“I’ll pay up front,” you say with a shake of your head. 

Monk gives you the cost as he pours the glowing blue liquid into a clean glass, and you slide the credits across the counter. The alcohol’s familiar burn slides down your throat as you lean your back against the bar. Over the rim of your glass, you study the other patrons here at the saloon. Dusty, tired figures, the lot of them. In the Force, they are marginal, giving off only nominal signatures, no different than most other living beings. Most of them aren’t important enough to even warrant a clear affiliation with light or dark; they just are. Your upper lip quirks in a grimace.

Extending your awareness out farther, you’re not sure what you’re searching for, but you suppose you’ll know it when you find it. The hilt of your saber digs uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignore it, using the pain to sharpen your focus. You sense more townsfolk going to and fro outside the saloon, but none of them of any more note than those inside.

Something in you itches. Frowning, you lower the glass of spotchka and try to focus in on that feeling. It’s under your skin, out of reach, just behind your spine, but if you just push a little farther—

You gasp, cringing away from the sudden supernova that blinds your awareness in the Force. Cal Kestis. It has to be Cal. No one else burns quite like him. 

You yank your Force signature back into your body, hoping he didn’t feel you like you felt him. Figuring you only have moments to get out, you make a split-second decision between the several other doors leading away from this main room. Spotchka glass still in hand, you dart for the nearest door, and it slides open to reveal a staircase that winds upward. You take the steps two at a time. At the landing, you hiss at the sight of a second-floor loft. Stairs seem to continue along the other side, continuing to wind upward, but before you can run for them, a familiar voice drifts up from below. 

“Hey, Monk, good to see you,” says Cal Kestis. 

Your body flushes with warmth. Kriff. 

Monk says something you can’t quite make out. 

“Another newcomer?” Cal says. “I’ll make sure to say hi when I see them.” 

Grimacing, you creep across the floor toward the second staircase. Your foot just touches the bottom step when a voice behind you calls your name—your real name, not the alias you gave the droid. 

You sigh, chin falling toward your chest. “Cal Kestis.” 

“How did you find me?” 

His green gaze burns into you almost as hot as his Force signature. You roll your eyes; typical Jedi, thinking the world revolves around him.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say. “I’m...laying low.” 

He crosses his arms across his chest, and you’re distracted for a moment by the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want to, Jedi,” you bite out. “I’ll go find my own desolate planet.” 

“Can’t let you do that,” he says, following behind you as you climb the stairs. 

“I’d love to see you stop me.” 

You feel the disturbance in the Force and brace for it. His attempt to yank you back down the stairs fails as you push against it—but you can’t push past it. Equally matched. Balanced. 

With a growl, you spin on your heel and point an accusing finger at Cal. “Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” 

His eyes narrow at you as you stand there, chest heaving with emotion, both of you crackling with energy in the Force. You down the rest of your spotchka and shatter the glass on the ground. Cal doesn’t flinch. The longer you stand there, the hotter your face flushes. Ignoring the impulse to shudder, you don’t miss the way his green eyes study your face, your posture, your signature. 

“I know you,” he finally says. “From the temple.” 

You snort in derision. “Good for you, kid.” 

“I was still a youngling when the Clone Wars started,” he says. “I...understand what it’s like to lose your master.” 

Your vision pulses black for a moment, and on instinct you reach out with a clawed hand. Cal’s eyes widen in fear as his hands fly to his throat, grabbing at the invisible hand you squeeze there.

“Don’t. Ever. Presume to know anything about me,” you hiss. “You know nothing, Cal Kestis.” 

“You’re—right—” he chokes out. “I’m—sorry—”

You shove, the Force exploding through your palm as he slams into the opposite wall. Sputtering, he coughs, rubbing at his throat. 

“I don’t need your pity, Jedi.” You spit the title like a curse—like the curse that it is—and turn to take the staircase up and out. The door at the top admits you to the open-air roof, the cosmic explosion of the Abyss looming overhead. 

You step over the edge of the roof, calling on the Force to cushion your descent. At the bottom, you ignore the flabbergasted expressions on a few of the locals as you stalk off. Past the saloon, past the stables, through the shallow river—you’re not sure how far you walk, but it’s dark by the time that you realize you’re lost. 

“Kriff,” you sigh. 

Thankfully, whether by luck or by the sheer force of presence of your Force signature, you’ve not been bothered by any of the (frankly terrifying) wildlife on this planet. Tentatively, you reach out, but you find nothing but a few docile Nekkos and, farther off, a dozing bilemaw. 

In the dim light provided by the Abyss and the Shattered Moon hanging heavy in the sky, you determine that a shallow cliff alcove nearby will be as good a place as any to rest until morning. Settling under the rocky overhang, you exhale a shaky breath. 

It’s been a long time since you let your emotions take control like that. You allow yourself to feel them, even to use them to your advantage—but you rarely lose control. Not recently, anyways. 

You bare your teeth at the thought of Cal Kestis. He’s by far only the latest in a string of former Jedi you’ve encountered, but none of them, even the ones who you remember from your years as a padawan, created this amount of turmoil in you. So why him? 

Should probably just ask him myself, huh, you muse, hearing a twig snap nearby. You don’t need to look into the Force to know who it is. 

“Who’s following who now?” you call. 

With a familiar hum, a blue blade sings as it springs to life, illuminating the alcove you’re hunkered in, as well as Cal’s lean figure. You’re too exhausted to be angry at this point, but a different kind of heat licks up your spine as you push up onto your feet. The warmth settles between your thighs, throbbing uncomfortably as he raises the saber overhead, his arm muscles flexing. 

“Had to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone,” he says, halting just a few feet away. 

“No one out here to hurt,” you say. “What are you really doing here, Kestis?” 

He hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet, eyes not meeting yours. Squinting, you extend a tendril of awareness toward him—past the burnished gold aura, past the shell of Jedi honor he projects like a shield, until you brush against one of those tiny black cracks in his signature. He stiffens, shifts his stance into a defensive half-crouch. There is darkness in him. 

And there is lightness in you, sighs a voice that sounds very much like your master’s. 

You ignore it. 

“Well?” you prompt. 

“I- I don’t know,” he says. 

You snort. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” Sinking back into a meditative pose, you let your eyes slide shut and effectively shut out all things Cal Kestis.

At least, that’s what you try to do. The karking idiot seems to have decided that you’re not a threat—a poor miscalculation on his part—as his saber retracts and you hear the sounds of someone settling into a meditative trance next to you. Peeking one eye open, you glance over to find him sat back on his heels, palms resting on his thighs, his face blank and serene. He’s beautiful like this, you think. 

“I could kill you right now, you know,” you say, letting your eye fall shut again. 

“You won’t,” he says, sounding so matter-of-fact that you’re almost convinced that you really wouldn’t. 

Then you shake your head. “Don’t be so certain.” 

“You didn’t kill me five years ago. You won’t kill me now.” 

Gnawing at your cheek, you find you have no response for that. 

The third time you face Cal Kestis, you want to hate him. 

Koboh proves to be big enough for two powerful Force users. You keep to the wilderness, and he sticks to the town. For the most part, anyway. You occasionally catch a glimpse of copper hair as he explores the planet, following all the inane rumors of the locals. Why he even lowers himself to their level, you’ll never understand. 

And besides, Koboh has turned out to be a perfect place to continue your search for answers about the Force. You’ve never wanted to stop knowing, never stopped asking “But why?” The Abyss above is a physical presence most days, nearly oppressive in its crushing weight. It absolutely deafens you in the Force whenever you try to reach for it, painful screeching assaulting your senses. There’s something behind the noise, though, but it’s too far, too deep, for you to reach it. 

You haven’t seen Cal in a while now. And you’re fine with that. You’d watched his ship take off in the early hours of the morning a few weeks ago, and it still hasn’t returned. 

Shrugging, you decide that today is as good a day as any to do some exploring of your own. You’ve watched Cal enough to know that there are hidden vaults on this planet, and from what you’ve been able to tell, they’re old. Maybe they’ll have some answers. 

The sunrise peeks over the craggy cliffside, casting a gentle pink hue over the world, still hushed in its predawn slumber. Dew collects on your pant legs as you pass through a small clearing of scrubby bushes. A couple dozen feet up the hill glints a hint of gold. None of the Koboh prospectors would have left this alone unless it were for a reason, you figure. Maybe this is one of the vaults. 

Resting a palm gently on its surface, the gold is cool to the touch. Glyphs in Basic and other languages spiral around the circular door-like structure. When you examine it through the Force, you feel the mechanism that keeps it locked, but no matter how much you push, pull, yank, shove, the door remains sealed. 

“Dank farrik,” you curse. “How does Cal do it?” 

“Very carefully,” a familiar warm voice says from behind you. 

You barely glance over your shoulder, flushing from the embarrassment of being caught unawares, but somehow unsurprised he’s managed to find you. You should have known that even thinking of his absence would cause it to revert. 

“Very funny,” you say. “What secrets are you hiding, Jedi?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Sith,” he says. 

As he sidles up alongside you, you glare at him. “I’m not a Sith.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he says with a shrug. “Red saber, strong in the dark side, angry all the time.” 

Huffing, you roll your eyes. His hair is longer than it has been since you first met him, and there’s another scar, pink and shiny, on his upper bicep, like he’d been cut with a vibroblade. As you study him, you also realize he looks...older. More tired. More weary. 

“You look like bantha fodder,” you say helpfully. 

He hums noncommittally. “Do you want into the vault or not?” 

“You’re gonna let me in?” you say, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

With a half-shrug, he says, “I’ve already explored this one. Nothing left in it for you to gain, except maybe some manners.” 

He reveals a small, handheld device that, when he raises it toward the golden door, blips. The door expands open, revealing a turbolift in the center of the floor. 

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, not moving from your spot. Suspicion bubbles in the back of your mind. 

Cal pockets the device and gestures for you to go ahead, giving you a sardonic two-finger salute. “It’s in my nature.” 

With that, he takes a step back, then another, and then pivots and trudges back downhill, tucking his fiery hair behind his ears. 

The vault teaches you something, alright, but it isn’t manners like Cal hoped. Even two century-old tech and warbled messages from a Jedi named Santari Khri cannot lift the veil of jade that rests over your eyes. The Order has always been faulty. The Order has always been weak. Your master was always fated to die, and you to wander, adrift. You grind your teeth in anger. Is that all that exists for you? For anyone? To live and die at the whim of some cosmic, unknowable power? 

The vault also reminds you of your mortality. As you work yourself into a silent rage about the unfairness of the galaxy, at the cruel and nonsensical nature of the Force, you miscalculate the distance between two crumbling stone platforms. With a Force-assisted leap, your arms windmill as you keep yourself balanced, but your feet only just manage to catch the edge of the platform. You wobble, anger bursting into fear, as the stone grates against itself before your stomach is in your throat as you plummet straight down. 

The rush of frigid air steals the scream from your lungs. Try as you might, the Force refuses to help you grasp onto the quickly receding lip of this chasm. 

And then pain rockets up your legs in jagged, arcing lines from your heels to your hips, and you collapse. 

It’s only by sheer willpower that you don’t black out. Grit your teeth. Take a deep breath. Curse until the pain abates. 

You take stock of your body. Your legs are on fire, and any attempt to move them sends a fresh wave of lava licking up your nerve endings. Otherwise, you wipe away blood from scrapes on your palms and tenderly poke at the bruises already forming on your ribs. Around you, myriad rocks and small boulders litter the cracked, moist ground. Mist clings to the spaces in between. When you look up, the ledge you fell from is completely obscured. 

“No Jedi wisdom for me, Santari Khri?” you croak as you gently shift into an upright position. Your teeth squeak from clenching your jaw against the pain, but you manage to prop yourself up with your back against a sizable rock. 

The mist deadens your words. Instead of an echo, it’s like the words get clipped short before they can fully materialize in the air. The back of your neck pricks. But, studying your surroundings once more, there is nothing for you to do but meditate. Perhaps, for once, the Force will provide.

You have no way of knowing how much time has passed as you sit in meditation, methodically stretching your awareness to its limits, trying to snag onto any signature in the Force that might help you out of this predicament. Your butt goes completely numb, as do your legs—a fact you feel should incite panic in your already-tight chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. By the time that you’re ready to give up searching, your throat tickles with dryness and your stomach begins to feel empty. 

But just as you heave a sigh, rising out of the meditative trance, the Force tugs on your awareness. Furrowing your brow, you concentrate: up, up up up, and to the left. Something steadily growing closer. Something bright, and familiar, and warm. 

Cal. 

For once, you’re grateful for his annoyingly Jedi-like qualities. You track his presence through the Force, unable to do more than monitor as he seems to approach your location with frustrating slowness. 

“Come on,” you mutter, mouth thick. “I’m here. Come find me like you always do.” 

After what feels like another small eternity, you finally open your eyes and peer up through the opaque mist. Above, you swear you hear boots crunching on loose rock, and the distant bwee-boop of a droid. 

“Down here,” you half call, half croak. The words don’t seem to make it past your throat. 

For a terrible moment, you think Cal is going to search the seemingly empty vault and, not finding you within, leave. You can’t tell, through either his footsteps or his Force signature, what he’s doing up there. At the last moment, a burst of panic seizing your limbs, you lean forward with a groan and retrieve your saber, still miraculously tucked into your waistband. 

The spitting crimson blade is a comfort as it screeches to life in the oppressive space.

A voice calls your name, cautious. 

“Here!” you shout, voice cracking painfully in an effort to be heard. 

Blue flame bursts to life somewhere above—much farther above than you initially thought—and you nearly sob in relief. 

“Watch your eyes,” Cal shouts down, and you have only a moment to register what he means before you duck, retracting your blade. The unmistakable sound of saber scoring through rock reaches you, heated pebbles showering down on your covered head, and then the sound of two soft leather-clad feet touching down beside you. 

Wary, you raise your head. Cal crouches next to you, his face painted with a cautious kind of concern. 

“You came back?” You don’t mean to make it a question, but the softness in his eyes, the gentleness with which he ghosts his hands over your many injuries, makes you reconsider your previous anger toward him. At least, for a moment. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “it’s in my nature.” 

“Legs are the worst of it,” you say, gesturing weakly to your two limbs stretched in front of you. Both are angry shades of blotchy red and purple, but no bone peeks out from within your skin at the very least. 

Cal casts a questioning look up at you, his palms hovering over your legs. You give a small nod, and he lowers his hands until they make feather-light contact with your skin. Even as careful as he’s being, pain erupts all over again when he brushes over your shin, and you squirm, cursing. 

“Probably fractured the bones,” he says. “Need to get you back to town.” 

You groan. “Unless you plan on carrying me out of here, Kestis, I’m not in any shape to make it all the way back.” 

He studies your face for a moment, really studies it, and you can’t help the way your lips part at the intensity in his gaze. Despite the aching pain in your legs, you can’t suppress the heat blooming up your neck into your cheeks the longer his eyes roam your face. Surely he can sense the way your Force aura grows more agitated. 

Whatever he’s searching for on your face, he seems to find it. Shrugging his shoulders, the curious little BD unit you’ve noticed with Cal peeks its white-and-red head up. With a boop?, Cal jerks his chin at you.

The droid slides down Cal’s back and trots up to you. Tilting its head, the mismatched eyes whir and toggle as the droid seems to study you with the same scrutiny as Cal just had.

“What—”

In the blink of an eye—faster, even—a flash of green light dazzles you, followed by the sharp pain of an injection. But that doesn’t even matter, as a blissful, cool relief spreads immediately from the injection site through the rest of your body. The ache in your legs subsides to a dull throb, and you find that you can finally move the limbs without wanting to vomit. 

“Stim,” Cal explains. He rises to his feet, and holds a hand out. “Come on. It’ll wear off soon.” 

His hand is warm, achingly so, when he grasps yours and tugs you to your feet. Grimacing at the wave of nausea that sweeps over you, you cling to his hand until it passes. 

He’s studying the sheer rockface to either side. “I may be carrying you out of here either way. Come on. Hop up.” 

He turns to retrieve your saber where you dropped the hilt—he stiffens for just a moment, so quick you think you imagine it, before he hands the hilt back to you. And then he remains facing away from you. You realize, with a deep-seated groan, that he’s removed the jacket he was wearing earlier, when he let you into the vault. His shoulders are bare and so strong and pretty and freckled and— 

His soft question of your name breaks you out of your reverie. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Tentatively, you hook your arms over top of his broad shoulders, trying to ignore the way his skin feels against yours, and he crouches so you can more easily clamber onto his back like a pack. 

“BD, up,” Cal orders, and you squirm as the droid clambers up your back to rest with one foot on your shoulder and the other on Cal’s. 

Even with the stim working through your system much like coolant in your ship’s engine, and even with Cal doing all he can to keep you steady on his back as he Force-propels himself up the vertical rockfaces of this cavern, you bite into your cheek hard enough for it to bleed to keep yourself from yelping in pain. It’s bad enough that he had to save you from a slow death in this Force-forsaken vault; he doesn’t need to know the fire that licks up your nerve endings with every jostle. 

You shuffle off his back as soon as you’re able. A grimace contorts your features as you stumble a few steps, but you wave away Cal’s steadying hands.

“I’m fine,” you grit out. 

“Yeah, you look fine,” he says. 

You shoot him a glare, but you’re more exhausted than you are angry. “You didn’t have to come back for me.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, gesturing for you to step onto the turbolift first, “I don’t expect anything in return. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Ha,” you bark out. Your stomach lurches as the turbolift shudders into its ascent. “Of course I owe you, Kestis. It’s all about balance.” 

“Balance,” he says, his voice strangely hollow and contemplative. “You murdered Rexan Binette and Sarela Webb and the others for balance?” 

The names of the Jedi you killed reverberate off the curved walls of the lift chamber. Breathing through your nose, you avoid his gaze—and then shake your head at yourself, angry. Why should you be ashamed? It was them or you. 

The lift comes to a smooth halt at the top, and you’re somehow unsurprised to find that it appears to be dawn again. Your eyes find Cal’s green ones. They look nearly black in the early morning haze. His expression bares all of his emotions: hurt, suspicion, concern, worry. But he doesn’t seem...afraid. Not of you, anyways, and instead of filling you with rage, that realization makes you deflate. 

“The galaxy changed,” you say, voice flat. “You change with it, or you die.” 

He fixes you with his stare for a moment more, and then shakes his head and begins the long walk back downhill without a word. Heaving a sigh, you follow him. You can’t repay the debt you now owe him if you die from an infected wound. You tell yourself that the heat bubbling in your chest is hate, hate that you’re now bound to this life debt, hate that of all people you’re in debt to Cal Kestis. But hate has never felt so soft.

The final time that you and Cal Kestis cross paths, you remember why hatred is easier. 

It’s only a few weeks after when you’ve fully healed thanks to Cal’s quick intervention, the extra stores of bacta that you had the good foresight to stash in your ship years ago, and perhaps a nudge from the Force. You’ve retreated to your ramshackle abode in the wilderness; thankfully, the worst you have to deal with upon returning is a stray Bogling. No matter how hard you try to shoo the pesky creature away from your hut, it comes back again. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grumble, watching the Bogling scratch at the dirt out front of your hut. It chitters as it works to burrow its den. 

Cal has disappeared again, which works just fine for you. It’s easier to attune to the Force when he’s gone. When you’re not distracted by his burnished radiance, his soothing calmness, his serene meditation posture, his hair that looks as soft as the Bogling’s fur, his...him.

Genuinely, who the kriff does Cal Kestis think he is? Where does he get the right to continue to do good in the galaxy when all the galaxy wants is to kill him? To kill everyone like him? How does he continue fighting? 

For that matter, how do you continue fighting? The sudden self-introspection is jarring. You squint a glare up at the Abyss, the technicolor explosion hanging heavy in the sky, as if it personally arranged your fated entanglement with the Jedi. As if it asked the question of your purpose, not your own conscience.

You have to squint in part because, in the Force, the Abyss is blinding. Stare too long and you’ll be blinking away spots from your vision for hours afterward. As your eyes start to water, you shake your head and bring your gaze back to terra firma. Kark it all, you think, bitter. You continue fighting because you have to. Because you have to know the answer. You have to understand the balance. 

In the Force, you’ve watched for years as the streaks of light in your otherwise void-like existence pulse and contract. Here, underneath the staggering presence of the Abyss, the galactic, even cosmic, struggle between Light and Dark, splashes across your own skin, a microcosm. It makes you angry all over again, as you study the vapors of golden lightness drift around you. The anger is good. The anger makes the darkness pulse and surge and rise; the anger makes you more focused. 

Gritting your teeth, you try to hang onto the anger. 

And then you don’t have to try at all. In your peripheral awareness, the Bogling has scurried in fright into your small hut as the sound of footsteps—many, many footsteps—echoes off the surrounding cliff walls. Your lips curl back in a snarl at being interrupted. Saber hilt smacking into your palm with a familiar weight, the unsteady red blade fills your small clearing with a threatening hum. 

Around the corner comes a full squad of Imperials. For a moment, you have to blink, to make sure that what you’re seeing is correct. But no. The hard white duraplast armor gleams in the midday sun, the mixed group of scout- and Stormtroopers advancing as one giant, grotesque organism. And at its midst, in the nucleus, are two black-clad figures wielding crackling electrostaffs. 

Purge Troopers. 

How dare they. How dare they come to your planet—and you hesitate only a moment over the possessiveness in your anger—and only another moment more when you find that you include Cal’s place on Koboh in that possession. This is your planet, together. The Light, and the Dark. 

In all things, balance. 

“Enemy located,” crackles the voice of one of the troopers. You don’t know, and don’t frankly care, which. 

As the white-clad troopers fan out in a loose semicircle, blasters and batons raised at half-ready, the two Purge troopers continue a few paces forward. They’re nearly identical, all the way down to the way that they settle their weight on their right feet, perfectly unbalanced. 

“You won’t get away,” the one to your left calls, his voice imperious and cold. “Not this time. You’ll be coming with us.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” you call back, feigning disinterest. Through the Force, you mentally draw the battle map, the path of carnage and rage and blood you’ll wreak through the ten troopers in front of you. 

“There are ten of us,” the other Purge Trooper says, voice cocky and self-assured. The battle map in your mind halts, then reasserts itself with a new pattern. One that places Mr. Cocky and Arrogant at the top of your assault. 

You snort. “Glad to know the Empire is teaching its troopers basic math. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

You twirl your saber in a half circle around your body, a familiar ritual, a reset button to remind you to keep your head clear. As blasters raise to full height, you take a deep, centering breath, and close your eyes.

A silence takes over your ears, your mind, your very being. You are one with the Force; the Force is with you. Despite all your issues with the cosmic Force, you know it will not fail you now. You don’t hear the order to fire, you don’t hear the clicks of triggers, you don’t hear the scream of blaster bolts. You don’t need to. Guided by the Force, void-like and in command, your arms—your saber—jumps into place. 

Four blaster bolts pelt your way. Four blaster bolts ricochet and catch their originators in the chest. Four troopers fall. 

You open your eyes, lips tugging back over your teeth in a mockery of a smile. Sound returns to you just as one of the scout troopers, shaken, stumbles back with a cry: “St-Stormtrooper KIA!” 

You enact your battle map. 

Gathering the Force to yourself, you push off the ground and shoot forward with a Force assist, your saber swinging up and cleaving back down at the critical juncture between the cocky Purge Trooper’s neck and shoulder. The glowing plasma sinks easily through duraplast, fabric, and flesh alike; the trooper’s groan of pain gurgles as your blade cuts through his lungs. Now there are five. 

You whirl, saber moving nearly of its own accord to intercept each blow that the remaining troopers rain upon you. It’s nearly child’s play to parry their attacks, send them staggering off-balance. In a crucial moment where all your opponents hesitate to move forward again, you bare your teeth. Reaching out with a clawed hand, you grip the throat of one of the troopers, lift him bodily with the Force, then yank down as hard as you can. There’s a satisfying crack when he hits the ground.

You’re doing fine. You’re going to triumph here; the Force has willed it so. The fear of the remaining troopers is palpable and you draw on it, siphoning it into yourself, into your cracked and screaming kyber crystal. With a leaping slash, two trooper heads bounce away.

The remaining two troopers look at each other. You don’t need the Force to smell the fear rolling off of the scout trooper in waves, and you fix him with a feral grin. 

“No more quips?” you ask, voice harsh. 

He drops his baton and runs.

“Just you and me,” the Purge Trooper observes. 

“How very astute of you,” you say. “Your friend was the smart one. You can still run; I’ll let you go. For now.” 

“Not a chance.” The buzzing electrostaff twirls through the air as the Trooper lowers into a defensive crouch. “Surrender.” 

“Not a chance,” you echo, matching his stance. “Now, why don’t—”

A voice, familiar and warm and distracting, shouts your name from above. Like a fool, you hesitate, turning. There’s a glimpse of coppery hair, a blue flame, and golden radiance. You growl at the interruption—

And cry out as the electrostaff comes down across your upper back, singeing into your clothing, biting into your skin. 

You drop to your knees, vision blurry. Stupid. That was stupid. 

The Purge Trooper immediately raises the staff for another strike, but before it can make contact with the back of your neck, a rush of energy steamrolls over you and shoves the trooper fifteen feet back. His heels dig into the soft dirt. 

“Jedi!” If the trooper is surprised to see Cal Kestis coming to the rescue of the likes of you, you can’t hear it in his voice. “Guess this is my lucky day.” 

“Don’t count on it,” you wheeze. Grunting in pain, you shove to your feet and reset, saber singing in the air, the smell of ozone stinging your nose. 

Your name again, gentler this time, and closer. This time, you don’t turn, instead waiting for him to come to you. And he does, just like you knew he would. In the corner of your eye, Cal Kestis and his supernova signature provide something like...comfort. Heat bubbles and sputters in your chest at his closeness. This feeling is hate, you reassure yourself. 

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice pitched low. 

“I’ve had worse,” you say. “You here to help, or to mock?” 

He fully faces you, and you sense more than see his eyes rake over your profile. With a shake of his head, his copper hair flowing nearly to his shoulders, he raises his saber, point-first, toward the Purge Trooper. With a satisfied smile, you swing your saber in lazy circles. Finally. 

The two of you attack at the same time, nudged along by the Force. Together, you flank the trooper, whose training seems to have prepared him for a moment such as this. But for all the training this trooper has, you and Cal have more. You and Cal have more to fight for. More to lose. More to gain. 

Cal’s blur of a blue saber slashes through the air, at every turn blocking the trooper’s pressing attack, forcing the Imp to recalibrate. And when he attempts to do so, tries to even catch his breath, you’re there, the Force driving your swings harder. You know the blows that land on the staffs jar the Imp’s wrists all the way to his shoulders. You know he’s going to falter. You know he’s going to die. 

When the fear once again rises from this trooper, you smile. 

Overconfident, you twirl, blade seeming to bend as it whirls through the air. It will connect with the trooper at his waist.

It does—but his staff connects with you once again at your own waist, and this time it bites into your flesh and holds. 

“No!” Cal’s shout is harsh and angry. With a final flash of blue, the Purge Trooper slumps sideways, body collapsing into the dirt. The momentum yanks the electrostaff out of your side. 

You drop your saber hilt to press against the bleeding wound, hands shaking. Kark, this hurts. Why does it hurt so bad? Cal’s face, with wide, scared green eyes, appears in your field of vision. 

A spark of anger temporarily distracts you from the pain in your side and along your back. “Kestis,” you grind out. “I had it under control.” 

“It’s in my nature,” he says, like that explains everything. You suppose it does. Your anger abandons you, and you stagger forward, into his embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you as he ducks under your arm, taking your weight. “C’mon, we’ll get inside and I’ll patch you up.” 

“Got any more of those stims?” you ask, words slurring a little. You glance down at your side and blink dumbly at the amount of red staining your clothes. 

“A few more,” Cal says. “They’re yours. Just need to get you inside.” 

The several dozen feet to your hut pass in a blur and in a blink—you’re not sure which. Maybe it’s both. But you sigh as you settle down into the familiar comfort of your small cot. In the corner, you’re dimly aware of the Bogling cowering below the small kitchen table. Critter is cute, you suppose. Maybe it can stay. 

You’re delirious. That has to be it. You’d never willingly take in a stray. 

BD hops up on the cot next to you and, at Cal’s nod, ejects a glowing green stim canister. Cal catches it and then plunges the small needle into your side, just above the gash there. Cool relief tingles through you, and you smile at him. 

“That feels good,” you mumble. 

“I’m glad,” he says, an odd note in his voice. “You got medical supplies?” 

You gesture vaguely to the screened-off back corner, your ’fresher. “If I do, s’in there.”

BD stays with you while Cal rummages through your meager supplies, the little droid’s head tilted to the side as though studying you. You blink at him. 

Bwoop-beep? the droid chimes. 

“I don’t speak Binary, sorry,” you say. 

Cal chuckles, returning with a handful of supplies. “He’s wondering if you’re feeling okay.” 

You feel okay enough to feel annoyed at the question, and you shoo the little droid off your bed. When you return your attention to Cal, he’s hesitating, a roll of gauze, bottle of alcohol, and a needle in his hands. 

“What,” you ask, flatly. 

“Need to take your shirt off to clean the wound properly,” he says, and if you knew him better, you might think he sounds nervous. Embarrassed, even. 

But you don’t know him that well, and so you ignore his tone of voice. “Fine.” 

You struggle for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, hissing as the movement pulls at the wound in your side. Once it’s off, you throw it toward the ’fresher. 

Cal still hesitates, his eyes everywhere but on you. Another surge of annoyance flares in you, and you snatch the medical supplies out of his hands. 

“I’d really like to not bleed out here, Kestis,” you admonish. He at least has the sense to look abashed at that, and assists you in cleaning out the wound, stitching it shut, and wrapping you in gauze to keep pressure on it. You don’t let out a single curse, hiss, or groan the entire time, making the inside of your mouth bleed with how hard you bite down. 

“You okay?” he asks once you’re bandaged up. 

“What do you think?” you retort. “M’gonna sleep. You can go.” 

“I’ll stay,” he says. He withdraws, but remains in your small hut, slinging himself into the hand-hewn wooden chair at your dining table. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Why?” You can’t help the way the question sounds equal parts frustrated and incredulous.

“Just sleep, Sith,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, and for once, you have none.

When you wake, it’s still light outside. Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with gauze and left to dry out, your head not much better. With a soft groan, you roll onto your side and peer into the half-lit room. 

Cal’s already watching you. His gaze meets yours and pierces you, pinning you to the small cot tucked against the wall. Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you study his features. The dark scar across his face. The lean lines of his torso and muscles. The strand of fiery hair that curls over his forehead and teases his chin. Despite the lingering shards of pain in your side, heat flickers in your core.

“Why did you really come here, Cal?” you ask, voice low, the stillness around you demanding to remain unbroken. “Why did you come back for me at all? You know the things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. I can’t be worth saving.” 

He is quiet as he contemplates your question, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. Silence stretches between you, slow and languid, and you nearly hold your breath waiting for his response. 

Eventually he gives a half shrug. “There was a time when I believed everyone is worth saving. Since the Empire, things have...been different. I’m not so sure everyone deserves to be saved.” 

“So why come back?” 

His eyes are soft when they find yours again. You want to be angry, want to latch onto the residual pain in your body and sharpen it into a vibroblade, hurl it outward from yourself and hope it hurts him as much as you’ve been hurt. In your gut, the darkness stirs, but in your heart, the light whispers patience. 

“I see too much of myself in you to not come back for you,” he says, so quiet you nearly don’t process the words. 

But when his confession does register, you blink in surprise. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. 

“We couldn’t be more opposite, Kestis,” you say. “Do you know what you look like, in the Force?” 

When he remains silent, shifting in the wooden chair uncomfortably, you push yourself up into a sitting position. A sigh sloughs out of your throat. 

“You’re the most...beautiful thing I’ve seen,” you say, hesitating only briefly over the words. “You shine. You’re a beacon of light. Stars, Cal, you’re practically a star yourself.” 

His lips part in surprise, and you can’t ignore the way your core twists at the expression. “But—”

You raise a hand. “There’s darkness there, sure, but you are the light, Kestis. And sure, there may be light in me, but believe me, I’m a void. The void. You’ll never carry the sins that blacken my soul.” 

His toned chest rises and falls with his rapid, shallow breaths. When he swallows, you watch the way his throat bobs, the muscles that strain at his neck, the tightening of his hands into fists. Without even needing to look, you can feel the way his Force signature roils with confusion and surprise. You’ve caught him off-guard, yet again. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he whispers. 

You frown, brows furrowing. “What?” 

“In the Force,” he says. “Show me.”

“I’ve never—” 

“I have a gift.” He grimaces. “Psychometry. It might not work. But I want to see.” 

Ah. You understand how he knew the names of the Jedi you murdered, and glance at your saber hilt resting on the table near him. How much has he seen? 

Apparently, not enough. 

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Fine. C’mere.” 

The cot groans under the added weight, not meant for two people, but it holds. You adjust yourself to sit with your legs crossed, your knees touching Cal’s as he mirrors your posture. A slight twinge tugs at your ribs as you move. Cal’s eyes soften again as you grimace. 

“Don’t,” you grit out. “Save your pity.” 

“It’s not—” He huffs. “Whatever.” 

Glaring up at him through your eyelashes, you nevertheless rest your hands palm-up, fingers outstretched toward him. Cal gently rests his hands over yours. His skin is heated, electric where it touches yours. The thought crosses your mind, fleetingly, what your odds would be if you decided to finally end it here and now; the thought disappears as soon as his calloused fingers wrap around your forearms. 

“Like this?” he murmurs. 

“Feels right,” you reply in the same tone. “Here goes nothing, yeah?” 

You inhale a deep, centering breath, and allow yourself to sink into the currents of the Force. For a moment you have to squint as Cal’s truest form explodes across your perception. This close, you’re surprised he doesn’t radiate any extra heat. You’re also surprised at the imperfections you find in his signature, the small nicks in the otherwise flawless, gleaming golden skin. You have to restrain yourself from leaning forward to examine him even closer. The desire to know him, to pick him apart and put him back together, rushes through you, pulsing in your fingertips. 

When you feel adjusted to his presence, this close, this intoxicating, you squeeze his hands. Focusing on the places where the two of you connect—your palms, your knees, your signatures—you will your unique sight to bleed into his awareness. 

Judging from the way he stiffens and gasps, you figure it worked. Your combined abilities and strength in the Force, overlapping just this once, let him see the world like you do.

“You’re so...” He trails off, voice strained. “Empty.” 

“Thanks for noticing.” You squeeze his hands again. “Do you underst— oh.”

You nearly choke as the Force nudges against your mind. For a moment, you’re no longer in your hut, but instead on an unfamiliar ship, palms pressed against a stranger’s—no, not a stranger—her name drifts to you. Merrin. You’re comparing palm sizes with her, and her hands are nearly as big as yours—as Cal’s. 

You rip away from Cal Kestis and the illusion breaks. 

Heat burns up your neck to your face. “What the kriffing hell was that?” 

“What did you see?” he asks, concern flashing in his eyes. He reaches for you, and you lean away, glaring. 

You don’t even know why you’re angry. Any emotions you’ve felt for Cal have been ones you can explain: anger, frustration, begrudging respect, competitiveness, hatred. You recognize his attractiveness, and you don’t deny the effect his presence has on your baser desires—but the nearly painful flare of possessiveness pulsing in you right now is foreign. Inexplicable. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you eventually mutter. “Did you see?” 

“I saw you,” he says. Tentatively, he skims his fingertips over your leg, up to your knee. When you don’t retreat, he gently snags your hand and threads your fingers together. “I’m sorry.” 

You bare your teeth and tug your hand away—or try to. His fingers tighten around yours, holding you in place. “I told you before, Kestis. I don’t need your pity.” 

“Then don’t see it as pity,” he says. “See it as an understanding. A mutual experience.” 

Sucking on your teeth, your jaw clenches for a moment before you sigh. “Fine. Who’s Merrin?” 

“An old friend,” Cal says, a little too quickly. “She’s... She went her own way a while ago.” 

Something like triumph glows in you. “Good.” 

He fixes you with a confused look, a crease forming between his brows. “Wha—” 

You cut him off, surging forward to press your lips greedily against his. The impulse to be closer to him, impossibly close, is overwhelming in this moment. His palm is warm and steady and grounding against yours. He grunts against you, going absolutely still. 

When you pull away, not moving more than a few inches away, you meet the shock in his gaze with a sense of pride. His eyes flit between yours, searching. You drag your eyes down to his lips, parted and damp and so fucking pink.

His other hand cradles the back of your head and pulls you forward into another kiss. 

You groan into his mouth. His lips are warm and soft and sweet against yours, moving slowly, uncertain. You tilt your head, nudging his nose with your own. With your free hand, you grip at his shirt and claw your way into his lap. You need more. More of him, more of his warmth, more of his touch, more more moremoremore. 

He breathes your name against your lips, and you shush him gently. His body is hard and lean beneath yours, his touch hesitant. Fingers still intertwined, you guide his hand to your waist. Without the barrier of your shirt, his touch burns, scorching you from the outside in. His fingers splay across your skin, trailing molten desire in their wake. Heat pulses in your core.

“Kriff,” you sigh, “please.” 

“Didn’t think you had manners,” he quips, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck. 

You reach up and tug on his fiery hair, earning a low groan. “Rude.” 

He chuckles against your skin, his lips brushing against a sensitive spot. A shiver dances up your spine, a quiet sigh passing your lips. When he bites down there, you moan. 

“Kestis,” you pant. 

“Shh,” he soothes. The hand on your waist trails down to your hip and squeezes in time with another bite to your skin. With another groan, you rock your hips down into him. A grin curls your mouth up in pleasure at the feeling of his half-hard cock beneath you. 

“Off,” you order, tugging on his shirt. 

He breaks away from you long enough to yank the offending article up and over his head. Your palms smooth over the rippling muscles beneath his pale, freckled skin of his stomach, and he shudders. Brushing your thumb over a blaster scar under his ribs, you press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Did it hurt?” you ask. 

“I’ve had worse,” he says. 

“Show me.” 

His green eyes are dark, nearly black, when he meets your gaze with a questioning look. In response, you skim a featherlight trail over his torso, lingering at the scars that mar his otherwise perfect skin—mirrors, you realize, of the imperfections of his golden aura. 

When you trace the pink scar that bisects his face, he shivers. His hand catches your wrist, halting your movement. 

“That one,” he whispers, voice pained. “That was the worst.” 

You recognize, this close, the telltale signs of a saber wound. He’s lucky to have survived that, you realize. 

Kriff. You press your mouth to his once again, wrapping your legs around his torso. His body fits against yours, hard planes to soft edges, and you groan in unison. His kiss is still tentative, but he moves against you without hesitation when you deepen the kiss, your tongue licking across his bottom lip. His tongue is hot against yours. Spit slicking your lips, you groan into his open mouth. 

Fuck, you need more. Pulling at his hair, you urge his head to tip back, exposing the pale column of his throat. You lick a stripe down his skin, tasting his natural saltiness, delighting in the way his cock hardens against your clothed core. 

“Want you,” you mumble against his collarbone. 

He hums. “I’m yours.”

That possessive flare from before practically obliterates any coherent thoughts your brain was still capable of producing. Growling, you push him onto his back, shuffling down, kissing and licking and biting at his skin as you fumble with his pants. The buttons come undone; his hips raise to help you shuck the clothing off. His cock bobs as it comes free of the confines. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan. “Been holding out on me, Kestis.” 

“If I’d known—” His voice cracks. “If I’d known all you needed was to be fucked, we coulda done this sooner.” 

Tingles spark through your core hearing him curse—hearing him talk about something as base and dirty as fucking you. Stars, the heat in your core is nearly unbearable. 

You need to taste him. 

Wrapping your fingers around his heavy cock, you smear a droplet of precum over his flushed head. His body jerks in response, his eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you, a smirk playing at his lips. Without warning, you envelope him in your mouth. Cal cries out, hips jerking up. You moan in satisfaction around him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink your mouth further down onto his length, before sucking, tongue teasing the underside of his head. One hand cupping his balls, you relax your throat and take him deep. The curls at the base tickle your nose. 

“Oh stars,” he breathes. “You’re so good at that. F-Fuck.” 

You hum, settling into a rhythm. His hand, broad and strong and warm, rests on top of your head—not pushing, just there, feeling you. His chest heaving, you can’t help but admire the flush rising to his cheeks, painting him in sin. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, coating the parts of him you can’t reach. Your eyes never leave his. 

Snaking your free hand down your body, you moan at the pleasure that zings through you at the momentary relief of touching yourself. 

“No.” Cal’s voice is strangled, strained. He flicks two shaky fingers, and your hand is yanked out from beneath your body by the Force. 

An obscene pop echoes in your hut as you pull your mouth away from his weeping cock. “Either touch me, or I’ll do it myself,” you growl. 

“Then c-come here,” he stutters. 

Shimmying out of your pants, you discard the garments to the floor without a second thought and climb your way up his body. His hands skim your sides, his touch barely there, as your mouth reconnects with his. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of his mouth, his touch, his cock. He feels too good. 

You hiss when his hand brushes against your aching sex. He breaks the kiss long enough for his eyes to find yours, a silent question there as his fingers find purchase at your core. 

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. When he moves his hand against you, your vision blurs and you press your forehead to his. 

“Stars, Kestis, just like that,” you hiss. 

He rubs his nose against yours. “Let me take care of you.” 

His touch is electric. Your body jerks against him when his fingers move just right, applying just the right amount of pressure. Heat and tension build in your belly, growing more and more taut by the second. Your legs shake on either side of his hips. 

“Cal,” you whine. “Gonna cum.” 

His touch retreats, and you whimper at the loss of contact. 

“You’re g-gonna cum on my cock,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. The sweetness of the action contrasts with the filth of his words, and your stomach lurches. 

“Fuck, yes, okay.” You spit in your hand and reach down to make sure you’re ready for him.

He slicks his own palm with spit and jerks his cock once, twice, getting himself prepped. With his hand at his base, steadying his length, you slowly sink onto him. He splits you open inch by inch, the delicious burn of him in your core drawing a pitiful moan from your chest. When he bottoms out, you twitch in his lap, chest heaving. 

“T-Take me so well,” he murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over your face. “Stars, you feel so- so good.” 

You whine. “Cal.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

The pet name seems to surprise him as much as it does you. The heat that’s been simmering in your chest for months now, since the first time you encountered him, dulls into something...softer. More muted. More pliant. 

Eyes locked together, you test the waters and raise your hips a fraction. Moans tumble from both of you at the friction, and that’s all you need. Rolling your hips, you work his cock, drawing the most delicious noises from him. He caresses your face, smooths a hand over your back, kisses you sweetly. You find just the right angle where his cock brushes against that bundle of nerves deep inside, and you shudder. 

“Cal, I—” 

“Yes,” he groans. “Don’t stop.” 

You don’t. You drag your hips frantically against his, chasing the sparks bursting in your core with each thrust. His touch turns harsh as you ride him; your hips will surely bear bruises tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. You moan at the thought. Mine. Mine mine mine mine. 

Rutting against that raw piece of heaven in your core, you’re blind to everything else. Your injury forgotten, the empty void that yawns in your soul, your frustration with Cal Kestis: all of it is irrelevant right now. All that matters is that you keep fucking Cal. All that matters is the way his cock feels sliding in and out of you, dragging against your walls. All that matters is the way he moans your name like a prayer. 

“Need you t-to cum,” he orders, words faltering as you clench around his cock. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice hoarse. The tension in your belly draws hot and tight, ready to snap. 

Cal finally thrusts up to meet you when you bounce down, and you scream. That taut cord in your belly releases, snapping in two, and you see white. Pleasure explodes through you; every nerve lit on fire, tears dew in your eyes from the intensity. You claw at Cal’s chest, searching for purchase as he absolutely rails into you, chasing his own release. 

Through it all, he babbles. “J-Just like that, baby. Cum all over this cock. Fuck, you’re g-gonna make me— I— fuck, ngh, I’m—” 

He stills as he cums, his cock pulsing against your walls, and you jerk at the sensation, oversensitive. 

Your eyes flutter as you look down at him in the gathering darkness. His skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat. As his cock softens inside of you, letting some of his cum drip out, you groan softly. 

“This was a mistake,” you whisper. 

He swallows visibly, and nods. “I know.” 

You capture his lips in another kiss, one he returns with a fervor. Stars, you almost wish you really did hate him. This would be so much easier. 

“What now?” he asks, thumb brushing over your tender hips. 

You shrug. “Same time next week?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Very funny.” 

“Thanks.” 

He hums. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

All of the heat of the last few minutes dissipates immediately, and ice knifes your insides. You push away from him finally, his cum dripping down your inner thigh as you stand, bend to retrieve your clothes, tug them on. 

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” 

“What do you want me to say, Kestis?” 

He sighs as he reaches for his own clothes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“You should have left when I told you to,” you say, arms crossed over your chest as you stare out the single window of your home at the rapidly falling dark. 

“Yeah, maybe.” His hand is warm and familiar where he rests it on your shoulder. “You could...come with me.” 

You narrow your eyes. “And have to live by your Jedi code? No thanks.” 

“No code,” he says, quiet, contemplative. “Just the fight.” 

“Just the fight,” you echo. When he nods, something you sense more than see, you sigh. “I could...tag along. Just this once.” 

“Of course,” he says. His lips press against your temple. “Just this once.” 

Swallowing against the strange metallic taste rising to your mouth, you blink and summon the Force. You’re grateful for Cal’s grounding presence behind you. Your signature is...muddied. Marbled black and gold. When you glance down at his hand on your skin, you find that his aura is the same as yours. Mixed. Confused. 

Balanced.

Yes, you think. Hating him would have been easier.

#cal kestis x reader #cal x reader #cal kestis x gn!reader #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi survivor fanfiction #rhiplies #rhiwrites

[exactlyfullcollector]

It’s Summer vacation again! Here’s to less work feeding the kids their mid-day meal or dinner this summer!

Stock up with our Greek yogurt, granola, coconut chips and almond nuts for the summer. Also available for bulk requests.

For your preference, our Greek yogurt comes either sweetened or unsweetened.

Granola, coconut chips and almond nuts are available in different sizes.

Kindly send a DM for any enquiry or send a direct WhatsApp message via the link in my bio.

#It’s Summer vacation again! Here’s to less work feeding the kids their mid-day meal or dinner this summer! #It’s time to start thinking about how to feed your kids #prep their meal real quick and still feed them every bit of a healthy feel😉👌. #A bowl of Ree's greek yogurt #granola and chopped fruits of your choice and drizzle of honey or date syrup is a great yummy🤤 option. #Stock up with our Greek yogurt #granola #coconut chips and almond nuts for the summer. Also available for bulk requests. #For your preference #our Greek yogurt comes either sweetened or unsweetened. #Granola #coconut chips and almond nuts are available in different sizes. #Kindly send a DM for any enquiry or send a direct WhatsApp message via the link in my bio.

[everythingne]

cloud circuit - ls2

Y/n Tiffany has always been a woman just outside of Logan's grasp. But a chance encounter at a bus stop and a new neighbor prove maybe somethings are meant to be. As long as he doesn't figure out her real name.

logan sargeant x business owner!student!reader

warnings/notes: I don't think I have any genuine warnings for this chapter specifically? me once again doing a slightly messy trope bc i live for drama

Logan had never assumed he’d be the guy to fall for someone the way he fell for you. It was happenstance, a complete coincidence, but you both kept running into each other. For two years. At least once a week.

He went on a morning jog? You were at a crosswalk he had to stop at.

He was running out to get groceries last minute? You were buying baking supplies.

He had to go visit Oscar? You were also on the bus he had to take.

He went to the gym? You worked at the joint coffee shop, book store, bakery, florist shop, place next door, Cloud Circuit.

One thing he always found though, was there was always a book nestled in your arm. From Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, to The Silent Patient, to For The Wolf, you always had a book, a black pen, and a highlighter and tabs you color coded to the books cover. It was something so minuscule for him to notice, but when a girl in a busy city like London was constantly curled up in a book—even on the clock, it seemed big.

The first time you spoke to him, outside of ordering him his usual orders—either a matcha latte and breakfast sandwich for the mornings, or a normal latte (sometimes with some extra sweetener) and a pastry for nights, was outside of some department store. He’d dipped in to find a coat his soon to be sister in law was begging anyone to find, and was happy to gloat about having the red jacket tucked securely into his bag, when he spotted you at the bus stop. It was drizzling, and you were tucked neatly under your umbrella, book held open with one hand as you scanned along the words. He noted, however, you were re-reading a fully tabbed book. His gaze must’ve lingered too long because you glanced up and caught his eye, making a flurry of an apology tumble out of his lips while you laughed softly and tucked a bookmark in and shut the book. He watches you tug it against your chest, chafing it to the fabric of your rain coat as you spoke,

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re following me, Logan.”

Your voice was like honey, smooth and sweet. Your eyes sparkling in the yellow light from the street lamp and a playful smile tugging at the corners of your strawberry chapstick covered lips. He felt an odd pull to you and even with knowing he really needed to get him and get on the sim with the guys…he moved closer to you and lifted his hood against the drizzle. Your eyes flickered down to the Miami Dolphins logo, the hoodie itself an old favorite of his, you assumed from how many times you'd seen it.

“I could say the same to you, miss…” he hums, and before you can go to say your name he grins, “bibliophile.”

“Miss bibliophile?” You echo, eyebrows lifting as a small grin peeks at your mouth, “you make me sound like a criminal.”

“Well, tell me your name and maybe you won’t sound so villainous.” He shrugs as the bus rolls up to a stop. He steps back partly, trying to signal he won’t be following you onto the bus, and you smile as you toss your name over you shoulder with a quick ‘see you soon!’ and tuck into the red bus that’s pulled up. And when he sees you settle in your seat by the window, and reopen the same book you’d had tucked to your chest he takes a moment to read the name on the hot pink cover--Happy Place.

He doesn't see you for a month after that, you're not in any of your usual spots, he can't spot you in any crowds, and he feels a bit dejected. It takes both Alex and Oscar getting on his ass for him to finally admit, yes, okay maybe he has a crush on this girl he's only seen from afar. He knows nothing about her, nothing other than where she works and that she seems to like romance books, he can name every book you've read, every book he's seen you groan and slam shut (and the one time he watched you throw out a Colleen Hoover novel at work) and he can name every time he's seen you and okay, maybe he's a little obsessed but he's in love, damnit.

He's coming back to his apartment when he notices a new mat outside his previously empty neighbors apartment. It's a cute one, a pretty blue color, and as he opens his door and rolls his suitcase in he swears he hears movement in the hall. But he closes his door before he can see anything.

There's mail piled on the floor and he bends to pick it up, some bills he was expecting, spam mail, and then a little handwritten note. He hums, taking the letter in his hand as he drags himself and his bags to his bedroom and drops everything without much care before falling back on his bed. He thumbs the letter open, looking at the pretty handwriting and then read whatever the words say as he tries to not fall asleep.

'Dear neighbor in 221,

Hello! My name is Y/n Tiffany, but you can just call me Tiff! I'm a current uni student and small business co-owner (Circuit Coffee!) who just moved in next door! I'm a double major, Sports Business and Marketing and Advertising and Branding. I have classes at all odd hours of the day, and two cats who like to scream randomly so I'm sorry if me leaving early and coming home late, or Forza or Turi are a bother! If anything ever annoys you, I can make a pretty good matcha latte as an apology.

I would love to get to know my neighbors, so feel free to knock if you hear me inside!

thanks xx

y/n’

It takes Logan two weeks to hear you inside. He's coming back from a race late, letting Oscar crash at his for the night when he hears music from inside your room. As he fumbles for his keys Oscar gawks.

"Someone lives there now?" He asks and Logan nods, opening the door.

"Moved in two weeks ago, names Y/n, I havent had a chance to stop in and talk to her." Oscar nods as he lets his suitcase fall from his hand and slump against the wall with a soft bump. When he sets down his duffle bag, the music next door paused.

“Do you want anything to drink or something?” Logan asks, moving to grab a water as Oscar throws himself down on the couch and calls,

“Please! I think I’m actually dying.” Oscar groans and Logan laughs, tossing a water bottle over purposefully when Oscar not looking—causing a loud groan from the other side of the room. Through the wall, Logan can hear conversations as he kicks Oscar’s legs off the couch and sits down next to him.

“What time do you have to be back tomorrow? I can drive.” Logan leans back on the couch and rolls out his neck, the hours of sitting still on the flight making him sore all over.

“Not until like five, and I can always have Lily get me on her way back from university.” Oscar mumbles into his water bottle before taking a sip, “you don’t need to drive so out of the way.”

Logan goes to say it’s fine before he hears a few knocks at the door, he pauses, praying it’s not the annoying lady across the hall who always is asking him to quiet. Even if he’s silent. He gets up, Oscar leaning back to peek over the back of the couch to see, and neither of them expect to see you.

"Oh! It's you--uhm, shit," You whisper to yourself before snapping and pointing at him, "Logan!"

"Yes! Yeah, hi, hello," He stammers, cheeks bright red, "it's wonderful to finally meet you in a casual way."

"I heard you in here for the first time since moving in so I figured I'd swing by to say hello!" You grin, rocking from foot to foot. Logan looks at you and his throat goes dry, he doesn't know what to say and his face is red. You want to say something to break the silence but he leans forward to pull something off the side of your hoodie. A tab.

"Reading something new?" He hums, sticking the tab to your palm when you hold it up, "Haven't seen you use blue tabs before."

"Blue's the color the company I'm interning for uses," You giggle, but then pause and flicker your eyes up to him, "Wait, how do you know the color of my tabs?"

"You're reading For The Wolf, if I remember right thats a red book." He says softly, then his cheeks flush red when he realizes it is kinda a weird thing to notice, "I-I... you just always have a book on you, I caught on to paying attention to it. Figured I'd read some to give you some sort of real conversation next time I saw you."

"Well, I recommend For The Wolf. The relationship between Red and Eammon is really... sweet but also kinda dark? It's a good read, I can give you my copy with my little annotations..?" You suggest and Logan nods and he rubs his wrist idly.

"I'm not a big reader but I'll read it for you." He grins and you hold up a finger as you disappear into your room, to grab the book and to hide the fact every word he said made your skin bright red and made your heart feel like it was running a marathon. When he turns back to Oscar he gets a confused look, but before he can say anything you've returned to set the book in his hands.

"Enjoy." You whisper, and as he thanks you, your hands snag his arm and use it to elevate up to press a soft kiss on your cheek before you step back. Smiling at him, bright red cheeks in the low light making his stomach swirl, you disappear back into your apartment. Logan shuts the door, presses his back to it and looks at Oscar.

"I think...I think I've just fallen twice as hard." He whispers and Oscar claps, pointing at Logan and calling him down bad from across the room.

Oscar goes to sleep in Logan's bed, being a guest and all, and Logan sprawls out on the couch. He can't help but crack open the book, finding your little key for your tabs in the front, he trails his fingers along your loopy handwriting and grins to himself. The book starts off normal, pretty innocent, but he starts to realize just whats beneath the surface. With a fucked up sleep schedule to help, he ends up making it about halfway through the book before sleep finally takes him.

And when he wakes up, Oscar's making breakfast and teasing him about staying up too late to finish the book. And truth be told, Logan hated reading, but when it came to you he found he was willing to try. And he found even when Oscar poked fun at him, it didn't feel malicious, it made a warmth in his chest spread. Not that he knew why just yet, other than his silly little crush he'd never felt that jittery feeling.

Maybe it was really love?

Two days later he sees you when you're at work. It's right before the store closes and you're softly playing music as you scrub down the counters. Sunday shifts mean deep cleaning, and so you're stuck a bit later than usual.

"Hope it's not too late, Tiff." Logan says as the bell above him dings to signal he's shut the door. You turn down the music to a low hum as you turn to Logan with a bright grin.

"No, not at all. Still an hour on the clock." You move to make him his drinks as he pulls up a bar chair and sits down, digging in his bag to set down the book on the counter. You peek over and hum,

"How far in are you?" You ask and he can tell you expect him to only be a few chapters in when he says,

"Oh, I'm done."

You whip around, nearly spilling his latte on the counter and gawking at him, "after two days? I thought you said you weren't a reader!"

"I'm not, but your little annotations were so interesting I just kept going." He slides the book to you and notices you have a very similar one perched behind the counter, "Made it a bit easier to read, honestly--is that the same one?"

"The sequel, I actually just finished it." You take For The Wolf and replace it on the counter with For The Throne, "If you want another book to read. I need to know what you thought of Nevarah."

"She was kinda annoying."

"Right!" You groan and he laughs as you stir up his latte and hand it over before pulling out one of the last pastries in the container. It's some cinnamon thing, not that he really cares. It's probably not in his food plan either, but he doesn't care about that. He'd abandon all his rules if it meant he could be spending time with you. As you rant about how you didn't like her in the first book, but kinda did in the second, he leans forward to take in ever word that drips from your lips and you find that he's welcome company for your closing shift.

You're finished early, too, so you sit next to him on the only two stools you haven't lifted up. You'll mop tomorrow, you tell yourself as Logan recounts his reactions to Eammon and Red's connection and you blush when you tell him about one of their scenes you particularly enjoyed.

Which he matches your energy with by saying, "It didn't even say anything explicit and I was like--damn!"

Logan helps you lock up, since the coffee shop is open the latest all you have to do is lock the front door with the alarm system and your keys. He walks you home and bids goodbye in the doorway with For The Throne tucked in his arm and your instagram handle and phone number written on the back of his hand.

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liked by urbff, heidiberger, logansargeant, and 250 others...

urusername: i need to stop reading romance bc it makes me feel more single than i already am.

urbff: OMG MR WRONG NUMBER SHUT UPPP MY FAVORITE

heidiberger: give me those flowers.

⤷ urusername: bring ur boy to london and then we'll speak.

mickeyrickey: ti amo <3

taglist (thank u for the support!)

@struggling-with-delia

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #logan sargeant x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant x you #ls2 fanfic #ls2 fic #ls2 x reader #ls2 x you

[forlorn-crows]

More non-serious sex brainrot: Mountain casual fucking. Guy just needs to get off, y'know? It's been a hard day of manipulating the fabric of the earth itself and the big guy just needs to blow off some steam by blowing out someone's back. Or getting his own blown out.

Walks into the ghoul wing and propositions the first person he sees. And, of course, who wouldn't be willing to lend a hand to help a friend out?

uhhh well you see. he didnt even make it out of the greenhouse. so, as a reward for being the sweetie that he is, rain gets his back blown out

cw: theyr'e disgustingly in love. good ole' fashioned spontaneous sex. a lil bit of oral, a lil bit of dirty talk. hard and fast and needy, and thats how we like it. unexpected knotting (oopsies). and, as always, transmasc rain. cunt/clit/folds to refer to his anatomy.

Mountain sets the last of the hanging baskets back into place, sighing bodily. He rolls his neck, wincing at the little pops his spine makes. But he’s satisfied with his work—all the flowers and ferns pruned and their soil refreshed—and very glad to be done. 

The earth ghoul brushes the remainder of the soil off the workbench, finally allowing the stifled need in his core to roll up his spine and settle under his skin. He digs his claws into the wood and groans out loud. Curling in on himself when his dick starts to chub.

The door to the greenhouse squeaks open, chilly autumn air rolling in along with the scent of petrichor and sea salt. Mountain has to stop himself from whining at the fresh, intoxicating smell. 

“Hey, sunflower,” Rain says brightly, drifting in with a dancer’s grace. “Brought you some tea and snacks.” He sets a shallow bowl and mug down onto the bench, pressing himself to Mountain’s side and kissing him on the cheek. “Orange cinnamon chai,” he points to the steaming mug, resting his head on the earth ghoul’s shoulder, “and there,” he points at the bowl, “are figs, pears, and some brie drizzled with honey. ‘Cause I know that’s your favorite.”

Mountain chuffs and dips a finger into a smear of honey on the edge of the bowl. He sucks it off, looking down at Rain with lidded eyes. Admiring the way the wind ruffled up his inky curls, the slight lilac blush to his cheeks, the little smile he gives when Mountain makes a noise of approval. 

“Do I detect a hint of honeysuckle, tadpole?”

Rain feigns surprise, looking up at him coyly. “Maybe,” he lilts.

Mountain rumbles happily and leans in close. “Just as sweet as you.” He cradles the water ghoul’s face in his hand and kisses him deeply, melting their bodies together chest to chest. Groaning when Rain opens up immediately and lets him stick his honey-coated tongue inside. 

The earth ghoul lifts him effortlessly onto the top of the workbench, wrapping Rain’s legs around his waist and hugging him close, all without breaking the kiss. Rain trills happily and sinks into Mountain’s affection. He drapes his arms around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the mousy-brown strands falling from his bun. The action sends a shiver down Mountain’s spine, and he can’t help but gasp softly against the water ghoul’s mouth. His fingers tighten into the knit of Rain’s sweater. 

“Feed me some?” Mountain mumbles against his lips. 

Rain smiles. “‘Kay.” He turns his head to select a morsel, giving Mountain access to the long column of his neck. Eager lips surge forward to latch onto the sensitive skin. Mountain can feel the amused rumble that bubbles up in his throat.

“Don’t eat me, silly,” he laughs. “Here.” He holds a slice of pear between lithe fingers, dangling it in front of his nose.

“What if I want to eat you,” Mountain purrs. But he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue for it anyway. He curls it around Rain’s lithe fingers when he places the fruit in his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he licks across the pads of them. Chilled and sticky-sweet.

Rain makes a soft noise, letting Mountain lick them clean. 

“Do you like it?” Rain whispers, watching as the earth ghoul closes his mouth around the tops of his fingers before pulling away and chewing. Mountain watches Rain watch his mouth, eyes flitting around his pretty, angular face. 

He hums and licks a stray droplet of honey from his lips. “It’s delicious, darling. Thank you,” he says huskily, pulling Rain closer by the waist. Rain trills as he runs his palms across the small of his back, dipping just underneath his sweater. Mountain buries his nose in the collar of it and not-so-subtly humps his hips against the edge of the table. 

“But I think I fancy something else right now.” Mountain nuzzles under his ear. Rain’s scent spikes with arousal and he can’t hold back the desire any longer. “Wanted to bend you over this bench as soon as you walked in the door.”

Rain shudders and groans approvingly. “Yeah?”

“Say you’ll let me. Please? I’ve been aching.” Mountain licks up the side of his neck and sucks his earlobe into his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth while Rain hisses and grasps at Mountain’s hair. “Take you right here, fuck you so good.”

“Fuck yes,” Rain breathes. “Right here, please do.” 

Mountain doesn’t need any more permission than that. He growls playfully and promptly flips Rain onto his belly, bending him over the edge of the workbench and yanking his sweatpants down all in one motion. 

“Lucifer—” Rain gasps through a surprised giggle, lifting his tail over his shoulder. 

Mountain lands a smack to his right asscheek and grabs two handfuls of him, groaning at the sight of slick already seeping through his folds. He spreads his cheeks wide and sinks to his knees in the dirt, shoving his face in Rain’s cunt. 

“Satanas, Mount, oh fff,” the water ghoul moans, pounding his fist on the table. “Your fucking mouth, unholy shit.”

Mountain groans against him, shoving his tongue in as far as he can get it. Pressing his nose into that soft spot before his hole and taking in the concentrated smell of need that goes straight to his rock-hard dick. 

“Taste like absolute sin, tadpole,” Mountain mumbles against his folds, too drunk on his flavor to stray too far to say so. 

“You can stay down there as long as you want,” Rain chokes out as he seals his lips over his throbbing clit. “Suck me dry, seven hells.”

The earth ghoul just hums, suckling on it until his nose gets wet with slick and Rain’s panting above him. Digging into his round ass so hard he’s bound to leave marks. But he doesn’t take him up on the offer, pulling away after a few heated moments. 

“Wanted to make sure you were nice and wet for me,” he all but growls. “Gonna fill you up so full.”

Rain whines and peeks over his shoulder, eyes drooping in pleasure. He wiggles his hips as he watches Mountain strip his apron, arching his back to make sure he gets a perfect eyeful. 

Mountain licks his lips as he pulls himself out of his pants, not bothering to push them any further than past his balls—just enough to expose his aching length. He grips himself and teases Rain’s folds with the head of his cock, up and down until he’s coated in creamy slick. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Mountain whines. “So perfect. All afternoon, I’ve needed this. Needed you.”

Rain pushes back, popping the head of his cock right inside. Mountain has to stop himself from blowing right there, steadying himself with one hand on Rain’s hip and groaning when his balls draw up with no warning. 

“Show me how perfect. Take me,” the water ghoul begs sweetly, breathlessly. 

Mountain can’t wait any longer. He pushes all the way in, melding their hips together. Growling low as Rain squeezes around him and breathes out little yesyesyes’s, urging Mountain to snuggle into that space made just for his cock. The earth ghoul’s forehead drops between Rain’s shoulder blades as he bottoms out, keening at just how good he feels. 

Mountain tells him as much. Rumbles endless praise into the fibers of his sweater, the curls at the back of his neck. Shuddering as Rain arches back into him and digs his fingers into the wood. 

“So perfect,” Mountain mumbles again, beginning to move. The first real slide of his length against those smooth, silky inner walls makes his mind hazy with need. He doesn’t get more than one slow thrust before he’s fucking Rain in earnest, wrapping his arms around his hips and forcing him to take it deep. 

“Mine,” he growls over the lewd sound of skin slapping skin. 

“Yours,” the water ghoul cries. “Oh, fuck me, ye-e-es-ss.” 

Mountain digs into his slim hips. Holding him tight so Rain feels the tip of his cock all the way in his stomach with each thrust.

“Feel so good,” the earth ghoul grunts. Rain clenches around him and he nearly sees stars. “Lucifer, take it, take it.”

Rain just nods, gurgles out something incoherent. Words aren’t important to Mountain anymore, though, not really. He just needs the water ghoul to make pretty noises, soak his cock in slick, and take every inch of him until he can spill inside him hot and fast. Siphon the burning need out of his core so he can actually relax after working all day. 

“Mount,” Rain gasps. “So deep, unholy shit.”

“Yeah? Gonna give it to you,” he growls, snapping his hips even harder. Each time their hips meet, there’s a little resistance at the base of Mountain’s cock, spikes of pleasure running through his hips and down his thighs with each thrust. He realizes too late it’s his knot, swelling and bumping against Rain’s folds. Growing bigger by the minute until it’s impossible to ignore.

“Hmpf, Rain I—” Another shudder runs through him, white-hot and insistent. He snarls. “Please, let me—fuck—need to put it in.”

Rain drops his forehead to the worktable with an audible thunk, groaning as he presses back against his knot. “Uh huh,” he whines. 

“Tell me I can, please, darling, tell me I can.”

“Put it iiinnn, Mount—hah—gimme it, need it.”

Mountain nearly sobs with relief. “So good to me, so fucking good to me,” he babbles. “Just need a little—that’s it, seven hells, Rainy.”

The water ghoul arches as far as he can, letting Mountain fully support his hips with just his forearms. Each thrust pushes more and more of his knot in, until finally Rain’s cunt stretches around its widest point and sucks him right in. Popping in with a wet squelch and the daintiest oh Mountain’s let out yet. 

“Fuck—”

“So good, squeeze it, squeeze it—”

“—yeah—”

“—cumming, cumming, Rain oh—”Mountain spills deep inside with fangs latched in his mate’s sweater, and he swears he’ll do anything Rain wants once he’s spent.

#ask #mal #the band ghost #ficlet #ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #transmasc rain #mountain/rain #rain/mountain #*raises hand* me next pls mountain #i remembered the community label this time! #did i re-read this? nope. cant be fucked to. #crow slipping back into 'doesnt know what a ficlet is' this is too long lmao