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moondirti · 1 year

Text

bluebird

gif by @a7estrellas

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader word count: 2k summary: the gaps in a grim reality warnings: mentions of morning spice and unprotected p-in-v, canon typical violence, mentions of gore, death and general unpleasantness, but it's mostly fluff notes: i had to air myself of the thirst before i could focus on a better developed fic for him. so sorry y'all, this lacks my usual substance. also, i did very minimal revision on this so sorry for any mistakes

Golden light broaches over the horizon; a deluge through dusty faux wood blinds, dawn spilling onto patchwork sheets. You feel it more so than you see – while your eyes remain closed, content, your skin bathes in the cresting warmth. Your hand smooths along the hairy forearm that wraps around your waist. His breath tickles your ear.

Things feel okay.

You know that they are not.

But the recognition flutters like a mote in your cotton-stuffed mind, lazy on its journey to your wavering consciousness. Half of it is ornery – an almost bloody battle against the grim reality that threatens to seep up into rotting floorboards. The other, softer bit, sings in poetic eulogies you’ve long forgotten, the romantics printed upon yellowed pages. You think you remember what they feel like, those books, rough and comforting underneath your wandering touch. You think you remember–

(Or, the sensation is mirrored onto the gruff man beside you.)

Either way, mornings tend to follow the same rhythm.

This; suspended animation on the verge of wakefulness. The rheum lining your lashes, and the punch of yesterday’s scotch whisky, dry on your tongue. Your head pounds like it does when you bleed out; festering, oozing like mud-soaked fungi. You sink into the knowledge that, despite it, you’re okay.

Him; steady, solid brawn slotted into your back. A beating heart – one you care for like your own – and muscles that tighten and curl around your frame. Sinew, tissue you’re familiar with on levels of lesions and starving attempts at survival, but are slowly growing to rediscover now. Here. The rough pads of his fingertips graze the waistband of your jeans. Instinctively, perhaps. Your mouth twitches with tired amusement.

Beyond; just outside the door, on the other side of the window–

No.

You centre in again on the beat of a bluebird’s wing. The gentle drumming that means nothing. Oblivious, quiet bliss.

(But the bustle of the world has already started edging along the tune. Bleary FEDRA announcements grow louder by the minute. It had been raining, the water perhaps cleaner than it had been pre-outbreak, though it certainly does not look that way. Crud stains glass panes. It’s the first thing you notice as your eyes peel open.)

Then–

“Had a dream about you.”

His voice. Hoarse, kindling logs on a bonfire; the rough whisper slices through the tranquillity. Your hips jolt, rearing into the source’s groyne.

“Christ–”

“Don’ tell me I scared you.” Joel huffs. “Assumed you were tougher than that.”

“I thought you were asleep.” You sniff, your retort missing the venom you wish for it, moulding to form an affectionate hum as you twist your head to face him. His nose presses into your neck before you get the chance.

“I was.” The confession is muffled, vibrating along the column of your throat. When you don’t respond, he takes to nipping the sensitive skin there, pinching your sweet spot between his lips until you squirm in place. His tree-trunk arms keep you from going anywhere, resolute – smelted tungsten.

(Those same ones, fit between your legs yesterday. Thick digits pistoning into the velvet walls of your cunt, feeding the hot coals that crackle in your core. You could have risen enough to melt him.

Fuck– you can’t– Oh my god, Joel–

Jus’ hold on and take it. That’s it… Atta’ girl.

You’d cum in some random alleyway, splayed open on dirty brick.)

“Mmm.” Biting your cheek at the feverish memory, you turn to mocking him. “Don’t tell me I scared you awake.”

“You?” As if to punctuate, he kneads the flesh of your hip. His grip verges on bruising as he does, seeking capillaries and bursting them, imposing himself upon more gruesome marks. Your gut lurches with brimming desire. “You make me feel a lotta things, darlin’. Fear ain’t one of them.”

“Oh, that’s priceless.” To steady yourself, you grasp his wrist, right above his watch, nudging the strap with your pinky. His bemusement rolls off him in lapping waves. “Had a good dream for once, then?”

He doesn’t grace you with an acknowledgement. Instead, his hands trail down to your hips, anchoring you down. Before you process it, your mouth cracks open to deliver another piercing jab.

Joel then grinds into the plush of your ass.

And it promptly snaps shut.

You lose your breath just as quick, the air pitching in a thin gasp, clawing desperately as though it’d been forcibly uprooted from your lungs. It hurts; it hurts because he’s hard, carved from rock, and it manages to batter the tenderest part of you.

Jesus, he’s still clothed, and yet–

“Better than good.” He husks.

You take a moment to digest it. Everything races faster than you can keep up with in this sleep-logged state; his beard – abrasive on your shoulder, chafing you there. Your underwear – drenched and still seeking more, aiding the slide of your thighs as you try to give it just that. You drink the timbre in his tone, that southern twinge that smoulders along the edge of every syllable. You blink with the slow roll of his hard-on, the length of it driving in between your cheeks.

It is against your will that bleak truths start to filter in too, trickling in through the slipshod cracks. They’ve grown teeth that are harder to shake, latched onto your shoulder, their putrid slobber priming the area for poison.

Your job, the virus, the grey world that taints everything in its colour.

Your nails press into the flesh of Joel’s wrist.

(No, don’t go. Please don’t leave me, not like this.

You’re used to loss. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.)

You swim through the grief for your dawn’s promise, navigating through the molasses turned tar, then leverage your grip to flip and straddle his legs. The dizzying capsize knocks you off kilter, dousing you in a welcome numbness.

(The burden oscillates, like a rock skipping water.)

“Hi,” You simper once you’ve regained your wits.

“Hm.” He squints. His brows furrow, forehead wrinkling with the motion. Already, he senses what you’re about to lay on him.

“Donovan’s expecting his shipment by tonight. We need to head out sometime in the next hour for it to reach him by then.”

And while he might’ve expected it, his chin tips up with a drawn out inhale, the thumbs that rub your waist faltering. You’re glad his eyes are shut, if only for the fact that he doesn’t witness the frown that weighs your cheeks.

“Never a moment’s peace.” It’s spoken with a lilting tease. The stone that lodges in your throat nods contrary to the levity, though. You know that he’s right.

“No,” You agree, tracing the seams of his pants. There’s still the glaring evidence to your circumstance, thick and strained against the tightening denim. Verity aches like an open sore, borderline septic within the gummy recesses of your brain. You hope this’ll douse it, if only for a short while, in lemon disinfectant. “But I had to ground you for what’s to come.”

(You say lemon. It could be anything; spearmint, 100% alcohol. Anything but the ever present tang of putrefaction and bile.)

He opens his mouth to protest.

Your gaze flickers to his own, lidded one, and carries upward to take in the tousled bed-head he has yet to smooth out. “We can be quick.” You gripe, popping open the button that keeps the rest of him from you. “We will be quick.”

“You said it yourself,” He begins, but he doesn’t try to stop you. If anything, his fingers regain their charge, fondling closer to your core, rubbing like a well-oiled machine. “Within the next hour.”

“Tell me about your dream.” You interrupt, folding over to pepper small pecks across his jaw. The joint clicks in minute irritation as his palms spread over your ass.

“Nothin’ to say that isn’t well on its way to happenin’ already.”

“That so?” You purr, licking down patchy hair until you can latch onto his jugular. Your canines graze the curve of it, skimming the aged leather of his skin. He hasn’t told you much of his life before the outbreak, but you can imagine he’d worked in the sun often. He’s weathered in that way, bronzed and not quite as elastic as someone significantly younger.

“But you sure do seem to be takin’ your damn time with it.”

You pull away just then, admiring the mottled blemish that pricks in shades of eggplant purple and maroon. It’s more rushed than you would have preferred; your conviction warbles, flimsy between these walls, and you have to restrain yourself from diving back down to try again.

“Impatient old man.” You mutter, rucking your pants to your ankles as he does much the same. He doesn’t reply.

(You would think he doesn’t hear you. You know better than to suppose he misses anything.)

Instead, he cups his balls and pulls his cock from behind his briefs. He doesn’t give you the time to tug off your panties as he does; with one fell swoop, he jerks the soaked fabric to the side, his mushroomed head catching the seam of your cunt.

And there’s no symphony to it; no swelling orchestra that laments with plucking strings. It doesn’t feel like sex as it was, before – that avenue for abundant desire, something to be had on seven hundred thread egyptian cotton sheets. No; poetics can’t be prescribed to the way Joel pushes into you, semi-dry, desperate, like a voracious animal. It’s fast, and brutal, and painful in that delicious way where the burn is embraced.

He feels bigger when he’s in you – not that he doesn’t look the part. But you’re only able to process half of it when he’s caged between your fingers – another truth dampened. Self-preservation, maybe. A dam to redirect the hesitance one might feel looking at the thickset mass. The throbbing veins that branch up the side. The pearlescent precum that beads and slips down a purpling width. He’s huge, alive, and there’s no ignoring it when he pounds up into you like this.

Suppose it’s flaying pleasure, or the filth he utters over anything else. That string of obscene groans, grunted for only you to hear, his balls slapping your ass and his juices smearing milky white on sweltering walls. You suck him in deeper, deeper, urgent to gorge on this feast before you’re robbed of it. You fuck to the cadence of a ticking clock, manufacturing your own hypnagogia in this perennial moment where he swells up inside of you. And you don’t let him pull out once he’s fully situated, vacuumed in a squelching uptake. You push forward – buttressed on your haunches, your clit mashed against the wild crop of hair on his groyne – then swivel back again, his head marring your cervix.

(It’s not often you’re on top; he’s too snappy, too anguished to relinquish his grip on your hair and the sight of you pinned to a wall. But with the way his neck stretches, the tendons long and tense, running down to the bulk of his arms – you think he likes it.)

It goes that way, follows that same beat, for the next few minutes, until Joel hugs your chest to his. It doesn’t better the angle, there’s no logical – pleasurable – aspect to it. It’s all sweat and musk, the brine of body odour as you conjoin and soil yourself further with one another’s sins, grime. He pulls you closer for purchase, for warning – Wish I could cum this deep in you, darlin’. You’d love that, wouldn’ ya?, husked over the shell of your ear.

Or, it’s something deeper that is too volatile to acknowledge in this life.

There’s nothing to pinpoint about it. You try not to find deeper meaning in anything anymore.

Though your nerves flare, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance that sloshes around and sullies the duvet more than it already is. Your muscles tense, screwing into tight knots, your fingers twitching through the chest hair underneath you. You look for a stretch of flesh to bite, to kiss, when you unravel at the seams.

And that tells you all you need to know.

He pulls out to splatter his spend onto your stomach.

“That was my only shirt.” You whine.

“Jus’ wipe it off.”

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erzsebetrosztoczy · 4 months

Text

For your wounded heart

Pt.1

Pairing: Mizu x reader

Word count: ~2k

Notes: If there will be interest for it, I'll continue the story, because so far there isn't really a Mizu x reader going on lmfaoo but we'll seeeee

Ps.: Mizu's pronounce is he/him in this part

Here's Part 2

The molten gold disc of the sun slowly crept up the horizon, pouring gray onto the world from the darkness. It rose drowsily, languidly among the tall canopies, leaves lighting up as it projected onto them as thousands of thalers appeared next to the shining disk.

The songbirds ruffled their feathers — ready for the challenges of another day, and sang happily to their companions.

A strong draft escaped from under the wooden door, making the embers of the flickering fire dance before running through your covers.

The sudden cold bit into your skin; grabbing you from the realm of dreams, dragging you back to the world of the living with its icy fingers. You opened your eyes with a terrified sigh; waking up from the warm and caressing dream you pulled yourself under the covers.

Another day, another task ahead of you.

Wearly, you dressed up before trying to gather your belongings, which you would need shortly.

A scalpel, a knife, gloves and a deep basket soon graced your side as you set off into the awakening forest.

Three days ago, you were approached by one of the most influential merchants in town. His wife caught the chills-fever, which her priests had not been able to cure with any of their treatments. Realizing that needles, prayers and incense would not help here, the nobleman visited you the day before, when the noises of the market in the main square seemed to dull down, when you started packing your goods to go home.

It had been a long time since you were last offered such a sum - too long for your liking. Short of money - and because you would have faced the wrath of a powerful man if you refused - you accepted his offer to heal his spouse.

Early in the morning, when the rooster hadn't even crowed, you were already ready to go collect the ingredients for the potion.

The sharp autumn air crawled over your skin, penetrated your bones and breathed newfound strength into your heart. Listening to the soothing soft melody of the forest, you set off towards its thickets, hoping that you would find enough ingredients for your tonics today. Everything was ready to take care of the sick wife- all you had to do was get the hojicha flower, of which you had run out of stock a while ago.

Pulling your cloak tight around your shoulders, you stepped on the wet moss carpet, careful not to slip on the rutted ground. Soon the ground would start to freeze- you thought as you tried to remember which tree trunk you marked, where you should turn right or left to reach your usual harvesting location.

"If I want to have everything in the winter, I have to collect them in time..." You sighed, stepping over a taller ditch. "Maybe I should look at the market to buy seeds and-"

"To the best of my knowledge, you have to go the other way to the nearest market." A harsh, sharp voice spoke from your left.

You immediately screamed and if the cold didn't do it until now — the stranger who suddenly stumbled here had certainly frozen your blood. The pounding of your heart only made it worse as you spun backwards, trying to face the source of the sound. Your foot slipped and you fell to your knees, hitting a wet log while you turned your head trying to find the source of the sound.

After a while, three men appeared in front of you; one from the nearby bushes, while two crept out from behind the cover of the trees; like wild dogs lurking in wait for their prey.

"The lady must be lost, people can disappear quickly in the forest..." The other man nodded with a vile grin, rubbing his palms together while approaching you.

"Certainly, it is not recommended to walk alone in such remote places at the crack of dawn." The third man took over, turning his attention to the basket lying on the floor next to you. “It's better if we accompany you… so no one attacks you.”

"I didn't, I just-" You stammered, but your voice got stuck in your throat as the three strangers walked closer and closer. Their ragged and dirty clothes, their darkly glistening dreadful eyes ruled out that they were simple wanderers.

You ran into bandits on the road, alone, in the middle of the forest. Your heart was pounding in your throat and kept yelling for you to move, escape, run — otherwise you will take your last breath here forever.

Your eyes darted to your overturned basket – deep inside your knife was glinting in a cold light. If you could be fast enough to get it out of there...Fight for your life. You fight or you die.

But instincts were stronger than reason; the Gods opened a third way for you at that moment.

You pushed yourself away with your hands, your heels digging into the ground hard, almost scraping it up as you jumped up to run away like a chased deer. You could barely feel your legs, could barely breathe as you ran through the trees with all your might, jumping over bushes, rocks, and pits. With your heart in your throat, with the sound of the bandits' steps and shouts in your ears, you kept going forward, not even daring to look back.

Your ability to navigate had left you, you didn't even know if you were running towards or away from them, there was just the feeling that you still had to go, still run, still fight. If you stopped you were dead, if you fell you were dead, if they caught up you were dead.

A huge thorn bush appeared in front of you, too high and wide it would have been almost impossible to jump over it, to get around it; so for lack of a better option you tensed your muscles, pulled your neck in, closed your eyes and ran into the branches, shielding your face with your arms.

The pain that ignited in the darkness flashed through you as a hundred and a thousand spikes dug into your exposed skin; then you felt the ground open under your feet, suddenly you began to fall.

You didn't even have time to cry out when you hit the hard ground with your side.

Lying there injured and exhausted, with a bursting heart, you realized that it was all over.

You just sealed your faith.

Panting and choking from crying, you heard the rustling of the bushes behind you, then the trampling of feet.

"Here's the little slut" One of the men chuckled, but the cheering stopped almost immediately.

You did not dare to look up from the ground, did not dare to move; you were left lying on the ground trembling, awaiting death...

But nothing happened.

Another second, but there was only silence, no more footsteps, no giggles, no shouts.

Blinking away the dirt and blood, you looked from behind your lashes and then realized why you were still breathing.

The attention of the three thugs no longer plagued you. They turned almost motionless, to the left, watching ahead of them.

You followed their gaze and saw that you had fallen on a road. On a road where a fourth stranger was now standing in front of you.

A tall, lanky stranger in blue traveling clothes, the bamboo hat he wore pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

A stranger with a sword in his hand.

Suddenly everything around you seemed to be silent; the chirping of the birds died away, the trees and twigs no longer creaked and cracked, as if the wind itself had stopped to watch the unfolding scene.

Not wanting to break the silence, you stared at the fourth stranger, holding your breath, wondering what would happen now.

Was that your savior ahead of you? Or was he just a wanderer who didn’t care what troubled others, who would only solve his own problems, regardless of if he made others ill-fated? Maybe you got out of the frying pan into the fire?

"There's nothing to see here." The nimblest bandit growled, a rusty knife in hand. "Everybody's minding their own business, right?"

"This matter belongs only to us and this woman, there is no need to cause difficulties for anyone." The largest one with a long mustache spoke slyly, the one closest to you clutched a heavy cudgel in his fist, his knuckles white from the force with which he gripped it.

The blue-clad stranger didn't answer immediately, instead tilting his head to the side, he peeked out from behind the brim of his hat, flashing his yellow-tinted glasses in the light.

"Looking at you, I suspect you are road thugs." The sword bearer spoke, his voice softer than you would have expected. "You rob those who come here." His words didn't seem like a question.

At this, the third man - the fox with a smile, who had a katana, spat down his side stepping forward in front of his companions.

"If you want good for yourself, you turn back or walk past us without another word." He snapped in his raspy voice, grabbing the hilt of his sword as the other two tensed with their weapons as well.

Barely able to handle the shaking and the hitching of your breath, you lifted your torso off the ground with challenge, turning to the blue-cloaked stranger desperately.

"Please…" Your voice trailed off as sobs broke from you. "Don't let me die, please!" Your voice cracked; hot tears washing away the mud and blood from your face. "Help me, please!"

The lanky stranger moved his arm back, revealing the hilt of his sword as he reached towards it with his right hand.

You inhaled through your teeth when you heard the deep clang of metal and clattering footsteps as the bandits charged towards him.

You dropped back down, pulling your knees to your chest as the battle began. Only daring to watch the scene from the cover of your arm.

The swordsman reached first the blue-clad savior, swinging an upward blow from the left, but his sword met another steel.

The man in the hat drew his sword from the sheath with the speed of a viper, breaking the first attack with almost no effort. Before the thug could react to it, the man was already flying to the ground, his legs entangled as the blue clothed one pushed him away to answer the next blow.

The rusty knife reached him second, and while his companion seized the stranger with his blade, he thrusted his knife towards your helper's neck. The cloaked man shoved the katana wielder away with his foot as he turned his torso to the side, the knife still flying towards him mid air.

Taking advantage of the movement, he turned to the right, placing one raised foot in front of the other, cutting across with his blade in front of him.

In a blink of an eye, red rain shot from the arm of the knife-wielding bandit - the sword almost cut his arm off. He staggered with a sharp wail, then fell to the ground, where he continued to shriek.

The one with a cudgel on the other hand did not attack yet, instead he stopped from a decent distance so the sword of the man in blue could not reach him, seemingly considering his next moves.

But this proved to be only a distraction when the first attacker reappeared, this time springing into action behind your savior's back.

The one in blue could hear this, as he turned to the side keeping an eye on both of his attackers, but then the largest started to move suddenly in order to attack at the same time with his other partner.

Seeing the impossible situation, you already had the mental image of the swordsman slashing your savior while the other beat him to death with the heavy club — you whimpered in terror, burying your face in your arms to shield yourself from the sight.

You heard a shout and the clang of steel meeting again, something heavy falling to the ground. A dull, more watery pounding - the cudgel! Bubbling, frothy snoring- a moan of agony and then silence.

You were next, you were sure of that.

Sharp cuts, bone-crushing blows and then slow, lingering death awaits you.

But there was no movement, not even a single grunt from the fight.

Panting, you raised your head to shorten your wait, but you did not find yourself facing the person you were waiting for.

You caught the gaze of the blue-cloaked stranger. You watched with a dry throat and roaring head as he stood over the three bloodied, dying bandits, his sword still clutched in his right hand.

The bamboo hat was no longer on his head, it probably fell off sometime during the fight when you weren't looking, and now was lying at his feet, waiting to be dusted off and put on again.

But instead, the stranger staggered, his knees buckling as he took two steps forward, finally slumping forward onto the ground, leaving you alone in the field of vigilance.

#blue eye samurai #mizu #bes #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #bes x reader #blue eye samurai imagine #mizu imagine #bes imagine #blue eye samurai headcanons #mizu headcanons #bes headcanons #blue eye samurai fanfic #bes fanfic #mizu fanfic #x reader #for now i cannot decide yet if it will be gn or fem reader tho :/#my writing

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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 month

Text

The promise

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: am I back on my angst track? yeah, probably so and I love it. Sorry 😅 Warnings: angst, hurt with very little comfort, implied sexual abuse, attempted suicide - yes it has a happy ending 😉 Summary: for his own good you wrung a promise from Sihtric that left your both hearts bleeding Word Count: 3,8 K

"Come with me, and I'll show you the world," the wind whispered, playfully tousling your hair. You reached out as if trying to grasp the warm air swirling around you. Mischievous, it only chuckled at your futile attempt, echoing the birds' songs heralding the dawn of a new day. It tangled in the tattered remnants of your dress, gathering fallen leaves from the ground and whisking them into a wild dance before carrying them away, allowing them to cascade onto the jagged rocks below the cliff.

"I can't fly," you murmured, tilting your head and marveling at the way your fingers shimmered in the light of the rising sun. Your slender, weathered hand, adorned with blisters and scratches, suddenly appeared fragile and exquisite, almost translucent and aglow in the gentle blue and orange hues of the early sunlight.

"Don't worry, I'll catch you," the playful breeze assured, its caress gentle against your cheeks, almost imperceptible in its fleeting softness. It stirred a memory, a distant echo of tender touches long forgotten, as if they'd never existed.

You flinched at the sound of small stones loosening, merrily cascading down into the abyss, while you adjusted your weight and shuffled your bare, dirt-stained feet, as you leaned against the rough logs of the fortress's sturdy outer wall.

"Can I trust you?" you wondered, eyes wide open, captivated by the soft hues painting the horizon.

"I'll lead you to him. Just one more step, and you'll be free," the wind enticed, its gentle laughter fading into the distance.

A silent exhale escaped your lips, swallowed by the hushed whisper of the wind. "Wait for me. I'm coming with you."

You had faithfully kept your promise, day after day, mustering the strength to carry on. Day after day of waning hope, hope that never truly had the right to exist. Had he kept his promise? A single tear traced its path down your cheek, leaving a salty trail in its wake. Yes, he had. And that’s why you were here now, determined to finally break yours.

"Please, let me see it," rough yet gentle fingers cradled your chin, lifting your head as they carefully swept back the strands of hair obscuring your face.

He was too close, his breath lingering heavily upon your skin, the scent of ale from his lips wafting to your nostrils. You loved the warmth of his body, a stark contrast to your perpetually cold hands. You loved his arms enveloping your shoulders, drawing you close in an embrace, an unfailing source of comfort for you. You lived for that shy smile of his mismatched eyes, as he affectionately tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear or brushed imaginary dirt from your cheeks, too timid to touch you otherwise.

The first time he had dared to kiss you, your breaths mingling as his lips weightlessly hovered over yours, made your heart skip a beat. But not today.

You struggled to maintain shallow breaths, attempting to alleviate the dull ache that persisted each time your lungs expanded, stretching your ribs. With eyes tightly shut, the grinding sound of your gritted teeth echoing in your ears, you sensed his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they delicately traversed the purple and blue marks around your eyes, and traced the red lines etched across your cheeks, halting at the corner of your mouth. His thumb's touch, as he sought to remove dried blood, elicited a wince, the sharp sting from the pressure on your swollen lip for a short moment overshadowing the ache in your ribs.

You had refused to cry. Not when the weighty ringed hand struck your face, sending you sprawling. Not when the coarse fingers, like iron claws, tangled in your hair and forcefully yanked your head back, the repugnant stench from the rotten, yellow-toothed mouth assaulting your senses. Not when…

No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. Your body could bear the bruises, your body might be his, your soul and mind remained your own.

It was only later that you realised it wasn't your brokenness he had sought. It wasn't your tears he had yearned to extract.

You didn’t want to cry now either, but the tears betrayed you, burning in the corners of your eyes despite all your efforts.

"Did he do that to you?" It sounded like a question, but both of you knew the answer all too well. The pounding of your heart intensified with each passing moment. You tried to calm it, to quiet its thunderous beats, but it refused to heed your silent pleas, transforming into a tumultuous roar of war drums in your ears.

You trembled, the sensation starting deep within, a subtle quiver that steadily expanded, wresting control of your body from your grasp.

"It's my fault," a whisper reached your ears, and you snapped your eyes open, Sihtric’s trembling voice cutting through the deafening thud of your heart.

You wanted to speak, but the words got caught in your throat, only a loud sob managing to escape through gritted teeth as you took a step back. The rough surface of the stable wall brushed against your skin through the thin layer of your ragged clothes, denying you an escape.

You had always found solace in the scent of fresh straw, the rhythmic snorts of the animals, and the comforting warmth emanating from their bodies. This was your hidden refuge, where you sought shelter night after night. It was here that Sihtric had found you, his gaze almost passing over you until the traitorous moon slipped out from behind the clouds, revealing your presence as you held your breath in the farthest corner.

Your own weight suddenly unbearable, you sank to the ground, leaning against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you buried your face.

"Go away," you demanded, your breath catching in your chest. You attempted to sound resolute, even angry, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Please, just leave me alone," your voice cracked, morphing into a soft, pleading sob.

Sihtric’s arms hung awkwardly by his sides, his entire body tense, his fists clenched and unclenched with anger, his gaze caressing your crouched and trembling form on the ground, unsure whether he could approach you, whether he could touch you.

He had tried to protect you, to care for you, quietly and unobtrusively. Yet, in doing so, he had unwittingly become your doom.

The sight of you shattered his heart, again. He hadn’t realised it could be broken more than once. He had believed it dead, burned by the flames that had greedily consumed the pyre, erasing the last remnants of the only person who had ever shown him kindness and love.

He had believed himself incapable of love, of caring for another, of feeling anything beyond the all consuming hatred, anger and thirst for revenge. That was all before he had met you.

There was something in your eyes as you glanced up at him, your dishevelled hair cascading loosely over your shoulders and falling across your smudged face, as you were towed in a line of new slaves behind the sturdy black stallion carrying Tekil.

Your hands were bound, your clothes half-torn and soiled, your bare feet stumbling as you made your way forward. He felt the urge to turn away, to hasten down from the ramparts to attend to his new master. The horse needed care, the weapons required cleaning.

You looked up, and your gazes met fleetingly, like a wounded deer gazing in terror at the encroaching predator.

But there was more than fear and despair in those deep, wide eyes. A hint of defiance mingled with resilience and a spark of life. There was such a strong will to live, a resolve to survive in those large, tearful eyes that seemed to bore into his mind, glimpsing into his very soul.

He knew the life awaiting you would shatter that resolve, break you, erase even the faintest trace of your own will, wrapping you in suffering and self-loathing like a glove wraps the hand. And he couldn't bear the thought of it. He couldn’t bear that there was nothing he could do about it. Or could he?

You lingered too long, gazing at the young boy on the upper ramparts. The sudden tug on the rope fastened to you caught you off guard, causing you to lose your balance and emit a cry of pain as your knees collided with the hard ground.

Sihtric’s hands instinctively clasped Thor's hammer around his neck, his lips forming silent words of an unspoken promise, a vow, to not let that happen, to not let that spark be wiped off. Not letting go of the pendant, he prayed to the gods for the day he could whisk you away from this accursed place and witness a smile lighting up those beautiful eyes.

From that day forward, his seemingly futile existence had acquired a new purpose. A hesitant smile exchanged in the hallways, a warm, compassionate glance shared in the great hall, a hand that didn’t take a swing, but stretched out to help you back on your feet, that was all he dared to offer at first.

He saw your red, swollen eyes, your diminishing frame with each passing week, the trembling of your hands as you served ale, and the deepening darkness in your gaze. It was not enough. He knew he was miserably failing to uphold the promise he had made to himself and to the gods.

The feast in the great hall of Dunholm was in full swing. Laughter filled the room, mingling with drunken revelry, boasting of recent victories and tales of triumphs. Sihtric sat at the long table on the left, squeezed between Tekil’s men. It was his first time being permitted to join them there.

Tekil wasn't a cruel man; he was a steely, battle hardened warrior, yes, but not one who reveled in the suffering of others. He had taken Sihtric in after the execution of his mother. He had vouched for him before Kjartan, pledging to mould him into a warrior. And there Sihtric sat in his father's great hall, striving to remain unnoticed, to hide himself behind the sturdy frames of the other warriors, his fingers wrapped around the ale mug, yet hesitating to lift it to his lips.

You were in the midst of serving ale, shuddering each time a rough palm landed on your buttocks, laughter echoing through the hall as you refilled mugs and set pitchers on the tables. Sihtric's eyes tracked your movements between the tables, hastily averting his gaze each time you seemingly turned his way. As you approached his table, a sudden warmth flooded Sihtric's cheeks, his heartbeat quickening.

"I see you've taken a liking to this little bird," Sihtric nearly jumped from his seat, hearing that all too familiar voice in his ear, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. "She's far too bony for my taste; you can have her," a sly smile curved Kjartan's lips as he turned to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you roughly closer with one swift motion.

A soft yelp trembled on your lips, causing Kjartan's smile to widen into a grin. "Come on, boy. Saddle this mare, show me you're a man. Tekil promised he'd shape you into one."

With a forceful shove from Kjartan, you stumbled into Sihtric's lap, the laughter from all sides echoing through the air, assaulting your ears. Two strong arms encircled your waist and effortlessly lifted you. Desperate to break free, you attempted to wriggle out of the grip, but the jovial laughter in the hall only grew louder as you were hoisted over a broad shoulder and carried away.

Sihtric slammed shut the door of his tiny, windowless room, setting you down on your feet. You retreated instantly and your back collided with the solid door, eyes fixed on Sihtric, unable to quell the shaking of your limbs. By now, you knew he was Kjartan’s son—a bastard, yet his own flesh and blood, surely eager to please his father and earn his recognition.

"Please," it was barely a whisper, a silent breath trembling on your lips, your voice caught in your dried-up throat as you lowered your gaze, unwilling to appear as though you were challenging him. "Don't hurt me."

You understood your plea was likely in vain, that he didn't care. But there was nothing else you could do, so you begged, hoping to strike some hidden chord behind those large, oddly mismatched eyes that had followed you so many times.

You had thought them kind, seeking solace in them amidst the crowded hall, grounding yourself in the warmth of their gaze, clinging to the hope of having found a soul not tainted by malevolence, perhaps even a friendly one to guide you through your misery.

It had all been an illusion—a dream twisted into a nightmare, as you felt Sihtric’s rapid breath on your neck, his well built frame looming over you. "Please," you repeated, your voice trembling uncontrollably, words dissolving into soft sobs as your hands panickedly crumpled your skirt.

The terror in your voice sent a shiver down Sihtric’s spine. You saw him as the enemy. You thought him like his father—someone who relished in the suffering of others, ready to assert dominance through force for his own amusement. And he couldn’t blame you for that. As much as he cursed the legacy running through his veins, he was who he was. His father’s son. Shame burning him from within, like that pyre fire, erasing his sweetest memories, he reached out to place his hands on your shoulders.

"I won't hurt you. Do you hear me?" But you didn't. Panic had engulfed you entirely, the rush of blood in your ears deafening, the frantic pounding of your heart pushing you to the brink of consciousness, your senses sharpened to a painful clarity.

This was the moment the other women had warned you about, the moment they had tried to prepare you for. "Don't resist; it will only make it worse," they had told you.

"Don't resist," their warning echoed in your mind. But you couldn't. The moment two rough palms landed on your shoulders, you screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you fought in fury against them, your cries ringing through the room.

Sihtric released you instantly, hastily stepping back with his hands raised in the air, trying to show he meant no harm.

"Please, just listen to me," he pleaded, but you were too consumed by fear to register his words. Your eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape, but finding none, they settled back on Sihtric. Meeting his gaze, you bared your teeth like a wild animal, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps, as if preparing for a leap.

"I won't touch you," Sihtric's soft voice gently washed over your alerted senses. Why would he say that? What kind of trap was this? Thoughts fluttered through your mind like startled birds. "I… I'm not like my father. I mean you no harm, I swear," Sihtric took another step back, giving you space.

"W-what do you mean?" you stuttered, pressing yourself even harder against the door as if trying to meld with it.

"You are safe with me, I promise," Sihtric's eyes searched your face expectantly, hoping for some sign that you might consider believing him.

And oddly enough you did. Against reason, against everything you had been told and warned about, you believed him. You wanted to believe him; you had nothing left in this world to believe in, and so you chose to believe in the young man standing before you, in that warm, friendly, and inexplicably sad fire burning in his eyes.

You placed your small, cold hand in his outstretched palm, slowly and carefully, holding your breath in anticipation, your heart pounding against the cage of your ribs. He took a step closer, leaning in until his forehead touched yours.

"Please, don't be afraid of me," he whispered, his arms tentatively finding their way around your shoulders, as if afraid you would push them away again. But you didn't. You allowed yourself to melt into his strong embrace, burying your nose in Sihtric's broad chest as tears of relief soaked his leather armour.

"Stupid boy, you didn’t even hump her," Kjartan's words struck Sihtric like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. "The bitch was still a virgin."

Sihtric's legs turned into heavy logs, a desperate urge to flee coursing through him, yet he remained rooted to the spot under his father's scrutinising gaze. "Maybe I was mistaken and you didn't even fancy her?" Kjartan continued with a grin. "Tell me, scum, do you prefer boys instead?"

Not a muscle twitched in Sihtric's face as Kjartan's hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "No, I was right. You desire her, you crave her," his hot breath in Sihtric's ear seared him.

"You should have heard her. A feisty little thing, squealing like a pig. You know I enjoy it when they resist. It makes it much more enjoyable," Kjartan patted him consolingly on the shoulder, a wicked smirk forming on his lips, then turned to leave. "Tekil has a task, and he's taking you with him. You're departing at dawn tomorrow. Now, go fetch your little bird and enjoy her before it's too late."

It had all been in vain. Those hidden lingering glances, those fleeting touches, those stolen kisses in the secluded corners of the kitchen away from prying eyes—they all amounted to nothing. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from harm. Instead, he had inadvertently brought about your downfall, as he hadn’t managed to hide how much you mattered to him.

"Go away," you cried out once more, lifting your head to meet his gaze. The pain in his large, searching eyes squeezed your racing heart, prompting you to quickly look away. You didn't blame him; he was the sole reason your existence in this place had felt somewhat bearable. But it was all too much. Your own pain was enough, and you couldn't bear to add his to the burden.

"I can't," a throaty whisper escaped his lips as he lowered himself to the ground, aligning his height with yours, and gently crouched by your side. You shuddered at the touch of his arms around your trembling frame, yet you couldn't muster the strength to push him away.

You sat in the moonlight, surrounded by eerie shadows that danced around you each time an impish cloud attempted to obscure the large, pale disc in the dark sky. No words were needed; the enveloping silence spoke volumes, conveying more than any sound ever could.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn," Sihtric's hoarse voice seemed to come from another world, and you heart stopped beating. The darkness crept from the corners, slowly enveloping you, draining the remaining colours from your life. "Tekil is taking me with him. It’s going to be a long trip, not just an ordinary patrol."

Turning your head, you reached out and cupped his face, your thumb gliding over his wet cheeks as Sihtric leaned into your touch.

"Promise me something," you whispered, summoning strength you didn't know you possessed.

"I will come back to you, I swear. I'll return, and one day I'll take you away from here," Sihtric's hand found yours, pulling your palm to his lips where he placed tender kisses upon your wrist.

"No," you vehemently shook your head. "No, this is your chance, Sihtric. Promise me you will not return. Promise me you'll do everything in your power to escape, to leave this cursed place behind and never look back. Promise me," your voice grew louder, your eyes searching his. "Promise me!" you demanded, desperation creeping into your tone.

"What? I... I can't... Don't you see it? Don't you feel it? I love you. Do you understand what you're asking of me?"

"I know. And God is my witness, I love you too. But if you love me, you'll promise me this. And you'll keep that promise, Sihtric Kjartansson. Knowing that you have a chance for a new life away from this hell on earth is the only thing that will keep me alive," your voice quivered with excitement.

Will he miss me? Will he remember me? You bit down on your tongue, forbidding yourself from voicing these questions that swirled in your mind. You had to let go. You had to set him free. This was the only way, the only chance, at least for one of you.

"Promise me," you insisted, your gaze locked with Sihtric's, glowing with a hint of madness.

"I'll give you that promise, if you swear to keep waiting. If you swear to not give up on this life," Sihtric's fingers squeezed yours painfully.

"I promise to keep waiting for you never coming back," you pledged without a moment's hesitation. "I promise to carry on, to endure. For you."

"I promise," Sihtric's voice broke as he tried to speak the next words, but your expectant, feverish gaze compelled him to continue. "Then I promise not to come back."

"Swear it," you demanded, wrapping his fingers around the pendant on his neck.

"I swear," it was barely a whisper, just a silent breath, escaping his lips as he gave the oath that was breaking his heart. He pulled you into his embrace, lips nuzzling your hair, inhaling your scent and feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, as he tried to store it all in his memory forever, not feeling ashamed for the tears trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into your dishevelled hair.

Weird sounds emanating from within the fortress drew your attention away from your memories—men shouting and hounds howling. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to stifle the daunting sounds. It wasn't the first time Kjartan entertained himself by setting his hellhounds on some poor soul who had earned his wrath.

It was time. You were ready. Straightening yourself, you parted from the rough, grounding wall behind your back.

"One step, just one more step into freedom," you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.

You shuddered upon hearing your name being called, the sound reaching you from the other side of the wall, oddly familiar. No, it couldn't be. You shook your head in an attempt to dispel the illusion your mind was conjuring to confuse you.

With eyes closed, you raised your foot for your last step, feeling the ground disappearing from beneath you, ready to fly away, to trust the alluring promise of the wind you knew to be insidious.

You cried out in despair as you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back. Eyes still shut, you fought against them, believing Kjartan’s men had found you, until a soft voice from your dreams spoke your name again, causing you to finally open your eyes wide with disbelief and fear as if seeing a ghost.

“Why did you break your promise?” was all you managed to whisper.

“To prevent you from breaking yours,” two mismatched eyes sadly smiled at you. “Kjartan is dead. You are free.”

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric #the last kingdom #tlk #tlk fic #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #angst #hurt

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siriusleee · 1 year

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nowhere fast

there is a monster at the edge of the mountain that haunts the townfolk. ghost x reader | twisted fairytale au 5.7k | smut, kidnapping (sorta), dubcon, minors dni request a fic here a/n: while writing this I got an idea for another twisted fairytale. thank god I'm off work this week.

You don't believe the rest of the town folk when they whisper of the monster in the woods - a horrendous fiend that haunts the mountain's edge looms on the horizon, blocking out the sun during the winter months. The rumors had started a year ago, whispered in the local diner as hunters clutched their coffee cups. The tails of traps set to catch the men who travel too far when hunting doesn't turn you away from fantasies of roaming the mountain's edge, of pushing farther through the forest than anyone else in town has. Even your father's warnings that he wouldn't come to save you if you decided to do something reckless didn't push the thoughts out of your head.

So when the leaves start to brown again, and the trees start showing their bare patches, you leave. In the middle of the night, you shoulder your backpack, your dad's pistol situated in the waistband of your jeans and a flashlight tucked into your back pocket. The sounds of your family sleeping, of your mother's soft snores, aren't enough to get you to turn back as you step out of your front door, locking it behind you against whatever phantoms travel the night. The air is crystalline around you; the dense forest floor muffles your footsteps as you walk. The sound of the forest fills the air, and wraps itself around you; in the distance, the mountain never grows closer as you head towards it. Behind you, the lights from town disappear between the pine boughs.

It takes two days of walking, of sleeping in a thin blanket underneath pine trees, before you reach the first sign of someone living in the woods. You're exhausted, and there's a blister forming on the edge of your pinkie toe when you stumble across a felled tree. Hunger gnaws at you and for the first time you think about the life you left behind; you think of your mother's venison stew and thick bread served in the same bowls your grandmother saved during WWII. An axe, free of any rust, leans against a section of the log. You trace your fingers against the handle (is it a trick of your mind to feel the warmth on the wood or is it that someone just got done cutting tonight's firewood and they're only a little ways ahead of you in the forest?).

You think for a moment about shouldering the axe, about how it may come in useful later. But the press of your father's gun - the once cold metal warmed by its two days pressed against your skin - reminds you that whatever is in the forest: monster or bear, won't be stopped by the swing of an axe. And besides, how would explain to the owner that you stole their axe, stole their way of providing themselves warmth if it came down to it?

So you leave it, leaning against the fallen tree for whomever it belongs to, to find it again tomorrow.

Dusk begins to fall when you see the smoke in the sky. It's almost romantic, the way the smoke curls, tendrils disseminating in the clouds. You imagine a quaint little cabin in the distance, the smoke curing from a squat chimney; imagine yourself stepping inside and being greeted by the warmth from the fire, cutting through the chill that's starting to take over. Distantly, thunder rolls, and the steel gray sky threatens a storm. You know that if you want a shelter for the night, you have to find the source of the wood smoke and hope that whoever is there is benevolent enough to let you sleep inside for the night. You think of the monster that haunts these woods (and what kind of monster would need a fire to keep it warm at night?) and wonder if this is it.

You press ahead, toward the smoke. Only a hundred yards have passed when the sound of a tree branch snapping makes you freeze. You've lived near the edge of the forest and hunted the animals with your father long enough to know that unless what dwells in the forest wants you to know it's there, you won't ever hear it. Whatever is behind you is bigger than you, and not scared that you know it's there. Adrenaline's sharp edge starts in your veins, and your hand twitches towards the handgun at the small of your back. You steady yourself with a deep breath and press on, trying to let whatever is behind you think that you don't know it's there - that you still believe you're all alone. That you aren't a danger to whatever it is.

You barely make it ten feet before you're yanked to your back. The contents of your backpack and the gun dig painfully into your skin; you feel something cut through the thin flesh of your hip bones as you hit the ground. Your head is spared only by your hands that reach up instinctively, but it feels like every knuckle on your right hand is broken when it slams against the ground. Stunned, you lay there, prey with its belly exposed as your eyes water and distort everything in your vision. Something monstrously huge leans down over you, blocking out the last bit of sun that remains. You try to blink the monster into sharper vision, but can't. Fairytale visions of werewolves, blood dripping from their maws shiver through you.

A warmth presses down on your chest, keeping you pinned to the ground. Through the pain, you can feel it's a hand, large enough to cover you from sternum to throat.

"What are you doing here?"

The monster speaks in a low growl, and you realize it's just a man pressing you into the dirt and leaves. He doesn't give you a chance to answer before he yanks you to your feet, the hand at your chest gripping your jacket enough that you can feel the strings in the collar popping underneath the pressure he's putting on the fabric.

Your feet dangle, your toes barely touching the ground as he shakes you (you want to tell him to stop, the pain in your head is enough). You grab his wrist, pulling him away from you. To your surprise, he recoils at your grip, dropping you to the dirt again. You land, for the second time, painfully in the dirt. This time you have enough wits about you to pull the pistol from your waistband, to raise it towards him as you stand.

And the man just stands there, hands lose at his side. He towers over you, large enough that you have to look up at him, to take him in. Your hand doesn't shake against the trigger fingers as you take him in - dark jeans and scuffed boots, black shirt, and balaclava. The faded white outline of a skull covers the mask; in normal circumstances, you might think to laugh at it, but here in these strange woods you feel a tinge of fear for the first time, for the first time thinking back on the monster stories the locals would sit around and tell each other around night fires. You can imagine the white of that skull shining through the moonlight, around the curve of a trunk, and how terrifying that might be.

"I asked you a question," he growls out; the sweat on your palms makes the gun slip, just incrementally, on your hand.

"I'm the one holding the gun." Your voice sounds unnatural and weak after not speaking for two days.

"If you were going to shoot me you would have done it already."

You hope he doesn't register the look on your face - the one that says he's right; you don't have any intention of shooting him as long as he just stands there. You never even had the stomach to shoot deer with your father when it came time to put food on your family's table.

"I just came for a walk in the woods; nothing illegal about that."

He still doesn't speak. Your shoulder throbs from where you hit the ground; the gun falls just an inch. You half expect him to take advantage of this, to rush you and wrap his fingers around your throat until you're nothing but a half-memory in his mind, but he stays where he is at.

"I don't see how it's any of your business anyway."

"You're on my land."

"No one owns this land."

"I do."

Your arm falls another inch. This time, he pounces. One of his hands wraps around your wrist, pulling it to the side enough that you lose your grip on the gun. The other holds your shoulder - more gently than you could have imagined a mountain of a man to hold anything.

The gun hits the forest floor silently. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise, to keep from letting him know that he's hurting you; the taste of iron coats your tongue. Up close you can make out every blonde eyelash of his, make out all the gold flecks in his iris. His breath is warm through the balaclava; he smells like woodsmoke and vaguely vanilla.

"I don't think you came out here for a little walk, love."

The first raindrop falls between you two, crashing against the earth with a force that nearly knocks you over. Your skin burns you where he touches, the callouses on his hands rough against the sensitive skin of your wrist.

Another drop falls, this time landing on his fingers. You watch it roll to his wrist, to the sliver of tattoo-covered skin that you can see as the sleeve of his shirt pulls away. The thought to reach out and trace the path of the raindrops with your tongue flashes in your mind; you feel yourself smile slightly and try to repress the feeling. The corners of his eye crinkle, you know he's frowning at you, eyebrows knitted together as he tries to figure out why you're here.

Without speaking, the man pushes you forward; in your peripheral you see him bend down and pick your father's gun up before tucking it into his own waistband. You think about how angry your father would be at him touching your father's gun, at touching you - someone other than him, some other man, touching something of his. You're not sure if the shiver that runs down your spine is from the thought or from the biting cold air that blows through, bringing more raindrops with it.

You walk towards the smoke in the distance, the man's hand pressed into your shoulder, forcing you to walk faster than usual.

"What's your name?"

"Why?"

"Well, I should know the name of my kidnapper and potential murderer."

He lets out a sound that lets you know he doesn't appreciate your description, but he doesn't dispute it. He doesn't speak again until you stumble over a root, and his hand is at your elbow to straighten you up and force you to keep walking.

"It's Ghost."

The cabin is nothing like you expected it to be. It's not even really a cabin - more of an abandoned witches' house, ivy trellising up one side and wrapping around the chimney. It could have once been described as Victorian, but now you're not sure if that description would do it any justice. It's two stories, bigger than what you'd expected it to be here in the forest. A dog with thick brown and black fur is curled up beside the front door; its ears perk when it spots you and Ghost but doesn't move towards you.

When you pass by, however, the dog reaches out to sniff you, his tail wagging. Ghost reaches out with his free hand to pet the dog once before reaching around you to open the door, his back pressing against yours for just a moment.

The rain falls harder against the two of you as he pushes you inside, the door falling shut behind him heavily. You listen for the sound of a lock shutting but don't hear one. The dog shakes the water out of its fur before leaving the two of you alone in the foyer, disappearing down the hallway.

You watch Ghost as he pulls his boots off; you follow suit, kicking yours off. Your feet throb, the pain of non-stop walking for two days finally catching up to you. You're barely able to catch your balance before Ghost's hands are at the straps of your backpack, pulling it off of your shoulders and dumping it to the ground beside your shoes.

With one hand presses firmly into your back, he leads you down the hallway, pointing out each part of the house you might need.

"Why are you showing me around, what if I want to leave?"

"You can leave whenever you want. But you can't go back to the town."

There's nowhere else for you to go (he must know this). The thought should chill you, but it doesn't. Ghost stops outside of a heavy oaken door, his hand pausing on the doorknob before pushing the door open.

"You can sleep down here."

You take in the room - dust-covered but clean. The bed is massive, and covered in more pillows than you think you've ever seen in your life. the air inside is stale, you know that no one has touched anything in this room for years.

"Where do you sleep?" You've asked the question before you even mean to. The hand on your back curls just enough that you can feel the bite of Ghost's nails in your back.

"I sleep up the stairs. You can go anywhere you want in the house, just not upstairs. Do you understand me?"

The nails in your back threaten to break through your skin; you're not afraid, but you know that Ghost hasn't shown you half of the strength he does have, and that does scare you. You nod, silently; Ghost's hand leaves your back, leaving an emptiness in its place.

It rains for days - a torrential downfall that washes down the mountain; Ghost lingers around the house, and the two of you circle each other - planets with opposing orbits. On the third day, you find the library tucked away in the back corner of the house. It's attached to an empty solarium, the glass washed clean from the rain outside.

That day, when Ghost comes to find you to tell you that he's finished cooking he finds you on your hands and knees, scrubbing the dirt and dust away from the mosaic tiles with cleaning supplies you'd found tucked away in an unused backroom.

"What are you doing?" He asks, leaning against the doorway. Riley, always stuck to Ghost, sits at his feet.

You don't look up at him as you speak, sweat dripping down your forehead. You watch your hands swirl across the tile, releasing the years-old dirt from the grout.

"I figured if I'm trapped here, I might as well put myself to work."

"Who said you're trapped here?"

You can barely hear Ghost over the rain on the solarium walls. Leaning back on your heels, you wipe your forehead on your shirt, trying to think about what to say to him. You choose your words carefully, chewing on them until they feel right.

"You would really let me leave?"

It's Ghost's turn to think about his words; you can feel his eyes boring a hole in your back.

"No."

You don't say anything else to him as you turn back towards the floor.

"Don't you think your family will come looking for you?"

"Probably. But they won't go any farther than the forest edge. They're terrified of the monster that lives here."

"And you're not."

"Not yet."

When the rain finally stops, Ghost disappears. He leaves Riley with a stern warning to guard the house before disappearing into the woods. You watch him leave from the kitchen window. The thought that you could escape teases you. It wouldn't be hard, you just needed to run down the mountain faster than he could realize you were gone.

You leave that thought at the window. The lights flicker above you; Ghost had briefly explained about the solar panels at the backside of the cabin and you wonder if he installed them himself. The cabinets are nearly bare, but there's evidence that he leaves sometimes: name-brand can goods and a sack of bread flour. You wonder if you had ever walked by him in town, his mask off, and you never realized. The thought thrills you, that he could have been hiding in plain sight from the same people who whispered fearfully of him.

When he comes back, it's to the smell of fresh bread. The kitchen is clean, cleaner than he'd ever seen it; he watches as you turn the bread out of a pan and wrap it in a clean town. On the stove, a pot sits, something simmering inside.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

You can tell by the set of his shoulders that he doesn't like that - doesn't like the sarcasm that rolls easily from your lips. You turn to stir the stew on the stove, waiting on Ghost to say something, anything to fill the silence in the kitchen.

"Why are you cooking?"

"Because you're keeping me here captive for free. I figured it would nice for me to do something for you."

"You don't live here."

You know what he really means is that you don't need to make yourself comfortable - don't need to pretend that this arrangement is domestic.

***

You want him to hear you when you're curled up in your bed. You left the door open intentionally - an invitation if he would take it. Your fingers dip into your own cunt, pumping at a pace that is barely enough to satisfy you.

You hear the sound of the floor outside your door creaking; you can imagine Ghost out there, cock in hand, stroking himself at the sounds of you finger fucking yourself. Your breath catches in your throat when you moan out his name, face pressed against a pillow as you bite down on it, imagining if it was him.

The floor creaks again, and for a moment you think you see the curve of his shoulder in the doorway. You pull your hands out of your panties; lick the taste of yourself off of your fingertips. The shape of him is gone from the doorway in a flash. You fall onto your back, breathless from your orgasm.

Heavy footfall on the stairs is heard from the hallway, followed quickly by the sound of a door shutting.

The weather turns for the worse as the weeks pass. The morning you awake to the first layer of snow on the ground, a letter is left on the counter beside the coffee pot.

Gone to get winter supplies.

You're alone. Again. Riley pads into the kitchen lost without Ghost. He follows you across the house, nearly tripping you pressing himself so close to your feet. You intend to work on the solarium again - the weeks had seen you turning it into some recognition of its former glory- but you pause at the bottom of the stairs. An intense curiosity overtakes you - you want to go upstairs, to see what Ghost is hiding there from you. Your foot lands on the bottom of the staircase, when the sound of a car door slamming shut pulls you out of your thoughts.

Your heart crashes in your chest, thinking of all the people who could have stumbled across the house, who could be forcing you back home. You press yourself into the banister, one hand outreach to bury itself in Riley's fur when Ghost steps through the door.

Instant relief washes over you as his figure blocks the doorway. For a moment, you think about rushing towards him. He leans forward to place the grocery bags in his hands on the ground; you can see his eyebrows knitted together even through the balaclava.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

You worry that you speak too quickly, too suspiciously. You worry that he can read your thoughts, read how you almost betrayed him. So you press towards him, coffee cup landing on a small table right inside the doorway, trying to move the conversation away from your almost betrayal.

"Do you need help carrying everything in?"

"No."

But you want to help, want to get your mind off the thought of upstairs. You ignore him, and step outside, shivering in the cold air. An old truck you've never seen before is backed nearly up to the door, the back loaded down with supplies.

"Is this all for the winter?"

"Once the snow starts falling we won't be able to get down until it thaws again."

It's all the explanation you need, but a new question erupts from you before you can stop it.

"How many winters have you had up here?"

"Enough."

The snow is thick when you've finally finished the solarium. Without you asking him to, Ghost dragged your bed to the room, followed by the dresser full of someone else's clothing that you've been wearing. It's where he finds you when he comes looking, curled up on a loveseat you'd found in an empty room in front of the fireplace.

"Yes?"

You speak without your eyes ever leaving the book in your hands. You hear Ghost shuffle in the doorway.

"Can I come sit with you?"

Without speaking you pull yourself in tighter, making room for him on the other side of the loveseat. He shuffles into the room, sitting down gently near your feet. He doesn't speak to you as you flip the pages.

"What are you reading?"

"Bulfinch's Mythology."

"What is that?"

The question makes you smile, and for the first time since he'd walked in, you pull your eyes away from the book. Ghost isn't looking at you - he's focused intently on the flames dancing in the fireplace. He's tense, wound tightly enough you can almost see his muscles tense underneath his shirt.

"It's a translation of Greek mythology. It's your book, you don't know it?"

"I bought the house with everything in it."

"So none of this is really yours?"

Ghost doesn't answer, his hands are fisted tightly on his thighs. You know you're pushing it, asking him too much about his past. You shift, pressing your toes into the seam on his thighs, feeling his warmth through the denim.

"How about I just read to you? Do you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?"

Ghost's only answer is a shake of his head. You flip through the pages, looking for the page you want. When you read, Ghost doesn't speak. His hands loosen, the one closest to you dropping onto your ankle. When you feel his touch against your skin, you stumble over your words.

His touch makes you bold; you shift, never pausing your reading, to sit up and slide one foot onto his lap. His hand follows your ankle; when you've moved too close, his grip on your ankle tightens you, telling you that you've gone too far, too fast.

You read over the soft sounds of snow falling on the glass, of the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. Softly, Ghost begins to draw patterns on the top of your foot. The feeling of his touch is starting to wind something inside of you. When you finish, you let the book fall closed in your lap and turn your attention to Ghost. He speaks quietly, barely louder than the ambient noise around the two of you.

"So she still loved him? After all of that?"

"Yes, after all of that."

Ghost's nails dig gently suddenly into the soft skin on the underside of your ankle. You can tell he's struggling to say what he wants, his mouth opening and closing beneath the balaclava before he finally speaks, his words desperate.

"Would you still love him after everything?"

His voice is tight, his nails dig harder into your skin. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can feel the tension in the air.

"What if I said no?"

Ghost's hand twitches against your skin, his grip suddenly painful. But still, he keeps his eyes trained on the fireplace, never looking towards you.

"I suppose you would have to find your way home."

You let the book slide off of your lap and drop heavily to the floor. The fluttering in your stomach quickens at the heaviness that hangs over the two of you. When you speak again, your voice cracks - Ghost finally looks at you, eyes dark and burning.

"Of course, I would still love him after all of that."

Ghost nails disappear from your ankle; his hand slides up to your thigh before pulling you closer. You lose your balance, you fall back and before you can pull yourself back into a sitting position, Ghost is pressing his hand onto your abdomen, pressing you into the soft cushions. He slides one of his knees in between your thighs and presses it against the seam of your shorts. Your cunt throbs at the feeling; you whine, but keep your hands down at your side, worried that if you touch him, he'll run.

"Do you want to stay here? With me?" He whispers, not lowering himself down onto you like you want him to.

His warmth feels like it's drowning you; you squirm trying to rub yourself against his thigh- Ghost pulls away just enough that you can't reach him. He doesn't have to say what he wants, you already know it without him saying anything.

"Of course, I want to stay here. With you."

You know it's not a lie when you say it; you hadn't thought of going home since you'd first stepped foot into the forest. And now, with Ghost pressing himself against you, you can't imagine leaving this place, leaving Ghost behind to go back to your family, back to everything you once knew.

His knee presses harder onto your cunt and you grind down, trying to find some release. His hands' hook on the edge of your shorts, pulling them down, past your knees until you can kick them off. Your hands search for skin, dipping underneath his shirt. You dig your nails into his back as he trails his nails up your thigh, the feeling sending a shiver through you. He wraps one hand around your knee, hitching it around his waist until he's pressed against you. You can feel his erection through his jeans. He grinds into you, the rough denim rubbing against the soft fabric of your panties.

"Please." You don't know what you're begging for, just some sort of release from the tension inside of you. Maybe for him to touch you more, maybe for him to grind into you again.

Ghost presses his lips to your neck, the fabric of the balaclava warm against your skin. His hand sneaks between the two of you, fingers teasing your clit through your panties. You pull him closer, trying to press yourself into him, press his fingers into you. He keeps himself pulled back away from you, not letting himself sink into you.

"Why did you come here?"

He whispers in your ear, fingers pulling away from your clit when you don't answer. You try to find his hand and put it back, but he pushes you back down, a promise he won't do anything until you speak.

"I wanted to- to see if the rumors were true. I wanted to see if you were the monster everyone said you were."

You can feel the hint of a smile against your neck before he speaks again.

"Is that it?"

"I wanted," you swallow around the words, trying to pick which ones to use, "I wanted to get away from home."

His fingers dip under the waistband of your panties, teasing you.

"Am I the monster you were expecting to find?"

You shake your head, burying your face in his chest and bite down on the moan that escapes you.

"Are you going to leave me when the snow thaws? You can if you want. I won't stop you." His voice is rough, almost tired. You hear a hint of sadness as if he already knows you're going to say yes, that you're already planning your escape.

You shake your head; his fingers start to pull away from you when you realize what he wants from you.

"No; never."

That's enough for him. He buries two fingers inside of you; you hiss at the sting, but it quickly turns into a moan when he pumps his fingers inside of you. You're not wet enough to take him, but you know that you will be in just a moment.

"Close your eyes."

You do as you're told, and you feel his lips press against your collarbone through your shirt. You turn, seeking his lips, eyes still pressed tightly closed. Ghost knows what you want, you can feel his nose trailing up your neck, the feeling of the balaclava pushed up around his nose.

"You won't look?" He whispers against your lips, and you nod.

"I promise."

When he kisses you, you taste the coffee from earlier; his canines snag against your bottom lip as he pulls away to breathe. His fingers inside of you are working you into a release, faster than you've ever reached on your own. When it crashes into you, you cry out; Ghost whispers soft soothings to you, his free hand pushing your hair out of your face gently before fisting it to pull your head back and expose your neck just quick enough for him to press a kiss to your jugular.

He disappears for a moment; you want to look at him, to watch him as the sound of his belt coming undone and falling against the floor reaches you, but you don't want to betray his trust, don't want to do anything until he tells you to. His hands are gentle on you as he rolls you over onto your stomach, pressing your face gently into the cushions so you can't see him. His hands trace the valleys of your body before he pulls your panties down to your knees, forcing them together.

His fingers dip into your cunt before pulling away quickly; you hear the sound of him licking the taste of you off before his wet fingers fall on your ass, tracing patterns into your skin.

His hands grip your hips, pulling them up so he can place his cock between your folds. He doesn't push into you until you push backward, your hand between your thighs trying to guide him in.

You moan when he presses his cock into you, the sound muffled by the cushion. He's larger - larger than anything - anyone - you've ever taken before. The feeling of being so full of him, so stretched out by him twists you and pushes you towards an ecstasy that you've never felt before. You mewl for him, pressing back into him as much as you can.

He's quiet, the only sign he's enjoying this is his bruising grip on you. He's soft at first, and you beg him for more with each stroke, but he ignores you. You can feel him holding back, feel that there are inches of cock still waiting for you to take it. You beg for more, beg for him to fuck you properly.

"Look at you, begging for the monster in the woods to fuck you harder."

On his last word, he slams into you; the pain of it makes you instinctually try to scramble away from him. He holds you, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, keeping you pinned to the couch.

"You were just begging for this, remember? Don't run away now."

He fucks you with a brutal pace, hands not leaving you until he folds himself over you. One of his fingers traces a small circle around your clit as he bites into your shoulder. You cry out, hands gripping the cushions.

"Ghost, I can't - I'm going to - fuck."

"That's it, baby - come on my cock like a good girl."

His words push you towards your orgasm, and when you crash again, he fucks you harder. You squirm underneath him, trying to get away, to get a break from his relentless pace - from this brutal fucking that you want more desperately than anything else in the world.

"Stop running."

His hand snakes under you, to grip your throat loosely. His chest presses against your back, his breath warm on your neck. You can feel another orgasm building up inside of you; you keen, pressing yourself into Ghost. You can't remember a time when anyone has ever fucked you this good - a time you've ever wanted someone the same way you want Ghost.

"I'm going to finish inside of you," he growls in your ear, movements bordering on erratic. "I'm going to make you mine."

You can't do anything but pant out a 'yes'. You feel it - the warmth when he finishes inside of you, but he doesn't stop pushing himself inside of you - he keeps fucking you, pushing his cum deeper into you until he finally stills.

He stays on you for a breath before pushing himself up. You can't move, can't do anything but lay there and try to catch your breath. You feel him hook your fingers in the waistband of your panties once again, but this time he pulls them up, hand smoothing across your back.

His hand traces the pattern of your spine before burying itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. You try to catch your breath under his touch.

"I meant it earlier when I said you can leave."

"I know," your say as you turn your face towards him, catching just a hint of the chin as he pulls his balaclava down.

"I want to stay."

#my fics #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost cod x reader #call of duty #cod #mw2022 #call of duty mw2 #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #fuck how many more tags can i do???

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box-o · 30 days

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The Holoska Express AU Chapter 1

Author's Note:

this is my first time doing something like this pretty much on my own and I am quite honestly terrified BUT. I really want to share this idea I had back in December and I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it (even though Christmas was 3 months ago). with that said, may I present...

The Holoska Express

Chapter 1

written by Box-o (Kiki)

beta read, edited, and proofread by @niko-jpeg (tysm ily <3)

2909 words

The sun was just starting to set, the pale blue late December sky just starting to fade into the orange and red hues of sunset. The already frozen forest would only get colder once the sun sank below the horizon. Sonic knew that much for certain.

He, and Tails had been on the trail of a chaos emerald for a few days now, and day three of their adventures had brought them deep in the woods of the mainland. The hedgehog knew they’d have to stop soon as the sun sank in the sky and the early evening chill began to set in. To find a campsite was one thing, but to find a safe campsite was another. Ever since the fox kit started tagging along, Sonic had been trying to be more aware of where they stopped to make sure his new travel buddy would be safe wherever they made camp each night.

Sonic looked back at Tails to see the kit following a few steps back, careful to step in his brother’s tracks in the snow to make the two less detectable, something Sonic had told the kit to do once the snow started to stick on the ground in late fall. Sonic stopped and turned the rest of his body to face the younger.

“I think it's about time to stop for the night bud.” Sonic says in more of a need than a want kind of tone

Tails looked at Sonic with a disappointed look on his face. “But it’s not even that late!! It’s only, like, 4 o’clock!”

The fox protested, but Sonic wasn’t about to cave on something as important as staying safe in these kinds of conditions.

“I know it seems early but the sun is already going down, and once that's gone our only heat source goes with it, keed” Sonic explained.

Tails seemed to understand, a bit better now and gave a small nod to the older.

Sonic looked around and tapped his foot on the ground a few times, then looked back at Tails,“Stay here just a second I’ll go find us a spot for the night”

Tails nodded and sat down in the snow as Sonic sped off in search of the perfect spot.

After a little bit of looking around, Sonic found a good enough spot and ran back to where he had told Tails to wait for him. Together, they made their way to the site the older of the two had scouted out before.

It was a small cave off of a small hill (if you could even really call it that), but it would keep the brothers dry for the night and keep them hidden until morning. And so the two got to work unpacking, Tails setting up the bed rolls while Sonic got to work on building the pair a small cooking fire.

The two worked quietly engrossed in their own tasks. And with a small dug out fire pit in the snow and two sleeping bags neatly laid on the cave floor, Sonic got to work cooking up one of the MREs stored in his backpack. It wasn’t the best food, but it was easy to prepare and it got the two of them fed every day, so it was good enough.

The hedgehog set up a makeshift stove with a few stronger branches and put on a pot of water to boil, and while he waited for it to heat up he crawled under the cover of the cave to sit with Tails for a moment.

The evening was peaceful. a blanket of silence rested over the snowy woods, save for the sound of the damp logs in the fire hissing as the moisture burned out under the heat of the gently crackling flames. The sun clung to the edge of the horizon as clouds started to collect in the northern sky.

The brothers sat in a comfortable silence sitting on their respective sleeping bags, enjoying the peace of the forest at this time of year. The snowed out forest had laid a quiet backdrop over the last few days, which had made their journey more relaxing than usual.

Tails finally broke the silence of the moment with a rather odd question for Sonic.

“Hey Sonic, what day is it?”

Sonic looked at the younger, confused. He hadn't forgotten the kit’s birthday had he? No, that was last month. Knuckles’ birthday was months ago too, so it couldn’t have been his he forgot either. And Sonic’s own birthday was in early summer.

Why else would Tails ask about the date unless there was a birthday coming up to celebrate? The two didn’t worry much about the date because Eggman plots don’t care for the date either. Sonic remained puzzled for a good minute before the younger spoke up again

“I was just wondering because we left on the 21st, right? I… think it's the 24th today, so that would mean it’s Christmas eve right?” Tails explained, counting the number of days they spent in the woods on his paw.

The follow up statement only left Sonic with more questions than answers.

Christmas? Christmas Eve? Was Tails referring to another one of those strange ‘holidays’ he had heard of? Sonic had never been around any human (or mobian) towns very often or for very long until he had met Tails, but even the few holidays he had heard of just seemed too silly to him to care about. But the kit seemed excited, so Sonic decided to hear this one out, just this once.

“What’s Christmas?”

To Sonic it seemed like a simple question. To Tails it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard in his life.

“What do you mean? How do you not know what Christmas is!?”

The fox seemed at a loss for words, shocked by his brother’s lack of knowledge on what seemed like such a simple subject.Sonic tried to elaborate more on his question.

“I mean like, what do you do on Christmas? I assume it’s a holiday, yes? What are we celebrating?”

Tails seemed to understand now and thought for a second before he replied.

“I guess that depends who you ask,” the fox started, Sonic looked at him expectantly with all of his attention now on what his little brother had to say. “All the kids in my old village were always excited for Santa Claus to come and leave them gifts. I heard from the grown ups that only kids on the nice list get presents from Santa. I’ve never gotten anything from Santa Claus so I guess I’ve always been on the Naughty list.”

Tails shrugs off the last statement with a slight frown before continuing. “Santa delivers gifts to all the kids on the Nice list in one night and he has a workshop where he makes all the toys in Haloska, from what I’ve heard. How cool is that?!”

“There’s no way he’s faster than me though.” Sonic butts in.

“He’s gotta be pretty close at least” Tails says excited to be the one teaching his older brother something for once. “To get around the world in one night you’d have to be at least a little fast”

“This Santa guy sounds cool and all, but what else is there?” Sonic commented, attempting to draw more information about this holiday from the fox kit.

“I’m not entirely sure but I think you’re also meant to spend time with family, I always saw people get together for big family dinners back in my village, I think.” The younger of the two said with a thoughtful look.

“Huh.”

It was a lot to take in, Santa? There’s no way this was for real. No one was faster than Sonic and anyone who thought Tails wasn’t the nicest kid ever wasn’t worth Sonic’s time.

Sonic went to check on the pot on the fire to find it had finally begun boiling, and with that the two were able to finish preparing their dinner.

Pouring the water into the MRE bag and mixing it until the food was rehydrated, Sonic poured the rehydrated “pasta and meatballs” onto two plates and the pair sat down next to the fire to eat.

Tails continued on about the ‘Santa Claus’ from before, his tone seemed so hopeful that this year would be his year to get his own gift from the magical man that, from Tails’ description, just sounded like Eggman in disguise.

Even more reason Sonic refused to believe any of it but he wouldn’t tell Tails that, not when it made him this happy.

Once the two finished and cleaned up they began to settle into their respective sleeping bags. By then the sun was fully set and the sky had a dark overcast shade to it, the moon just barely peeking through the clouds. The fire continued to crackle softly, keeping the brothers warm and giving them just enough light to see each other and the edge of their little cave.

Tails seemed more eager than usual to get to bed that night, though Sonic didn't get it. It was just a normal day to him, even if Tails believed in this weird ‘Christmas’ holiday. .

There was nothing special happening today or tomorrow and the tween was in doubt that there was such a Santa Claus at all. If it made Tails happy and willing to go to bed, he couldn’t complain too much though.

“Goodnight bud, happy Christmas.” Sonic said with a yawn. Getting himself comfortable on his sleeping arrangement

Tails giggled at that.

“You say ‘merry’ Christmas, not ‘happy’ Christmas, Sonic.”

“Oh…” Sonic stopped for a second “Well then, merry Christmas Tails. I hope the Santa thing works out for ya’.”

“I hope he comes for you too!! But we have to go to sleep quickly. Santa only comes if you’re asleep, so go to bed!!”

Tails seemed so genuinely convinced this Santa guy was real, but Sonic still doubted it, after all, how could one guy do all that? What made him the judge of who was good and bad? Why toys for ‘good’ children and coal for the ‘bad’ children, coal is arguably more useful anyway isn't it?

Sonic laid in his sleeping bag trying to understand it all while the kit next to him was certainly asleep, not even an express train going by could wake the fox up now Sonic thought, the kit was sprawled out inside his sleeping bag and laying on his back.

It was quiet. The fire had dried all the wet wood it had burned before its heat sucking the moisture from any new log dropped on it as soon as it was added to the pile all of the wood quietly agreed to the raging inferno around it occasionally shifting to get comfortable, the flickies had all gone to their nests for the night and Sonic seemed to be the only thing left awake for miles. The clouds overhead began dropping silent white specs of snow and Sonic was glad he was under the cover of the cave. The night was silent and still, Sonic closed his eyes as well ready to go to sleep himself.

Ding ding ding ding

It was quiet at first then began getting louder and louder as it went on, Sonic flicked an ear trying to find the source of the sound fearing the worst and ready to defend his sleeping companion.

Ding ding ding ding

TOOT TOOT

Sonic jumped out of his sleeping bag at the sound of the whistle, had he made such a mistake as to set up near a train track? He swore he had looked all around the area for such things. How could he have missed something like train tracks?!

His concerns only grew as the cave around them began to shake.

A loud repetitive click as the train came closer got louder and louder as the wheels passed over the rails,

the wood in the campfire shifting and the backpacks, pots and pans got knocked around in the chaos, in all the noise Tails woke up to Sonic standing in a defencive stance at the mouth of the cave

The two brothers looked at each other equally confused on what's going on staring at each other with terrified expressions as the ringing got closer and the shaking intensified

TOOT TOOT

The whistle blast was deafening as a bright light burst through the trees and moved along the entrance to the cave the two called home for the night, the ringing went on and the ear splitting sound of grinding steel screamed out as the thing came to stop like an animal on a leash begging its handler to let it keep running until eventually the thing gave in and the screams of the wheels on the tracks softened until you couldn’t hear it at all.

The lights which at first had blinded the two mobians were dulled by the snow and fog that collected around the magnificent thing, after a few soft clicks the train came to a gentle stop and hissed as the pressure from the hydraulic brakes could finally breathe a sigh of relief, the engine continued to hiss almost like it was trying to catch its breath after a long run.

The thick fog that had gathered around the train settled to the ground and dispersed just as quickly as it came to reveal a majestic steam engine proudly pulling along with it three magnificent coaches in a shade of icy blue with crimson red accents the black tender box proudly bearing the name ‘The Haloska Express’ in gold letters.

Sonic and Tails were at a loss for words neither of them knew what to do, Tails climbed out of his sleeping bag to join Sonic at the cave entrance clinging to his older brother’s side in confusion and fear. The fire was fading out after all the shaking from before and the only light source around was the train before them. The two stared at it in silence and awe.

“All aboard!”

The brothers looked down the Train in the direction the shout came from to see a taller mobian in a train conductor uniform

“All aboard!”

They called out again looking towards the two as if they were calling out to the brothers directly. Tails took a step towards the source of the shouts and Sonic followed not wanting Tails to get hurt or lost or worse, as the two got closer the mobian that greeted them was an adult quokka they looked at the two boys with a welcoming look as they approached.

“Well, ya coming?”

The quokka spoke up

“Where?”

Sonic asked now the one standing behind Tails trying to look as intimidating as possible against the stranger.

“Why to Haloska of course! This is the HALOSKA EXPRESS!”

The quokka seemed to really want to make sure the two understood that last bit, Tails eyes lit up but Sonic grew more and more skeptical as the interaction went on. To Sonic’s concern Tails seemed to actually be considering getting on that train.

“Alright eggman just come out and attack me now so I can go back to bed”

Sonic shouts out to nothing in particular, only to be met with an awkward silence. this had to be an eggman plot there was no way it wasn’t and he wasn’t about to let his little brother fall victim to it.

“This train has nothing to do with anything that rotten egg gets up to.”

The quokka replies then checks his pocket watch that was tucked in the pocket in the vest of his uniform. He sighs and looks back at the two kids taking a clipboard out that was sitting at the top of the stairs of the carriage.

The quokka begins reading off of the clipboard

“Miles Prower and Sonic, yes?”

The two nod, Tails intrigued and Sonic more skeptical.

“Well let's see then, oh dear..”

The quokka looks back at the brothers again.

“Oh my, no letter or list, no visit with any sort of Santa anywhere, and worst of all no Christmas cheer.” The quokka looks down at the brothers again and hums in disapproval shaking their head.

The two looked back confused on how the sheet they held was able to tell them that much about their belief in Santa of all things.

“Well, if I were you, I’d really consider getting on and soon it's a big night don’t you know! we’ve got a lot to do and we can’t be late now!” the conductor had a rushed tone to their voice.

The quokka gestured towards the stairs but Sonic grabbed onto Tails’ shoulders, backing away and shaking his head no keeping eye contact with the adult while trying to pull his younger brother away, Tails was having none of that and pushed against his older brother’s hold and got on the train, getting out of Sonic’s reach before he could pull him away again

The quokka looked at the hedgehog one last time then climbed up the stairs themself leaving Sonic alone in the snow, through the window he could see Tails take a seat towards the back of the coach.

The train’s whistle cried out again in two short blasts, the metal relaxed and the train began to crawl along the tracks leaving the hedgehog behind.

#cool sonic archive #unbreakable bond #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #the holoska express au #sonic fanfiction #sonic au #classic era Unbreakable bond

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doyouknowthisanime · 2 months

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Do You Know This Anime?

#log horizon #anime #polls

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cheerfullycatholic · 6 months

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The Wreck of The McIntosh

If you work on the water for long enough, you start to see things. If you decide to stay on the job afterwards, you start to accept them.

I was young when I joined The McIntosh’s crew, a cargo ship transporting logs from Canada to Michigan over Lake Superior. The other men on the ship told me their ghost stories at night, but I never believed them until I started seeing things for myself.

The McIntosh is named after the man who designed her, Fredrick Vaughn McIntosh. He spent the last half of his life making her the fastest, most efficient ship on the Superior. Stories say he loved her more than his own wife, Marianne. The first night she set sail after her completion, Fredick died on the bow. They say the crew found him with a glass of wine still clutched in his hand, head turned toward the sunset. When I saw him for the first time, standing in the same place he died, watching the horizon, I hadn’t realized who he was. When I questioned how he got on board, he just smiled and said, “Isn’t she a beauty?” before fading away. I was terrified, running to the bridge as quickly as my legs could take me. Everyone laughed after I told them what happened.

“He’s harmless, don’t worry too much about him, yeah?” The captain said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” another crewmate said, “it’s that old weeping widow you gotta worry about!”

The crew burst out laughing again as I demanded her story. Twenty years ago, one of the crewmembers, a man named Henri Tautou, died during a storm on their way back home. A wave hit the side of the ship and the giant cedar logs came loose, sending him into the water. His wife, Angela, so overcome and distraught with grief, snuck onto the ship and jumped overboard, joining her husband at the bottom of the lake. Some say you can still hear her moans of agony during storms, late at night, and if you’re not careful, she’ll take you with her to their watery grave.

After a while, the ghosts that haunted the ship stopped scaring me. What I saw on the Superior is a different story.

When you hear sailor stories, they’re usually about beautiful women singing their siren song, but all I ever heard was screaming. The first night I heard it, I ran to the side of the ship, searching frantically for its source. In the distance, illuminated by the full moon’s bright light, I saw a figure standing on top of the water, reaching their hands out towards me. I only got a glance before hands were pulling me back, my name being cursed.

“You must never pay heed to the demons of the lake, boy!” A crew member, an old man with an angry face only ever called Haggard, yelled as he roughly pulled me below deck. “They’ll swim off with your soul, do you understand!?”

Despite Haggard’s warning, I was intrigued. Any moment I could spare, I was at the bow, gazing into the water. I learned that there was a whole world under the surface. Humanoid creatures with fins and long, stringy hair would inspect the boat, banging on the metal with stones to listen to the echo. Some would spot me and wave with their pale, webbed hands. Others would screech and dive below the surface, never to be seen again.

Occasionally, Fredrick would join me. He did and said the same thing each time, like a broken record, perhaps reliving his last moments on earth. My Ma always warned me about meddling with the dead, but I didn’t consider it meddling. I never spoke to him, we just watched the sunset, and he’d say his line; “Isn’t she a beauty?”

A year and a half into my time on The McIntosh, I started smuggling extra food onboard to feed the creatures. The merpeople had their own language that I couldn’t understand, but they learned my name, and I theirs. With a basket tied to a rope, we’d pass each other trinkets. They loved most dearly the jewelry I would bring them, and I adored their shells and agates.

The creature I was most taken with was what I could only describe as a mighty dragon. The first time I saw her, I thought I was dreaming. I was gazing over the side of the ship, like I usually did, when a darkness overtook the water. I had looked up, thinking a cloud had shielded the sun, but that wasn’t the case. The great mass in the water was longer than The McIntosh, its sleek, scaled head, peering up at me from just below the surface. I stared back in absolute shock, horror, and wonder, pondering if this was my last moment on this earth. However, she only stared at me, her shining, amethyst eyes piercing my very soul. I gave her that name, and told her as much. She looked wholly unimpressed, seeming to roll her eyes at me before swimming off. Yet, she came back the next night, and all of the ones after. She became my closest friend, and I loved her, but the time I would spend at the bow had been noticed by the crew, and they were unhappy.

On the third night of The McIntosh’s last sail, I stood at the bow, a pistol in hand.

“You can’t hurt her, she’s peaceful, and my friend.”

“That thing is a beast! You’ve brought death onto this ship, and if you don’t move aside and let us take care of it, you will be cut down, too!”

The crew yelled in anger, torches and petrol cans in hand as I pleaded with them, but they were too overcome with fear to understand that the lake and its creatures weren’t what we thought they were. For so long we lived afraid and unwilling to accept the world as it is. In that moment, I worried that it was too late for change.

“Amethyst, you must leave. Never return to the surface!” I cried behind me, at the beautiful sea dragon in the water below. With a look as sorrowful as she could make, she disappeared into the inky depths, and my heart sank with her.

“You were never meant for life on the water, boy,” Haggard growled, moving to the front of the crew. “I knew that as soon you stepped on deck. You’re weak. You got no guts.”

So overcome with grief, I didn’t act quickly enough to stop him from driving his filet knife into my stomach.

As if a siren went off, all around us, the lake wailed in agony. I saw the crewmembers cover their ears against the noise, before a large, black mass shot out of the water and landed on the ship as I went overboard.

As I sunk deeper into the lake, icy, webbed hands stroked my face and hair. Through blurry eyes, I saw the merpeople gathered around me, weeping as they pulled the knife from my stomach. The pain faded as I looked up at a great, yellow light on the surface; fire encasing the sinking ship as the crew jumped into the water, dodging debris and spears as the creatures of the lake attacked.

Amethyst swam under me, allowing me to rest on her back, as my eyes slid shut, and water filled my lungs.

#lake superior story #original story #fiction #scary story #if you ever happen to find this in a horror anthology on amazon i didnt steal it i am the original author

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rexxdjarin · 1 year

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The Captain's Log Prequel

A Captain Rex x OC: Mari Vontas Origin Story

Chapter 1: Someone New

Series Summary: Mari Vontas has spent nearly twenty years of her life rising to the surface of the bustling ecumenopolis of the Republic Capital planet of Coruscant. Now, about a year into the conflict known galaxy-wide as the Clone Wars, Mari finds herself on a Civilian Rights Committee serving closely under none other than Senator Padmé Amidala. Though her passion for justice fuels her professionally, her personal life has yet to catch up. That is, until a night at the clone bar 79s changes her passion for her job, her historically rocky love life and the trajectory of her destiny forever.

Series Tags/Warnings: Rated E (18+ Only MINORS DNI), canon compliant, canon typical violence, political themes, war references, battle trauma and loss, human rights discussions and most importantly lots and lots of smut and heartstopping relationship drama and fluff.

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Pairing: Captain Rex x OC Mari Vontas Word Count: 8.8k Series Rating: Explicit (18+ only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT) Chapter Summary: The Captain's Log prequel has arrived :) Your favorite couple had to start somewhere… Chapter Warnings: 18+ as usual but SFW, No Smut this time, Mature Themes, Suggestive Situations, Language, Political References, References to Canon Plot, References to Canon, Mutual Pining

21 BBY - One Year into the Clone War

A great outfit and a steaming cup of caf in hand were all Mari ever needed to start her mornings. Before she moved up to the planet's surface where the sun could actually reach her at the break of dawn, caf was the only thing strong enough to wake her and trick her body into realizing it was the start of a new day. Coruscant’s lower levels never got sun, and those who called it home had to rely on stimulants and artificial sunlight to feel even a fraction of the climate the surface did.

No matter how long she lived above the cityscape horizon line, she could never get used to it. Tepid air breezed through her long dark hair as she stood on the platform for the airtram, carrying the cool tang of fresh rain with it that was never present in the stale atmosphere of recycled air in the underground world. The warmth that came from this system’s sun, instead of a manufactured heat source, tinged her exposed shoulders as it rose to start the day.

The platform continued to crowd with lifeforms of more species than she could count. The place seemed more crowded than usual as beings of every kind tried to make their way to work on time. No surprise there, as the galaxy’s capital flooded with more and more refugees from planets consumed by the Clone War.

The war tore entire worlds apart, contributed to mass organized crime and terrorism, and displaced millions every day. The Republic Senate had already spent an entire year funding the conflict, and discussing interplanetary negotiations and organizing relief efforts had become part of Mari’s daily life. Every conflict prompted relief bills, investigative committees, and political lobbying. It was a lot more than she had initially signed up for–an entirely different world than the spying and whistleblowing she had done in the Coruscanti underworld as a young girl.

Still, she could help people–people lost and alone like she once was–without any family to turn to or a place to live. She could make a difference. Luckily, she was placed under the best senator in the galaxy, Senator Padmé Amidala, Representative of Naboo. Padmé headed the special interest Civilian Rights Committee to which Mari had been assigned close to a year ago. It was little more than admin work at times, but it was less dangerous than being a double agent and far better than being a thief.

The airtram approached with a slow, steely screech, doors opening and allowing passengers in and out. Mari filtered in with the crowd, taking the lone seat at the end like she always did. She had a perfect view of the surface this way and, even on her worst days, it made her realize how far she’d come after nearly 20 years on her own. Now, she spent the majority of the short ride to the Senate Rotunda mentally preparing herself for the day ahead.

General Kenobi had recently reported back to the Jedi Council and Republic Senate after freeing a small handful of Ryloth’s population from a Separatist hostage situation, and the details so far were extremely grim. With the Republic quickly working to provide support to the Twi’leks, Mari and Padmé had spent the last few weeks exploring every humanitarian avenue they could to find covert ways to provide emergency relief supplies to those suffering in the midst of their battle for liberation.

As Mari watched the airtram approach the Senate Building stop, she sincerely hoped either Padmé or Bail had come up with some ingenious way to transport the starving people some food and medical supplies. Maker knew Padmé’s close ties with her Jedi friends often helped the committee break barriers that other Senators or special interest groups would have trouble circumventing.

The crimson halls of the Senate Building always energized Mari, even when the work got hard. Every one of her colleagues was highly regarded throughout the galaxy and it was an honor to have even a tangential association with any of them.

She made her way through the bustling lifeforms to the lifts that led to her office. The quick rides were always the same. Most senate staffers like her were too busy to have a real conversation, and senators themselves didn’t concern themselves with the staff of colleagues they weren’t directly involved with.

That left Mari with only one option for socializing outside of her direct coworkers: The hard-working and friendly clone troopers of the Coruscant Guard. The elite troopers were assigned to deal with issues on Coruscant, guard the Republic Senate staff, and even directly assist the chancellor himself.

Mari exited the lift and made a beeline for her favorite trooper’s office. Coincidentally, the senate had given Amidala’s special interest committee an office that was only a few doors down from his, and Mari was overjoyed at the opportunity to annoy him with her presence even more than usual.

She approached the doors to his office, knocking a few quick times and hoping he was there already. Before she could knock again, the doors hissed open and she was greeted by a set of dark-circle-rimmed brown eyes and an exhausted scowl.

“Mari… please. It’s too early to be banging on shit,” he grumbled, motioning for her to come in and rubbing his temples with his fingertips. His office was an orderly mess, flimsis stacked on every corner of his desk and datapads taking up the rest of the space behind them. Mari had tried to help him organize it on more than one occasion but he liked it this way. He seemed to thrive on chaos. That was all he knew as Commander of the Coruscant Guard.

“Well then, Fox, good thing I brought you this,” she smiled, extending him the cup of caf she had carried all the way from her place. He leaned on the front of his desk, looking up at her as his scowl broke with the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Nah, c'mon. I can’t take that. That’s yours.” He waved her off, trying his best to refuse the one thing he obviously craved. Mari knew better than any civilian just how much Fox went through on a day-to-day basis. She could see it in the exhaustion behind his hooded eyes and through the graying hair at his temples that he was far, far too young to have. He never outright admitted that he struggled with a lot of his overwhelming duties as Marshal Commander of an entire planet’s armed forces. But Mari knew, so she did her best to look out for his well-being as much as she could.

“Fox…” she narrowed her eyes, scolding him gently, “take it. I’ll make more in our office.” She stepped toward him, offering it insistently and smiling at him, taking full advantage of the effect her big, pleading, brown eyes had on most men.

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he took the cup from her and shook his head. “Probably gonna be too sweet for me,” he grumbled, friendly irritation creeping into his deep voice. She arched her brow at him, folding her arms as she waited for him to take a sip. He did and his body language immediately changed to one of soothing relaxation, at least as much as Commander Fox ever could relax. “This is black caf…y-you know my caf order?”

“I’m observant. The Senator and I keep extra stocked in our office if you ever need it. That goes for all of you, actually,” Mari pointed out, patting Fox on the bicep and turning to head out of his office.

“Thanks, Sunshine. But the boys and I try our best to avoid being anywhere near Amidala. That’s the Torrent boys’ problem,” he chuckled, referring to the men in General Skywalker’s battalion who always seemed to be around and available if the senator ever needed extra help or security. Fox and the Corries had enough to worry about without getting sucked into anything General Skywalker was doing.

“Well then if I ever see them, they’ll get the good caf before you,” she laughed, turning on her heels and walking out his door. “See ya later, Fox.” He waved back, taking a few more hearty sips of caf as a final response.

Her office door was already open, filled with more and more of her colleagues starting their long day. She took a deep breath and followed inside, fully prepared for a day of emotionally taxing humanitarian work.

“Good morning, Mari,” a pleasant and gorgeous Senator Amidala called from her private office on the other side of the room. “Your plan to send hydration boosters to Ryloth was a huge success. They were extremely grateful. Look at you, making a difference,” she giggled approvingly, making her way toward Mari’s desk.

“Thank you, Senator. Just tried my best to think of what I wanted when I was in their position. Helps to recall your own experience at times,” Mari explained, drawing upon times she wished she could forget now that she was in a better place. Padmé stopped at her desk and sat gingerly on the edge, adjusting a few of the lights and decorations that came with it.

“Of course. That makes perfect sense. You’re very empathetic and helpful. It’s one of the main reasons I wanted you on this committee. You care,” she sighed, looking out her massive office window at the sun now fully risen on a new Coruscant day. “It’s not always easy finding those who do these days. Compassion is a choice that not everyone is strong enough to make. I’m glad you’re one of those people, Mari.” Padmé smoothed out the wrinkles on her elegant purple robe and stood up, pointing at something on my desk just out of sight. “By the way, I left you a cup of caf. I saw you came in without one. Enjoy and good luck today.”

Mari turned over her shoulder to a massive cup of caf sitting just beside her holopad, already pinging with tasks assigned to her for the day. She smiled gratefully, sitting down to take a sip. Milk and two sugars. Exactly how she liked it. Padmé was truly one of the most thoughtful and giving people she knew.

As she settled in at her desk for the day, she scrolled through her holopad notifications to sort out which tasks warranted action first. Most of them were the usual report write-ups being due or news from Jedi Generals on different battlefronts across the galaxy. That meant a long, long day of typing on a screen.

Hours ticked by before she could look up from her desk again. The senator was stuck in closed-door holocalls, likely for the rest of the day, and her coworkers had seemingly already taken their breaks. Mari gathered her things and followed suit, heading out of her office and toward the dining hall on the outside patio. Her personal comm that she’d left on silent during her working hours was flooded with messages.

Three of her girlfriends had been concocting a plan for tonight. They’d been trying to coordinate schedules to plan an outing for weeks now, especially to distract Mari from the disastrous end of her last relationship with an ambitious banking clan advisor named Kiro Jorr. Kiro, annoyingly, was the sender of another string of messages.

She perused through his thread first, rolling her eyes at the shallow excuse for an apology he’d been trying to communicate to her since the beginning of the week. There wasn’t anything he could say that would change her mind. He’d done nothing but treated her like a trophy, an object to be marveled at and never heard or listened to. He liked how she looked, voluptuous and curvy in all the right ways, but didn’t ever care about her thoughts or feelings.

Mari had finally had enough of being seen as only good for one thing and broke it off with the person she thought she’d grow to love someday. She wasn’t exceedingly heartbroken by it. It was a necessary change and she dealt with the loss the way she always did– a few casual hookups and many drunken nights with her friends at 79s. It also helped that her best friend was one of the most well-liked bartenders there.

Siviee Vilhar was the peppiest, daintiest Mikkian in the history of forever. Her pale green skin was tipped with deep purple on all her appendages, and her tinted lips always wore a pleasant smile. She and Mari had grown up on the streets together, supporting themselves by secretly filtering underworld crime dealings and intel to the political committees dedicated to ending such corrupt behavior on Triple Zero. While Mari had her sights set on joining the Galactic Senate, Siviee was more than happy to take the credits as a reward for her work and live a comfortable life being everyone’s favorite vivacious bartender.

Naturally, having all her girlfriends at the bar dominated by Republic clones was a great way for her to get tips and for the girls to have a guaranteed great time. Nearly all the messages were Siviee encouraging both their friends, Dara and Jamelle, to convince her to join them all out tonight. Mari quickly grabbed salad that had just enough in it to interest her and made her way out to the courtyard to find a quiet place to sort this all out.

It was good timing because Mari had been toying around with finally moving on. Not to her next sexual conquest, but to something real. Someone special and different who cared about the galaxy and her place in it. Sleeping around wasn’t fun anymore and taking the long break she had from serious dating after Kiro was allowing too much of her loneliness to factor into her decision-making. She did not want to go back on her promise to herself because she couldn’t stand being alone for long enough to wait for the right guy.

No. Tonight could serve as her last hoorah, saying goodbye to the reckless party girl who took home anyone she needed to satisfy her. Maker knew she’d never been interested in adding her personal baggage onto the already impossibly full plate of any clone, so 79s would be as good a place as any to dance and have fun for once. Since most clones weren’t interested in long-term relationships, she could go out without any expectations, and no one would get hurt or attached. If she ended up wanting to have a final one-night stand with a clone, then so be it. She could start fresh in the morning with no one holding her back either way.

She erased the meaningless, pleading apology thread from Kiro once and for all and blocked his channel from her comms. That way she’d never be tempted to go back there. She was a different person now. A better one who put herself and the good of the galaxy first– just like her wonderful mentor, Senator Amidala.

She pinged the thread with her girlfriends immediately after that, solidifying her plans for the night with just two little words:

I’m in. :)

—

Every goddamn clone in 79s had their eyes on her. The bolder or more experienced ones tried buying her drinks or asking her to dance. They were all handsome in their own ways, but their approach was wrong. Most of the time, the legions of clones who hung out in the bars were there to blow off a certain kind of steam, and Mari was still deciding whether or not she was up for that this evening.

More than a few times, Mari had indulged in heavy flirtation and banter with clones from lots of different regiments. They were all nice enough, but the days of taking men home to have her way with them were far behind her. She wanted something new, something more stable if she could find it. Stepping foot in a bar filled with conscripted clones--destined for, at best, a very unstable long-term relationship and, at worst, tragic death--was not a great start.

Tonight, the bar was filled with an especially raucous and celebratory group of blue-and-white-marked clones. The notorious and renowned 501st. Mari always heard stories from her other senate-adjacent friends about this particular group’s antics, and the second she saw them milling about the club tonight, she knew she was going to be hounded by all the wrong types.

These boys were definitely fun, rowdy, loud, and entertaining, but Mari’s long days of diplomatic strategy meetings and seminars made her incredibly wary of men like this. This did not stop them from trying their hardest to get her to come home with them. Mari and her friends, Dara and Jamelle, were encircled by a particularly boisterous group of men at the present moment.

One was tattooed across the face almost entirely with the Republic cog, cementing a permanent and intense loyalty to the Republic. He was the first to ask her to dance, politely offering his hand and nodding coolly when she stepped all over his pride by declining him. He turned to Dara, who looked at her like she was crazy, before accepting the hand he’d just offered her and leading him onto the dance floor herself.

The next smirked at Mari devilishly. With a small 5 tattoo on the upper right of his forehead and dark facial hair covering his strong jaw, he was definitely making her second guess her no more sleeping around rule. This group of clones was already strikingly more individual than the guys from the Corrie Guard she saw at work nearly every day. Reading her body language enough to know she wasn’t repulsed by the sight of him, he chuckled, “What do you drink? Would buy a girl as stunning as you whatever she wanted…” He nodded at Siviee, who started fixing what she could only assume was his usual.

“No– no that’s alright.” Mari smiled gently trying to decline him before she made a decision she knew she’d regret. Mischief twinkled in this clone's eyes like he knew he could probably charm her into accepting it. He’d definitely played this little game before.

“Well at least let me introduce myself then. Fives. The name’s Fives,” he confessed, accepting a drink that looked like purple poison from Siviee, who shot her a holy shit he’s into you glance.

“Yes, I gathered that. It’s tattooed on your forehead,” Mari chuckled, motioning casually to it and rolling her eyes. He laughed and shook his head, amused at her ability to keep him on his toes. She gripped her glass, the few final drips of Corellian Whiskey in it begging to be finished. She tipped it toward herself and sipped slowly.

“Whiskey huh? That’s a big drink for such a pretty little thing,” he flirted, elbowing a third brother who was chatting respectfully and kindly to Jamelle, his chest plate covered in a blue handprint. This man smiled at Jamelle to excuse himself before turning toward them.

“That’s our captain’s drink,” he spoke, much softer than his very brazen, flirtatious brother. “Which…you still owe him, Fives,” he reminded, clinking their glasses together and gesturing over their shoulder at another yet unseen clone. The crowd was buzzing with similar blue and white men, bobbing up and down to music or laughing amongst friends.

Fives sighed out loud, “Oh yeah. Better grab that or he won’t let me forget it.” He waved Siviee over again and motioned for her to grab another glass of whiskey for Mari.

Siviee glared at Mari as she handed her another drink, motioning obnoxiously to make a move, encouraging her to maybe entertain herself with the exceedingly handsome clone for one last time.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on him. He never comes out with us,” the quieter one said, turning back to Jamelle and shrugging in annoyance at his brother’s constant interruptions.

“That’s because he doesn’t know how to have fun, Echo,” Fives replied, rolling his eyes while accepting the drinks from Siviee’s bright smiling face.

“That’s not fair. He just doesn’t have the time. As much as he could use it. He works too hard.” Echo shrugged, patting Jamelle on the hand before motioning for her to head out to the dance floor while he waited for their drinks.

That piqued Mari’s interest slightly. Yeah. A guy like that. Focused on his job, doing what needs to be done. She admired that kind of drive and focus so much in a partner; That same kind of drive she was trying to embody as she grew out of her wild child partying days.

Mari tapped her new glass back onto the counter and tossed her hair behind her shoulders, straightening her body up against the bar top. Fives’ brows raised as he side-eyed her very full set of breasts outlined by her tight black dress. She spun her chair around to look out into the crowd for this hard-working, focused captain of theirs. A guy like that wouldn’t be hard to spot. “Now helping a guy who needs to have a little fun… that’s something I’m interested in,” she mused, leaning back on the bar top on both of her elbows. Fives gaze traveled down her body and she let him stare, silently flexing the power she knew she currently held over him.

He shook his head. “Good luck. Captain’s never so much as talked to any of the girls in here. Usually comes back late to sweep us all up off the floor,” Fives laughed, holding two drinks in his hand and sipping the purple concoction from his own.

“Hmmm… hard-working, responsible, a leader… that’s checking a ton of boxes,” Mari smirked, bringing her new cup to her lips and starting to scan the room to guess which one he was. He couldn’t be any of the ones dancing carelessly in a crowd of equally drunk party-goers. He also wasn’t likely to be one of the very sloppy and reckless ones engaging in something salacious around the back hallways by the refreshers. That left the tables and booths. Each was dotted with men wearing lots of colors, talking to women and men of many different species. Most clones were generally pretty open when it came to the company they kept.

Squinting through the pulsing neon lights, a lone circular table in the corner caught Mari’s eye–just a few clone brothers gathered around talking. Some wore shades of yellow, but most wore the same blue as Fives. I definitely found the right table, but which is the captain?

A group of fair-skinned Twi’lek women walked past them, turning the heads of nearly every man at the table from their decidedly unimportant conversation. All except one, who’d barely even looked up from a datapad he’d been perusing through, and who didn’t have a drink in front of him.

His armor was a scratched-up mess, only certain parts of the white plastoid polished up. His helmet sat on the table in front of him and proudly sported an emblem Mari recognized. Jaig eyes. A symbol of undeniable valor awarded for particular acts of bravery. Not a common signet to wear. If this wasn’t a sign of something different and special about him, then the buzzed and definitively blonde hair was. Mari had never seen a blonde clone before, and she’d seen and met dozens of them.

“Any chance that’s him over there?” she asked Fives, pointing at where he sat with his eyes buried in the datapad at the table. “Captain Jaig Eyes?” Mari smiled fondly, batting her lashes flirtatiously at such a pretty, stoic, and enticing man.

Fives rolled his eyes and nodded. “You’re good. How’d you pick ‘em out so easy?” he laughed, still eyeing her like something he’d love to devour for his last meal.

Mari took the whiskey from his hand, looking down at her lap before flicking her alluring eyes up to meet his gaze. “He’s the only one at that entire table that didn’t look at those Twi’girls like he wanted to pounce.” Mari smiled up at Fives, well aware of how good she must look to him right now while thinking only of his superior. “Mind if I take this over?” she asked, easing herself down onto her heels.

Fives shook his head, stunned by her temptatious flirting. She’d knocked him off his feet in a way he absolutely wasn’t prepared for. “Uh yeah sure I guess. But when he inevitably and stupidly says no, promise you’ll let me dance with you?” he bartered, gently grabbing her shoulder. While he certainly was nice enough, he was definitely the heartbreaker of the bunch. He was too smooth not to be.

Sleeping with him would either end in Mari hating herself for going against what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do or hopelessly falling for someone who didn’t want to commit to her. Stars, if meeting such a unique clone captain tonight didn’t work, then what was sleeping with one more dashingly handsome clone gonna hurt? No, I can’t. She thought. This captain was who she was meant to meet tonight. She had to tell herself that until she believed it.

Mari turned to Fives and patted his cheek softly, “Maybe, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Fives.” She looked up into his deep brown eyes through her own hooded lids and blinked away the sultry stare she was using on their captain from afar. She sauntered away from him, feeling his dark, brooding stare on her bouncing behind. “That lucky bastard,” she heard him curse under his breath as she crossed the crowded floor.

The men at the table were happily chattering away about battle plans-this and mission-that. Two sporting yellow armor were arm wrestling loudly to the right, taking turns sipping their drinks, but never giving up their death grip on each other. Next to them was a medical trooper, a red health signet on one of his blue and white pauldrons, casually sipping on sparkling blue liquid and conversing with the others. Directly across from the medic and the yellow boys was another 501st man, his right eye marked with a bright blue geometric tattoo that mimicked the piping he’d painted down the right side of this chest plate. This crew and their tattoos were certainly very unorthodox for having such a supposedly responsible captain. Their captain was tucked into the booth side of the table, propping his head up on a palm in tired frustration, eyes still on his datapad. Mari knew she could break that frustration easily with just a few touches.

As she approached the table, the eyes of every single man seated turned to stare at her with very serious intrigue, even halting the arm wrestling. She held her ground, her tight black dress highlighting her every curve and only serving to boost her outrageous confidence.

The medic spoke first, “How can we help you, pretty lady?” His brown eyes crinkled into a very kind smile, not a hint of the suggestive nature that twinkled in Fives’ dark pupils before.

“Actually, I’ve got a gift for Captain Jaig Eyes, here,” Mari said rather seductively, twisting the very full whiskey glass in her wrist and biting her bottom lip into an alluring smile. The captain looked up with a jolt, the medic’s elbow to his bicep pulling him from his concentration on the datapad.

“Huh? Did Fives ever get my dri…?” He froze, as his beautifully warm amber eyes traveled from the glass in her hand up the curves of her side to meet her gaze. His mouth dropped open in surprise and his eyes went wide, in shock at the sight of Mari before him.

It was actually quite cute to get such an innocent response from the most highly regarded man at the table. The two yellow clones across from them whistled an amazed approval of her and suddenly the captain was very aware of every set of eyes around him waiting to gauge his response. But he didn’t move. He sat dumbfounded before her, his mouth unable to form the rest of his sentence.

Mari stepped forward, completely unfazed by the tension of the situation, and sat in the empty chair beside him. He reached forward to take the whiskey from her hand, but she jerked it away.

“No, the drink is for me.” She brought the glass to her lips and sipped, maintaining direct eye contact with him as her tongue slipped past her lips. He raised a confused brow and cocked his head slightly before she set down the glass and slid forward in her chair. She leaned into him, staring deeply into his brown eyes, and ran a few gentle fingertips along his durasteel jaw. “I’m your gift,” she whispered, running a thumb across his bottom lip and smirking at him.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, setting his datapad on the table. He ran his gloved hand awkwardly down his buzzed blonde hair at the nape of his neck and met her gaze again. He looked nervous, but the excited sparkle in his eyes was all she needed to see to know that he was more than interested.

“Boys… give me a minute,” he finally huffed out, glaring at the rest of the table and silently ordering them to get lost. Mari smiled at the gesture, grateful that he wanted to talk–just the two of them alone. Already a good sign of how respectable he was, even when she was being so bold.

The hastily dismissed soldiers muttered excitedly to themselves, giggling like schoolboys at their captain actually trying something for once. They all filed away from the table toward where Fives stood with his jaw dropped at the bar.

“So, do you have a name or am I going to have to keep calling you Captain Jaig Eyes?” Mari joked, pointing to his helmet in front of him.

He smiled, impressed that she recognized the symbol so easily. “The name’s Rex. Don’t think it’d be polite to have you call me any of the other names I usually prefer,” he said, shrugging casually as if he hadn’t just commanded at least four men to do exactly as he asked without question.

“Rex. Nice to meet you,” she complimented, the name rolling off her tongue delightfully. It was fitting for him. Intense and rough, but something still so perfectly familiar and safe about it.

“And who might you be?” Rex asked, settling back in his seat.

“I’m Mari,” she responded, watching his eyes crinkle joyfully like his medic brother’s had before.

He had such a handsome face–a strong rounded jaw, a broad nose, and plush lips quirked into a sideways smirk that fit him so well. His clean-cut blonde hair and long, dark eyelashes highlighted the pools of his honey-brown eyes that reflected almost golden in the right light. He was expressive, too, with any emotion he felt written all over his face.

Yet, he did seem tense. Lines and scars etched on his face showed an incredible sense of wisdom and reflected the struggles of every battle he’d lived through. The war was brutal to those fighting it, and he certainly seemed like he’d seen a lot more than most. The worry on his face was evident, but he was still so pretty, and he needed someone to remind him of it.

“Fives sent you over here, huh?” he asked, looking over her shoulder at his brother, glaring at him in annoyance. Fives was clearly bothered by the fact that somehow his brother had beaten him to the most beautiful woman in the bar without even trying.

“Well, technically I sent myself, but he talked you up. I wanted to help ‘the man who works too hard’ loosen up a little. Have some fun,” Mari said, placing a hand gently on his knee. He looked down at her hand and gulped, evidently not used to getting this much attention.

“Y-you? Want to help me?” he asked in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen wants to sit here with me?” he asked again, leaning forward to grab the drink in her hand. She handed it to him, sliding her other hand further up his thigh.

“Yep. The prettiest girl in the bar wants to spend time with the only man here who I find interesting,” she reaffirmed, placing her now free hand on top of his gloved one. His breathing quickened, his hand turning to grip her delicate fingers. He looked down at her hand on his thigh and his expression changed from one of surprise to determination.

Shooting another glare at Fives, he pulled her forward, patting his upper thigh and boldly inviting her to sit in his lap, exciting her even more. He was definitely tense and preoccupied, but he wasn’t innocent. Mari obliged, sliding over to position herself on his lap and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He eased his strong biceps around her sides, a large splayed hand supporting the small of her back.

“Well then, what do you want to know, pretty girl?” he asked, looking up into her eyes with an emboldened and hopeful gaze. He certainly didn’t come to 79s tonight thinking he’d have any girls in his lap, much less someone he was this attracted to. He drew her possessively into his torso, exploring all the features on her face with his expressive eyes. He had passion, that much was evident from the desperate and sultry way he looked at her.

She tipped his chin up with a few gentle fingertips before trailing those touches down the front of his chest plate. “Tell me how you got those jaig eyes, Rex. From what I understand, they don’t give those out to just anyone.”

He hummed in response, impressed by her knowledge and happy that someone was taking an interest in what he had to talk about. “Well that’s a long story…” he muttered, brushing a few strands of hair off her face and tucking them behind her ears. Mari bit her bottom lip and smiled, the gruffness in his voice was somewhat different than his brothers’ and sent butterflies to the lowest part of her stomach.

“I’ve got time, Captain,” Mari replied, “plenty of time.”

The bar was absolutely buzzing with life, more so than it had in a long time. This 501st crowd really did know how to party. They’d just come back from a long tour of duty. For as hard as they always fought, Rex let them party twice that whenever they came home. It was the best way to reward his men for all their good work and distract them from whatever horror or atrocity they had to witness or commit.

Rex talked a long while and Mari listened, slowly brushing flirtatious circles along the top of his chest. He was highly intelligent, more so than most diplomats and senators she was forced to work alongside. He was funny, too, with a penchant for sarcastic and slightly dark humor.

In all the time he spoke, he barely even touched his drink. It seemed like he preferred keeping all his senses at attention to focus on her. He could get alcohol anywhere, but he couldn’t easily find a distraction like her. He looked at her like she was the only person there, completely uninterested in the party atmosphere. Every time Mari spoke up to comment on some part of his story, his eyes lit up and his cute little half-smirk broke up his serious, hardened face.

His grip on her lower back kept her tight to his side as if anything looser would result in her slipping away, never to be seen again. It was the almost subconsciously desperate hold of a man who hadn’t been touched like this in a long while, if at all. He was showing an inexperienced hand–unusual for a man who was so well-versed in nearly every other area of his life. He knew where to hold her to pique Mari’s interest in that way, which proved he wasn’t inexperienced in that department. No, it was deeper than that. It was like he couldn’t believe his luck at having someone he’d barely even let himself dream about sitting in his lap.

The tiredness and frustration that was written all over his face when she first sat down had been erased almost instantly. He looked refreshed and like he was genuinely enjoying himself for once. His heavy brows weren’t scowled in concentration anymore, the tension in his shoulders completely fading away just from having a conversation. Fives wasn’t kidding. Rex didn’t know how to have fun and he really did need this. He looked so much more content than he had just a few hours ago.

Mari wondered just how much happier she could make him tonight. Her mind wandered to what his bronzed skin might look like under his armor, how incredibly built he must be, and how each little muscle would contract under her touch. She’d never wanted to sleep with someone so badly just after talking to them. She shook the thoughts from her mind. No. He is far too respectful to do all the kinds of debauched things I’m thinking about. He wasn’t the type to take a girl home after one night. Fives said it himself, he never talked to girls here.

Before she could realize she’d been staring, his thumb and forefinger cupped underneath her chin. He tilted her face toward him and she couldn’t help the unintentionally tantalizing look she gave him.

“You’re not used to this,” Mari giggled, running a hand down his chest further and feeling him lean into her touch.

“I’m not. Especially not from someone as gorgeous as you,” he grumbled, his voice dropping and matching her energy. He pulled her impossibly closer to him, his eyes trailing down to where her breasts were now pressed up against him. He shifted underneath her, his body starting to betray the restraint he’d been holding onto all night.

“Maybe you need to get out more. It’s a shame I hadn’t met you sooner,” Mari pouted, ever so slightly rolling her hips against him.

“Definitely won’t need to go out anymore. Think I might’ve already found what I’m looking for. Or she found me,” he smirked, his face inches from hers, his breathing slow and focused. He was sweet when he was tempting her, cleverly baiting her to go after him. He’d already fallen hard for her but was dragging the moment out. The longer they played this game, the longer they could sit here like this together.

“Hmm… you catch on quick.” She smiled, biting her lower lip to tease him right back. She’d noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her lips every time she did that, and she was sure her lipstick was probably faded from it by now.

There were more than a few intrigued eyes on them at this point, nearly all of them his men watching from the bar–both impressed that she’d had the guts to go after him and astounded that their captain had actually accepted. How far was he willing to go?

Mari had promised herself she wanted someone nice, someone respectable. She didn’t want to regress back to the girl who took home whoever she wanted, but who no one ever seemed to need. But those big, desperate, golden eyes of his. Maker how could I resist? She thought desperately. He needed this. He needed to go home with someone who understood him, who had a real connection with him, and who could take his stress away and remind him how fucking good it would feel to be cared for. This wasn’t even about her. She wanted it for him. And she didn’t trust that anyone would take better care of him than she could.

Mari wanted to be the one who tore that armor off him and kissed down the perfectly toned chest she knew he had–to draw away the pain and bruises and brutality of all the battles he fought. She wanted to give him his own personal reward for fighting so hard to protect everyone around him. She could only imagine how good he’d look with his head thrown back, that strong jaw clenching as she swallowed him down the way he needed. He talked for hours about missions he’d been on. Now she had one of her own.

She turned in his grasp, rotating her hips and hiking her dress up slightly to straddle his lap. With her entire center pressed against his, he sat back, letting out a strained breath. He could resist almost anything. But this? This he couldn’t fight. She was everything he dreamed about at night, sprawled across his lap and fawning all over him. His rough, gloved hands ran down her sides, feeling the way her body curved beneath his nimble fingers.

“Stars-- look what you do to me…” he sighed, rutting his hips up into the space between her thighs to make her feel him. The black fabric tented beneath his codpiece, the length of him even harder than his armor.

“I can do that without touching you? What’s gonna happen when I get my hands on you?” Mari whispered in his ear, letting her lips brush against his neck. He growled softly in response, his hands coming down to grip her hips powerfully. Maker, he was strong.

“Kinda want you to find out.” He nibbled at the space beneath her jaw gently. “Do you wanna get outta here?” He asked politely, freeing her hips from his death grip on them and pulling back to blink at her hopefully.

Mari told herself so many times that this wasn’t who she was anymore. Casual sex wasn’t something she wanted to do anymore. She was looking for something better, someone better. A commitment, a partner. She searched his face for any sign that she shouldn’t do this. Anything suspicious or disrespectful, but she didn’t find it. Everything about him felt safe, understanding, and even protective of her–like there was nothing he would ever do to let anything or anyone hurt her.

He was overwhelmed, too, his pounding heart making his chest heave with anticipation. Every second that went by as he waited for her answer felt like another bit of time she was wasting by thinking too much.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, his hands found the sides of her neck and his lips crashed into hers, as if to convince her in action instead of with all the words he couldn’t find. His lips surrounded hers, tenderly separating them with his tongue. It was heavy and desperate, and a jolt of what felt like a thousand volts of electricity shot down Mari's spine. The subtle tang of surprisingly good whiskey hit her tongue as she remembered the brown liquid they had both left nearly untouched on the table while they talked.

Tension stronger than a tow cable wire suddenly snapped and she relaxed into the mind-numbing kiss. As he pulled away, he rested his forehead on hers and huffed out shaky, lust-laden breaths over her face.

“Woah,” Rex muttered, blinking up at her in shock over how that felt.

She smiled and leaned forward to place another few featherlight kisses on his lips. This was something. Whatever this feeling was between them, they both knew it was there, and that was enough of a good sign for her to take the leap.

“Let’s go, Rex,” Mari tipped her head toward the door, suddenly hyper-aware of the entire crowd of people around who probably just watched them pounce on each other.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled darkly, his lust-blown eyes now a much deeper and almost threatening shade. She swung herself off his lap quickly, tangling her fingers in his very large armored ones as he stood up. He scooped up his helmet in his other arm and followed her like a lost tooka.

His brothers from across the bar were stunningly quiet, watching in disbelief at the scene unfolding before them. Mari could feel Fives’ eyes especially, wide in shock as he pieced together what was happening. She didn’t just talk about successfully capturing their immovable captain’s attention, she had done it.

The sea of blue and white armor began to hurriedly part for them as they made their way to the door, taking note of the girl who had enraptured Captain Rex. It was like the whole battalion was watching in shock as one of the most notoriously by-the-book captains of the entire Grand Army threw the regulation manual out the window. Although, she was sure it was probably just her imagination.

What was it about her that struck him? Sure, she wanted him and went after him because she never denied herself what she wanted. But why this time around did he accept?

His large hand crept up her forearm, holding tight as he shouldered through the crowd. The room parted for him, barely having to say two words to anyone to get them to follow his lead. It was incredible to watch him so easily demand respect from hundreds of people without batting an eye or getting cocky.

She’d never seen such humility in a clone leader before. Mari had met dozens of clones, but most were pretty much the same as any nat-born. They were all handsome, built, and smart. They had plenty going for them and they knew it, especially the ones that held high ranks. Fox certainly had an air of untouchable authority about him around his troops, but not Rex.

The men they passed gave him various acknowledgments: friendly cheers, formal salutes, and even what felt like celebrity fanfare. But his reaction to them all was the same: a slow, short nod of appreciation and that cute little sideways smirk, as if the glory and attention meant nothing to him and he was just another ordinary man.

But he wasn’t.

No man, and especially none of the other clones Mari had ever spoken to before, had made Mari’s insides tremble and her heart ache like this. Not the ones she saw at work. Not Fox with his sarcastic quips and blunt honesty. Not even Fives’ insanely handsome face. As much as she wanted to be a new person, to not drag herself through another night of meaningless sex with some guy, she wanted Rex badly. The need to have him overwhelm her was too great. Yet, being in his atmosphere felt like a promise of something more.

Her arms erupted in goosebumps as they approached the sliding blast doors, the cool air of the night washing over her overheated body. She pulled herself into his side, clinging to him like he had been to her in the booth. His hand slid down the small of her back, politely guiding her outside first. He looked left and then right, scanning the area slowly for something unknown before turning to her.

“My apartment is on the uppermost levels by the Senate Building. It’s… kinda far.” Mari sighed, doubting that either of them could make it much longer.

“Our barracks isn’t that far, but I didn’t think you’d want to go there. It’s not exactly romantic,” he scoffed, using the hand on her back to guide her closer to him.

“My place is fine then. It’ll be a little more… private,” Mari muttered suggestively, her pulse thrumming as he held her into his body. “We’ll probably be needing that, won’t we, Captain?”

He let out a deep exhale, clearly trying to contain himself as his title falling from her lips did something obscene to him. “Definitely… especially if you call me that again.” The way he looked at her felt like he could see so much more than just her desirable physical presence before him. His interest was beyond skin-deep; he saw all of her and wanted to keep digging, to explore more of the person he’d clicked with so perfectly.

Just as he stepped forward to hail a hover cab for the both of them, his comm blinked twice and he froze in place. He shook his head and dropped his eyes to the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “This cannot be fucking happening right now.” He shrugged and let her go, the few steps he walked away to answer the call felt like lightyears all of a sudden.

Mari felt her heart sink to the ground at her feet. She knew this was too good to be true. There had to be a catch. There always seemed to be for her. “Is everything ok?” she mouthed and he shook his head, his expression fading to one of deep regret and apology, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Yes, General?” He paused, looking over at her nervously like he too felt the cloud of the dream they’d just lived in drifting higher and higher out of their reach. His entire demeanor seemed to sink as his eyelids dropped shut and his shoulders sagged. “N-no, sir. I’m not busy.”

Mari clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, trying her damndest not to get misty-eyed over something that probably would never work out anyways. The way he made her feel could only ever happen in her dreams. She was sure they both knew it. The hovercab they were hailing had finally approached and was starting to get antsy.

“Right away, sir. See you in ten.” Rex hung up his call and walked back over, completely deflated and as stressed as he’d been when she first laid eyes on him.

“Well?” Mari sighed, asking a stupid question she already knew the answer to.

Rex motioned to his comm and then to a building not far from where he’d mentioned the barracks would be. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he offered, stepping forward to rest an apologetic hand on her arm. Mari backed away, not wanting him to come any closer if this is how it was always going to end.

“I get it,” she said bitterly, crossing her arms to her chest to reassure herself since he couldn’t. “Duty calls.” She turned on her heels to enter the cab, but he caught her arm and yanked her back. “What?”

“I…” he stuttered over his words, exposing just how much this was uncharted territory for him. He stopped himself and flashed her that endearing half-smirk that made her heart jump through her chest in a way she didn’t want to admit meant something to her. “I can give you my comm frequency. If you give me a way to reach you, too… ” he laughed, nervously trying to downplay his disappointment.

For the first time, Mari couldn’t read the expression on his handsome face. Somewhere between desperate for this to work and doubting it ever would. He was trying his hardest to do anything he could think of to prevent her from slipping away.

“Okay. Fine,” she relented. She uncrossed her arms and took out her personal comm, sighing to prevent herself from letting her anger at her plans being shattered ruin the moment. She shared her frequency with him and received his in exchange, raising her finger in wait to hold the cab just a few seconds longer. “But you better contact me.”

“I will, Mari. Promise,” Rex nodded, awkwardly trying to think of anything else to add and sorely wishing he could feel any of the obvious spark they had only a few minutes ago.

“That general of yours better be dying or something,” she joked darkly, turning to finally sit in the hovercab.

“Sometimes I’m surprised he hasn’t by now,” Rex quipped, folding his arms and rolling his eyes playfully. He let his laughter die down and his brows furrowed again, “I won’t forget how you made me feel anytime soon. I promise, Mari.”

Mari sat with her hands in her lap, blinking up at this handsome, noble captain professing something more to her than she could understand right now. She swallowed thickly and blinked up at him, wanting to reach out the cab window and kiss his face all over again. “I know. Take care of yourself, Captain.” That was all she could manage to say as the cab revved up and took off back to her apartment, leaving a crestfallen blonde clone captain standing alone on the platform with his helmet tucked under his arm.

When a day or two went by without even so much as a message from him, Mari sulked in her apartment pathetically and mourned something that never even existed with someone she wished she didn’t have to see the face of everywhere she went.

notes: AHHHHHH ok hi bbys. this series has been a long time coming. Mari's official by name debut has me SO excited. these two are truly everything to me and I hope you love learning about their journey as much as I love telling it.

taglist coming soon! comment on this post or message me if you'd like to be added :)

#wip unwritten #wip unwritten chapter 1 #captain rex x oc: mari vontas #captain rex x oc mari vontas #captain rex x oc #captain rex x oc: mari vontas smut #captain rex fanfic #captain rex fanfiction #rex and mari🥺#the clone wars fanfic #captain rex #oc: mari vontas

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browniefox · 9 months

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Magic World Building!

Magic in the world of The Horizon is a slightly more physical substance than in some worlds. It acts almost like a fungus or a bacteria, where it ‘infects’ things and spreads. Humans do not have an innate magic to them. They can, however, use items imbued with magic. Things like staffs often have several different types of magic. Magic comes in different strains - fire, water, light, air, etc. these different strains often do not play well together, and when trying to combine them in a single artifact if done incorrectly, one will either over power the other, or both could be destroyed.

While humans are not inherently magical, they can become ‘infected’. Infection usually happens from usually using a magical artifact for an extended period of time, being near a source of wild magic, or on rare occasions one purposefully trying to become infected with magic, typically by ingesting something magic.

In the first stage of magical Infection, one starts to feel sick, with the symptoms slowly starting to show the magic - one sick with fire magic may start throwing up boiling bile or even fire. The body may successfully fight off the infection, leaving the human non-magical. In extreme cases, though rare, one may die in this stage. If the magic manages to integrate itself into the body - and some believe the soul itself - then the symptoms will subside.

In stage two of magical Infection, the humans is left seemingly unchanged at first. This means it’s often hard to tell whether one fought off the Infection or not. Like flexing a muscle, one will eventually show magic capabilities, usually first through emotionally charged displays - a water magic Infected may drain water from nearby plants in anger.

In the third stage, as one’s magical abilities grow, their eyes, hair, and nails will change color, usually related in some way to their type of magic - bright red hair for a fire type, but other colors like blue are not unheard of. This color changed aspects glow when the Infected uses magic. Most infection stops at stage three.

Stage Four happens from over use of magic over a long period of time, or in a particular burst of a lot of magic. The skin do the Infected turning color is the sign for magic progressing to a dangerous point, and they should cease using magic and find help right away. Illness similar to stage one Infection starts to return. It is possible to calm this stage and return to the safety of stage three.

Stage Five, the magic starts to over take the body, skin having traits of the magic - a fire Infected will get hot skin that may take on the appearance of burnt logs or magma. The Infected will feel sick, but have incredible magical abilities. They will also likely die not long after this stage. Only the Sun, Moon, and Stars - three entities reincarnating repeatedly to fight each other - have been known to survive going to Stage Five and then returning to Stage Three, although even for them this is rare.

#browniefox speaks #world building #meet me on the horizon #corkboard

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daisies-daydreams · 9 months

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Try - Chapter 6 (College!Simon Riley x F!Reader)

Pairing: Simon Riley x F!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (18+) Warnings: Mentions of Drinking, Car Sex, Protected Sex, P in V Sex, Fingering, Breast Play, Swearing Word Count: 3.2k+

Summary: You and Simon leave Kyle’s party early to have some “alone time”.

A/N: Well, here’s the final chapter. It's been a rollercoaster writing this series with life constantly having it's ups and downs, but I'm still glad that I had a change to write it. I hope you’ve enjoyed this series!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Ch. 5 <-

The woods were full of college students unwind as exams had finally come to a close ("woods", as in a few acres of land close to Kyle's family's country home). Simon opened the passenger door of his truck, smiling when he saw your soft face.

"After you, m'lady," he knelt down slightly while motioning to the source of laughter and music.

"Such a gentleman," you chuckled as you slipped onto the grass. Simon gave you a soft grin as he walked with you towards the bonfire. Johnny was strumming on his guitar while several people swayed or sang along, some others idly chatting off to the side. His current girlfriend, Eileen, was humming along to the song. Johnny's eyes lit up as the two of you approached.

"Glad to see the two of you finally made it," Johnny winked as he continued to play. Simon rolled his eyes.

"It's good to see you, too, Johnny," you smiled. You waved at Eileen. "Hi, Eileen," you said.

"Hey (Y/N). Sorry about this one-he's been rather feisty tonight," she said while nudging Johnny's shoulder. Johnny chuckled.

"We're just fashionably late is all," Simon commented as the two of you sat down on an unoccupied log.

"Uh-huh. For a good reason, I'm sure," the Scotsman retorted.

"Johnny," Eileen chastised, pinching his arm playfully. He hissed slightly.

"Sorry, mum," he smirked. Eileen rolled her eyes before going back to humming and drumming on top of her legs. Simon glanced down to see that your face was slightly red as you straightened your beanie. The soft glow of the fire only served to highlight your features, making you look more like an ethereal being.

"Where's Kyle?" you asked.

"He had a 'frat emergency'. And by emergency, he means a hazing ritual gone wrong," Eileen explained while raising her eyes up to the sky. You sighed.

"I don't even want to know what happened this time," you replied while holding your hands up.

"Trust me-you don't," Eileen said. Both of you suddenly burst into giggles. Simon's eyes were trained on the tips of the flames dancing and how the smoke twirled in the early autumn wind. The sun had just set past the horizon, making way for the dim light of the moon. You looked over at him and chuckled.

"Everything alright?" you asked. Simon blinked a few times.

"What?" he asked. You giggled.

"I said 'are you alright'?" you repeated. Simon blinked again before nodding.

"Yeah-just recovering from exams,” he said. You nodded.

“I think everyone is,” you laughed. The current song Johnny was playing ended. A few claps echoed throughout the woods.

"Thank you, thank you," Johnny grinned while giving a slight bow. You clapped your hands, too. Simon watched at the light of the fire danced over your face, highlighting all of your features.

"You want some cider?" he asked as he slid off the makeshift bench. Your relaxed expression fell slightly. "Don't worry-I packed some earlier. Just forgot to bring 'em over here," Simon explained. Your face softened again as your shoulders relaxed.

"Yeah, I'll have one," you smiled as you gently patted his arm. Simon's breath hitched at just the slightest feeling of your hands on him.

"Right. Be right back," Simon said as he slipped back. He trudged over to the truck, snatching two ciders from the small cooler in the trunk. He eyed the plaid, folded blanket in the back and brought it along, too. You grinned up at him as he handed you one of the bottles.

"Thank you, Si," you beamed as you opened your drink. He nodded before doing the same, taking a decent swig of the beverage. He sighed as he looked up into the sky. A few clouds dotted the expanse, the rest painted with an abundance of shining stars.

"I'm sorry, I just have to say it: you two are just so cute together!" Eileen spoke from across the fire. Simon's heart did a few flips in his chest as he looked down at your flustered face.

"Thank you," you squeaked. Eileen nodded before humming along again. Johnny grinned when she laid her head on his shoulder, her hand wandering the expanse of his forearm. Simon felt a longing-he's been touched starved ever since he asked Price for permission to date you. Sure, it was old fashioned-but he'd rather ask for permission than beg for his life. You suddenly stirred beside him.

"You okay?" he asked. You nodded as you rubbed your arms.

"Just a bit chilly," you shivered. Simon hummed before sliding the blanket over your shoulders. You beamed, your body stilling as you snuggled into the large piece of fabric.

"Thank you," you smiled.

"'Course," Simon said with a nod. You rested yourself against his side, sighing happily. His hands clenched as he looked up to the sky, silently praying for all of his urges to quickly pass. He dared to look down and watched your throat bob as you took a few sips from your drink. Simon slightly shivered.

"Are you cold to?" you asked as you lowered your bottle. Simon shook his head.

"A little, but-" you cut him off when you wrapped the blanket around him, too. His breath hitched when you giggled and pulled at it. Johnny cast a wry grin before going back to plucking at the strings of his guitar. You leaned on Simon again as the two of you nursed your drinks.

"What are you doin' next weekend?" Simon asked. You hummed, your cheeks slightly pink as you stroked your finger over your chin.

"I dunno. Might go out to the lake with some friends," you shrugged. Simon nodded, his thick, veiny hand nearly brushing over yours. "What about you?" you asked as you turned to him, your body dangerously close to his in the warm cocoon. Simon bit the inside of his cheek, his fingers ghosting over yours.

"Well, I was thinkin' that maybe for a day or two, you and I could go to that cabin my friend Sanderson has down south?" he suggested. Your breathing seemed to stop as your lips drew into a tight line. "Love?" Simon asked. You suddenly leaned forward, capturing his lips in yours. A few people whistled around the two of you as you kissed him deeply.

You hungrily ate at his mouth, the soft sound of lips smacking resonating within Simon's ears. His hands hesitantly fell onto your hips before you pulled back and panted. Simon's heart pounded against his ribs as he still felt your mouth lingering on his. Johnny stopped playing his guitar, his eyes wide and mouth open with shock (and amusement). Both of you were quiet, the world seeming to come to a halt.

"So, is that a 'yes', then?" Simon eventually mused, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You rolled your eyes and nodded.

"Yes. I'd love to, Simon," you grinned giddily.

"Get a room!" someone drunkenly slurred in the crowd. Simon scowled before you stole a quick kiss from him. He grunted, his lips still tingling from the contact. You bit your lip as you leaned close to his ear.

"That's not such a bad idea, you know," you purred. Simon gripped your waist as his dark eyes grew wide. The people around you seemed to whisper to each other.

"Who here knows Wonderwall?!" Johnny suddenly shouted. Several people cheered, a crowd starting to form around the bonfire as he played the first few chords of the song. You gazed deeply into Simon's eyes as you ran your hands up and down his hefty arms.

"Well?" you asked while batting your lashes. Simon glanced down at your bottle, seeing that it wasn't even a quarter of the way finished.

"You drunk, lovie?" he asked, his voice huskier than he intended. You shook your head as you wiggled your hips.

"No, I'm just thirsty...for you," you moaned slightly into his ear. All of the restraint inside of him was tearing at the seams as his heartbeat pounded inside of his head. Johnny accidentally strummed the wrong chord before getting back on track with the song. Simon's throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"How about we get some refreshments somewhere else then?" he husked as he brushed some hair from your hair. You nodded, pressing your forehead against his.

"After you," you sighed.

+++

The truck bounced slightly as Simon brought himself into the bed of his vehicle. Your eyes were half-lidded as he pulled you up. He was mesmerized by how the starlight shone over your face as he guided you over to the spread out blanket. Simon made sure to pull into a more…secluded location, his dorm and your house being an hour away. Simon sighed heavily as he slid on top of you, his hips pressed flush against yours.

A deep rumble came from his chest as he kissed you. He made sure to make it slow, gently cupping your face as he tilted his head down. You sighed as your hands wandered up and clutched at his hoodie. The taste of cider and your sweet lips coated his tongue as his hand came down over your covered breast.

"This okay, sweetheart?" he asked. You nodded fervently, gripping his clothes even tighter. Simon leaned his head over, his lips dancing against the shell of your ear.

"Let me hear you, love. I need to hear that sweet voice of yours," Simon rumbled as he lowered his mouth to your jaw. You shivered beneath him.

"Yes," you swallowed thickly. He grunted before continuing, his rough hand kneading your breast as he closed the gap between you two. You moaned as he kissed you and tenderly massaged your tit. His erection felt so much hotter being pressed against your clothed cunt. Your hands fell down to his lower back before you squeezed his supple ass. He groaned, his eyes now lighting up with hunger.

"Naughty thing," Simon teased while returning your squeeze. You giggled and batted your lashes.

"I just want you to feel just as loved, too," you cooed sweetly. Simon's throat tightened at your words. He didn't even know how to respond-he simply crashed his lips back down. The kiss was more sloppy and eager. You gasped when his tongue fell across your bottom lip, sliding across it gently. Simon felt a wave of arousal sink straight down to his cock when you parted your lips, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth.

He loved how your tongue cascaded over his as the two of you kneaded each other's flesh. The tendrils of pleasure were quickly ensnaring him, dragging him deeper into carnality. His hips bucked forward, eliciting a small moan from you. Simon suckled on your tongue as his other hand slipped between your sandwiched bodies. He nipped your bottom lip before pulling up.

"Are you sure you want this, love?" he asked, his fingers playing with the button on your jeans. You bit your lip.

"Yes, God yes just fuck me..please Simon," you whined as you wiggled beneath him muscular form. Simon hummed as he gave your lips another peck, his hands working to slide down your pants and panties. He cooed as you shivered beneath him, the chilled wind causing goosebumps to form over your exposed legs.

"Don't worry, lovie. I'll make sure you're nice and warm," he reassured with a wink. You rolled your eyes and smacked his chest playfully. Your lips curved into a cheeky smile quickly turned into a round "o" when he dipped his fingers between your folds, collecting some of the slick that pooled in your slit.

"F-Fuck, Si," you gasped as you bucked against his hand. Simon rumbled as he tilted his head, catching your neck with his lips. He lathered your sensitive button with your juices as he sucked over your pulse. You panted, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he drew precise circles around your clit. Your breathing stuttered when the his index finger teased your tight hole, shallowly slipping in and out.

"Please, baby," you begged, your tits raising up to meet his chest. Simon detached his lips from your skin, licking over the hickey blooming across your neck.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart," he breathed over the slick stripe on your skin. You squealed as he flicked and rubbed over your puffy clit, your pussy squelching lightly with each stroke of his finger. Your bottom lip quivered as if you were about to cry.

"I need your cock in me, Simon," you nearly snarled as your fingers gripped his ass. Simon groaned before pushing himself off of you. You whined when his fingers left your scorching cunt.

"Shh, it's alright, lovie," Simon soothed as he pet your upper thigh. Your eyes sparkled beneath the moonlight as he sighed, his bulky thighs caging you in. You watched inventively as he fished a condom out of his pocket. Your lips parted slightly, giving him the most beautiful view of your nearly fucked-out face.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous," Simon breathed as he undid his jeans. His thick cock sprang free after he pulled down his briefs. You audibly gulped as he rolled the condom across this thick shaft. Simon rubbed your upper thighs and kissed you again.

"Gonna take it slow, that alright?" he husked.

"Y-Yes-just need you, Si. Please, I need you," you gasped. Simon's breath fell against your cheek as he guided his cock to your clenching hole. Just the sound of a light squelch sent shivers down his spine.

"You ready f'me?" he asked. You nodded, your hands finding purchase over his broad shoulders. Simon sighed as he began to sink the head of his cock into your entrance. Your head snapped back as his blunt tip sheathed inside.

"Fuck, love-your pussy's so tight," he hissed between gritted teeth. Your fingers arched into his shoulders as he slowly inched inside of you. Simon swallowed your moans in a heated kiss as he heard his cock spread you open. You whined as he tenderly moved his lips over yours.

"That's it, sweetheart. Look at you, takin' my cock so well," he stuttered when your walls clenched around his veiny shaft.

"You f-fill me up so good, Si," you panted. You moaned and arched your back when the tip of his dick brushed against what he assumed to be your g-spot. Simon nibbled on your jawline.

"You feel so good around me-just returning the favor," he winked. Both of you moaned, your voices cascading over the dark hills of the countryside as Simon bottomed out within your wet heat. A low purr rumbled in his chest as he peppered your face with kisses.

"Please, Simon, please move," you begged as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Simon bared his teeth before slowly withdrawing his cock from your snug walls. You cried out as he shallowly pumped his cock in and out of your pulsing, soaked cunt. Simon swore he was seeing more stars than there were in the sky when he fully sheathed himself back inside.

"Fuckin' hell," he grunted. Your legs tightened around his hips as he began to gently thrust into you. He savored everything about this: the beautiful sounds of your moans, the feeling of your gummy walls hugging his girth, the smell of your sexes as they softly joined together again and again.

"Simon," you chanted his name as your limbs wrapped around him like he was the only thing grounding you to reality. Simon suddenly snapped his hips forward, causing you to roll your head back and raked your fingers down his back.

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he gasped as his cock throbbed inside you. "Pussy takin' me so well like it was made f'me," he groaned. Your chest heaved as he began to eagerly piston his hips against yours. You kept babbling and moaning as your slick swelled and bubbled around his shaft. Simon leaned over, his forehead resting against yours as he raised your legs forward. He felt your clit catch against the ridges of his exposed abs, his hoodie pulled up from his eager thrusting.

"Gonna cum soon, sweetheart," Simon puffed out, his body bent over as if he were about to crush you. Hot tears streamed down your face as your pussy pulsed around him. "Come on, baby. Want you to come with me," he grunted before pounding into your cunt. The sloppy sounds of your wet sex made his limbs feel like jelly, your pussy growing tighter and tighter around his boiling cock.

"SIMON!" you screamed as your fingers dug into his back. Simon moaned as your plush walls pulsed around him, your cunt sucking him in even deeper. He felt your cream spill out from your hole as you cried softly, violent shockwaves of bliss wracking your body over and over.

"That’s it, baby. Just like that,” Simon gasped as his balls tightened. His lungs felt like they were burning, just like the rest of his body. He nearly froze when your hands delicately cupped his cheeks.

"Cum inside me, Si," you mewled, your eyes slightly capturing the light of the stars above. Simon huffed as his body was shook to the core with pleasure. He nodded before fully letting himself go, pumping his dick through your drenched walls at a bruising pace. It felt like his head was about to explode as the muscles in his lower stomach wound into a searing knot.

"F-Fuck (Y/N)!" he cursed as he felt his cock suddenly twitch. His mouth fell open as he came, the release of pressure so intense he nearly thought he passed out. You keened below him as his seed filled the rubber around his thick shaft. He murmured your name as his high began to subside. Simon panted along with you, gazing into your eyes before kissing you deeply.

"Did so well for me," he praised as he slowly pulled out of you. You whined as more of your juices spilled onto the blanket and the inside of your thighs. Simon cooed as he massaged your hips.

"That…that was amazing," you breathed, a blissful smile stretched across your face. He smiled before falling next to you. You curled against his side before gazing up at the night sky. Simon kissed your temple, his other hand playing with your hair. He soon wiped down your thighs with some paper towels from the back seat before dressing you. Just as he went to help you out of the makeshift bed, you grabbed his thick wrist.

"Lovie?" he asked. You sighed, eyelids drooped over your blown pupils.

"Could we please stay here? Just for a little bit," you asked, your voice still slightly out of breath. Simon nodded before lowering himself to your side. He sighed as he kept you snugly against his side. Both of you gazed up at the stars before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

___

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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