#Length: <5000 Words

[thedeafprophet]

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Chapter One - Puzzle Pieces

The Palace. The honey. The gardens. Pieces, scattered yet connected, forming an image she still couldn’t quite see. What does one do, when the answer remains just out of reach? When the puzzle takes shape, yet something vital is missing? You search for the edges. You find the connections. You move forward. And so she searched. Again and again, her fingers traced the borders, her mind turning over every fragment, every possibility. If the answers existed, she would find them.  She always did.

Chapter summary: Following Jamie's escape from The Shuttered Palace, Josephine is left with a tangle of questions and rising concern. With a crucial piece of information missing and tension mounting, she takes matters into her own hands- leading her back to the cage gardens and to another victim ensnared within the Princess's grasp.

Read it here

[Written with my ocs Josephine and Jamie, and @the-dye-stained-socialite's Marigold. Please mind the warnings and author's note before reading]

[tagarilaghost]

Hi uhm I got so inspired by this post from @fujii-draws that i wanted to write like 200 words for the first two artworks! Well now it‘s 1500 words for only the first artwork yeah :) enjoy :D!

Ribbons and Aimilios belong to @fujii-draws

Creations of your own mind

aka Darkrai‘s "Kill yourself" but worse

There is only one cause to ensure failure: 

Mercy.

It‘s like you fear to overcome a morally conflicting line. A line which is just that. A simple line.There is no black and white. There are only different shades of grey. And even if there was a line that could suddenly turn your world black or white, who cares?

That line is a mere illusion created by morality of the Pokemon living in a society.

He will not acknowledge it. He will do what he pleases and if other Pokemon come to harm, there will not be less harm to come to them, just because it would „cross a line“.

It is utterly frustrating to converse with others who do not comply with his visions. His true wish at heart. 

Why is it so hard for folks to accept the darkness and so easy for them to trust the light?

As Darkrai finally entangled his master plan - his oh so carefully crafted symphony of terrors - the most important part would come into play.

On the side of Sharpedo bluff, among ragged rocks, lies a shadow not quite like another. One in the form of his flickering form. There is a little pretty flat plateau that elevates in between the sharp edges of the stone. This is where he keeps his shadow. A shadow which now crawls together and droops to another form. 

Slowly he rises to embrace the moonlight. A white plume of hair comes into sight first. Red spikes embarking from a pitch-black skin follow. With a stare as cold as a Mammoswine‘s unending ice-prison he fully exits his shadow.

UGH! He is sick to death of this frenzy town! When will those fools finally go to sleep?! 

…Calm yourself.

He must tend to his patience, yes, yes. But he waited for so long already, he desperately wants to get into action.

After all, he just had to be in proximity of the dreamer to dive the calm atmosphere into a hellish storm of agony. As soon as these two fall asleep, nightmares will torment their very own mind…

A perfect opening for himself to say so.

Well, then let‘s continue the waiting game. Sitting as elegantly as possible upon the dangerous terrain, he concentrates.

…Tsk.

Trying to meditate is not easy.

Even more draining if there‘s that abomination in the sky.

He growled at the almost full moon. Those damn moon phases.

The full moon in particular greatly weakened his powers, which makes things… merely a little bit more challenging. 

But it had to be necessary to not spread his nightmares in town and attract attention. The moon and his strength are his only criteria to decipher his range of bad dreams - his trusted ability.

An alarming sting suddenly hits him in the head. It doesn’t hurt. It just tingles his brain in a way like nothing else can.

Oh the time has finally come. He put too many hours of research and preparation into this to fail now.

He watched them cower in front of others.

And he will watch them cower in front of him.

Concentrating and navigating the dreamspace are always a difficult task. But with only two Pokemon in grasp, he has an easy time.

One isn’t even a fully evolved dreamer! It still needs to settle into the world of its inner mind to get vulnerable. 

Then let‘s start with our first little victim, shall we?

Entering one‘s vicinity without getting noticed is - at least almost all the time - easy peasy. It‘s the shaping of dreams which makes him talented and gifted. 

No insecurity can hide from him if he finds the right trigger.

Ugh. Everytime folks end up accusing him for being faced with the torment of their insecurities!

He does not create nightmares. His precense merely brings them to light once the Pokemon is asleep.

Yes yes, unwillingly taking them to sleep by attacking them with Dark Void has been in consideration as ever so often. Whatever.

Sure he can also force scenes upon others when shaping the dreamscape. He could do oh so many things to influence a sleeper.

But the true culprit of their suffering always lies at the dreamers themselves. Their own twisted mind is at fault.

So he will abuse every single weakness she shows.

Although… that won‘t even be neccessary to lure out her fears. His research already fed him plenty of points to drive her mind to.

This will be a feast. A feast fit for him, a king.

Everything was dark. Even darker than Dusk Forest. Ribbons remembers very well the gloomy eeriness that struck all over the future. But somehow this was worse. It doesn’t look like much. Only black grey rectangles matched together.

And somehow this weird environment makes her truly feel worse than the dark future ever did. It is discomforting to a degree where she can’t shake it off anymore. The realisation hit her once the edgy masses transform into something… horryfying. Then there’s silence again.

With the blink of an eye, all the unsettling emotions disappear and a new yet familiar place stands before her.

She knows that this is the dark future. She somehow is absolutely sure that temporal tower collapsed here. Why? No clue. 

And yet she feels warm and welcome all of a sudden. She quickly notices why. Standing on the edge of a cliff between the unsettling trees is Grovyle. Her lifelong partner who would give everything to save this rotten future from its unmoving curse. 

Of course it would lighten her heart being in his presence. She trusted him once with her life and she will trust him again.

As Ribbons jumped happily over to him, preparing a joke in her head to tease him, Grovyle huffs. 

She instantly stops, holding her breath.

That huff was full of utter disgust.

…and hate.

„Ribbons.“, his tone is cold. It reminds her of the time when she thought of Grovyle as the villain.

It all shifts, it all… what is happening? 

Panic reaches her now shivering paws and drowns her vision in a color she never saw before.

 „How… How could you do this to me!!!“, he turns around, anger bubbling up in his expression.

No no no nononono…!

This is not… how-

Her eyes gasped for relief, but it only hit her with more and more impressions. The trees suddenly twisted and turned, loomed all over her weak form. Branches reaching out for her like dead claws from the undead trying to rip her body apart.

Bloody drool taints the sky in a dark red sea, drowning her with it.

And worst of all Grovyle‘s form turns into something unreal, something hurt. Something that she hurt.

„Why didn‘t you… save me…?“

His voice echoed in her head.

Why didn‘t you save me? Why didn‘t you save me?

It inflicted her mind with poison that could never be cured.

Why didn‘t you save me! Why didn‘t you save me!

It throws a spear as sharp as a warrior's blade through her very heart.

WHY DIDN‘T YOU SAVE ME?!!?!

She falls to the ground, ears flapping before her eyes and sobbing hiccups escaping her throat.

She did try everything! She truly did! She never wanted this to happen to him! She loved him like she loved Aimilios and she could never replace both of them.

Ribbons shrinks back, but there is no step to take. Behind her is a monster of an abyss which is just patiently waiting to consume her whole.

There is… no escape. 

Before she could think about anything else, Grovyle raises his voice again.

„Why did you leave me to DIE.“

Her throat is sealed tightly. She wants to tell him that he is indeed wrong and that she did try to save him!

But she can‘t.

„Why did I have to sacrifice myself, but you get to live?“

She cowers even further.

Grovyle always had the right words, why does it now feel so utterly wro-

„You should also cease to exist, Ribbons.“

No-! She-!

„You should cease to exist because it would be justice. 

MY justice.“

As Darkrai watches from the sidelines, how perfect the nightmare plays out, he can’t help but laugh out loud.

Ribbons won‘t even notice a thing. He is right there and yet the only one she can concentrate on is her own misery and depiction of the worst situation of an interaction with Grovyle she could ever be confronted with.

Oh how weak the mind can be… she didn‘t even resist him shaping it in this direction. 

In this world he is in control.

And he will have as much fun as he pleases.

Well… while she relieves that same conversation over and over again, he doesn’t have to watch only one tormented dreamer.

There‘s still number two…

Oh yes…

Until the morning sun comes, their minds will be his.

[laugtherhyena]

Finally past this "bump" on the chapter 21 writing road or whatever you wanna call it

[7loveneverfails]

I might be planning some research to write a novel of the life of Elijah.

I might have a note on my phone....

[ekjohnston]

There was a poll going around a couple days ago about your "automatic no"s for fanfic, and along with the things I expected (formatting, grammar, POV, etc), quite a few people listed short fics as reasons not to click. I'm not judging (I used to be that person, but with AO3's tags there are better ways for me to filter), but as someone who specializes in short fic, it did make me think.

(These definitions are by no means official, except the drabble of course, so ymmv, but I had to call them SOMEthing.)

Please reblog this, i am legit curious about the answer and will have a follow up question when the poll is closed.

[aetherraeys]

visual learner

poly!marauder x inexperienced!reader ⊹ 5.1k

for this request!

cw ⟢ suggestive, first kisses, nervous!reader, tension, teasing, slightly domestic, newly established relationship, lots of kissing!

being a late-bloomer was never really an issue for you, until you're faced with figuring out how to go about kissing not just one boy, but three.

a/n: yes this is 5000 words of kissing and what? not proofread

If you were to think back, it honestly never bothered you much, you’d come to terms with it quite well—you were a late bloomer.

Sure, it meant that you didn’t have the exact same experiences as most of your peers when growing up, making those late nights in the dorms when the voices of all your friends danced around the room, feet kicking giddily as they shared which boy they’d gone to Hogsmead with that weekend. Or when they detailed the innocent lingering touches and fleeting eye contact they’d made with their crush—in person demonstrations and all. Of course, those nights were fun, playful girls nights, but it more listening than reenacting for you.

Even as you progressed further, graduating and starting univerisity, it didn’t bug you like your friends had assumed it would—’it’ being your lack of experience.

And it wasn’t that you were undesirable, far from it, opportunity isn’t an issue—you just weren’t in a rush. It also didn’t make you any more eager to speed things along after hearing countless disappointing and awkward recounts of your friends experiences.

Quite frankly, it just wasn’t the be-all and end-all of your youth, you had plenty of other things to worry about, plenty of other things that kept your mind comfortably occupied. And you were still young, there was still time for you to play catch-up, if and when you decided you wanted to.

The thing is, you were under the impression had a say in it in the first place—when in reality, the universe had other plans for you.

And those plans?

As it turned out, took form in the shape of three boys.

You’d thought they were a bit strange at orientation, their dynamic an interesting sight to say the least. But it wasn’t very long before you were sucked into their orbit, well and truly in the thick of it—completely out of your depth.

Because you’d yet to have a boyfriend, let alone three, but alas—you found yourself unable to deny them.

Falling into place with them relatively seemlessly, although the boys had been dating long before you came into the picture and have known each other longer, that wasn’t why you kept finding yourself picking at the skin around your nails, knawing at the flesh on the inside of your mouth, frequently lost in deep thought.

Granted, most of this was fairly new.

Welcomed, wanted, loved—you should be perfectly content right now, but there was small looming inkling of something in the back of your mind every time you saw them.

They were so comfortable together, in complete and almost constant harmony with each other—and it was a sight to behold, perfect and cozy as they lounged around Sirius’ thankfully large flat.

Both him and James lying on one end of the settee, tangled together in an obsure pile of limbs. Sirius had his hands underneath James’ shirt—baring the bottom of his stomach and pretty brown happy trail out in the open, fingers tracing soft and small patterns onto his skin. James’ hand carding and threading through his curls while mindlessly scrolling on his phone, occassional content hums leaving his mouth. Remus—he was sat on the floor resting his back against the sofa, pressed against James’ leg, head leaning on his knee, book in hand.

The epitome of domesticity.

All so very intune with each other, and then there was you.

Sat at the other end of the couch, just over an arms length away from them, scrunched into the corner covered in a blanket—trying to reach the word count for a project and failing miserably to focus on the screen in front of you.

It’s simple, you could go, scoot over and join them in their comfortable bliss, but it seemed just that bit too hard—where would you start?

Until now you never considered being inexperienced a bad thing, but you couldn’t help but wonder how if just a bit of knowhow would’ve make you less shy to join.

Navigating the mass of bodies should really be at the bottom of your to-do list, so taking a deep breath, you force your attention to the painstakingly boring work on your lap, once again starting to type. You’d built up a good rhythm, the words flowing easier as the time went by, and even though your legs had gone numb a while ago, it seemed like a good idea to ride the wave of concentration while you still had it.

So much so that you didn’t notice the shuffling sounds of movement going on a meer meter away. James had made his way up and off the couch, padding into the kitchen, switching on the radio upon entry—a telltale sign he’d about to start cooking.

The space James had left on couch was still hot from his residual heat when, on cue, Sirius reach his hand over to Remus’ shoulder, pouting dramatically, patting the still-warm space on the couch. “You’re not coming up?”

Remus, his neck tilted back slightly to look at Sirius, exhaled through his nose. He hesitated for half a second before shifting to stand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

As he moved past you, his fingertips brushed against your leg—so lightly, so fleetingly that you barely registered the touch, too engrossed in your project to notice. If you had noticed, you might’ve seen the way he glanced at you, how his gaze lingered for just a beat longer than necessary.

By the time he plopped down onto the couch, Sirius wasted no time crawling onto him, sprawling across his lap like a cat seeking warmth. Remus just huffed out a light chuckle as Sirius melted against him, pressing his face into his shoulder and humming contentedly. Instinctively, Remus’ hand came up to his hair, fingers tangling in soft curls, stroking without thought.

But even as he did, his eyes flickered back to you—quick, searching glances that went unnoticed. He can imagine it to be overwhelming, entering an already established relationship—still so many things unspoken, still so much to learn. And Remus ever the watcher, had noticed how your little habits—your tendencies to take up as little space as possible, shrinking slightly under the pressure of intimacy.

It’s not that you’re afraid of it—affection, intimacy—it was that you were just genuinely clueless, there’s not exactly a manual on how to do all; something that they already do so well, so intuitively between themselves.

It made you nervous is all, unable to imagine how awkward it would be if you’d done the wrong thing, put yourself in the wrong place—the room for mistakes seemed endless.

Still, Remus wasn’t going to push, or pry. Not until he was sure, sure that the way your fingers twitch by your side was with the desire to join, sure that your not so discrete hesitant glances were of a longing nature.

All his thoughts were about you, that was until Sirius distracted him in the best way he knew how.

Soft, light kisses pressed against his collarbone, trailing up to his neck, his jaw. His lips warm delicately working his way up until he was scattering pecks across Remus’ face—his nose, the tops of his freckled cheekbones, his temple—Remus was still slightly spying on you despite Sirius’ playful assault.

And, of course just moments before this your concentration had finally faltered, the smell of whatever James was cooking breaking your focus ever so slightly.

His eyes flicked toward where you sat—shoulders hunched ever so slightly forward, brows furrowed in that way they always did when you were deep in concentration. He wondered if you even realized the way you bit at your lip, the way your fingers twitched ever so slightly like they wanted to fidget, to reach out.

Sirius barely registered the amused hum from him before the next kiss landed, this time firmer against the corner of his mouth. Then another—this one lingering, coaxing, before Sirius finally pressed their lips together properly, letting it stretch just long enough for Remus to forget what he was doing.

You blinked, taking in the scene, your eyes widening slightly before flitting away, your fingers pausing over your keyboard. Lips pursing together slightly before your teeth peaked out and took hold of the corner of your mouth.

Sirius felt the way the corners of Remus’ lips spread into a smirk before he pulled away from him, just long enough to whispered to him, breath tickling the shell of his ear, “Watch her,”

Pulling them both onto their side, stealing small looks in your direction as he kissed Remus again—this time deeper, more obnoxious, more deliberate—sighs and hums of contentment bouncing between them.

Naturally, your eyes drifted to the source of the noise, body stilling as though unsure whether to look away or keep watching.

They found it quite cute, the way you eyes darted around the room frantically, trying hard to not stare despite being helplessly drawn to look at the cause of sounds. Teeth mercilessly taking refuge in your cheek, forcing your lips in to a pout that bordered bashful.

Curious thing, you were.

Satisfied with the effect, he exhaled a quiet laugh against Sirius’ lips and decided to stop tormenting you—for now. With a final squeeze to Sirius’ waist, Remus stood, making his way over towering tall over you and, without hesitation, shut your laptop with a soft click.

Whipping your head to find him, brows arched up, a light smirk twitching at his lips as he looked down at you—gaze so intense you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at whatever was causing the sofa to dip beside you.

Only breaking when you felt his hot breath skim along the edge of your earlobe—spine immediately becoming taut, skin prickling down the back of your neck. Sirius was so close and you didn’t need to look at him to know he had a mischievous smirk playing on his lips—“I think you’ve worked hard enough, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from them both, of the weight of their gazes—teasing, expectant, knowing. You weren’t completely unfamilar with their touch, James loved to press obnoxious wet kisses on your cheeks. Remus was also very well versed in the language of forehead kisses and hand holding—Sirius had even gone as far to occassionally sneak dangerous little pecks onto the thin skin behind your ear when you cuddled.

Alert, and flickering panicked looks between them, the tips of your ears felt hot as you stammered out the words, “uh—everything okay?”

Your hands were in your lap clasped together tightly—thumb unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails when Sirius came impossibly closer to you, a small huffed chuckle leaving as he neared. Fingertips brushing a few stray hairs behind your ears, voice low and smooth— “Mmmm, everything’s fine—Moony’s just got a question,”

He could feel the slight shudder that ran through your body, gaze shifting to Remus, hands stuffed into his pockets, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leaned down over you—very clearly entertained by your reactions. His eyes darted around your face, scanning, observing your wide-eyed expression, how you sunk into the soft cushion, trying to put space between you.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a crooked smile, tilting his head as he asked;

“Would you like one?”

The warmth of Sirius’ fingertips trailing light ghostly touches down the side of your neck was so distracting, making your mouth painfully dry, air catching in your throat as your opened and closed your lips repeatedly. Wracking your brain for a response, words, anything—but it felt annoyingly blank, sucking in a shaky breath, your words came out pinched and meek—breathy on the exhale.

Sirius snickered under his breath, barely containing his delight at your reaction, and Remus exhaled a soft chuckle of his own.

“One what?”

Even if you tried to push yourself any further into the couch, practically willing yourself to become one with the fabric—anything to escape this awful flipping feeling at the pits of your stomach—you couldn’t. And it only got worse when Remus leaned in further, precariously close, the tip of his nose just barely grazing the skin of your cheekbones, Sirius could see the way your shoulders inched up and up, closer to your ears as your virtually shrunk into yourself.

Remus’ voice was rough and teasing, making the heat that resided in the tips of your ear spread invasively under the skin of your cheeks. “I saw you—it’s okay to be curious, my love, ” He took his hands from his pockets and brought one to the arm of the sofa, the other resting on the ball of Sirius’ knee, that was flush against yours. He leaned back as he continued, capturing your gaze, “You don’t have to be so shy about it.”

His words were low, steady, laced with that quiet knowing that made your stomach tighten. He was close—too close, and Sirius wasn’t any better, his fingertips still ghosting along your jaw, trailing up toward your ear, his shoulders brushing against yours.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe properly, heat blooming in your chest—radiating outwards, the close proximity, it all just had your head feeling rattled. “I—” You started, but the words immediately died in your throat, and Sirius huffed dramatically, shifting even nearer.

“C’mon, love, we won’t bite.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Unless you want us to.”

Your inhale was sharp, and Sirius grinned, practically preening at your reaction.

But Remus—Remus remained still, observing, reading for any flicker of hesitation, every small tell you didn’t even realize you were giving away. He tilted his head slightly, watching the way your hands curled into your lap, the way your breath hitched when Sirius’ fingers traced your pulse.

And then, his voice dropped even lower, softer—”So would you like one?” The back of his fingers came lightly over the curve of your jaw, lips brushing the bottom of your earlobes when he finally whispered,

“A kiss.”

Your stomach flipped violently, breath hitching and as a light shudder passed over your body—Remus must have noticed, because he smiled—soft and knowing, tilting his head slightly, giving you space, waiting. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding—just offering.

And somehow, that was even more overwhelming.

Lips parted slightly, words failing you completely, barely forcing out the start of a sentence, “B—” When his voice rang just behind you, dripping with amusement; “Have I walked into an ambush?” You hadn’t even noticed James entering the room.

But that was exactly how you felt, ambushed—trapped like a lamb in the midst of a group of lions, chest skipping out of its rhythmic rise and fall when James’ hand slid gently over your shoulder, your lips were still parted, holding the remains of your unfinished sentence. Sirius spoke, turning his head to look at James, smirk taking on a wolfish quality—”Just seeing if our girl would like a kiss,” As the last word left his lips, he was facing you again, head tilting to fit into the dip of your neck, lips almost gliding over the skin.

No where to run, the combined weight of their gaze made you awfully aware of your racing heartbeat, sounding loud between your ears, riccocheting off the empty space in your brain—only able to blink-up at Remus, mouth agape.

Sirius made an amused little noise in the back of his throat. “She’s thinking too hard again,” he murmured, his fingertips moving from their place on your collarbone, to travel down the curve of your skin—fighting every urge in your body to not arch away from his touch. His palm stopped and rest in the small of your back, hot and anchoring.

“Darling, it’s a yes or no question.” The words were still soft, still pressure-less, leaving you all the room in the world to stop this.

Your fingers twitched slightly, curling into the fabric of your sweater, throat suddenly unbearably dry—still completely entrapped under Remus’ watchful eye.

“I’ve never—” You swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

It was more breath than words, was barely a whisper, almost inaudible, but they all heard it.

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose, amused, James’ palm soothed comfortingly over you shoulder, while Remus’ smile softened further, something impossibly tender flashing across his face.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, voice quiet, patient. His hand lifted slightly, fingers hovering near your cheek but barely touching, waiting for any sign, any indication from you. “I could show you.”

Sirius hummed lightly beside you, clearly pleased with where this was going. “Mmm, yeah, Moons is an excellent teacher.”

Your gaze flickered between them, caught between the heat of Sirius’ mischief and the warmth of Remus’ patience, the quiet promise in his eyes.

Your heart was pounding.

Opening your mouth, but nothing came out, your throat tight—only able to nod shyly. Sirius took pity on you, grinning as he shifted back and patted his lap invitingly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he purred. “Front row seat for the lesson.”

You blinked at him, completely dumbfounded,

“What?”

Remus, ever patient, gave Sirius a look, but there was amusement there, too. “We’ll give you a demonstration.”

Sirius patted his thigh again, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, love, don’t be shy.”

You hesitated for a long moment, but Sirius just raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly, his fingers tapping against his leg. James had already made his way around the sofa, and looked just entirely too pleased at the idea.

Eventually, you sighed, heat creeping along the back of your neck as you shuffled over, hesitantly perching yourself on Sirius’ lap. His arms immediately wound around your waist, back flush against his chest, keeping you snug against him as he leaned in, breath tickling your ear.

Remus huffed out a quiet laugh, already reaching for James' collar, tugging him forward until their lips met in an easy, practiced rhythm. Practically melting into each others touch.

It was undemanding, natural. And unconsciously, your eyes darted away from the scene, flickering down onto your hands that still endlessly fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. But, against your luck, Sirius caught you.

“No no no, keep looking,” His voice was gentle, no traces of reprimand, he could feel stiff you were—breath shallow, shoulders tense. Pulling you in further against him, hand moving from your waist to settle on the round of your thighs—thumb stroking in a soothing pattern. Along with the way his voice rumbled of his voice in chest against your back and the velvety hum of his words, “Relax, love,” purged some of the nervous tension that had settled in your bones away.

It wasn’t just that they were kissing—it was how. The effortless way James’ hands slid into Remus’ hair, the way Remus exhaled softly into it, melting just a bit. The way their noses brushed, the way Remus tilted his head slightly to deepen it, slow and unhurried, languid in a way that sent something strange and warm curling in your stomach.

It was so fluid, second-nature.

James made a quiet noise in the back of his throat when Remus bit at his bottom lip, and Sirius hummed behind you.

“See that?” he murmured against your ear. “Slow, but firm. It’s not a race, love. It’s about feeling it, letting it happen.”

Your breath was shallow, completely entranced, and James—who had definitely caught the way your fingers curled against Sirius’ hands your thighs—broke the kiss just long enough to grin at you.

“You taking notes, sweetheart?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Sirius chuckled, chin propped on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I think she’s getting the idea.”

Your entire body was on fire.

And he could feel it, the heat radiating off your body against his, trying not fidget in his lap, and he didn’t help your case. Opting to torture you more with his low teasing cadance and lips dangerously close to your pulse, whispering; “Think you’re ready to try?”

You swallowed thickly, pulse hammering in your throat. Ready to try? That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because in theory, you knew what kissing was supposed to be. You’d seen it a thousand times—in movies, in books, in passing glances stolen between strangers. But knowing wasn’t feeling, and feeling was something else entirely.

Especially when three sets of eyes were locked onto you, waiting.

You wet your lips unconsciously, and Sirius made a pleased little sound behind you, his hands settling more firmly, squeezing lightly against your thighs. “That’s a good start,” he murmured. “Mmm, maybe she’s a natural, Moons.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head slightly to catch Remus’ expression. He was still watching you, his gaze steady, unreadable. You searched for impatience there, for amusement, for any sign of frustration—but there was none. Only quiet, open curiosity, waiting for you to make the call.

Inhaling deeply though your nose, a light wave of hesitance flickering through you.

“I…” You trailed off, glancing over at James, who had since leaned back against the couch, all easy confidence, his head tilting slightly to the side. “With…who?”

The second the words left your mouth, Sirius laughed, delighted.

“Oh, love,” he purred, adjusting his wide legged position even wider, causing your hips to fall further into his middle—sinking into his touch. “That’s the best part.”

James smirked at that, hazel eyes flashing. “Mmm, guess it’s only fair we let you pick,” he mused. “We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe that for a second, not when Sirius was grinning like the cat that got the cream, and certainly not when Remus had the nerve to sit beside James, looking at you like he was already in your head, reading your thoughts before you could even think them.

Your heart was racing so fast you were surprised they couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—you did. But what if you messed it up? What if you got the angle wrong, or forgot to breathe, or—

“Darling.” Remus’ voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, quiet but firm. You snapped your gaze to him automatically, fingers twitching, picking at the jean fabric of by Sirius’ hands. “There’s nothing to get wrong.”

You barely had time to react before he leaned in—slow, deliberate—just close enough that the warmth of him made your breath stutter.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You hesitated, but after a beat, you did.

The next thing you felt was the feather-light brush of his lips against your cheek—not quite a kiss, not really, just the barest ghost of contact. Lips parting, letting a shallow hitching breath pass.

“There,” he murmured. “Easy, isn’t it?”

His lips brushed another kiss over the curve of your jaw, still unbearably gentle, giving you time, giving you space. You inhale shakily, body still burning against Sirius, Remus just hummed, trailing the kisses just slightly lower. There was barely any time for you to respond before he finally—finally—pressed his lips against yours

It was so much softer than you’d expected, warm and welcoming. Not demanding, not urgent—just there, patient, waiting for you to catch up.

Your stomach flipped, and Sirius hummed his approval against your ear, his hands rubbing absent, slow circles into your sides. James, let out a quiet exhale, watching intently from beside Remus—hands twitching almost in efforts to stay put.

Trying your best to stay out of your head, focus on the kiss but not too hard, pace yourself, enjoy the moment—your hands curling into themselves at your sides. But when Remus hummed, a small pleased sound into the kiss, the tension building in you slipped away. Further and further into the back of your mind.

He kissed you like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he wanted to be kissing you, and your brain was getting more mushy as the contact continued. Your hands twitched again, and this time, you actually moved, leaning slightly into the kiss—one of them hesitantly lifting to rest against the front of his shirt.

Sirius, sensing the change immediately, grinned, chin still propped on your shoulder.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

James hummed in agreement, eyes dark with interest. “Looks like she’s a fast learner.”

Remus, still entirely too composed, simply smiled into the kiss, his hands finally moving to cradle your jaw, holding you there as he deepened it just slightly.

By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, cheeks flushed—lips wet and reddened.

James, evidently unable to contain himself, turned your chin slightly toward him, eyes practically shining with mischief.

“My turn.”

His lips were on yours, and if Remus was patient and careful, James was the opposite.

Kissing you like he was playing—feverish and teasing, like he knew exactly how new it was for you, how you were still unsure, and he was more than content in exploring.

Initially he let you take the lead, barely pressing into you, lips moving slowly, teasingly, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your jaw as if coaxing you forward. But as he leaned further into you, hands planting themselves firmly on your thighs—parting his lips against yours.

You were vaguely aware of the sound of Sirius humming in approval somewhere behind you, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as James’ tongue flicked playfully against your bottom lip. Your breath caught in your throat, and he grinned against your mouth, clearly pleased with your reaction.

James littered more kisses onto your skin, starting at the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, bringing the exposed skin of your collarbone gently between his lips—nipping and sucking softly. Earning him a breathy whimper, exhaling “Jamie,” as you craned your neck into him more, hands jumping to find purchase on his arms.

Remus’ hand inched up James’ spine, almost as a reminder that said, don’t be greedy. Withdrawing, he allowed the other a better look at your expression—half lidded, satified hums leaving your still kiss-flushed lips, unbareably pretty.

Sirius let out a low, appreciative whistle behind you, a low “Damn,” passing into the air, breath skimming over the back of your neck.

“Ready for round two?”

You hadn’t had time to come back down into the room fully before Sirius’ hands came down to your hips—the words barely proccessing in your mind as you spun on his lap. Positioning you so your legs split across his thighs. His hands settled on your waist, warm and steady, fingers splayed just under the hem of your shirt, grounding you.

Sirius was still watching you, that signature smirk playing at his lips, but there was something softer in his expression now—something reassuring, like he was making sure you weren’t too overwhelmed.

But how could you not be?

You could still feel the lingering warmth of Remus’ kiss on your lips, still taste James’ breath against yours. And now planted on Sirius’ lap, he was moving closer, eyes flicking over your face, searching for hesitation.

You didn’t even realize you’d clenched your hands into nervous fists until Sirius made a small noise of amusement and pried one open, lacing his fingers through yours. “Breath, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. “You’re in good hands.”

Unlike Remus’ patience or James’ teasing, Sirius kissed you like he was yearning.

its like a torch had been lit, your body was set even further ablaze when Sirius pressed his lips firmly against yours, immediately tightening his hold on your waist. Pads of his fingers grasping almost desperately onto the flesh trying to pull you closer than you already were—shifting his hips upwards into you. Your voice trembled in your throat, failing to make it to your lips as muffled moan threatened to leave you. Hands coming up to his neck, fingers threading and tugging at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fucking hell, you two,” sounded from beside you, but it felt so far away, dulled by the thumping echo of your pulse in your ears and the soft hums and mewls leaving the both of you.

He kissed like he meant it, like he wanted you to feel all of it, tongue just barely teasing against the seam of your lips, making you gasp out a whine. He took full advantage of the sound, his hands squeezing at your curve of your hips before he pulled back just enough to grin against your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The words sent a sharp jolt of heat down your spine, it had you arching into him against you will, rocking involuntarily into him, and Sirius let out a delighted little laugh. Head falling into the crook of his neck, slightly embarrassed by the reactions he so easily compelled from you.

“Ohh, Pads,” James drawled, chin resting on his shoulder, breath warm against his ear. “You’re gonna break her.”

Sirius hummed, utterly unbothered. “Dunno, Jamie—” his lips ghosted against your neck again, just barely touching, a tease, “—she seems to be holding up just fine.”

You weren’t.

Your thoughts were scrambled, body thrumming, your hands clutching onto Sirius as if he were the only thing tethering you to the earth.

And when you brought your head out of its hiding spot, Remus’ could barely contain the laugh that bubbled in his chest, musing with a tilting his head. “Mmm, think she likes it.” Your parted lips, chest heaving trying to catch your breath—pupils blown and hazy expression Remus was more than convinced you liked it.

Sirius, still curled up comfortably beneath you, pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice was teasing, syrupy sweet, lips dragging up to your jaw, inching up to the corners of your mouth—almost kisses—then trailing back away. And you could only melt into them, breathless and dizzy and completely, utterly lost in it all.

“Should we stop, or do you wanna keep learning?”

this is my first time writing poly! so pls be kind x

part 2 - hands-on lesson!

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 10 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After just two days back home, Bradley takes you on a second date. He wants more, and you don't seem to mind when he can't keep his hands and lips to himself.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being boyfriend material

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

"Shit."

It had been such a long time since Bradley wore anything other than a flight suit, a khaki uniform or gym clothes, he had no idea what he was supposed to wear to dinner tonight. You mentioned weeks ago you thought Italian food sounded nice for a second date, and he agreed wholeheartedly. He managed to snag a table for the two of you at Salvatore's, and he was absolutely prepared to drop over five hundred bucks, but his clothing was becoming a situation.

After spending the entire day with you yesterday, Saturday morning was a bit of a reality check. He was trying to work through three loads of laundry while he sorted through a box of mail. There was nothing sweet in there like the packages you and your class sent to him while he was deployed. It was mostly bills that had already been automatically paid online, mortgage statements, and junk. Then he started folding laundry, somehow expecting some articles of clothing that weren't threadbare tee shirts or tropical print button downs to jump out at him.

"Why don't you have normal clothing?" he asked himself as he picked up his phone now that it was late enough to text you. He wanted to make sure you were okay with grabbing a drink before the dinner reservation which wasn't until 7:45. But when he unlocked his phone, instead of zero new messages, he found a picture you sent seven minutes ago. 

"Oh my god," he groaned softly, dropping onto his bed next to some unfolded laundry. You were in your own bed wearing his favorite sweatshirt and a bright smile.

Good morning, Handsome. Last night felt like a dream, but your sweatshirt is real, so it must have happened.

He scrambled to write back, clothing crisis forgotten. God, he wanted to be in that bed in the worst way. Things would definitely get out of hand pretty quickly, but he knew those first few kisses would be the sweetest things. After last night at the beach, waiting for a few more dates was going to be the challenge of his life, but he wanted you to know he was in this for the long haul. Especially after you mentioned that you thought he may have ghosted you.

Hey, Gorgeous. My sweatshirt looks way better on you than it ever did on me. Did you sleep in it?

He hit send and then wished he hadn't asked that question. He sounded like a horny twenty year old. It was bad enough that he had to practically beg you to go inside your apartment last night while you were kissing his neck, but he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Of course I did. It smells like you. The only thing better would be having you in my bed, too...

How the hell was he supposed to wait until this evening to see you? He tossed his phone aside. His blood felt like it was on fire, and he was sweating. Never before had he wanted to move this fast from a first date to making things official. But he knew you. He'd been working up to this point for months. And the Thai dinner with Prosecco on the beach wasn't really a first date. That felt closer to a reunion with a girlfriend than anything else. The only thing missing for that to have been true was a sleepover instead of him taking you home for the night. 

He was too many steps ahead right now. You hadn't yet done the drive down to Coronado from Mira Mesa for yourself, but he already caught himself wondering if you'd consider moving in with him in the future. "You need to relax," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You'll scare her away." He cracked his neck and forced himself to fold a stack of underwear before picking up his phone to reply.

I don't want to rush things, but your bed does look very comfortable. I'm confident we could get cozy there... You're making me blush. I need to get this conversation back on track. Cocktails before dinner at Salvatore's? I'll pick you up at 5:30?

A few minutes later, you responded with a photo of you still all snuggled up in bed, smiling and giving him a thumbs up in his shirt.

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

"Just in case," you muttered, making sure your bedding was straightened and your room was tidy. You left Bradley's TOP GUN sweatshirt folded on your pillow, but you certainly wouldn't mind having the man himself in your bed tonight. Your fingers and toes tingled when you thought about it. You bit your lip and scooped up his shirt, inhaling his scent one more time before you realized he would be here any minute.

When he knocked on your door, you set it back on your pillow and glanced at yourself in the mirror as you bounced past it. Cocktails and dinner at Salvatore's would have been a major splurge for a night out for you, but Bradley selected the restaurant. All you did was mention Italian food, and he really ran with it. You'd have been happy with some pizza and breadsticks, simply excited he remembered you mentioned Italian food at all, but this called for your littlest black dress and your brightest red lipstick. 

"I'm coming!" you called, going as fast as you could in your black heels, giggling at the double meaning. You had to compose yourself before you could open the door, and when you did, you were met with the actual man of your dreams.

"Hey, Gorgeous." Bradley's crooked little smile faltered a bit as his gaze slid down from your eyes to your lips, but he didn't stop there. He was shamelessly checking you out as a pretty shade of pink crept up into his cheeks, and you did a slow turn for him. 

Your skin felt warm as you met his eyes after doing a full circle. His lips were parted as you whispered, "Hi," and reached for his hand. As soon as your skin met his, he pulled you closer to him. "Bradley." His lips were on yours as he backed you up into your apartment until you softly met the wall behind you. He was big and warm, and you were holding his left hand while his right one came up to your face.

He broke the kiss by tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he crooned softly. Your lipstick was smudged along his mouth, and his tongue darted out to taste it before he said, "I'm fucking crazy about you."

His rough thumb dragged along your bottom lip as you said, "And you've never even seen me dispose of a spider for you."

"Baby," he rasped. "I'd probably propose."

A shocked giggle escaped you, and his crooked grin was back as he kept you there against your wall with your door wide open. You reached up and ran your fingers along the collar of his oxford shirt before tugging on the fabric until his lips were on yours again. You let your head tip back against the wall as he devoured you, tasting your lips, tongue and teeth before his forehead came to rest gently on yours.

"You know," you gasped, trying to catch your breath, "I thought all your emails were sweet and romantic."

He chuckled as he pulled away from you. "I was hoping I was doing okay in person, too."

You shrugged playfully and tried to spin out of his grasp, but his hand was still wrapped up in yours. He followed you to your coffee table so you could grab your purse as you casually told him, "You're even better in person than I thought you'd be."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, pulling you close again. "You like my stupid looking clothes and how I can eat three meals for dinner?"

He was so endearing, you didn't know how to handle him. So you kissed him again and whispered, "I like all of it." You let your fingers trail along his shirt buttons as you said, "You look nice in this, but I can already tell you're more comfortable in your colorful Aloha shirts and jeans. And I love that you can eat three meals for dinner, because we ended up sharing everything last night."

"Let's go," he coaxed, leading you toward your door. "I'll let you pick whatever you want to try at Salvatore's. I don't usually like sharing my food, but there's just something about you, Gorgeous. You make me feel comfortable."

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

You tried to tell Bradley twice that he still had some of your lipstick smudged on his face, but he just shrugged and said, "Good," in response both times. If he didn't mind, then neither did you. It couldn't be any more obvious that he was with you when the exact color that was on your lips was also on his. You listened to him hum along to the retro oldies station as he merged onto the coastal highway while you took a minute to fix up your own smudged lipstick.

He grinned over at you as you put your makeup away and said, "Come on, Baby. If you didn't want it on my face, then you wouldn't be putting more on your lips."

Every time he made a bold statement like that, you wanted to cancel dinner altogether and take him to your bedroom. "I never said I didn't want it on your face. It looks good." 

He reached out blindly for your hand, and you grabbed his immediately. "You did tell me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."

"Yeah," you muttered. "Don't stop doing that." You knew things with him were going to get physical pretty quickly, but you'd never been quite this attracted to someone before. You drew little shapes on his palm as you asked, "How was your first night back in your own bed after so many months away?"

He groaned softly. "Epic. Fantastic. I don't fit very well in an extra long twin bed."

"No, I would imagine you don't," you said with a laugh as you watched him drive his Bronco in the evening sunlight.

He licked his lips and grinned as he said, "Would have been better if you were there though."

The eruption of butterflies in your belly left you biting your lip. You wanted to respond, but you needed to be able to make it through dinner before you were hanging off of him again like you were last night. That's when he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles, treating you to his mustache there. "Feel like getting a drink or two in the lounge first? Maybe a bottle of wine?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, ready to go anywhere he took you. As soon as he parked, he jogged around to help you down, letting you slide against his body with your hands on his shoulders. You wobbled a bit in your shoes, but he kept you steady.

"You good?" he asked as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck as his arm wrapped around your waist.

"So good," you promised. "Never better."

Bradley kept his hand right there on your hip as he led you along the sidewalk toward the restaurant. The lounge was packed; this was definitely a popular weekend date night locale. Couples filled the space with noisy conversation, but you could hear Bradley perfectly as his lips found your ear when he said, "There's an empty stool at the far end of the bar." He gave your hip a little squeeze as you headed for it, and he leaned on the bar next to you. "Why don't you pick out a bottle of wine or whatever you want? I'll go let the hostess know we'll be hanging out in the lounge."

When you agreed, he kissed your lips like the two of you had been at this for years, not just since yesterday. You weren't the only one who watched him walk away in his snug pants and Oxford shirt that somehow showed off his biceps. He was just that good looking. When you saw him without a shirt on, you'd probably faint and need him to revive you. When the bartender came over, you were chuckling to yourself at the idea of having sex with Bradley while he kept his shirt on to save you from that fate.

"Can I get you a drink?"

You looked at him in a daze, realizing you meant to choose a bottle of wine. You blurted out what kind you liked best, and with a nod and a smile, he turned to fill your request. And that's when you finally looked at the menu and realized the bottle was more than a hundred and fifty dollars.

"Oh shit." But it was too late. He had already opened it and was heading your way with it. You scrambled in your purse for your wallet, cringing at the idea of Bradley seeing the bill when you could have simply ordered a cocktail instead. Just as the bartender was pouring out a bit of the wine for you to try, you found your credit card successfully. And that was also when Bradley came back.

"They'll come get us when our table's ready," he said. "I told them it would be easy to find me since my date is the most beautiful woman in the restaurant." He watched the bartender pick up a second glass and said, "Oh perfect, you found some wine that you like."

You nodded and tried your best to pass your credit card across the bar undetected with your hand covering it. "I sure did."

Bradley's eyes followed your hand as he took a sip of the wine. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you told him, picking up your own glass with your other hand. You tasted the wine and nodded at the bartender, and then he filled up both glasses while Bradley reached for your credit card.

"That's not necessary, Gorgeous. You can put that away."

You waited until the bartender walked off before you shook your head. "Let me pay for the wine. I was distracted and just picked a random bottle before I looked at the price, and then it was too late because he already had it opened. It's expensive."

Bradley looked completely unfazed as he eased your card from your hand and tucked it back into your wallet. "I don't care about that."

"I do," you said softly in your embarrassment. "I don't want you to think that's what I expected."

Bradley laughed in response. "First of all, I would never think that. And second, I was on that aircraft carrier for so long, and this wine tastes so good, and you look so pretty... I don't even want to tell you how much I'd be willing to pay for that bottle of wine and our dinner."

You simultaneously felt better and a little warm. "Okay, fine. But next time we go out for dinner, we're getting burgers from In-N-Out, and I'm paying."

His smile grew as you sipped your wine which really was quite good. "So that means you want to go out again?"

You rolled your eyes up at him where he stood, his hand brushing your knee where it was crossed over your other leg. "I'm about to make an In-N-Out reservation right now."

"Perfect," he replied. "Which night? I have to work late a few days next week to get caught up on everything I missed while I was away."

"You're ridiculous," you told him with a laugh. "How about Wednesday?"

His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress as he said, "Wednesday's good. You also need to let me know when I can visit your classroom again." His words were so sweet, and his gaze was sincere, but the feel of his fingertips inching along your skin above your knee was something else. 

You set your glass down next to your purse and reached for his hand, letting his fingers slip underneath your dress as you met his brown eyes. When he teased your skin with his rough hands, you reached for his shirt, and Bradley came willingly. Salvatore's didn't provide the two of you with the same level of privacy as the beach last night had, but you didn't really care, and he didn't seem to either.

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

You had the softest skin. How was he supposed to keep his hands off you? And that red lipstick made your little pout when he teased you even more delectable than he could have imagined. And he'd been doing plenty of imagining for the last few months. He'd imagined you in a variety of scenarios with him, but so far being with you in person surpassed everything his vivid thoughts came up with.

When he mentioned visiting you at work, you treated him to the silky soft feel of your skin, and then you literally grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged until he was kissing you. Oh god, he was never going to recover from this. He had to wrap his hand around the middle of your thigh to keep himself from going any further as you moaned softly into his mouth. He was absolutely starving and a little dizzy from the wine, but he was thinking about skipping dinner in favor of the solitude of the Bronco right now.

"Mr. Bradshaw?"

Your tongue was slowly tasting his when you jerked away from him as the hostess strolled over. Embarrassed, you turned toward the bar as Bradley grunted in response at the young woman who told him the table was ready for the two of you. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing, because feeling you up in the middle of the crowded lounge wasn't something he'd feel good about later. At least not on the second date. He'd bring you back here in a few months and see if the two of you even made it to dinner.

With a smile, he reached for your free hand after you picked up your glass. You halfway hid your face against his bicep as the hostess picked up the bottle and led the way through the lounge and into the restaurant. Bradley kissed your forehead and murmured, "If I could keep my hands off of you, this wouldn't be a problem."

You peered up at him through your lashes. "Hanging out on your couch alone is sounding better and better."

"Fuck," he groaned softly as you released his hand and took a seat at the table set for two which was overlooking the bay. Bradley pushed your chair in, and his thumbs met your bare arms. He took a few deep breaths before taking the seat opposite yours and accepted one of the menus as he listened to the specials while he looked at your face. He muttered some sort of response, and then the two of you were alone.

You emptied the remainder of the wine between his glass and yours, and then Bradley watched you lick a little droplet from your thumb as you smiled at him. "So which three dinners are you planning on ordering tonight?"

It took him a second to realize that he was holding an open menu even though he hadn't looked at it once. He cleared his throat and said, "Definitely some homemade spaghetti and meatballs. The last time I ate spaghetti, it was overcooked and sad, and I had to go back to my bunk and think about you to make myself feel better." You covered your mouth with one hand while you laughed, and it was the most charming thing he'd ever seen. "I'm so serious, Gorgeous. I got a plate of soggy noodles, and literally the only thing that made it better was imagining you teaching your class about military grade jets and aviation."

Your pretty eyes were glittering as you told him, "I keep extending my lessons on the topic, and you are completely to blame for that. After the first time you responded to us, my students asked about you every single day. They are completely enamored with you."

"Yeah? Just them? Or you too?" He knew his words were reminiscent of the way you'd tried to blame it on your kids when you asked him to send you a picture so you could see what he looked like.

"Hmm." You pretended to peruse your menu. "I'm thinking about the ravioli. Or maybe the penne with vodka sauce." Your foot tapped his leg beneath the table, and he had to fight the urge to reach under and touch your skin again. You were teasing him in every way right now, and he was absolutely loving it. When the waiter dropped off glasses of water and some freshly baked bread, he asked if you wanted anything else to drink.

"You want another bottle of wine, Gorgeous?" Bradley asked, deciding to tease you right back.

"Absolutely not," you told him, looking at him like he had two heads before kindly telling the waiter, "No, thank you."

He was still laughing when he picked up a piece of bread. "So we'll get spaghetti, penne and ravioli?"

"You don't have to order what I want," you told him, your foot still running along his calf while your expression dripped with innocence.

"No. I want to though." It was kind of fun spoiling you with something as simple as dinner. Vanessa would have made a comment by now about how much she hated the slightly kitschy, over the top restaurant, even if the food was supposed to be immaculate. You didn't seem to mind one bit that he ordered three massive entrees and intended to finish whatever you didn't. Vanessa always got embarrassed, but all you said was that you were excited to try all three.

There was never a lull in conversation. You actually listened to Bradley when he was talking, and he could have listened to you all night.

"So you know how last night I mentioned... that I'd never really thought about dating someone in the military who deploys for work?"

"Yeah," Bradley rasped, not sure he loved where the conversation was heading.

You looked a little apprehensive as you said, "I was thinking about it more last night after you dropped me off." 

"And?"

You kind of shrugged and said, "I think I'd actually be okay with it, as long as it's you. It almost feels like we got some big, scary thing out of the way already, you know? And I could always write to you, because I kind of loved doing that. And yes, Bradley, I am also completely enamored with you."

It was almost a shame that the food arrived then, because as you started to cut into an enormous ravioli, all he could think to say was, "I'm completely enamored with you, too."

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

You were so full from dinner, you didn't know how Bradley could walk. He ate at least two times what you did, and then he insisted on ordering a piece of cheesecake. When you caught sight of the bill, you tried not to gasp, because it was more than you spend on groceries for a whole month. But he handed over his credit card and signed his name without even breaking conversation with you. And now you were discreetly grabbing a handful of mints on your way out of the restaurant as he held your hand.

It was late, and you knew he was still tired. He mentioned briefly that he had a lot of chores to do this week amidst some late nights at work, but you didn't know how you'd be able to wait until Wednesday to see him again. When he started up the Bronco and headed in the direction of your apartment, your mind flooded with questions, but he asked you one first.

"I already have plans tomorrow, but I don't think I can wait until Wednesday to see you again. What time do you usually get to school?"

"7:20."

"Okay. And what kind of coffee do you like?"

You couldn't stop smiling as you told him what you usually ordered on the rare occasion you had time to stop at Starbucks. You kind of already felt like he was spoiling you.

"Have you memorized everything I've ever told you?"

"Yep," he replied, his handsome smile evident in the street lights. "And I've gotta say, you're one of a kind, Gorgeous."

You honestly didn't want the ride to end. The fact that there was no buffer of traffic to add to the twenty minute drive made you pout a little bit. Bradley's deep voice layered over the music playing on the radio while he held your hand was intoxicating, but you made a disappointed sound as he parked in front of your building.

When he released your hand to kill the engine in the near darkness, all you could see was his handsome profile. "You thought the drive would be too much for me," you whispered. "But when I'm in the car with you, I don't want it to end."

He cleared his throat and softly said, "Well, we don't have to get out quite yet if you don't want to."

Your pout turned into a grin as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "I can tell you still need to catch up on some sleep. I don't want to keep you out too late, Bradley."

He chuckled and undid his own seatbelt. "Why don't you come a little closer and say my name again."

As you eased yourself onto your hands and knees, you scooted across the seat and whispered, "Bradley," with a little laugh.

"Closer?" he asked, and you crawled over to him until you were able to kiss his cheek.

"Bradley."

He turned his head so his lips met yours, and he whispered, "Closer," against your mouth.

You were immediately in his lap, your hands resting on his chest as the steering wheel met your lower back. Your lips found his scarred cheek just like last night, and you kissed your way along his mustache and the side of his nose. You let your hands drift slowly down over his abs until they met the leather of his belt, and you whispered his name one more time.

His big hands closed around your wrists as he groaned, "You really love teasing me."

You nodded and said, "I really do," as he guided your hands up to his shoulders and around his neck.

"You're really good at it, Baby. All those pictures of you in your bed are enough to get a man through a deployment and then promptly kill him once he's on dry land if he can't touch you immediately."

He kissed the inside of your arm, and you scooted your body a little closer to his. "You can touch me." Your words elicited a deep groan as he slid his big hands along your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kissed your lips, swiping his tongue against yours as his fingers trailed down your sides. You almost cried out when his thumbs grazed the sides of your breasts before he gently squeezed your waist and your hips.

You could invite him to stay over. You didn't think he'd turn you down if you did. But all you could manage to say was, "Bradley," between kisses.

He tipped his head back against the headrest and whispered, "I love the way that sounds." His eyes were glittering in the darkness as he looked at your face and your body, and you remembered his text message from earlier.

I don't want to rush things

It was hard for you to remember that yesterday in your classroom was the first time you touched him. The first time you heard his voice in person. As much as you wanted to lean in close and ask him to stay, instead you kissed his ear and said, "You promised me movie night on your couch. When?"

"Friday?" he asked, kissing along your neck. "Let me end the week with my Gorgeous girl?"

"Yes."

You were afraid you were going to melt right out onto the pavement when he opened his door, but he helped you down and kept his arm wrapped around you. Bradley walked a half step behind you in the darkness all the way to your apartment. While there was no expectation that he was going to join you inside, you ended up pinned against your door, because it didn't seem like he was quite ready to leave yet either. 

He was eager. You could feel it as his lips found your neck again. He smiled against you as he whispered your name in that deep raspy voice. "Since you don't like surprises, I'm telling you right now that you should expect to see me in the parking lot at your school on Monday morning. Sound okay?"

"Oh god, yes," you whined as he released you. There were so many things you wanted to tell him as he put a foot of space between your bodies, really giving you a chance to see his pink cheeks and the way he was breathing deeply. You blurted out, "I'm falling so hard for you."

His crooked little grin was back as he nodded at your door. "Lock it behind you. And when you get in bed, in my sweatshirt, send me another selfie."

"I will," you promised, and you did exactly what he said. A minute after you texted the photo, you got a message back from him.

I think I'm falling even harder.

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

I'm so obsessed with them. She was so concerned about that bottle of wine! And he really wasn't lol. Coffee and burgers and a couch date coming up. This story will be 18+ soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

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@mygyn

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@nessjo

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@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

[kpoplustzone]

Fucked like a queen 4th part - IU smut

OC X IU

5000 words

More stories like this in KOFI - click here

IU gazed up at Kim, her eyes tracing the length of his thick, hard cock. Despite the lingering satisfaction from her earlier orgasm, a fresh wave of desire churned within her. The sight of his fully erect member, glistening slightly from her earlier attentions, was an undeniable lure. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.

“Come here, Ajhussi,” she whispered, her voice still carrying a husky rasp of pleasure. Her small hand reached out, her fingers curling around his, gently tugging him closer. “Don’t just stand there… You know I can’t resist that for long.”

Kim chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that resonated through her body. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers, a naked lust shining in his eyes. He knelt beside her, his gaze hungrily taking in her bare form, the black shirt clinging to her shoulders, teasingly revealing the curve of her perky breasts and the dark shadow between her thighs.

“And you know I can’t refuse you, Ji Eun-ah,” he replied, his voice a low growl. He reached out, his rough fingers gently caressing her cheek, the contrast of his aged skin against her smooth fairness sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed in anticipation of his kiss.

His lips found hers, a slow, tender exploration that quickly deepened into a passionate frenzy. Their tongues met, intertwining and dancing, the familiar heat igniting between them with a fierce intensity. IU’s hands reached up, her fingers tangling in his silver-streaked hair, pulling him closer as she groaned softly into the kiss, the pleasure already building within her. Kim’s hands, meanwhile, began their familiar exploration, one sliding beneath the clinging black shirt to cup her soft breast, his thumb gently teasing her already hard nipple, sending jolts of pure sensation through her. His other hand traced the curve of her waist, down her hip, and finally settled on her bare thigh, his fingers lightly stroking the delicate skin, making her breath catch in her throat.

Breaking the heated kiss, IU looked up at Kim, her eyes filled with a haze of longing. “Please, Ajhussi,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “I need you inside me again. Just like before.”

Kim nodded, his gaze mirroring the raw desire in her eyes. He gently shifted her legs, positioning himself between them, his hard cock now throbbing in anticipation. IU instinctively arched her back, raising her hips in offering. With a deep groan, Kim guided the head of his thick member to her wet entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he slid deep inside her, filling her. IU let out a long sigh of pure bliss, her body instantly relaxing around him, their connection a familiar and deeply satisfying ache.

Underneath him, IU’s body seemed to melt, molding itself against his with a familiarity that belied the secret nature of their relationship. Her legs instinctively wrapped higher around his back, pulling him deeper still, as if trying to absorb every inch of his presence within her. Her breath hitched with each slow, deliberate thrust, and her soft moans, previously suppressed, now escaped her lips more freely, a sensual soundtrack to their clandestine reunion.

Kim’s hands, having found their way beneath her, now cupped her bare buttocks, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he controlled the rhythm of their movements. He savored the feeling of her slick heat enveloping his cock, the way her inner muscles clenched around him with each upward surge. Their gazes remained locked, a silent conversation passing between them – a language of pure, unadulterated desire. The exhaustion from their previous encounter seemed to have vanished, replaced by a renewed hunger, a primal need to connect on this deeply intimate level once more.

As the initial slow movements began to pick up pace, IU’s hands tightened their grip on Kim’s shoulders, her nails digging slightly into his skin. She arched her back further, offering him deeper access, her small whimpers growing more insistent. The rhythmic slapping of their bodies against each other filled the quiet apartment, a stark contrast to the graceful image she projected to the world just hours earlier.

Kim’s hands, which had been gently cupping her buttocks, now moved higher, his fingers finding the firm, sculpted lines of her abs beneath the remnants of her torn shirt. He gripped them tightly, his thumbs pressing into her skin as he used the leverage to lift her hips slightly off him. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust his big, hard cock even further inside her, the head of his member hitting a spot so sensitive that a jolt of pure electricity shot through IU’s body.

Her back arched involuntarily, her head falling back against the wall as a sharp cry escaped her lips. It was so intense, so deep, that she felt her body convulse, the familiar tightening of a second orgasm threatening to overwhelm her right then and there. Her nails dug further into Kim’s shoulders, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The world seemed to narrow down to the feeling of his thick cock buried so deeply within her, the rhythmic pounding sending shockwaves through her entire being. For a fleeting moment, she teetered on the edge of another earth-shattering climax, her body vibrating with uncontrolled pleasure.

Kim was still deeply buried inside IU as she rested her hands on the coffee table, her breath coming in short gasps. Just then, her phone, which was lying on the table, started to ring loudly. The caller ID flashed her manager’s name. A look of slight panic crossed her face.

“Oppa’s calling,” she whispered to Kim, a hint of urgency in her voice. “I need to take this.”

Kim, however, showed no signs of letting her go. He gripped her hips tighter, his cock still firmly lodged inside her. “Not so fast, Ji Eun-ah,” he growled, his voice thick with possessiveness. “You’re not going anywhere while I’m still enjoying this.” He gave a deep thrust, making her gasp.

“But I have to answer,” IU pleaded, reaching an arm towards the table, but it was just out of reach. “He’ll get worried.”

“Then you’ll have to work for it,” Kim said, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. He released his grip on her hips, but remained firmly planted inside her.

With a sigh of mingled frustration and arousal, IU pushed herself up onto her knees, her bare ass swaying with the movement. Kim’s cock remained buried deep within her, stretching her with each inch she moved. She began to crawl towards the coffee table, her hands sliding on the polished wood as she tried to keep her balance.

Every movement caused Kim to thrust deeper inside her, the friction intense and incredibly arousing. “Oh, fuck… Ajhussi…” IU moaned with each step, her voice trembling.

“That’s right, Ji Eun-ah,” Kim grunted, his hands now running along her sides, guiding her. “Crawl for me. Show your oppa how eager you are… even with my cock still filling you up.” He gave another deep thrust as she reached the table, making her cry out.

She finally reached her phone and fumbled to answer it, still on her knees, Kim’s hard length a constant presence inside her, throbbing with each heartbeat. “Y-yes, Oppa?” she said into the phone, her voice surprisingly steady despite the scandalous situation she was in. Yes, Oppa, hi,” IU said, trying to infuse her voice with the usual cheerful tone she used for her manager. She gripped the phone tightly, her other hand still bracing herself on the coffee table. Behind her, she could feel Kim’s thick cock pulsing inside her, a constant reminder of her current predicament. She attempted to subtly adjust her position, hoping to lessen the intense sensations, but it only seemed to make Kim’s grip on her waist tighter.

“Everything’s fine here,” she continued, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just finished up… going over some notes.” She could feel Kim’s breath hot against her neck as he leaned in closer.

“Going over me, more like,” he whispered into her ear, just loud enough for her to hear. Then, without warning, he thrust deeply, hitting her sweet spot with precision.

IU’s body jolted, a gasp escaping her lips that she quickly tried to mask with a cough. The phone nearly slipped from her hand. “Yes, the notes are… very detailed,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. She could feel her pussy clenching involuntarily around Kim’s hard cock.

Kim chuckled softly against her ear, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. He began to thrust again, each stroke slow and deliberate, stretching her open and making it increasingly difficult for her to maintain her composure.

“So, what did you need, Oppa?” IU asked, her voice strained as she tried to focus on the conversation while her body was being pleasured so intensely. “Oppa,” IU said, trying to sound as casual as possible, “you don’t need to worry about Kim Ajhussi picking me up early. He was quite tired after the long drive back, so I just let him stay in the guest room here. No need for him to rush back so early.”

Behind her, Kim smirked, hearing her explanation. He took this as an invitation and began to thrust into her with more force, his long, thick cock slapping against her wet flesh with each powerful stroke. The sounds were undeniably audible – a wet, rhythmic schlap schlap that echoed in the quiet room.

IU’s eyes widened in panic. She bit down hard on her lower lip, her knuckles white as she gripped the phone. “Yes, the guest room is… very comfortable,” she managed to say, her voice a little strained. Another deep thrust from Kim made her body tremble, and a small, involuntary moan escaped her throat. She quickly cleared it, hoping her manager hadn't noticed.

Kim, enjoying her struggle to maintain her composure, continued his relentless assault, each thrust sending waves of pleasure and mortification through IU’s body. She could only focus on keeping her voice steady while her bare ass was being pounded by the man behind her, all while talking to her unsuspecting manager. What was that sound, Jieun-ah?” her manager asked, his voice now laced with a hint of concern. “It sounded… odd.”

IU’s mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible explanation on the spot. “Oh, that?” she said, trying to sound casual. “That was just… Kim Ajhussi moving some furniture in the guest room. He’s a bit clumsy, you know how he is.” She hoped her manager would buy the flimsy excuse.

Just then, Kim, the mischievous glint in his eyes intensifying, slowly crawled closer to her until his chest was pressed against her back. Still buried deep inside her, he reached around and gently turned her face towards him. His lips met hers in a slow, lingering kiss, his tongue gently prying her mouth open while his hips continued their relentless rhythm, pounding his thick cock into her slick depths.

IU’s focus was now completely split – trying to maintain a normal conversation with her manager while being thoroughly ravaged by Kim. She bit her lip again, trying to suppress the moans that threatened to escape as Kim’s deep thrusts continued to rock her body.

“Have you had anything to eat, Jieun-ah?” her manager asked, his voice softening with concern. “You had such a busy day, I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

IU’s eyes flickered down to where Kim’s thick shaft was still buried deep inside her. Oh, I’ve been fed something good, she thought, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Yes, Oppa, I have,” she replied into the phone, her voice a little breathless. “Kim Ajhussi made sure I… got a good filling. It was… very satisfying, and it hit the spot.” She could feel Kim’s hand caressing her thigh, his fingers teasing the edge of her bare skin. “I’m feeling quite… stuffed. I don’t think I’ll need much for a while.”

As she finished speaking, Kim, with a surprising burst of energy, gripped her waist and expertly flipped her over. Now she was straddling him, facing his head, her bare pussy sliding down his erect cock until she was fully seated on him. She gasped at the sudden change in position, the intensity of the sensation making her grip the phone tightly. She could see the surprised and lustful look in Kim’s eyes as she now rode him, still trying to maintain a normal conversation with her manager on the phone.

Kim’s eyes widened, his gaze immediately drawn to IU’s bare breasts bouncing gently in front of him with each of her movements as she sat on his cock. He reached out, his hands cupping their fullness, his thumbs gently stroking her already erect nipples through the remnants of her torn shirt. He continued to thrust upwards, meeting her rhythm as she rode him, the sensation incredibly intense and intimate.

“Yes, Oppa, I’m feeling much better now,” IU said into the phone, her voice a little breathless but trying to sound reassuring. Kim squeezed one of her nipples gently, making her gasp softly. “Thank you for checking in. Everything is… under control here.” Kim then started to massage her breasts more firmly, eliciting a soft moan from IU that she quickly tried to cover with a cough.

“Alright, Jieun-ah, that’s good to hear. Get some rest, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for the shoot,” her manager said, sounding satisfied.

“I will, Oppa. You too,” IU replied, her gaze now locked with Kim’s, a knowing smile playing on her lips. As her manager said his final goodbye and hung up, IU lowered her phone.

“‘Everything is under control’?” she repeated, her voice a husky whisper, still riding Kim gently. “You certainly took control, Ajhussi. And ‘I got a good filling’? You filled me up nicely.” She leaned down, her bare breasts brushing against Kim’s face. “And as for resting… I think I got a good workout. Don’t you?”

IU tilted her head, a playful but slightly stern expression crossing her face, the kind her fans knew so well. “Ajhussi,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly more formal tone, the ‘queen IU’ making a brief reappearance. “You know that was incredibly risky. What if Oppa had heard something more? It could have been a disaster for my image.”

She paused, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she continued to move her hips against him, the friction causing him to groan softly. “You do enjoy living on the edge, don’t you?” She leaned forward, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Such reckless behavior from my usually so… reliable Ajhussi.” Her gaze dropped to his chest, then back up to meet his eyes, a clear message of lingering desire in their depths. “But,” she added, her voice softening again as she increased the pace of her riding, “I must admit, it was… quite thrilling. Remind me to scold you more often.”

“You’re right, Ajhussi,” IU gasped, her voice catching in her throat as she threw her head back, her long black hair cascading down her spine. The rhythm of her hips against his quickened, each slide a friction-filled caress, pushing them both closer to the edge. She could feel the intense pressure building within her, a tightening coil of pleasure centered deep in her core. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, and involuntary cries escaped her lips as the waves of her climax began to wash over her, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his thick cock.

Just as she reached the peak, her body shuddering violently with the force of her orgasm, she felt Kim’s release. His deep, guttural moans vibrated against her back as his hot seed pulsed inside her, filling her with a satisfying warmth. They remained entwined, chests heaving against each other, the only sound their ragged breathing and the occasional soft gasp of lingering pleasure.

Finally, as their heartbeats began to slow, Kim gently stroked her sweat-dampened hair. “So, Ji Eun-ah,” he murmured, his voice still thick with spent passion, “after such a… thorough workout, where does Ajhussi sleep tonight?”

IU pulled back just enough to look down at him, a sly, confident smile playing on her lips. With a deliberate, almost theatrical flourish, she reached down and unhooked the remnants of her torn black shirt. The fabric, ripped and useless, fell to the floor in a soft heap, leaving her standing before him in the soft light, completely bare. Her perky breasts stood high, the nipples still tight from their recent attention, her toned abs rippling slightly as she moved. The curve of her hips led down to the dark triangle between her thighs, still glistening with their shared intimacy.

She reached down, her fingers closing firmly around his still-erect, throbbing cock. His length filled her hand perfectly. “You,” she said, her voice a husky purr, her eyes locked onto his with a playful dominance, “You are sleeping exactly where you belong tonight.” She gave his engorged member a suggestive squeeze. Then, turning her back to him, she took a step towards the bedroom door, gently tugging him forward by his cock, guiding him into the dimly lit sanctuary of her personal space.

[ao3polls]

What is your "ideal" chapter length for a fic?

< 1000

1000-3000

3000-5000

5000-7000

7000-10000

10k+

50k+ "oneshot" as god intended

[tolkienrsb]

Hey TRSBers, past and potential!

We know that artists may be nervous about signing up. Over the years the event has been running, we’ve heard a lot of ‘I’m not sure my art is good enough’, or fretting that no one will be interested. So we wanted to make it clear that is definitely not the case - this is a welcoming event for artists at all skill levels and types of art!

If you’re an artist but looking for ideas/inspiration, we have a suggestion sheet for that. (And a suggestion form, for the non-artists. Or the artists hoping to spark ideas for others!)

There are a lot of suggestions on the sheet by now, and we know it can be tough trying to pick from so many options even if you’re looking for ideas. We’ve also heard in the past from artists trying to decide on an art idea that it would help them to know more about what catches writers’ attention when they look through the preview gallery.  

Here are some things we learned asking writers in previous rounds how they pick art prompts:

Writers were not concerned about: 

How ‘good’, ‘polished’, ‘complex’, or ‘advanced’ a piece of art is. 

Digital versus traditional art.

Writers really want to work on ideas that their artists are excited about! Make art you want to read stories about. Get ready to share your enthusiasm!

Length. Keep in mind that TRSB asks writers to create a story of at least 5000 words. The idea needs to have some meat! At the same time, complex AUs or scenarios with many characters might inspire stories that would need to be very long to get right. Most writers are looking for story ideas they feel will fall between 5k and 20k words. 

Favourite characters. We can’t really elaborate much on this one - everyone has their own favorites. So pick yours, and realize there’s definitely authors out there who love them too!

Fit with the artist:

Ideas that leave room for creativity

Prompts that give the author an idea of whether they might vibe well with an artist. This includes not just the art itself, but the notes, DNWs, and ‘must haves’.

Artists with matching desires for collaboration levels. Writers’ preferences cover the full range from hands off to highly involved collaboration.  Think about what level of collaboration you want - what are you comfortable with? What kind of time can you put into collaborating?

We can’t wait to see your art!

~TRSB 2025 Mods

[frauleinandry]

the people have VERY much spoken

for context, the shorter entries range from 200-800 words, while the longer ones are shaping up to be around approximately 3000k words

[etoilesombre]

Hi im a new here i finally watched black sails after someone convinced me. And im changed. I'm. Yeah. I'm not who i was before. It's a bizarrely good show?

I'm so so so glad that so many ppl on ao3 agree with me that flint and silver need to fuck. Have fucked. Will fuck.

This will be all i think about for the next month or so.

If you have fic recs do let me know. I'm in dire need.

Hi my friend and welcome to hell! It's the best, right? ("Month" is a HIGHLY optimistic estimate about how long this will consume your brain...)

So honored that you asked for recs! I don't think I've ever compiled a general list of favorites, I had a great time and I think I'm happy with the results. This is by no means comprehensive, and obviously HIGHLY reflective of my own tastes, which are... uh.. I am known to not enjoy nice things very much. I invite others to reblog with their own favorites. Here we go...

Notes: These are in vaguely chronological order. I'm including word count and brief descriptions so you know what you're getting into but no warnings or anything, that's all on AO3. They are all silverflint and all explicit (I think, there might be one or two 'mature' in there but, this is the they need to, have, and will fuck list.) I didn't include any of my own work because presumably that's how you found my blog so you're aware, but I do have a pinned list, and if you want recs for mine or to talk about any of these just message, I will talk about silverflint all day.

Overall Recommendations:

The Most Unexpected Things by forbiddenarchives (~20k words) I think this one is a great starting point. It is very.. fic flavored fic, if that makes sense, in a great way. Hits the spot. The author's description is "season 2 if everyone were 5000% hornier" and that is accurate. Note this is marked as unfinished, but the place it wraps up feels totally reasonable to me.

As Good as Gone by spinninginfinityboy (~5.5k words) Complicated hot weird semi-hate sex on the way to Charles Town. A thing with a Spanish Dubloon that is emblazoned on my brain forever.

Combat by equestrianstatue (~10k words) A two part series, which I think captures the push-pull early frenemies vibe of s1-2 perfectly. Also the writing itself is stellar.

All alone in a moonlit shanty by PrimalScream (4.3k) Celebrating a good day hunting, Flint gets very drunk and tells the crew a dirty story. Silver tries to put him to bed, but he has different ideas. By far one of the lighter things on this list.

after the winnowing by princesskay (~14k) Set after Silver loses his leg, early in his recovery. Silk pajamas, multiple orgasms and overstimulation as well as their usual codependent fuckery.

What It Feels Like Not to Hurt by Robotboy (~9k) Another recovery fic. As the author says, it's 9k of slowburn watersports but really it's about Silver's pain and autonomy and humiliation and. Just. Even if it's not your usual cup of tea it's hot, give it a try.

vigia by doomcountry (~3k) A short, perfect rendering of their dynamic during early s3 raid times. Heartwrenching character study, excellent porn.

The Sack of James Flint by princesskay (~107k) So, yes, this is a novel length sub!Flint cock and ball torture series. I would make the argument that it is one of the best character studies in the fandom, for real. Absolutely worth your time, but fuck, it hurts your heart as much as your captain's balls in the end.

Concurrence by ember_firedrake (~2.5k) Mid s3. The first time they call each other by their first names. Now, that's not actually a thing I think they do, but, good porn and lower angst.

appreciation by nysscientia (~8k) Flint cultivates a certain aloof persona, but Silver sees right through it, and eventually they kiss about it.

Don't Fear The Ships (Fear The Black) by Farasha (~10k) - Silverflint use learning to sail as a coded way to flirt and talk about feelings (and eventually they kiss about it).

A Ship Is A Republic by Robotboy (~20k) A slow burn fic set during the inter-season sword training times. Love this dynamic, this author does power bottom Flint and sub Silver so fucking well.

deliverance is ours by the light of the stars by piratecaptainraven (3.1k) Flint sees Silver and Madi together, and doesn't stop watching when he should. They don't technically fuck in this, but its SO much pining, and the writing is poetic and gorgeous.

frail and fragile bars by ajaxthegreat (~21k) Possibly the hottest thing I've ever read, this rewrote my brain chemistry. Slow burn-ish. It captures that late season love and dependence and resentment and power struggle.

Cold, Dark, Depraved by notfelix (~10k) When fucking fixes absolutely nothing. This hurts in a way that feels, to me, similar to canon. I hate it (affectionate).

Opportunist by anonymous (~6.1k) This was part of the kinkmeme event (see below) and it fucking changed me. If I recommend one fic and only one fic to process the ending, it's this. It's awful. It's necrophilia and light cannibalism. It's the only thing I can imagine happening after, if Silver actually shoots Flint on that island. It makes me feel bad in the best way.

hand in unlovable hand by brinnanza, Jaynovz (~9.9k) Affectionately known as the worst ending AU, this is actually a great followup to the last one. How Silver copes, after Skeleton Island.

Bonus: AUs. I don't generally read AUs, but these two worked for me, in very different ways that still felt very silverflint.

did the twin flame bruise paint you blue by Jaynovz (138k) Novel length mod AU where silverflint broke up, and we see their relationship along two different timelines, before and after. Toxic fucked up goodness, lots of BDSM dynamics, bonus silvervane! All set in NYC.

holy ghost fire by ajaxthegreat (~52k) Appalachia horror au! The author clearly knows the area, and silverflint is already a ghost story, so it works really well. If you've ever been there you'll know how right it feels, if not, just trust me.

extra bonus: fic event collections and rec lists

kinkmeme

built on sand

beach blanket black sails

@jaynovz has also compiled a number of much more specific rec lists, which can be found at #jay's esoteric rec lists

[dcfanboot]

What is DC Fanboot?

DC fanboot is a project in which fanauthors come together to make a reboot of the DC universe. Each author or team of authors is given their own "run", or series of fanfiction, which they update monthly. All fics will be placed in the DC Fanboot collection on ao3. FAQs

How can I join?

Applications are open here!

How much free reign do authors have? (e.g. shipping, OCs)

Before making any major departures from canon, we ask that you communicate with the mods and the people who are also working with your characters. Remember, romance is not the primary focus of these comics (unless you want to do a miniseries where it is!). OCs are permitted for side characters and antagonists, but remember, DC has decades of history- we're sure you can find a canon character that fits your needs!

Is there a minimum/maximum number of issues for a run?

Not for regular runs, no. They simply go until the writer(s) decide that they've told the stories they want to tell. Later on, we'll have miniseries and special events/crossovers that have a predetermined length.

Can I publish more than one story a month?

Absolutely! We'll try to help you keep a consistent pace, and make sure you don't burn yourself out, but you're free to publish more than one issue a month.

How many words should an 'issue' be?

Generally, 1000-5000 words. These are meant to simulate comic books, so they don't need to be long at all!

Who is running this?

Currently, I, Gary (@shelves-of-boxes) am the only mod. Applications are open in the discord, though!

Questions will be added as they are asked.

[withlove-xixi]

It's ok if not [he's on there a lot already & I'm so excited], but may I suggest Chilchuck for either spanking or oral? Mainly because I can def see him into that power dynamic with spanking and I take the succubus scene as a sign he might like the slop-top, LOL.

P.S Remember to take care of yourself and not to burn out! :)

— MINDLESS SELF-INDULGENCE: chilchuck x reader

KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY-NINE: ORAL SEX ᥫ cw: nsfw, oral sex (chilchuck receiving), sub!chilchuck if you squint ᥫ wc: 1167 ★ sloppy toppy gawk gawk 5000 on the silly old guy .... thank you so much for the suggestion anonon !!! i agree ... chilchuck would love getting head ... hawk tuah, as the kids these days say! cross posted on ao3 — MINORS DNI! —

— CHILCHUCK WAS OLD.

[♡]: there wasn’t much skirting around it, he was old. it was just fact. it wasn’t really a fact that bothered him as well, and even if it did there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. he’s come to accept that he was old, old enough that all his daughters are grown, old enough that he gets a bit cranky if he doesn’t nap enough, old enough that he tries not to indulge in the fantasies of his youth.

EVERY MAN HAS THEIR VICES, HAS THEIR FANTASIES. But being twenty-nine was old for a half-foot, in tallman terms, he’d be the equivalent of maybe in his late forties. Chilchuck has long abandoned those thoughts in his youth, the various kinks and fantasies that would’ve had him rock hard the second the thought entered his mind. He wasn’t going to deny he was a bit dirty minded when he was younger, head filled with all sorts of things he wished he could do. Now, he’s grown, sex has become less of this addictive fuel and more of a scarcity. Given how busy he gets with work and his newfound standoffish nature towards relationships (all that and the divorce), Chilchuck hasn’t really gotten much action lately.

“Hm? You worked up just from kissing, pretty boy?”

Well, maybe not lately.

Because recently he’s met you, some casual fling he’s honestly quite shocked he’s developed, even more shocked he’s able to maintain. It sounded like some cheesy romance cliche when he says it’s simply because you’re not like any other person he’s met, but it’s true. And on top of that, he’s never really had a relationship like this, he never really saw himself as the type to.

Yet here he was, his body rigid as he shakily and gingerly brushes stray locks of hair away from your face, mostly to get a better view of the way you kiss the tip of his cock.

A shudder runs down his spine as he unexpectedly bucks his hips forward, pressing his length towards you. There’s a satisfied noise that leaves your lips as you smile up at him, obviously pleased with his reaction. Not like you weren’t expecting it. Chilchuck had opened up to you in the past that he had really enjoyed getting his dick sucked, and judging by his usual reactions when you two had sex, which wasn’t often really, it was easy to put two in two together that you had him wrapped tightly around your little fingers. The same ones that run down the length of his cock, earning a shaky gasp from the half-foot.

You stick your tongue out, pressing the muscle against his cock, and he bucks his hips again. “H-hey, quit, teasin’” Chilchuck tries to be firm, to puff up his chest and gain some semblance of control, but his voice is shaky, betrays him and gives into the silly fantasies he’s grown to deny himself.

You hum as if in thought, going as far as to tap an index finger against your chin and shutting your eyes. When you finally open your mouth to speak, looking up at to meet his gaze from your place between his thighs, you find your words die in your throat, whatever snarky retort you had long forgotten at the sight of Chilchuck, an uptight, strict middle-aged man who was always maintaining his professionalism, looking so absolutely fucked out.

Want and lust cloud his hazel eyes, half-lidded and peeking through his lashes. His lips are parted, enough for him to pant hungrily and for him to slip his tongue between them in anticipation. His hair is already disheveled, you assume from when you kissed him earlier and with his habit of running a hand through it. You unintentionally stare, studying the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, the way there’s a slight quiver to his lips. And if you stare long enough, you could see the cogs in his little head struggle to compose a coherent thought.

Right now, towering above you from where you kneel, is a Chilchuck you haven’t seen before. One that has quickly come undone from your delicate touch, one that is one sloppy kiss away from pleading with all his heart for you to give him more, one that looks like he’s about to cum just from the way you look at him.

You feel his thumb caress your cheek, the motion startling you and bringing you back to reality. You hum, amused. You like this new version of Chilchuck, and as much as you wanted to push him to his limits, you decide to be merciful, because you get a sense he’ll be gratefully returning the favor as soon as he can.

You keep your eyes on him, watching the way his face contorts as you open your mouth and take in the head of his cock. Chilchuck groans, his back straightening at the contact of your wet mouth against him. He visibly shivers as the hand on your cheek quickly, almost frantically, moves to the crown of your head, entangling itself in your hair, silently coaxing you to give him more. And you do, happily allowing him to guide you further and further down his cock until your nose brushes against the little auburn bush below his navel. 

Chilchuck cusses in a language in another tongue, one you don’t understand or recognize, but has you moaning around his length anyway because of the sheer lust-ridden, profane way it leaves his lips, like ancient prayer to some forgotten god. And before he even has time to cuss or groan or breathe, you hollow your cheeks, sucking around his member with gusto.

Electric shocks shoot up Chilchuck’s spine down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He whines, a pathetic sound he’d have had you sworn not to tell anyone of had he had half the sense to even speak. The noise motivates you, drives you to bob your head up and down his cock, your tongue occasionally pressing against the underside of it as you go.

Chilchuck’s grip on your hair tightens, his mind runs blank, filled only with the consciousness of his cock in your mouth and your tongue on his cock and the pretty way you peek up to look at his face. He’s certain he isn’t going to last any longer, hell, he’s surprised he’s made it this far. With the way you pull almost all the way and leave the tip in your mouth, the way your tongue circles and presses and laps against it, the way you immediately push back down this whole length, he is definitely not going to last any longer.

You speak around his cock, the vibration humming nicely against it, something he somehow convinces himself is you saying his name. Suddenly, he sees white, flashes of moments in and out of consciousness as he gradually comes down from his high. His chest heaves with labored breaths, coming out in little huffs from his drool coated lips.

When he’s somewhat recovered, he looks down, initially to check how you’re doing, but when he finds you with your mouth hanging slightly open, panting, and with strings of thick white stretching all over your face, his words melt into a sharp inhale. He pets your cheek affectionately, still trying to find what words are appropriate to say when you beat him to it, speaking teasingly with a lopsided grin.

“Good boy.”

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

These are awesome thoughts and I've likewise been rotating them in my head for the past couple weeks (uh, closer to a month now). Gonna try to answer this point by point.

Very long post under the cut

How does fem!Bertie end up developing gender-nonconforming tendencies?

Does a fem!Bertie who is easily overpowered by more dominant people and predisposed to anxiety even end up developing a penchant for drinking, misdemeanour, and betting on horses if she would be more punished for it and have less opportunities for it than canon Bertie?

This I think is actually quite easy to resolve. There's a perfect solution ready made in canon and that solution's name is Aunt Dahlia. Aunt D doesn't give a shit whether Bertie ever gets married or how he spends his time as long as she can still strongarm him into performing the occasional spot of grand larceny for her. She isn’t especially proper or feminine herself; she’s brash, loud, and assertive. She drinks and steals and swears and bets on horses. Her motto in life is take no shit and listen to no reason. And from what we know of her younger days doing the British fox a bit of no good, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that she might feel a certain kinship with a free spirited, tomboyish young woman and take fem!Bertie under her wing. There’s one story where Tuppy and Angela are in an off-again stage and Tuppy falls for a country girl who Aunt Dahlia describes thusly:

“A dog-girl. One of these dashed open-air flappers in thick boots and tailor-made tweeds who infest the rural districts and go about the place followed by packs of assorted dogs. I used to be one of them myself in my younger days, so I know how dangerous they are.”

If we assume fem!Bertie grew up being passed around between various aunts after her parents died, Aunt Agatha is the one who kept her on a short leash and punished nonconforming behavior. This might have driven her closer to Aunt Dahlia, who served as both a model for less traditional femininity AND a safe haven who let Bertie do whatever. I don’t see Bertie going fox hunting or getting really into all the outdoorsy activities—she’s a city girl at heart—but I do think Aunt Dahlia was someone she looked up to and may have emulated to some extent.

What is her relationship to the stereotypically feminine activities she'd be expected to participate in?

This a bit tougher to answer-- in part because now that I think about it, what do the female characters in these books get up to? We know that Madeline likes to play the piano and sing old folk songs. Florence writes novels. Corky is an actress. Honoria plays tennis. Nobody ever really mentions needlepoint or... a second feminine activity that I'm blanking on right now, as far as I can remember. I'm not really sure how to google this.

[these next two paragraphs were originally written for the next section but I decided they fit better here so that's why I'm suddenly talking about schools] Google gave me a couple names of schools that would be the closest female equivalent to Eton: Cheltenham and Roedean. I found this rather interesting book with some wild tidbits. Apparently in the 1930s Roedean taught bridge and wine tasting? And by 1910 it also had compulsory sports, which is interesting. Upper class girls' schools emphasized charity work. There's a whole section about lesbian relationships between students, which were apparently very common. By the 1900s, many girls' schools were influenced by Cheltenham to adopt the philosophy that girls "should have the same standard and type of education as boys." "Free of the classics, [Cheltenham principal] Miss Beale at first put the emphasis on history and literature. But the curriculum rapidly widened to include all the main academic subjects."

However, "academic standards were much more vitiated by the knowledge that, in a more fundamental way, it was all a total waste of time. They were never going to use any of this knowledge, even if well taught, these rich middle and upper class girls. They were not going to have jobs but babies, husbands, houses. They would benefit a great deal more from needlework, domestic science, and dancing classes--and these were all taught." [ah, dancing, that's the second feminine activity]

Alright, so that's interesting! We've got a couple feminine activities here, and according to this source, at least, it does sound like even upper class girls would have learned some home ec type stuff. So it's possible that fem!Bertie might be slightly less incompetent around household tasks than m!Bertie. I personally don't see her being particularly good at domestic science stuff or needlepoint--too much ADHD, for one thing. Makes too many careless mistakes. Dancing (I assume they mean ballroom dancing) she's probably pretty good at, and m!Bertie took dancing classes as a child too, so that's universal.

Are there any historical figures or traditions she would see herself in or hold dear in the same way that the knightly tradition is vivid in the mind of a male Bertie?

What I was actually looking for when I looked up all that stuff about girls' schools was whether they would have taught the same literature as the boys' schools. Bertie's knightly traditions seem to mostly come from Tennyson's Idylls of the King and various other classics he would have learned in school--but especially Idylls, which Wodehouse was a fan of also and references pretty frequently throughout the series. Perhaps if it wasn't taught in girls' schools, it's still possible that fem!Bertie might have had a brother and might have read HIS books.

In any case, I'm not super familiar with Arthurian legend, so I went to Google to try to dig up any information on whether there was a female character who might instill a comparable code to the code of the Woosters in fem!Bertie. From what I can find there doesn't really appear to be (if anybody with more expertise on the subject reads this, please correct me if I'm wrong). This article says that in some versions of the myths, there's a kind of "mutual chivalry" that emphasizes female agency and consent, where men and women help and support each other in the spirit of friendship, so there could be something in that. But I can't find any sort of general moral code for women directly equivalent to knightly chivalry for men.

Tangentially though, I did find a couple little interesting snippets on my travels. There was apparently one character, Nimue, who was sick of Merlin pursuing her despite her repeated rejections, so she got him to teach her magic and then trapped him in a tree. I could see fem!Bertie thinking about that story rather longingly. I also stumbled upon the fact that in Malory's version, Lancelot "states that he prefers to have no wife or paramours" because "sex with his wife would reduce his vigor in pursuing tournaments and combats." That's a sentiment I can imagine resonating with both m!Bertie AND fem!Bertie, though obviously relating to Lancelot would be more subversive in the latter.

So... in terms of the source of fem!Bertie's moral code, I'm still not really sure. One possibility I thought of just now was that there may be some female Bible characters she particularly looks up to? You might not know this, because he's very humble about it, but Bertie actually won the Scripture Knowledge Prize at his private school, and likes to sprinkle a lot of biblical allusions into his speech. There are a few prominent women in the Bible who are remembered for being kind and brave. Esther and Miriam, just to name the ones I used to LARP around my house as when I was five. Ruth is another-- actually, she might be a really good one. Blessed by God for her kindness AND had some highkey sapphic vibes (I was something of a Scripture Knowledge buff myself, in my day. If you can't tell. Not that my good friend Bertie or I would ever brag about it).

(this probably isn't an "instilling moral values" example, but canon!Bertie mentions Jael, the woman who drove a stake through that guy's head, a few times, and that might be a story that rises up in fem!Bertie's mind when a suitor is annoying her)

Would she have any strong feelings about being a Wooster if she wasn't the last of the Woosters in the patrilinear way?

This I'm not sure about. Seeing as neither version of Bertie wants to marry or have kids, maybe it doesn't really matter that much? The family name isn't getting passed down regardless of whether Bertie's a man or a woman.

Why does Bertie have some mild anxieties about appearing masculine/feminine?

m!Bertie's anxiety about appearing independent seems to me to be at least as much about the appearance of dignity as it is about gender roles. Perhaps fem!Bertie would be worried not just about about appearing traditionally feminine, but appearing feminine in a particular way. Rather than wanting to be seen as tough and commanding like m!Bertie does, maybe fem!Bertie wants to be perceived as elegant, poised, maybe even a little authoritative, a sort of grande dame "lady of the house" type figure with an air of mystique about her. Not aunt-like, but like, cool. You know. The 1920s equivalent of "cool girl." I figure a lady in "one of those historical novels" Bertie likes could just as easily laugh down from lazy eyelids and flick a speck of dust from from the irreproachable Mechlin lace at her wrists as a chap could, and that's a vibe any gender of Bertie would be enchanted with.

And it's also a vibe any gender of Bertie would struggle to cultivate because, I mean, we've met Bertie. S/he's a flailing awkward ADHD failwoman/man. fem!Bertie misses social cues and constantly forgets little details her finishing school would have taught as "proper" behavior. She speaks out of turn, not even really out of self-assuredness but because she's excited about whatever she has to say and forgets herself in the moment. That could lead to a lot of embarrassment.

I bet if we wanted, we could really ramp up the class-based conflict/subversion because of this, because an upper class woman's power primarily comes from being upper class. Short story and early novel Bertie occasionally has moments of "who does Jeeves think he is, bossing me around, I'm not going to be a serf to my valet." He more or less entirely drops this in later novels, but maybe fem!Bertie takes a bit more time getting over it.

Gender subversion in canon

Regarding canon gender subversion, I think you're quite right. On my reread of the books, I've noticed a lot more of that than I remembered. For example, I've noted a lot of jokes where the comedy is derived from Bertie being scandalized by a woman saying saying something he considers to be inappropriate for "mixed company," where the conventional expectation is that you'd find a woman being scandalized by a man making such comments. Here are some of them:

In the Inimitable Jeeves, Aunt A starts talking about how Bertie should be "breeding children" and Bertie complains that she "keeps forgetting she isn't in the smoking-room" of one of her women's clubs.

In CotW, where Madeline starts expounding on Geoffrey Rudel, who was in love with the Lord of Tripoli's wife, and Bertie hopes she's going to keep it clean.

Also in CotW, Aunt Dahlia "fortunately" cuts herself off before using a verb which, "had she given it utterance, might have proved a bit too fruity for mixed company."

In Joy in the Morning, Nobby ticks Boko off using expressions Boko couldn't repeat "with gentlemen present. I suppose they learn them at their finishing schools."

This is one type of joke that definitely wouldn't work as well in a gender-flipped universe, because "not in front of the ladies" isn't subversive in the way that "not in front of the gentlemen" is, it's just the normal expectation.

Expanding on this, and calling back to previous musings about possibly genderbending other characters, I found something really interesting in an article by William Vesterman: x (this article draws some conclusions I find questionable, but also provides some bits of interesting historical context). Basically, Bertie's three most persistent fiancees are actually based on stereotypical male archetypes that were common in Wodehouse's areas of literature.

"The three fiancees here (the roster is very far from complete) present versions in female form of male types long known to public school and university fiction: what the British used to call the "hearty" (Honoria Glossop) and the two forms of the "aesthete"—the emotional (Madeline Bassett) and the intellectual (Florence Craye). Part of the comedy is their lack of any resemblance to the actual stock fictive females within such boys' books. Another aspect of the joke is the forced recollection of the equivalent male stereotypes who do appear in Wodehouse's stories. The main point is that by defining himself through distaste against a range of extreme personalities, male and female, Bertie maintains his own identity all the more fully as normal in his own eyes."

So it might actually be easier to flip Florence, Madeline, etc. than we think.

The point that Bertie considers his own identity to be "normal" is interesting and I think it checks out. We do find many cases of his insisting that he likes the way he is and resents others' attempts to change him. "Defining [her]self through distaste against a range of extreme personalities, male and female" is probably another trait we could just directly transfer to fem!Bertie.

Genderbending Jeeves

Fem!Jeeves would have to be gender non-conforming in a different manner than fem!Bertie, and the challenge in her genderbent characterisation, much like the Code poses a challenge for coming up with a genderbent Bertie, would be to maintain Jeeves's hidebound ways.

Alright, I think we can do this. Let's start by applying the same system as before.

These are what I would name as Jeeves's core character traits: high intelligence, class consciousness, "feudal spirit", desire for stability/uneasiness with change, emotional unexpressiveness, eclectic collection of intense interests, Weird About Clothes, and willingness to manipulate to obtain desired results

For Bertie, I said that the key core trait that makes most of fem!Bertie's personality fall into place is "fun-loving." For Jeeves, I think it's class consciousness. Let's look first at how this trait shapes the original Jeeves's personality, and then at the way it might interact with his/her gender and gender expression.

Jeeves's personality

Jeeves has been a walking anachronism since the moment he was created, something Wodehouse himself has readily admitted (preface to Joy in the Morning). He belongs to the era of big country houses staffed with dozens of servants, before post-WWI tax hikes and later post-WWII social revolution made the upper class' position much less secure. The Jeeves books (other than Ring for Jeeves, which is a topic for another day) take place take place in an idyllic, anodyne version of Edwardian England that never really existed and never changes. Wodehouse seems to find that static, picture-perfect setting comforting and, in my opinion, so too does Jeeves.

I go into this in depth in my WIP analysis of Ring for Jeeves, and for the sake of brevity I won't explain it all again here, but the long and short of it is that Jeeves believes in the class system and wants it to be maintained indefinitely. He finds stability and comfort in a hereditary hierarchy where he knows exactly who he is and where his place is, where he fits in society. If you scratched the stuffed-frog face, I suspect you'd find a surprising amount of anxiety. When he exerts control, it's mainly in order to maintain his stability and keep everything the way he likes it in statu quo, and he does it in a way that works within the framework of maintaining class status. Jeeves's primary identity is "servant." He takes great pride in it and has molded his entire life around excelling in his work.

"He does have a very keen sense for what he can get away with (unless the poetry-or-other-interest-infodumping overrules it), but there are very set rules on what is appropriate, and what isn’t, and he keeps to it, because that’s How Things Are Done"

—tumblr user @noandnooneelse

I don't think this investment in remaining below his employers on the social hierarchy means he thinks the upper classes are like... superior to him necessarily (intellectually, morally, w/e). He obviously doesn't think the rich people he works for are always right or should be deferred to in all matters. (This part is a bit hard for me to explain because it's difficult to get into the mindset of someone who thinks class hierarchy is a good thing). It seems odd for something that's clearly a deeply held and important belief of his to be so surface-level, but it's almost like it's the performance of class that really matters to him. The appearance of it.

Jeeves’s strict view of How Things Are Done applies as much to his employers as it does to himself. Rich people can Perform Class Wrong as much as anyone else, and when that happens, they need to be policed back into "correct" behavior. When Jeeves corrects an employer's performance of class, he will do so in an outwardly polite and deferential manner, because that's How Servants Behave. He'll do anything he thinks he can get away with that doesn’t break the veneer of "proper servant behavior" to keep everyone performing their roles the way he wants them to, but it's all just theater.

Jeeves just wants to live in a world where he gets to perform the same duties for the same types of people in household staffs that are structured the same way and everyone dresses the same way he's always known them to and the conventions of propriety vis-a-vis interacting with people above or below you on the hierarchy remain rigid and precise so he can continue relying on the same scripts forever and ever because he is extremely, extremely autistic.

2. Jeeves and gender

Now, this raises obvious questions about how Jeeves would then view other power structures, like gender roles. Does he care about maintaining the gender hierarchy the way he does about maintaining the class hierarchy? To me, it doesn't really feel like he does. Does he exhibit any gendered behaviors that he seems to be performing for the sake of being masculine? The way he takes control of situations would probably be considered traditionally masculine behavior, but I'd argue he mainly does that a) out of a feudal desire to help his employer or employer's friends or b) to uphold The Way Things Should Be. (Though, it's worth noting that even if an idea of manliness doesn't enter into the why of what he does, Jeeves's maleness certainly DOES make it easier for him to assert dominance like this and be taken seriously. Let's put a pin in that)

Among the core traits I listed, emotional unexpressiveness is the one that's the most stereotypically masculine, so it's worth examining in more detail. Inasmuch as this is something Jeeves does deliberately (and I think it IS at least in part a trained behavior—in "Bertie Changes His Mind" he has to make a conscious effort not to let his disapproval show, for example), it's my opinion that this has much more to do with behaving properly as a servant than it does with behaving properly as a man. There are many times throughout the book where Bertie takes note that Jeeves is silently holding back from expressing emotion out of a sense of feudal propriety. Examples from off the top of my head:

Joy in the Morning: "There was concern in his eyes, and if it hadn't been that his views are rigid in the matter of the correct etiquette between employee and employer, I have an idea that he would have patted me on the shoulder."

Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit: "During the late give-and-take he had been standing in the background with that detached, stuffed-frog look on his face which it always wears when he is present at a free-for-all in which his sense of what is fitting does not allow him to take part."

Much Obliged, Jeeves: "whereas I sang a good deal as we buzzed along, he maintained, as is his custom, the silent reserve of a stuffed frog, never joining in the chorus, though cordially invited to."

On the other hand, aforementioned tumblr user noandnooneelse and I have discussed this matter at some length, and he was more inclined to see it as an aspect of Jeeves's fundamental Jeeves-ness (we ultimately agreed that it’s a little of both). He pointed out that although sometimes strict emotional regulation is expected of servants as a kind of emotional labor, Jeeves's TOTAL lack of emotional responsiveness can also be a liability on the job. How many times have Bertie and Aunt Dahlia ticked him off for saying "most disturbing" when they wanted sympathy for their tales of woe? I think there’s absolutely a lot in that as well, and find it very plausible that in addition to active emotion suppression, Jeeves just naturally tends toward flat affect. And if he's being censured rather than rewarded for the stereotypically masculine behavior, it's probably not something that's been enforced on him as a gender norm. It's also going to be a big problem for fem!Jeeves later. Let's put another pin in that.

Moving on, we never see Jeeves police anyone else's masculinity, either. Or anyone's femininity, for that matter. His issue with Bobbie Wickham wasn't that she had tomboyish tendencies, even though she did, it was that her personality was a bad match for Bertie and also she was a woman Bertie was romantically interested in. His problem with Bertie's purple socks and pink ties is never that they're unmanly, it's that they're garish and in poor taste. And actually, his interest in fashion is something that would stereotypically be considered a feminine trait—and he neither displays any self-consciousness about it nor seems to be deliberately rebelling against gender norms. I just don't get the impression that he really thinks much about gender at all.

I really think Jeeves' concerns about propriety pretty much entirely come down to class propriety. I mean, we know that aside from gender, there are other sets of social norms that Jeeves is fine with ignoring, like, for instance, the LAW. Some might count coshing a policeman in the fucking head as an act of impropriety (not me obviously, ACAB), but Jeeves doesn't give a fuck. Then for the purposes of this AU we are, I assume, taking it as read that Jeeves has no issue with homosexuality. I find that believable. The class system can accommodate gay people and it can accommodate gender equality and gender-nonconformity; two men or two women can live together without any more radical restructuring of the social order needing to take place. Gay is ok provided you're being gay in correct evening costume. As long as the signifiers of class are all present and correct, who carre.

3. Jeeves and gender (female version)

So, like fem!Bertie, I don't picture fem!Jeeves caring all that much about gender rules for their own sake. Seeing as she's presumably uninterested in the kind of lifestyle conservative antifeminist women typically espouse—i.e. woman is protected and provided for by husband whom she serves and obeys—traditional gender roles aren't providing her with a sense of identity or purpose in the way the class hierarchy does. They're just making it more difficult for her to control and stabilize her environment. So I don't think she would oppose advances in women's rights, unless for some reason she thought some specific advancement could destabilize the class system somehow. An extremely cursed thought that just popped into my head is "she wants to vote so she can vote Tory." That’s the vibe here. I'm sorry, but Jeeves just IS a Tory voter. Yes, he is. Yes, he is. It gives me no pleasure to say it, but acceptance is the first step towards healing.

I think fem!Jeeves wouldn't care about whether Bertie's behavior is appropriate for a woman so much as whether it's appropriate for an upper class woman specifically (and even more specifically, an upper class woman from the golden age of class dynamics in the picture-perfect idyllic version of England that Jeeves holds up as the ideal). As long as the gender-nonconforming behavior in question isn't particularly associated with the lower classes, go with god.

4. Jeeves's personality (female version)

She's going to have a tougher time of it than m!Jeeves for a variety of reasons, not least of which is that it’s just harder to be a woman. Her situation is inherently less stable because women are expected to find stability through marriage primarily. She's paid less and taken less seriously. She might be more anxious than m!Jeeves about her job security and financial stability. Taking down our pin about Jeeves's maleness making it possible to assert dominance in a way a woman probably couldn't—we've discussed the potential ambiguity around m!Jeeves's supposed no-married-gentlemen policy, but fem!Jeeves DEFINITELY has a no-married-ladies policy. She cannot micromanage a household over which she doesn't have total control, and total control will be significantly more difficult to achieve in a household that has any men in it.

Now let's take down our other pin about emotional expressiveness. m!Jeeves's flat affect is received with annoyance sometimes, but ultimately tolerated because of his otherwise irreproachable performance at his job and ability to solve everyone's problems. I imagine it's a much bigger hindrance to fem!Jeeves, as seems very likely to me that a maid would have a higher expectation on her to be comforting and warm and sympathetic toward her employers' woes than a manservant would. Failure to do this would draw greater censure than an irritable "Could you say something other than 'most disturbing?'" even if she's otherwise outstanding at her job. Possibly when she's working for a single woman she can get away with it, but Jeeves is a lifelong career servant, and you don't get to be the sole servant to a rich gentleman or lady without making a good impression working in larger household staffs first.

I therefore think that unlike m!Jeeves, fem!Jeeves has at least a limited ability to smile and kind of emote and project the impression of warmth and sympathy. She neither likes nor is comfortable with it, but she wouldn't have risen through the ranks of servants without it. m!Jeeves already has a quiet, polite demeanor and an ability to melt into the background, but fem!Jeeves exaggerates this even more, cultivating a service persona that's not just polite and quiet but maybe even outright demure in an effort to come across as humble rather than cold (and in the hopes of simply being overlooked when the mistress needs a shoulder to cry on).

(It's worth noting, though, that manufacturing warmth isn't the same thing as manufacturing caring. Feudal spirit is a core character trait too, and there isn't time to get into all the things "feudal spirit" can mean right now, but my point here is that she wants to help! She likes helping! She's just going to be an autistic weirdo while doing it!)

5. Employers: management of

As a result of all this, fem!Jeeves is necessarily more covert in the way she operates than her canon counterpart, and leans even more on loopholes and subtle manipulation to work around the restrictions imposed on her. She definitely knows how to weaponize sexist stereotypes to make people underestimate her. She's better and more consistent about playing fake-deferential and working behind the curtain than m!Jeeves is. Most of the targets of her manipulation never find out what hit them.

I'm reminded of this story I found once (screenreader-friendly version here) when I wanted to find out more about Arthur Conan Doyle's views on women's rights (the answer is that they were mixed, if you were wondering). Basically, a woman has made up her mind to buy a new gray dress, but she wants to make her husband feel like she cares about his opinion on the matter, even though she doesn't. So she guides him through this whole back-and-forth where she asks him what color dress she should buy, and shoots down all his suggestions while saying stuff like "oh, you're so smart and full of good taste and impeccable opinions, it's just that..." They eventually agree that she should buy a gray dress, and it was ALL his idea!! Canon Jeeves does quite a bit of this sort of thing already, but fem!Jeeves is the master of it.

Or at least, she WAS the master of it until she met Bertie's special blend of stubbornness and cluelessness.

"What color would you like for your new dress, miss?" "Any color but gray. I can't bear gray." "What would you suggest, miss? I should like to provide the tailor with your exact specifications." "A cheerful pink, I should think. Say, that rhymed! I always say there's no color like a nice bright pink to herald in the spring with vim and vigor. What was that gag of yours? The rainbow comes and goes and lovely is the rose, what?" "What taste you have, miss. Of course it shall be pink if you wish it. Only, do you not suppose it may draw a little too much attention? One does not like to be so conspicuous." "I shouldn't worry about that, old thing! What’s the purpose of wearing a new dress if not to be noticed?" "..." "I say, Reg, do you suppose you could ask the tailor to sew the hemline a little higher this time? I saw a moving picture last night where the girl was wearing the most corking short skirt. Nobby says they're all the rage in Hollywood now, and I dare say she would know.” "...Very good, miss." "Rummy how the tailor keeps forgetting that part. Do you fancy I'd better write it down?"

I think this slightly altered dynamic might help with the problem of whether it would be as funny to see fem!Bertie, who already has to hide her independent streak, submit to her servant's whims and scheming. If we're looking at a Jeeves whose habitual methods of scheming are more covert and hidden, we'll probably see fewer head-to-head clashes and more cases of Jeeves grinding her teeth as Bertie blithely blows past multiple attempts to corral her behavior and forces Jeeves to resort to increasingly less subtle tactics than she would prefer.

sopping wet bertie wednesday

[lucky13kola]

Imprisoned

Photo from @empiregothic

Summary:

After months of tedious collections of information on your Separatist Admiral father, you take a bigger risk than usual and send out your information to the Republic. But you get caught. Story starts after having been in space prison for a bit. And a specialized clone squad is sent to recover you from a high security prison.

Pairings:

Platonic Bad Batch x reader (Not meant to be read as romantic but could be super slow burn lol, platonic, as if you were just a plot in an episode)

Warnings:

Use of needles ( nothing graphic just a prick), isolation, typical canon violence.

Okay well here is my silly lil 5000 word fic that I wrote for fun :)

Reader is gender neutral, no use of y/n, almost no description of reader

Word count - 5000~

The cell door closed again and you finally had some peace and quiet. Not Peace, but certainly

quiet. As the last lock of the mechanic door clicked into place sitting down on the cot you see the small belongings you had were rifled through when you were at the mess hall for the first meal of the day.

It had been a long twenty three days. The separatist prison hadn’t been kind to you, being the offspring of a well known separatist admiral had made you a target. Most of the people in the prison knew exactly who you were, one brave prisoner even took as far to shiv you in your side. You were in the infirmary for almost two weeks because of that but luckily the wound itself wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Now you were under such strict protection with guard droids always an arm length away. You knew without looking there were two assassin droids waiting on the other side guarding your door.

Sitting down on the hard cot you felt a dull ache in your right side where the bacta patch felt like it did little to help the healing process. Laying down you could feel how much your back and side were truly aching from the poor sleeping conditions weighing heavily on the healing wound. A slow breath in is a feeble attempt to still yourself. The prison was stripping you of your emotional peace but it did bring you comfort to think the information that you leaked would be useful in stopping the ever expanding destruction of the separatists. An unintentional deep exhale slipped your lips and the ache grew slightly being disturbed.

Laying against the pillow that was probably nothing more than a few layers of fabric, it was better smelling than the one in the med bay and that brought something akin to comfort. Although you would’ve killed to be laying back in your old bed. Your father’s recent recruitment as an admiral had thrust you into a higher tax bracket that you thought was untouchable. But that wealth brought guilt, knowing it was from the spoils of war and despair. It was so different than the life you led before, being self-sufficient and working hard to sustain yourself financially. The life before being thrown in the cell was comfortable and enjoyable at times. Worming your way into various meetings posing as an intern offering coffee runs and as a person to bounce ideas off of for your father’s associates. They found it hard to believe you had been collecting tabs on all of them. All the times you sat quietly in the command room you were recording anything vital they said to pass off to the republic. You had hidden your disgust of all the wealthy separatists and military officials well, with polite smiles and quiet nods. Your father was the most disappointed. The smile he had when you first asked to attend a meeting, he was beaming. eager to involve you. It was months of collecting intel, it took a while before the intel started to become more alarming. You had taken the chance to send out intel, knowing how dire the latest plans you had learned about needed to be immediately shared. But it had been your downfall, as far you could tell the intel had gotten out and you were successful. Your father being grossly upset with you also suggested your attempts to help the republic had worked.

The weight of your body felt heavy against the durasteel and the pathetic sheets. Shifting did nothing, the cold metal prickling against your skin was startling in sensitive spots. With a deep inhale and exhale you were letting your mind drift to the past few months of being a spy. Your heartbeat slowed, and you let your mind start to seep out into the cold energy of the cell. The walls were thick, but the minds inside some of the nearby cells were loud if you stopped and steadied yourself. The energy from beyond your walls was erratic , tense, high strung. It was relaxing to tap into the prison, and the life force of those in it, even if they other prisoners weren’t good company. You couldn’t pull exact words or coherent thoughts beyond vague feelings and shifting of energy. Letting yourself sink deeper, your body feels heavier in a more relaxed state. The ache is dull now falling to the edge of your mind. Time is blurry, falling between half sleep and listening to the conversations of the ever present force.

Its sudden and sharp, but you hear it echo in your mind , They’re in this cell block.

It juts you out of your peaceful stupor, and your body comes back in needle-like waves. The lights are suddenly very bright, the metal feels too chilling, and the prison jumpsuit is scratchy. But you were certain you heard, not hear physically, but the impression of it keeps echoing in your mind. And you’re almost certain someone here is searching for you. Your heartbeat quickens, unsure of what this means, and caught off guard. Sets of droid footsteps grab your focus. Something heavy in your stomach is telling you to look, that’ll be relevant.

Stepping on the stiff durasteel floor is bracing, and the pain medication you have been on is starting to fade into nothingness in your system. It takes a few seconds but you step to the door of your cell. Part of the heavy metallic door has a portion you can peer out that’s ray shielded. Through the blurry redness you see two prisoners who you’ve never seen before. They must be new, and the guard droids are escorting them to their new cell. It’s hard to make out details leaning dangerously close to the ray shield but some features jump out. As far as you can tell the fresh meat both have facial tattoos. You can’t see major detail but the one with longer hair has a long stretch of ink across their face. They seem quiet and stiff, and carry themselves with deliberateness. One of them looks at your small slit in the cell door, meeting your eyes without hesitation. Instinctively it makes you take a step back. You’re not looking to get stabbed for a second time. Their gaze is brief, but feels like a wave of intense energy drowns you for a second. The line is blurred between the force and anxiety.

The two rather tall and sturdy men pass, silently, and you can tell their cell isn’t that close to yours. Almost no one’s is. Your father, while distancing himself from you, had gone extra lengths to ensure your safety at the prison. Despite the lack of visits. Honestly it was surprising you hadn’t been executed for your treason against the separatist alliance. Your father must’ve been fighting tooth and nail against whatever capitol punishment was supposed to be headed your way. However no news of anything that horrendous had reached you. The thought had crossed your mind that something worse had to be happening behind the scenes. There must’ve been a trade off, a lack of execution meant you had a new role to fill in Dooku’s death march against the republic. The thought made your stomach sink but you just had to sit back down and let the feeling pass. There was nothing to do anyways except drift somewhere between sleep and the force.

It must’ve been hours, but your body forces you awake as the high pitched affirmation beeps on the other side of the cell. Trying to sit up but your side is protesting against your efforts. Your feet swing around. It’s second meal time. The heavy locks undo themselves and the ray shield drops. Two assassin droids are armed and ready to escort you to the mess hall. While it was suffocating to be under such an oppressive watch it offered your a bubble of

protection that you were immensely grateful for walking around the prison.

The mess hall is busy. There’s not many people still grabbing their portions as you step into line, still flanked from two guard droids as you do. Your rest didn’t feel like enough and your movements are sluggish as you shuffle through the line. The guard droids make sure no one in front or in back of you is too close. You can’t stand too close to the food the droids serve because you think it might make you sick. The smell is disturbing, but your stomach is twisting anxiously as you move through the line offering your tray towards the droid. After the food is unceremoniously plopped on, you realize why your body is acting so on edge. Out of the corner of your eye you see one of the new prisoners. Staring back at you with no hesitation, holding their utensil very still in their hand. It irks you, it feels like the same way the one who stabbed you stared at you. Some of the prisoners have a tendency to look, that’s a given, but the new prisoner with silver hair feels like he’s dissecting you with his eyes.

It takes a second to break away, not realizing your staring back as the droid makes a noise forcing you out of your daze. You take a hesitant first step but find your footing again as your followed by the ever present guards to the empty table that was always cleared for you. You sit down, you can still feel your stomach slightly churn. You’re trying not to stare back, unsure what the gaze could mean. In the back of your mind you're trying to think of what landed them in this prison, worried that the silver haired prisoner could have a grudge against your father he’s looking to level. You risk another look, but he’s not even staring back. But you get a good look this time, you’re able to take in the fact he is well built and could probably take you out in a fight if it came down to it. Not to mention the glaring facial tattoo that covers one his familiar brown eyes. The droids shift around slightly and it breaks your focus.

You turn back to what you’re supposed to be eating and you just have to not think about it and distract yourself to get through it. Mindlessly you eat but you’re watching the crowd. You can see some of the prisoners in hushed tones talking to each other, mostly likely about the new meat. The prison isn’t very big, anyone who lands themselves in this high security prison is usually a somebody. Not many war criminals, your father was particularly careful to not put you in arm’s reach of the republic.You’re a dangerous loose end for him. You wouldn’t even be surprised if Count Dooku himself orchestrated the stabbing himself. It makes you on edge to think about it, if the Count was to go behind your father’s back and have you killed in an ‘accident’.

You're ripped away from your mental ramblings by the clattering of a food tray. It almost startles you and you suppress the urge to jump. Looking up you’re confused, someone has sat down with you. It takes you a second but recognition flashes across your features , it’s the second new prisoner. The one with the longer dark and you get a good look at the tattoo on the side of his face now. You can see the way it supports the contours of his face, and you realize he must be a clone. You’ve only ever met one other clone after living so deep in separatist space far from the republic, and he doesn’t quite look the way the one sitting in front of you does. It makes you pause. You realize you’re staring a bit, and the clone infront of you is looking just as intensely back at you trying to figure you out.

His gaze flits quickly to the two droids flanking you before speaking. “ You seem lonely.” His tone is a slight dig, toying with you.

Your brow creases in annoyance and you let your gaze drop to the food when you realize this conservation most likely wouldn’t be fruitful. You're more so playing with your food than eating it. It was annoying when prisoners would come around trying to antagonize you, it’s not like anyone could do anything with two armed assassin droids clipped at your heel. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the silver haired clone has turned to watch the two of you. You're about to turn your whole head towards him but the one in front you speaks up again.

“ Rex sends his regards.” His voice is flat, and gravely almost, but there is an obvious undercurrent to his tone. It makes your head snap towards him in realization and you open your mouth to speak but you're at a slight loss for words. Rex was the one who gave you an encrypted military channel so you could leak the intel you had found safely. The tattoo on his face twitching into a slight smirk knowing he’s got your full attention now.

“ You know Rex?” The words spill out of your mouth in confusion before you can think twice about it. You looked over the clone again with new eyes trying to decipher more about the man in front of you.

“ He got your message.” He says very carefully, aware of anything he says around the droids could be used against him. Relief floods you for a moment, your intel to the republic made it. You feel triumphant for a moment. All your effort, the near death experience of sending out the intel, betraying your father, throwing your cushy life away, had been eating you away. Maybe your time in this suffocating hell hole has been worth it.

The clone sitting in front of shifts and he continues , “ Most of it.. there’s a few parts we need your clarification on.” He continues and looks at you, watching your expression partially falter as you realize not all the intel had gone through. It makes you wince internally and you stuff it down. After your initial disappointment, you realize the use of ‘we’

Your brow creases deeper, and you carefully eye the guard droids out of the corner of your eye before speaking again. “ We ..?” You repeat hesitantly, worried the guard droids would just snatch you away and lock you back into your cell again. The clone nods up and you follow his gaze. And he’s gesturing to the silver haired man sitting down, still dissecting you with his gaze. Raking over his face again you can see the similarities in their facial structure, and it hits you they might both be clones. But they certainly looked different from Rex, and the holos of other clones you had seen in the war room and it throws you off. You turn back around your head slightly cocked trying to put the pieces together of why these men were here in the first place. Your mind is starting to race, his words echoing in your mind that they might be here for you.

“ Rex vouched for you” He says in a serious tone, but is anxious about setting off your two guard droids. “ He says you can get us what we need.” He pauses his toying with his food to meet your gaze. His body is stiffer and he leans in a bit more, lowering his voice , “ And I need to know if my squad and I can trust you.” His tone is sharp and leaves no room for second guessing.

It takes you a second to process it, because it sounds like Rex had maybe sent a squad to come and rescue you. Unfortunately the first response you can think of is slightly sarcastic, “ I didn’t get thrown in here for my loyalty to the separatists.” You state back a little bitter that this man assumed you still had loyalties to the separatists, or maybe just your father. But the state of worlds you had seen after your father’s forces wreaked havoc on planet after planet was enough to radicalize you.

The clone lets out a slight huff of amusement, but there is some annoyance simmering. He’s taking this deadly serious. But it’s hard to tell what the soldier is thinking, leaving you in the dark. His eyes began taking in your form as much as he can as if he sees something you can’t. It’s silent for a moment and you feel a little concerned how hard he and the other clone are staring you down contemplating this. And he sighs, and shakes his head , “ well we didn’t come all this way for nothing.” He looks over to his compatriot, and they share a look of acknowledgement and they seem to be thinking something they’re not sharing. The silver hair one stands, and you can see how tall and slender he is, he smoothly walks closer to your guard droids but keeping a practical distance. The Clone with the skull tattoo then looks to the guard droid no longer focused on you as they look at the two guard droids waiting for a cue. Your brow is creased as you can feel the tense energy rolling off of the two clones in waves.

You blink and you miss it. All the lights go dark, and half a second later alarms start blaring. Red light vaguely bathing all the shapes in front of you. The power is out and in a few seconds you see the two clones go for the guard droids. You hear the fight more than see it. Only emergency lights illuminating their silhouettes and you hear two concise blaster shots, and the smoke hits your nostrils. You’re standing now, heart racing as it’s clear these two are your ticket out of here. You can barely breathe and you can hear the sounds of the clones checking over the blasters. The soft halo of red light illuminates the clone with long hair, he places a firm hand on your shoulder . “ Stay close. Stay low. And do not second guess our orders.” He’s looking at you but in the low light you can’t even see his eyes. You give a quick nod back, but your body feels shaky with the suddenness of the situation.

There’s no time to dwell on the feeling, his hand is a strong grip, similar to that of holding a blaster. But he’s pushing you towards a doorway. The other clone is following up the rear, it’s hard to see exactly what they are both doing. But in the chaos you’re impressed by the blaster shots the taller clone begins landing on the guard droids intent to disrupt your path. You get jerked to the exit of the mess hall to avoid being in the line of fire. There’s a quick blaster shot at the control panel, there’s little time for courtesy as he keeps shuffling you with determination to an exit. You're stumbling over your feet at first but you're finding the rhythm of walking in line with the soldiers. Part of you can sense the way they are walking is slowed down for you, and you make an effort to keep up but your side is straining every time you do.

You haven’t seen this part of the prison before everything is unfamiliar and you’re realizing how big this facility truly is. The shorter clone suddenly flattens you against the wall as you’re about to round a corner. The red lights are hindering your vision, but the silver haired clone moves ahead of the two of you landing three precise blaster shots on the guard droids ahead before they even look your way. Your breath is getting shaky as you’re forced to keep moving. Your wound is starting to get the best of you, as it aggravates with every step and quick movement to hide against cover. They stop again at another junction. The taller one keeps firing making sure no droid can get too close. But the one with the skull facial tattoo turns to face you , brow deeply furrowed. He finally speaks to you “ How you holding up?” You don’t even have to respond as he’s seeing your current state, you feel woozy and hope that you can just make it just enough to escape.

With a sharp inhale between your teeth you nod determined, there’s not much you can do except hold out. “ I can make it.” Your tone is almost brave and firm and it does reassure the clone just a little to hear you want to escape this badly. He nods in acknowledgment.

“ For kriff’s sake Hunter use the stim shot.” The taller clone retorts with a challenging tone. The tall one doesn’t even look back at you to know what shitty shape you're in. He keeps firing his stolen blaster, head on a constant swivel taking down the incoming droids like fish in a barrel.

“ I didn’t think it would be that bad. “ The longer hair clone stops firing around the corner, and he pulls something from a pocket of his prison jumpsuit. It’s a blur , but he says without hesitating “hold still.” And with the same firm grips pulls you in closer, finding a patch of bare skin. You don’t see it but you feel the pinch of the needle.

You don’t mean to be so shocked but it’s quick and the pinch is sharp. “ Ow” you instinctively slip out, recoiling as soon as he lets go. It stings but you know there’ll be relief in a minute. He gives you a slight remorseful look but he can’t dwell on it getting you out of here is more important. He gives your shoulder a gentle reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And he turns back to the action, his demeanor suddenly switching back into a soldier. Their blasters both raised down the hallway, “We’re almost to the extraction point. “ He gruffly states as he looks back at you seeing your starting to recover slightly.

You shake off the sting in your neck, the stim shot was needed but it still was a sting nonetheless. The clones press forward, you can see the one with longer hair glance out of the corner of his eye at you in the low light. You can’t tell how much is concern and how much is suspicion. But you're hoping the concern weighs out more. He pulls you to cover but not as harshly this time. You flatten your body against the wall and you can hear the exchange of blaster fire at the back of you seeing the lanky clone take down the droids. The other one is over the control panel, and he’s practically smashing the key codes now. “ Tech’s codes aren’t working.” He says in his frustration. You look over to see his apparent frustration. Your brow creases seeing your chance of escape start to slip through your fingers and it makes your stomach sink. Your hand twitches you could unlock it. You’ve done it before, you unlocked a hundred doors without the key code. If he stepped aside, you would just need a few seconds of quiet.“ They must’ve - “

He’s cut off by a close blaster shot, precisely hitting the keypad. The silver haired one had shot the panel and the sliding doors sputter slightly open functioning on emergency energy. You can see the longer hair clone furrowed his brow annoyed but the other speaks up with a slight smirk “ you were taking too long.” You're slightly amused by the interaction but there’s no time to even chuckle , as the one with the skull tattoos quickly leads you through the crack of the door. It’s dark but the room it leads to is big. But it looks like this must be a transport hangar. The end of the room has a ray shield and you can see the dark stretches of space dotted by the stars. Seeing something other than durasteel walls again makes your breath hitch, but you snap out of it following the two clones near the terminal. One is punching in codes, while the other one keeps landing difficult shots in the darkness on droids you can barely see.

But the door that led you in here, now is being pried open by the mechanic hands of droids. Innately you can feel it must be a whole squad coming this way that would overwhelm all three of you. The two clones exchange a quick glance worried for their circumstance, it feels like things are not going to plan clearly. “ Tech should’ve been here by now.” He stops fiddling with the terminal as some of the droids start to slip through the door that now has a wider crack. They are both firing at the onslaught of droids now coming in. To take cover you’re all forced back into a small alcove of storage supplies, as soon as all the droids fill the room you’ll be trapped. You’re looking around for something or anything to help your circumstance. The soldiers’ gazes are trained ahead on the growing threat you're now facing as you try to look for something that would be useful. You look into one of the crates, nothing but prison jumpsuits. You quickly peek in another, and another. Hearing the slight commotion you’re making, the silver haired clone throws a sharp glance your way, and he’s about to say something sharp. But you open a holy grail of supplies, it’s portable fuel canisters.

“ Here.” You pull as many as your hands can hold out , and he stops shooting for a second slightly impressed with your find. The long hair one shares this sentiment but can’t spend long on it.

“ Good work.” The shorter one gruffly says and you can tell he didn’t expect you to be proactive, and grabs two out of your hands. “ I’ll throw .” He says turning back formulating a plan with his brother. The silver hair clone nods, his focus becoming pointed again. You see him give you a sidelong glance before lining up his blaster anticipating the arc of his brother’s throw. With a firm throw the two fuel canisters are tossed within range of the hangar’s entrance. The tall one lands shot on one of the canisters before it can even hit the ground. You see it blow, of mixture of reds, oranges and some blues of whatever was in the fuel burns. The wave of heat hits your senses and you instinctively push yourself against what little cover you have. The blaster fire lessens for just a few moments.

“ Finally.” The roar of a ship can be heard, and you dare to peek from your cover. And coming through the ray shield comes a ship that’s nothing like some of the republic ships you knew of. The piloting is erratic but precise it moves into the hangar harshly. “ About time, “ The longer hair clone continues and turns to face you and there’s a sense of pride in his voice “ Our rides here.”

The gangplank to the ship opens, and it sounds almost like a hearty battle cry, a very large armored soldier begins firing into the mess of droids still marching in. You’re jerked from behind cover , “ Let’s move” and you followed the skull tattooed clone with a sense of urgency. Freedom actually is right in front of you now, and even if your side is burning up, there’s no chance you're hesitating. Running towards the gangplank the larger clone is firing, and he doesn’t seem to have the same brooding disposition as your two rescuers. But as soon as you get within arms length the bigger clone stops pulling his helmet to look at you with his one good eye.

“ They look nothing like the holo !” He quickly exclaims as if you all had time to talk in the middle of escaping.

You see the lanky one roll his eyes as he follows you aboard but your two rescuers say at the same time , “ We know.” It catches you off guard , and you’re wondering what the hell holo they had of you. You hear the controls getting punched in the ship “ Get us the hell out of here Tech.” The one with the skull tattoo barks his order as if it’s second nature.

The ship lurches forward, and you're thrown off balance a bit and your side makes you wince. And a new clone you haven’t seen supports you. His metallic scomp for an arm keeps you steady and gently helps you to a seat. “ You alright civ?”

“ Civ?” You repeat hesitantly, not a nickname you had been called before. Traitor and backstabber was the most recent in a long list of nicknames you weren’t fond to repeat. Your side hurts but you're ignoring it and just feel relief to sit on something that wasn’t a durasteel bench or shitty prison cot. You don’t know how much longer the stim shot in your system can hold you over now. Your blood is still rushing in your ear and you’re realizing how out of breath you are.

“ like civilian -“ The paler clone quickly clarifies for you nicely, and his more gentleman- like demeanor relieves some of your anxiety.

“ More like spy.” The silver hair clone cuts through sharply, still in the same prison jumpsuit as you but now somehow with a toothpick lulling in his mouth. He’s sat down across from you and there’s a fair amount of distance, but not enough. His piercing gaze is enough to make your stomach turn. But it makes your blood boil for him to insinuate that you could still be loyal to the separatists. It’s enough to make you want to snap a harsh rebuttal, opening your mouth you’re cut off.

The paler one turns back to you sensing the tension about to come to head. “ How’s your side?” He’s trying to redirect you, and you break your stare to gaze back at him.

You blink and exhale, you’re still feeling the anxiety and urgency of escaping the prison. There’s a sense of relief but not yet. You don’t even know these clone’s names. “ It’s sore .. but it’s fine.” You’re kinda masking how much it really hurts, but it’s a blurred sensation between the stim shot and out running guards you can’t tell how much it’ll hurt later or how bad it is. You’re trying not to let your heart race, but you’re on a strange ship. A Republic ship. You have no idea where you’re going, you know you were only rescued only for your valued intel. Your stomach clenches a little at the thought. Just because you didn’t like the separatists didn’t make you a blind patriot to the republic.

“ I’m Echo, by the way. “ He pulls you out of your thoughts, and it makes you self conscious wondering how long you must’ve stared off for. “ That’s Crosshair “ he points back to the silver haired clone still glaring daggers at you. “ Wrecker , Tech , and Hunter.” He gestures to the largest clone, maybe the largest man you have ever seen. Remembering how he said you look much different than the holo they had of you. And the one called Tech quickly turns around with the ship being in hyperspace. He’s holding his datapad as he makes his way towards you and your intuition is telling you he has a thousand questions. He’s about to speak but Hunter , you’re partially relieved to finally be formally introduced, holds up a hand stopping Tech in his path.

“ You should get some rest Civ.” He says more like an order than a suggestion. Your first instinct is to brush it off. You’re too uncomfortable in a strange setting you don’t want to let your guard down. Especially around the silver hair- Crosshair, who seems to think you have something up your sleeve. You want to protest and your brow flinches but it’s no use seeing the look Hunter gives you.

And is quickly cut off by the bigger clone butting in, “ You can take my bunk!” He quickly exclaims. Wrecker stands leading you to the back. You can see the scatters of toothpicks , random wires, spare parts, and a knife sharpener just laying around that you have to step over. And you’re realizing how dank it smells in there , the stale air of traveling through hyperspace for days. Wrecker stops you at a bunk and your lips twitches upwards when you see a stuffed tooka settled on the pillow. “ Oh “ He realizes your reaction and has a warm smile “ That’s Lula! You can hold onto her if that helps you sleep better “ He steps to the side so you could actually sit on the bunk now. “ It helps Crosshair “ He teases with a smirk on his face, and you can’t help a small laugh leave your expression. It’s nice to have him break the ice a little because you’re dreading when you need to face the clones again. You’ll have to recall every small piece of information you had ever come across even if it seemed insignificant.

“ Thanks Wrecker “ You're realizing how little energy your voice is carrying but you made an effort to make your voice sound warmer. You’re grateful one of them offered a bunk so you could rest on something that wasn’t a durasteel cot. The pillow looked real too, something that wasn’t just a pathetic excuse to rest your head on.

“ No problem Civ! I’ll let ya’ rest” His voice is kind of louder than you would like at this moment but his energy is contagious to say the least. It’s funny to hear that nickname again but you ignore it.

Laying down your entire weight settles into the bunk. It feels so much better than what you have grown used to. A heavy exhale leaves your body with some sense of relief. But it’s still strange, and you have no idea where they are even taking you, or what the Republic expects of you. You squeeze your eyes shut irritated at the line of thinking you're dwelling on. You have to stop yourself and just focus on resting, you don’t know the next time you could have a bed as nice as this. You feel Lula in the bed and you’re tempted to pull it closer, but you leave it, it’s not yours. But you make sure she’s settled safe on your pillow and out of the way. Shifting in the blankets you don’t know how long it takes but you finally drift off again