#Marshal of Champagne

[dreamconsumer]

Geoffrey of Villehardouin (1150–1213) was a French knight and historian who participated in and chronicled the Fourth Crusade. He is considered one of the most important historians of the time period.

[ciderbird]

had a weird dream that there was a tv show set in the napoleonic wars and it was switching back and forth between the russian and the french court storylines but the russian one was filmed like a serious drama with alexander constantly grappling with guilt and responsibility knowing any wrong move can cost him his life and then it would just cut to napoleon having a 19th century equivalent of a frat party with the marshals that’s filmed like an OFMD episode

[mistydeyes]

hiiiii I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!!!!! Can you please do 141 with a model reader who does Chanel,Versace etc and she gets an invite to do Victoria’s Secret runway and they see her down the runway how would they react

she’s not any model shes and icon,sex symbol,brains,she is the moment

big inspo for me ( I want to become a model)

AHHH I LOVE THIS! anon i feel you tho, every time i look on pinterest i just want to be a model! thank you for requesting <3

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summary: The 141 has always had an odd connection of friends, allies, and connections. However, they can't deny that they don't enjoy your luxurious life as a model and the perks that come along with attending one of your shows.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

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A series of events in Milan allowed the 141 to cross paths with you. Staying in a lavish French penthouse was far from what they had expected on a mission dictated by Laswell but her connections with your retired INTERPOL mother had brought them the extravagance of your home and lifestyle. Laswell had to threaten to have their court marshaled if they delayed their arrival home any longer. You thought of that brief moment in summer fondly as you left Gaz a voicemail. "I have a runway in New York coming up, let me know if you'll be on leave," you spoke on the phone, examining your manicured nails, "accommodations and champagne are on me." 

"This is nice," Price said, dropping his duffle onto the marbled tile of their hotel room. "Are you kidding, Cap?" Gaz said as he opened every door into the massive suite, "This is fucking amazing." When they got off the plane at JFK, they had not expected a private driver who brought them to the ornate hotel. The room itself had four separate bedrooms with two bathrooms filled with the best amenities. Soap had taken the opportunity to run over and open a bottle of champagne while Ghost pilfered the small shampoo and conditioner bottles. While the men explored the vast rooms and fought over the beds, there was a knock at the door. Price opened it to reveal a well-dressed bell-hop boy, holding a tray with an envelope. "Four tickets sent by one of the models," he spoke and Price handled the black envelope with embossed pink lettering. "Hell of invitation," he muttered before he looked at the runway time and shared the details with his team. "Wonder what she'll be wearing," Soap mused as he turned to take over one of the bathrooms.

Behind the stage, there was organized chaos with models running around in their silk robes in between the stations. The chatter roared as they chatted with the various hair stylists and makeup artists. "First VS show?" your makeup artist asked as she applied glitter delicately to your primed lids. "Yes, but not my first modeling gig," you smiled as you felt the pressure on your closed eyes, "Versace was beyond a mess compared to this." The artist laughed as she continued to prep your look. You could see mixes of pink and gold applied to your lips and the apples of your cheeks. "We think an olive green liner would look stunning on you," she said before holding a green eyeliner pencil in hand. You nodded in response as you shifted a bit in your robe. You gently closed your eyes again as you envisioned your latest outfit for the night.

Weeks prior you had visited the city to see your outfit for the night. A sage green bra and panty set decorated with pink and glittery flowers to resemble a meadow. Your wings were made of a delicate rose pink chiffon that was reminiscent of a fairy. "Do you like?" the designer asked as you walked around the stand and examined every stitch and detail. You smiled as you nodded happily, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips. "Any particular inspiration?" you questioned as you made sure to feel the weight of the wings. "The newest line of Victoria's Secret," she spoke dreamily, "the delicacy of nature."

With your makeup and hair done, you walked over to change and receive the final touches from the design team. The group walked rapidly around your figure, assuring every detail would shine when the lights hit your walk. "Have anyone special here tonight?" one of the designers asked as he cut a few loose stitches. "Just a few friends from Europe," you spoke, hoping you didn't sound too entitled. You wanted to talk more but your odd friendship with a small special forces group would definitely reach some tabloids. "You look perfect darling," another designer spoke and you nodded before beginning to walk in your heels. "You can mingle with the others. Your collection is after the classics set," she reminded. You took a deep breath and made some facetious conversation with the other women. They were in awe at your previous shows but you just simply talked as if each was a mediocre experience. "Alright ladies, walk begins in five," a voice called over the comms and you lined up accordingly. As you watched the excited group in front of you, you wondered what you would treat the 141 to for dinner. You were sure if someone knew this is what you thought of before a show, they would laugh.

"Move up, Y/N," the stage manager directed, pulling you out of your food-related musings, "almost time for you to go on." You moved forward, getting into the comfort of your model walk you had done so many times before. You took a deep breath as you heard the live music stream through the curtains and the ethereal light peek through. You looked down at your attire one last time before the model ahead of you returned and it was your turn to awe the show. "Go, go, go," you could hear the stage manager command as the bright lights and menagerie of faces met your gaze.

"I think this is her!" Gaz commented, leaning forward in his chair. "You've been saying that for the past four models," Ghost corrected before he turned to see who was coming out next. As the men directed their gaze to the stage, you confidently strutted onto the platform. They were glued to your figure, perfectly accentuated by the flirtatious lingerie set. The details were delicate and encapsulated your aura. "Fuck." Soap whispered under his breath as the glitter and flower additions to your ensemble shimmered underneath the light. Your wings bounced and looked like they flittered in the air as you made your way in front of the watching crowd. "She's a natural at this," Price commented as he watched the way you walked in a straight line with an air of elegance in each step. He also couldn't deny the way you shined on stage and how the cameras clicked in rapid succession. As you reached the end of the runway, you took an opportunity to look over at the seats you had picked for the 141. You gave a small wink before blowing a kiss in their direction. 

Upon your exiting, there was a clamor amongst the group as to who the kiss was directed to. Primarily, Soap and Gaz were at odds thinking you made eye contact with them as you puckered your glossed lips. Price attempted to put a stop to them before Ghost spoke up. "I'm sure that was for me," he spoke quietly, leaving everyone to shelf the conversation and bring it up later over dinner.

[therealcocoshady]

HI

HEAR ME OUT

Christmas party at 50 Cent’s place. You’re in your cute lil Christmas skirt. You’re kinda friends with Marsh ‘cause y’all are both in the music industry and actually go to the same studio 🙊

AND THEN THEY GET TOGETHER

and it’s HOT

But also kind of cute and you’re an amazing writer so no pressure of course

hope you have a GLORIOUS week!!

Christmas spirit

Author’s Note : Hi 💕 Thank you so much for your request ✨. I had a blast writing it ! I also took the opportunity to mix it with another one I received, which is Eminem x Vintage pop star bombshell reader. I hope you enjoy it 💕.

CW : Christmas spirit - Fluff and flirting - Light smut

One of the perks of Marshall staying at 50’s place during his stay in LA was that he didn’t have to put up with an impersonal hotel room. It was like home away from home. But one of the drawbacks of staying at his friend’s was that he had to put up with his extravagant ideas. Like turning his estate in a Winter Wonderland, for a Christmas party he had conveniently forgotten to tell him about. And of course, when he found out, he was too late to bounce. He was coming back from the home gym when he found the caterers preparing everything. « Yo, Curtis? What’s that for? » he asked with a raised eyebrow. « This? Oh ! Nothing ! Just hosting a little get together to celebrate the holidays. You know, nothing fancy » his friend said with a smirk.

One look around and he could tell it was a lie. Judging by the elaborate decor and the giant Christmas tree that his assistants were putting up, it was going to be fancy. And if the number of bottles being brought out was any indication, that get together wasn’t going to be small either. « You didn’t tell me » Marshall stated in an accusatory tone, though it betrayed his kindness for the man he considered to be family. « If I’d told you, you would have found an excuse not to attend » his friend simply replied. « Now, I don’t expect you to put on a suit, but a shower would be appreciated, Em » he grinned. Marshall rolled his eyes and walked to his bedroom. He should have known better than to expect his friend to be chill, especially during the holiday season.

When he walked back downstairs, about an hour later, he had done the best he could to clean up. He wasn’t the type to pack a suit unless he was going to a wedding or a funeral, so he did his best, opting for dark wash jeans, sneakers, a black sweater and a jacket. He spotted 50 who, of course, was looking fancy in a tailored suit, talking to some guests wearing their best cocktail attire. He wasn’t exactly one for social gatherings, not a fan of mingling with industry types and awkward small talk. If it had been anyone else’s house, he would have walked out without a second thought. But it was 50 or, as he knew him, Curtis. And if he wanted him there, he would make an effort (though he would make sure to have him repay him the favor). « Marshall! » Curtis boomed, cutting through the chatter. « Glad you made an effort, bro. Trust me, you won’t regret it » he promised. Marshall gave him a side-eye and a smirk. « Wanna bet? » he mumbled.

His friend smirked and glanced at you, who was standing there. You were in the far side of the room, chatting with Dre and a couple of other people. You were smiling but it was clear that you were putting on a brave face. Everyone, everywhere, knew about your recent drama with your ex-boyfriend, some A-list actor. You’d been broken up for a few weeks but he had been quick to announce that he was expecting a « bundle of joy » with his new girl, some TikToker. Back when you had broken up, there had been some rumors about him cheating but, now that the news of the pregnancy was out, it was clear that there had been some… overlap. To say you were feeling absolutely humiliated would be the understatement of the year. But 50 had convinced you to show up to his party nonetheless, using his charm and clever banter, promising good champagne and excellent company. You had met him, Marshall and a bunch of others at Dre’s studio, where you had recorded your last album. Your music had nothing to do with Hip Hop, but you got along with everyone and, contrary to what you would have thought, they didn’t have anything against your « vintage bombshell pop star» persona. They liked to tease you about it, but it was never mean. And you enjoyed teasing them right back.

For your comeback to LA’s party life, and to honor 50’s extravagance, you had opted for a sleek, vintage red dress that accentuated your curves, with some fake white fur lining the hem of the skirt. Very Christmassy. Your hair was spilling over your shoulders and you donned some alluring red lips. Everything to give you the confidence you desperately needed. And thank God for the glass of Chemin Du Roi, you were able to appear like your bubbly, usual self. You were laughing at Dre’s jokes while, on the other side of the room, Marshall and 50 were watching you. « Excellent night to make your move » 50 hummed quietly. Marshall turned to him and raised an eyebrow. « What? » he asked. « I think it’s time for you to get out of your comfort zone, brother. Live a little » he replied with a grin, to which Marshall scowled. « I live plenty ». His friend looked at him and rolled his eyes. « Bro, you’ve been single longer than I’ve been rich » Curtis sighed. « And our friend Y/N could use a distraction tonight, if rumors are to be believed ». Marshall gave him a look. « You didn’t seriously- » he began but his friend cut him off immediately. « Relax. I didn’t set anything up. Just… Go talk to her. She’s cool. And I’ve seen the way you looked at her last time she was in the studio. We all did ». Marshall gave him a side-eye and pursed his lips « Did you now? ». 50 chuckled and nodded. « Yes. And now, there’s no one in the way » he said as he gave him a friendly slap in the back. « Now, go. You’ll thank me later ».

Marshall shook his head but still made his way toward the group. You noticed him before he even got there, you eyes lighting up in recognition. « Marshall! Hey ! » you greeted him with a smile. « I didn’t know you’d be here » you said. Marshall quickly hugged you and smiled. « Yeah, well, you know 50. Didn’t give me much of a choice » he hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. « Tell me about it » you giggled. « He practically coerced me. Harassed me and threatened to post some of his memes with my face on his Instagram ». He chuckled, genuinely, and relaxed a little. You chatted for a little while, keeping up with each other’s latest work project. You didn’t doubt that he knew about all the cover stories about you, but you appreciated that he had the elegance not to mention it. He kept things light, entertaining you with his classic sarcasm. At some point, you were joined by Curtis, who arbored a victorious smirk. « How is the gorgeous Ms. Claus doing? » he asked you. « You guys look like Christmas card material ». You giggled while Marshall rolled his eyes. « Come on, man » he groaned. « I’m just sayin’… Our girl Y/N is all elegant and you… Well, you’re kinda grinchy. Opposites attract, right? » 50 hummed. « Keep talking and I’ll disappear like the Grinch » Marshall warned, though his tone held more humor than bite. Of course, Curtis being Curtis, he didn’t let it go. Far be it from him. « Just trying help you out. Ain’t nothing wrong with a little Christmas connection. ’Tis the season and all that » he said as he clapped Marshall on the shoulder.

You let out a giggle and crossed your arms. « Did you have me come here so that you could play matchmaker, Curtis? » you asked teasingly. « What can I say? I believe in Christmas miracles » he shrugged with an enigmatic smile. « You already said that when you forced me to come here » you playfully reminded him. «What can I say? These movies got to me » he smirked. « You are relentless. Do you do this with all your guests? Or are we special ? » you asked. « Y’all are special! But look at you, Y/N. You’re smiling, laughing, looking like a Christmas angel. And Em is not hiding in a corner with his notebook. You’re vibing ». Both you and Marshall rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. 50 chuckled and promised he’d be back after making his rounds, like a dutiful host. « Sorry about him » Marshall mumbled. « He’s insufferable, sometimes ». You giggled and took a sip of your drink. « He is. But that’s why we love him. Besides, he’s got a point. You are a little grinchy » you grinned. He smirked, leaning forward slightly. « And you are leaning into the whole holiday angel thing ». Your smile softened and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. « You’re sweet » you murmured. « Sweet? » he repeated, raising an eyebrow. « Careful. You’re gonna ruin my reputation ». You stared into his eyes and gave him your signature, seductive smile. « I think you can handle it » you teased. « Besides… Maybe it’d be good for you to… embrace the Christmas spirit ». He leaned just a bit closer and your perfume, something light and sweet, caught his attention. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Marshall’s eyes flicked to your lips, and you noticed, your heart skipping a beat. The fire of the nearby fireplace crackled softly, the world outside of your little bubble forgotten.

« You’re staring » you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. « Am I? » he asked, his voice just as low. You nodded slowly, a teasing grin appearing on your face. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he leaned in, closing the space between you, inch by inch. « Well tell me if I’m wrong » he murmured, his voice rough and hesitant. « But I don’t think you’d mind ». Your breath hitched and your gaze flicked to his lips. But before you could reply and give in to the flirt, you were interrupted, the spell shattering. « Marshall! I didn’t even have time to say hi! » Dre greeted, his booming voice cutting through the moment like a record scratch. Both of you pulled back abruptly and you blinked while Marshall’s jaw tightened. Dre strode over, seemingly oblivious to the tension he’d just cut through. He held a drink in one hand, his phone in the other, and his expression was all focused. « I finished mixing one of the tracks you recorded the other day, man. I have a couple versions. You don’t mind if we talk shop real quick, do you? ». Marshall exhaled through his nose, forcing a neutral expression. « You don’t want to… Enjoy the party ? » he asked carefully, but Dre shook his head. « Man, with all the projects I have going on? It’s crazy. And I know you don’t care for parties either ». You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. « I will let you gentlemen talk shop. I’ll go and grab another drink » you said as you stood gracefully. As you walked away, your vintage dress swaying gently, Marshall watched you go. « Did I interrupt something? » Dre asked cluelessly, his mind obviously too focused on work. « You work too hard » Marshall sighed. While he followed Dre to another room, his eyes drifted to you, standing near the bar, glass of champagne in hand, your laugh ringing out like a melody.

After what felt like hours, dissecting beats with Dre, his thoughts were buzzing. When he came back, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. He exhaled through his nose, hoping you hadn’t gone home, though he figured you weren’t the type to leave without saying goodbye. He wandered through the house, where people were gathered in several rooms, drinking, smoking cigars, dancing… As he turned a corner, he noticed a door slightly ajar, at the end of a quiet hallway. The library. He stepped closer and pushed the door open, revealing a stunning space with shelved filled with books that looked more decorative than well-read, though a few had clearly seen use. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, its glow casting long shadows over the rich mahogany furniture. And there you were, sitting on one of the plush couches near the fire. Your legs were tucked under you, your champagne flute resting on a small side table. Your gaze seemed distant and, for a moment, Marshall hesitated. You looked incredibly serene, the skirt of your dress spread elegantly over the couch, the fur trim catching the soft light. You looked like you belonged on some vintage postcard. « There you are » he said quietly. You looked up, almost startled, though your expression softened when you saw him. « Finished making magic with Dre? » you teased. « Something like that » he sad as he showed his hands into his pockets. « Figured you’d be halfway out the door, by now ». You laughed lightly but shook your head. « Just needed a breather and thought I’d hide out here for a bit » you said with a smile. « it’s cozy. Good hiding spot » he commented. « And if I join you? ». You shook your head and gestured for him to sit next to you. He joined you and looked at you for a few seconds. « You okay? » he asked after a moment, his voice softer now. You tilted your head, studying him with a small, amused smile. « Why wouldn’t I be? » you asked. « I dunno. Dre kind of barged in and I thought that maybe you’d… Lost interest » he said as he scratched the back of his neck. You let out a soft chuckle as you shook your head and leaned closer to him. « Did you? ». He smirked, his eyes locking onto yours. « Not a chance ».

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. You broke the silence, your tone teasing but your expression serious. «Should we pick up where we left off, or is Dre going to steal you away again? » you asked in a sultry voice. Marshall chuckled, his defenses crumbling under your gaze. « He’s got nothing on this ». Taking your cue, he leaned in closer, his hand resting on your hip. Your breath hitched as you looked at him, your hands finding your way to his chest. « Thought you didn’t care for Christmas spirit? » you whispered. « Might make an exception » he murmured, leaning in. The moment hung in the air and your lips met. The kiss started slow, tentative, as if you were both testing the waters. But it didn’t take long for the heat to ignite. Your fingers slid to his shoulders, pulling him closer, while his hands tightened around your waist, drawing you against him. The rest of the world disappeared. The distant hum of the party, the clinking of glasses fading into nothing. All that mattered was the way your lips moved against each other, soft and warm and full of something electric.

The flickering firelight in the library was casting a soft glow over the both of you, lighting up your flushed cheeks as you leaned into Marshall’s touch, your fingers brushing the curve of his jaw, gently stroking his beard. What started as an urgent kiss turned into a slow making out session, more about discovery, savoring the connection. His lips were soft against yours, as was his touch, his fingers gently digging into your hips. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and he took a deep breath. « Do you… Want to get out of here? » he asked, his voice low and rough. You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with interest, a soft smile lighting up your face. « And go where? » you asked. He seemed to hesitate, gazing at your face for a couple of seconds, his own eyes full of anticipation. « I have a room here. Upstairs » he said finally. « If you’re good with that ».

Your lips quirked into a playful smile. You liked that he was being a gentleman about it, leaving the choice up to you. And going upstairs seemed like a fine choice indeed. « Lead the way » you hummed softly as you offered him your hand. You were barefoot, your heels forgotten by the couch as the two of you quietly slipped out of the library and into the hallway that was bathed in shadows as the sounds of the party drifted faintly in the distance. Marshall guided you upstairs, one of his hands holding yours, the other resting on the small of your back as you moved. A simple, yet incredibly intimate gesture. You entered his room, a spacious but understated guest suite, which Curtis had decked out for modern touches and elegant furniture, a king-sized bed that sat in the center and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the LA skyline. As you glanced around, you noticed that it was more minimalistic than the rest of the house. Somehow, it felt more Marshall than 50. You spotted some of his belongings in various corners : notebooks and pens on the desk, a vintage, portable CD player with some Beats headphones and a comfy hoodie on the back of a chair. « That’s nice » you hummed with a soft smile.

The both of you stood there for a moment, the silence stretching, but not in an uncomfortable way. Marshall stepped closer to you, his hands finding your waist again as he looked into your eyes. « You sure about this? » he asked, and you could see a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. You nodded, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his tee-shirt. « I’m sure » you whispered in a seductive voice. What followed wasn’t rushed or hurried. It was a slow, deliberate exploration of each other. He pulled you closer and kissed you, letting his hands explore your body over your dress in a gentle pace, as if he were asking permission. You playfully ran a finger over his chest, playing with the hem of his tee-shirt, before letting your finger touch his skin. He seemed to get the message and got rid of his jacket and tee, and you enjoyed the sight of his muscular body. So much so that you couldn’t refrain from smiling. For a split second, he arbored a visible smirk, before capturing your lips again. You ran your hands over his torso, his back, feeling every inch of skin, every muscle… You weren’t sure if it was the recent singleness, the champagne or simply his captivating presence, but it felt like you couldn’t get enough. You were used to his usual, guarded demeanor but now, it was giving way to something that was both raw and tender, which you met with equal intensity.

He slowly ran a hand in the back of your dress as he stared into your eyes, and slowly started unzipping it, his face inches away from yours. When he was done, the dress fell to your feet, revealing a stunning corset and lace panties. Marshall stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape, taking in the sight in front of him. Evidently, you were dressed to the nines, down to the lingerie, and you definitely lived up to the vintage bombshell persona. « You’re gorgeous » he murmured, a hint of reverence in his voice. You didn’t say a word, simply gave him a soft, seductive smile, the look on your face full of unspoken promises. He took your hand and led you to the bed. You sat on the edge, gesturing for him to come closer, and started undoing his belt but he grabbed your wrist and stopped your movement, shaking his head. Instead, he kissed the inside of your wrist and gently pushed you so that you’d lie down. You were beneath him, your skin glowing in the warm light of the bedside lamp. Your eyes held his, soft and vulnerable, waiting for his next move. He captured your lips once again and cupped your cheek. The move, however simple and innocent, had you still under his touch. Your lips parted slightly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your neck, going further down with each kiss. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, as though he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you trembled beneath him.

« Marshall » you whispered, your voice suddenly unsteady. As much as you enjoyed it, as you craved for more, you were taken aback by the way he took his time, unhurried. You were used to men being charmed by you, by your persona as a glamorous diva, but it seemed like none of them had taken the time to show such reverence. He looked at you, smiling, before brushing your jawline with his lips. « Let me » he murmured. He started moving lower, his hands sliding down your sides as his lips trailed down, caressing you as if you were a sacred work of art. His touch was slow, reverent, as though he was savoring every moment, every inch of you. He reached your panties, pressing a kiss over the fine lace fabric. You gasped softly, your body arching into him, and he smiled against you. « May I? » he whispered. You heard yourself whine, almost pleading. Next thing you knew, he was making your panties slide off your legs and your hands were sliding into his hair as he continued to worship you with his mouth. The room was filled with your sounds, small whimpers and gasps that only grew louder as he seemed to take them as encouragements. When he finally lifted his head to look at you again, his blue eyes were dark with emotion, his expression raw and unguarded. « I want you » he said, his voice rough but steady. You nodded eagerly, your eyes full of desire.

He quickly got rid of his clothes and, as soon as he was within your reach, you pulled him to you, as if you wanted to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Your mouth found its way to his and, eventually, you found yourselves under the covers, your bodies intertwined. Every touch, every kiss he gave you was deliberate, meant to draw you deeper into the moment. He could feel the way your body responded to him, your breaths quickening, hands gripping him like you didn’t want to let go. He whispered your name against your skin, his voice low and filled with desire. As the intensity built, Marshall surrendered completely under your touch, your voice, your presence. His fingers were digging Ito your skin, the movements of his hips becoming more frantic, and he could’t help the moan that escaped his lips as your nails dug in his back. When you finally reached your peak together, it was nearly overwhelming, your bodies trembling as you clung to each other. Marshall collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as you both caught your breath, skin damp and hearts racing in unison. He looked at you, who were absolutely glowing, despite your hair being all messy and your impeccable red lip being long gone. He’d seen you around Dre’s studio, in somewhat casual attire, but he had never seen you so natural, so raw… And you were even more stunning, ethereal. As he gazed at you, he couldn’t help but feel privileged. Seeing the diva so close, it was like admiring a work of art. Except you weren’t a diva. It was one of the rare times someone saw you as something else. Something real. Raw. Beautiful. Marshall brushed a thumb lightly along your cheekbone, his movements slow and reverent, as though he were committing every detail to memory. « You look different, » he murmured, his voice low and rough from exhaustion but carrying an undeniable tenderness.

Your lips curved into a small smile, your eyes still closed. « Different, huh? Is that a good thing? » you asked in a light laugh. « Better than good, » he said honestly. « You don’t need all that extra stuff. You’re... just- ». He stopped himself, unsure how to articulate what he was feeling. You opened your eyes then, your gaze soft as you studied him. « You don’t have to say anything, » you said gently, your voice carrying the same quiet intimacy as the moment you were sharing. « I think I know what you mean. »

He nodded, relieved you understood. He wasn’t the type to wax poetic, but something about you like this—so unguarded, so real—made his chest tighten in a way that was both unfamiliar and undeniable. You shifted slightly, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest. « It’s kind of nice, » you admitted after a while. « Not having to... perform, you know? Just being here. ». He stared at you and nodded. « Yeah, » Marshall said, his hand moving to rest against the small of your back. « I get that. »

You lay there in comfortable silence, breaths syncing as the moments stretched on. Every now and then, your laugh would break the quiet as Marshall teased you about your fur-lined dress or you ribbed him about his notebook collection. But between the laughter and easy conversation, there was something else—something unspoken but palpable.

Marshall’s fingers idly brushed the curve of your hip under the sheets, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. Your expression softened, a mix of vulnerability and quiet wonder. None of you addressed it—not directly—but it was there in the way he held you, in the way you lingered against him as though reluctant to let the night end. « You’re full of surprises, you know that? » he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.You couldn’t help but smirk, your fingers playing with the chain thin chain he wore around his neck. « Well, they do call me Ms Claus, after all » you teased. He chortled and rested his forehead against yours, while your hand settled over his heart. « I think I’m starting to like Christmas spirit » he murmured.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Wrapped In Red [Commander Fox x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: When a long-time friend of yours in the Galactic Senate invited you to one of the upcoming galas, you envisioned a night of lavish apparel, drinking, dancing, and dodging the attempts of too-friendly senators. Added security had not been a part of it, but it’s non-negotiable following an attempt on your friend’s life. Fortunately, you can make the best of a bad situation by making friends with your bodyguards — Clone troopers of the Coruscant Guard, including Marshal Commander Fox himself.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader, save for the color of her dress and accessories. Reader is the friend of an unspecified senator nicknamed “Aspen”. Political assassination attempt [off-screen, more focus is on the aftermath]. Brief reference of a riot and (civilian) violence against Clones. Elements of the ‘Lady/Knight’ or ‘Bodyguard Crush’ dynamics. Forced proximity. Reference and allusion to alcohol. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Some use of Mando'a. Prompt is highlighted in red. Requested by @returnofthepineapple from her previous account. 

Word Count: 10,817

For the past couple of years, you’ve been living a quiet life on one of Coruscant’s neighboring planets. Though you were born there, the hustle and bustle of Coruscant proved more than you could handle as you grew older. You longed for some place less choked by pollution, politics and power-mad bastards. 

So, just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, you spread your wings and left the labyrinth-like nest. 

People dear to your heart still lived there, so you never left Coruscant completely behind you. 

One such person—a childhood friend—you’ve managed to remain quite close with in spite of your relocation, and their involvement in the Galactic Senate. Rising through the upper echelons in the political scene to make it into a senatorial position had taken time, but the friend you knew best as Aspen had never been the type who could be easily swayed from their goals, or their sense in doing the right thing. 

Thinking of you often, Aspen liked to send you invitations to some of the millions of events taking place on Coruscant at any given time. Mostly small things, like seasonal markets or something related to various hobbies and interests. 

“A certain someone I know would love the concert they're holding in the entertainment district this coming Zhellday!”

“Blast… I’m going to be busy that day! But you’re the best, Aspen.”

On rare occasions, the invitations Aspen gave you were to much bigger things than crafting workshops or concerts. 

The most recent of these larger invitations is to an upcoming gala being held at the very end of the month, meant to cap off the long proposal period of very important—yet divisive—bills and other legislation to the Republic. You knew from past experience this would be a very, very long month for Aspen with no shortage of headaches. They were probably ready to beg you to attend the gala if it came down to it. 

It took only a short moment of thought before coming to a decision upon receiving the electronic invite; hoping to surprise them with good news, a message was left with a member of their senatorial staff. 

Hey, Aspen, just thought I’d let you know I got your invitation to the upcoming gala. I know you’re busy, so you don’t need to convince me to attend. I’d be happy to come and see you. The gala sounds like fun. Already looking forward to it! 

You’ve attended a few parties with Aspen in the past, but you can’t recall one of this scale or importance. There were the small fundraisers where you ate so many jogan fruit tarts together you were nearly sick. Promotional campaigns where bets were made on how many flutes of champagne Aspen’s competitors would end up sucking back before the end of the night. Public appearances where you stood beside (or in place of) your childhood friend’s family to support and celebrate the hard work they’ve put into the planet you called home for a long, long time. 

Making the kind of differences Aspen hoped for in the galaxy would often be an uphill battle. You’ve regularly joked it was a good thing that they’ve always been a fan of climbing in all the time you knew them. 

By the time you made it to Coruscant, less than a week before the gala, you were faced with the horrible discovery of just how close Aspen had come to falling from those lofty heights.

You’re planet-side for all of five minutes—busy wrestling your things together in the spaceport terminal—before you find yourself face-to-helmet with a pair of white-armored men. By the way they had begun marching in the direction of the baggage claim from the moment you got there and the deliberateness of their stride, you had the feeling they were not simply on patrol. 

These soldiers—Clones—part of the Coruscant Guard, judging by the red paintwork, had been waiting for you.  

The rest of your luggage continued to sit on the revolving conveyor belt as you spoke with the shocktroopers for the next few minutes, trying to figure out what was going on in spite of the travel-fatigue. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time on Coruscant has seen more than their fair share of regular commuters and far-away travelers getting stopped by terminal security forces, so that in itself is not out of the ordinary. 

Getting stopped by members of the Guard, those who dealt with riots and political escorts… That was more unusual. It meant whatever was going on was pretty karkin’ serious. (You’re not in trouble, are you?) Comply. Be polite. They don’t sound angry yet when they start asking basic questions to confirm your identity. 

Starting with your name and date of birth, one of the troopers brings up his datapad clipped to his utility belt to verify your answers against information in their database. The other silently gathers the rest of your baggage from the carousel the next time it comes around, preventing some petty criminal from getting their hands on whatever's inside. Between giving the troopers the requested information, a million thoughts race all at once while wondering whether or not you’ll be asked to come with them soon enough. Unless the Corries are hurting for work so badly that they’re now working spaceport security, whatever this is about is undoubtedly serious. 

In a shaken voice, you try to find answers once there is a suitable lull in the questioning.

“Can I ask what this is about…? Am I in trouble?”

The trooper with the datapad in his hand turns to the other, saying nothing, but raises his shoulders and gestures with his free hand as if to say “How much do you think we can tell her?” to his partner. You grow all the more nervous as the silent exchange continues, the partner shaking his head at the first. 

“Not here.” the second trooper says, his head wagging sharply to suggest it isn’t a good idea. 

The first makes a hurried promise before he’s interrupted by the second. “You’re not in trouble-” 

“But you’re not safe, either. We can explain more once you’re about the gunship. We need to ask you to come with us.” (Gunship? Safe? Oh fuck.) The same trooper, nodding to a bag by your feet now says “Sayber, take the duffle bag. I’ve got the suitcase.” before instructing you to follow them. 

Struggling to match their militant stride, you want to do little more than shrink out of discomfort feeling hundreds of eyes trained on you as you march back the way the shocktroopers came through the crowded spaceport. Doing your best to ignore all the many faces glittering with curiosity, you instead focus on the LAAT/i emblazoned with the crest of the Guard lazily bobbing in place as it hovers over a part of the terminal’s platform. 

Aside from the pilot, there are three more soldiers. Two are waiting in the craft itself; another waits on the ground, hands planted firmly on each hip. 

He must be who Sayber and the second, nameless Clone now walking beside you report to, judging by the stance and differences in his armor. On his helmet, you see stylized wings painted above a black visor guard, framing the visor itself. Two ‘capes’ of flexible armor hung from his utility belt, swaying in the downdraft of the ship just behind him, and the left shoulder armor has an antenna of some kind. 

If you had to guess his rank, he’s either a captain or commander. “That didn’t take long at all.” he calls to his soldiers, tone neither impressed or surprised. “Have you and Naran verified she’s who we were sent to retrieve?”

“Yes, Commander Thorn. She matches the descriptions we were given.” Sayber, the trooper on your right, replies confidently. 

All the same, he and Naran show their superior the datapad, allowing him to look at the information for himself. Confirmed with the commander, you’re given the go-ahead to board. Naran and Sayber board first, one securing your luggage while the other helps you into the gunship. 

As soon as you’re aboard, the commander orders the blast shields closed. The sound of which makes you wince, but being so on-edge, you’re grateful for the feeling of extra security it brings soon after. As you’re being shown an overhead handrail to use in case the inertial compensator isn’t enough to keep you from being wobblier than a newborn bantha, you’re advised not to lock your knees once the military repulsorcraft takes off. 

“Flight shouldn’t be too long, but, because even the most routine escorts have surprises we have to ask: do you get airsick, ma’am?” Having met them just a short time ago, you can’t yet tell Naran and Sayber apart, but you’re pretty sure this is Naran who’s rooting through the on-board medical kit for something. 

“O-oh, I-”

Your hesitation and the commander’s interruption is enough for one of them to toss an airsick bag your way, just in case. “Nothing routine about this escort, boys. We’re gonna be wrapped in red tape for a while, so we should start getting used to it.” The pilot is signaled to take off from the spaceport and begin making his way to a coded location a few moments later. 

The word ‘escort’ is nothing unfamiliar to you, having gone through this song and dance one of the last times you came to support Aspen’s senatorial workings. But red tape creates enough dread to ice over your veins before it begins pooling hot and sour in your guts. 

“C-can I ask what’s going on now?” 

What’s happened that’s made all of this a necessity?

Naran, remembering the promise he made back at the terminal, begins to carefully explain the situation with a slight halt in his voice. Each word is chosen carefully, like perhaps he’s unsure just how much he can say, or how you might react. 

“Someone—we’re not sure who—tried to end your friend Senator Aspen’s life shortly before you got to Coruscant… They’re shaken, but ultimately unharmed. We were asked to bring you to the same secure location by one of the other commanders.” 

The remainder of your flight aboard the gunship goes by without another word. The troopers know this is difficult information to process, and you can’t think of a single thing to say about any of it. It’s hard to be afforded a moment of silence to reflect on any of this with the guttural drone of the engine eating up any sound below a stage whisper, but the soldiers around you do their best. It’s a small act of kindness to you. 

Until you step off the gunship, this will be your last opportunity to have any kind of time to yourself before you’ll be so caught up in red tape you would practically be wearing the stuff.

Upon arrival, Sayber and Naran once again wrangle your luggage for you to speed up the process of disembarking. 

The less hindrances you had the better. You needed to see Aspen. And Aspen needed to see you. Having a friendly face by your side made confronting calamity a little more bearable, someone wise once told you. (Or, maybe you read that somewhere on the holonet…) In this state of heightened adrenaline, thoughts become muddled and disjointed as Commander Thorn ushers you past several armed security guards down a long hall. 

You can only imagine your friend will be in a far worse state. 

“Senator Aspen is in here,” Commander Thorn explains, stopping in front of a modified blastdoor. “The two of you will be kept here until a security detail has been finalized.”

“That’s fine… Thank you, Commander Thorn.”

Commander Thorn wastes no time, waving you in ahead of him once he’s completed keying in the clearance code. Inside, you find your friend crumpled into a low multi-seater, face in their hands as the person seated on the other end of the couch appears to be explaining something either to them, or to the other armed guards posted in the corners of the panic room.  

From the armor kit, you know the man is another Clone like Sayber, Naran and Commander Thorn with a singular glance. But you’re less concerned with who he is right at this moment, never having been more relieved to see your friend than you are right now. 

“Once she’s here, I would like everyone to-”

“Aspen!”

The other Clone immediately falls silent as Aspen gets on their feet in a flash, all but vaulting over the caf-table in order to meet you half-way. Mutually crushing the air out of the other’s lungs in the strength of your embrace, neither of you can properly express just how grateful you are to see the other. Jumbled, rapid words give way to tears seeping into one another’s shoulders before long, so occupied with comforting each other that no attention is paid to the troopers being swapped out with Naran and Sayber once they have brought in your belongings. 

In a tight, choked voice your friend begins apologizing to you once they’re calm enough to speak. “I’m so sorry that we had to meet like… like this… but it’s so, so good to see you.” Pulling away, you get a better look at their face for the first time and your heart clenches painfully. They look so scared. So deeply shaken. Yet here they are, apologizing to you for something that’s hardly their fault. 

“Had to be the longest hour of my life, waiting here with the Commander for you to get to Coruscant…” Aspen continues, taking your hand to guide you to sit beside them on the multi-seater where it would be more comfortable than standing. “I wanted to talk to you. So badly. Just to hear your voice and find a little solace after- After everything.”

“I’m guessing you couldn’t?”

Your friend shakes their head no. “Not exactly. We weren’t sure if it would be safe to. I’m sor-”

It’s you who shakes their head this time before explaining why a second apology is not necessary. “Hey. I understand. The important thing was trying to keep you safe after you were almost… hurt. Or worse.” The simple fact your friend was unharmed—still living and breathing in front of you—was an incredible blessing.

“Your friend sounds like a smart woman, Senator Aspen.” 

Reminded of his presence after you’ve been paid a compliment, your friend quickly begins the process of trying to compose themself in order to begin proper introductions. “Y-yes, she very much is… Commander, this is my very dear friend I was trying to tell you about earlier when explaining who your men needed to find.” The second Commander nods in polite greeting, refraining from saying anything until introductions have been finished. 

“And this, my dear friend,” Aspen says in a well-practiced this-is-important tone of voice, “is Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I believe he’s been tasked with security after what nearly happened.”

At this point, Commander Fox has gotten to his feet and taken a look at something on Commander Thorn’s datapad before consulting his own. “That would be correct, Senator.” Holding himself with purpose, this second commander standing beside Thorn differs from him in more ways than just the color-inversion of his chest armor, and the additional Corrie Crimson on his armor alone. “I am here by order of the Chancellor to create a strong security detail for you, and your friend, in light of the attempt on your life almost an hour ago.” His voice, while not too different from the Clones you’ve met today thus far, had strong tonal qualities of duty and seriousness that commanded a great deal of attention from everyone in the room. 

You’ll ask about “that” detail in just a moment. Right now, you’re more surprised there’s no fear or unease when he says he’s here to enact the Chancellor’s will. This comes naturally to him.

“Sorry, I just want to make sure I heard you correctly: you said by order of the Chancellor?”

Nodding stiffly, Commander Fox confirms his orders. “Yes ma’am. As the Marshal Commander, I’ve been asked by Chancellor Palpatine to personally ensure your safety at all times until it is no longer deemed necessary. While he understands the upcoming gala expects to see many high-profile guests, he was rather disturbed to hear what had nearly happened to Senator Aspen, and insisted upon a constant security presence.” 

“I may or may not have tried politely refusing the Chancellor’s offer.” Aspen explains to you, chuckling somewhat shamefully. “And he was right to insist upon my refusal; it was fifteen minutes after the attack and I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly… I… Well, I think Commander Fox or Thorn has the pictures.” 

Nodding less stiffly than before, Commander Fox takes one of the datapads and shows you a collection of the holo-stills and frames taken from nearby security feeds of the destruction left by the attack. While you look at the horrible state of Aspen’s senatorial office, the main window broken with thick shards of transparisteel strewn across the floor, your friend explains that they managed to escape the attack unharmed by sheer, dumb luck. 

“I survived because I tripped, if you can believe it.” 

Blaster marks have burned the back of Aspen’s chair and several spots in the floor. The main desk, made from a much heavier, more-solid material, is riddled with blaster burn in comparison. While you’re not an expert by any means, the window pane’s shatter pattern suggests that the weapon used by the would-be assassin was likely high-powered, or of uncommon caliber. 

“It was just a split second before the first shot. After that, I hid in front of the desk as best as I could until members of the Coruscant Guard showed up. All that Corrie Crimson surging into my office must have scared them off because the firing stopped almost as soon as the Guard got there.”

Dumb luck. Dumb luck saved your friend before the Corries came to protect them. 

Facing the whole emotional gamut as you view these stills, Commander Fox puts the datapad away the very second you cannot stand to see more, shaking your head no, no, no. 

Outrage and disgust blooms in your chest, acidic and bitter-hot. You had too many questions to ask all at once. Crime scene analysts had cordoned off Aspen’s office, currently combing over everything for the most minute of clues. Would they be able to figure out who could have possibly wanted to kill your friend? Did anyone see who it was before they got away?

What was the motivation?

Uncertain of the answers to the other questions, Aspen could only offer partial answers as to ‘why’ someone might have tried to kill them with much hand-wringing. 

On one of the planets the Republic has been hoping to change the neutrality status of, there had been a riot almost a month ago now that’s still so tightly wrapped up in red tape largely in efforts to keep details away from the press while investigations are still on-going. Because of that, Aspen can’t say who they believe started the riot, or for what reason. But they can tell you that several Clones were nearly beaten to death as a result, and the rioters responsible have been charged with destruction of government property for the time being. 

Aspen was spearheading an effort to re-file those charges under a different crime that they believe more accurately reflects the rioters’ intentions that day. Attempted murder. While the effort has seen a lot of support in the Chambers, there are a fair number of senators still dragging their feet on making a decision. 

A small handful of influential senators have had a far less positive reception to this effort the longer Aspen has encouraged these changes. Matters that were becoming complicated when some of them were beginning to react in ways that suggested hostility have now become even more complicated with the introduction of a botched assassination. 

Planning for the gala has gotten a whole lot more complicated as well. If it’s even going to happen at all…

“Did the Chancellor say anything about cancelling the gala at the end of the week?”

“Too many high-profile guests coming from across the galaxy to change anything at this point, I imagine. Some of them have been making preparations for half a year, or more.” Aspen explains, fruitlessly massaging their temples over the thought of it. “Great galaxies, I do not envy whoever is in charge of organizing security for that mess…” 

Commander Thorn politely clears his throat. “Will likely be me, now that Commander Fox is overseeing your security, Senator.” He quickly adds, “Or, it could be Commander Thire. We’ll get it sorted.” after sharing a fleeting glance with his fellow commander. 

Aspen winces sympathetically. 

“I’m so sorry…” 

“Don’t be, Senator.” Commander Thorn says. When he speaks again, his voice is a little softer than before, careful sympathy lacing every spoken word. “We’re sorry that your plans to get ready for the gala are going to have to be changed.”  

“How soon will that be?” Aspen wonders.

“Once Commander Fox has your security detail finalized.” 

Your friend makes a low sound in their throat, smiling grimly. “Very soon then, I imagine… May I ask what we can expect, Commander Fox?” 

In a calm and deliberate voice, Commander Fox explains that as investigations are being conducted, he and other members of the Guard are going to be accompanying the two of you everywhere leading up to the gala. They’ll be your security as well as your escort force; you’re going to be spending a lot of time under their watchful eyes and ready hands.

So if there are any reservations, now is the time to say something. 

You look to your friend and make a quiet offer after considering the Commander’s words. “You’re the one who invited me here, so I’ll follow your lead, Aspen.” You’ve known each other long enough to trust their judgement. If it was decided it would be safest for you to go home, then you would take a rain check on this visit and come back to Coruscant another time. 

While you’re prepared not to create more trouble for everyone, Aspen’s selfless nature rears its sweet head even in the wake of an attack. Turning to Commander Fox, who stands straight-backed as he is patiently awaiting a verdict before the two of you, your friend asks one final question of him. 

“I know plans will change, but will the security detail mean I can still help my friend prepare for the gala, Commander?”

Commander Fox takes less than a moment to think before deciding that would be a reasonable use of the service. “If that’s what you wish, Senator.” He nods politely not only to Aspen, but to you as well, you notice. A small gesture of professionalism, as well as respect. 

“Then we accept.” Aspen says, sealing your shared fate for the rest of the week leading up to the gala.

Though the two of you have only just met, the feeling that you’ll come to like this man has already begun to spark.

From the moment Commander Fox put the security detail into action, you decided for yourself that you would make the most of this situation and make conscientious efforts to get to know everyone making up this task force better going forward. Not only would it be polite, but it would make it easier to remain in close-quarters with these men for a long period of time when they were no longer strangers. 

The full team consisted of two parts: Clones who had been hand-picked to be stationed with Commander Fox full-time, and those who would be rotating through the force on an as-needed basis. That meant there would likely be more than a few soldiers you would get to know very well by the end of the team’s lifespan. 

Maybe even become friends. 

Already, you and your friend were making great progress getting to know Naran and Sayber in particular. These two soldiers—who were part of the permanent assignment—are not merely patrol partners like you had initially assumed when you first met them. They explained they were batchmates, meaning they had been created and trained together at the same time on the world known as Kamino, out in Wild Space. 

Naran and Sayber completed their training six months ago; stationed on Coruscant for five. It explains why their armor looks so new, and why the paint lacks much chipping, fading or transferring. They’re young, and have only begun breaking it in. There’s a term Clones like to use that pretty much means the same thing as “rookie”. 

“We’re not exactly a couple of ‘Shinies’ anymore, but we’re still fairly inexperienced compared to other brothers in the Guard… I’m not exactly sure why Commander Fox assigned us permanently.” Sayber confesses to you in a moment of quiet. 

Commanders Fox and Thorn are busy, following protocol to secure the room where you and Aspen will be sleeping; the batchmates are supposed to be focused on keeping their eyes on the two of you in the meantime, but Sayber’s curiosity is stronger than his worry over being “caught” bothering you by his superiors. 

Something that Naran quietly fumes with frustration about. (“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, di’kut…”) He much prefers to stay on task and engage only when addressed. It might take more time before he opens up to the two of you compared to his brother and patrol partner, who happily does more than enough talking for the two of them. 

You can expect to meet more of the Guard starting tomorrow; the rest of the day will likely be focused on getting the two of you settled in before any of the pre-gala preparations and errands can be conducted. Some will have to be done separately. Others can be done together, such as the shopping for a dress (on Aspen’s insistence), given that they are performed during set hours. 

And they will always involve an escort of no less than two troopers. 

You will not be permitted to wander around Coruscant, alone, at any given time. 

“Dammit. Sounds like getting some Hyellian musical noodles around two in the morning is out of the question, then.” you remark softly in jest during the first review of the safety plan once the Commanders have completed their protocol, shrugging animatedly in an oh well fashion. Won’t be the end of the galaxy. 

His review disrupted, Commander Fox’s dark T-shaped visor lifts from the screen and fixes itself upon you, quietly regarding you over the top of the datapad in his free hand. 

The thought that you just karked up strikes you in an instant. 

Thinking you’re being serious, Fox speaks seriously in turn. “I was unaware this was something I needed to account for. Forgive me, ma’am.” Your hammering heart skips a beat rather uncomfortably as he begins to pull up the keyboard on the device’s HUD, and your face grows hot with embarrassment. 

“No, I-! I was only making a joke. I’m sorry, Commander, I shouldn’t have.” 

Asking him to accommodate a silly little tradition of yours every time you made the trip to Triple Zero would create more work for everyone. Taking unnecessary risks. It would be selfish. 

Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about making fewer jokes just because Commander Fox has a stronger no-nonsense personality than you might be accustomed to for very long. Members of his own Guard have a way of softening the tension to keep things from getting quite so abrasive. 

“Grizzer and I could always make that run for you, ma’am.” There to listen in on the review, the ARF trooper that was assigned to guard the perimeter of the ‘safe house’ by the name of Sergeant Hound drops the lead to the massiff in question after issuing a command word. “Su!” The quadrupedal reptilian settles on their hindquarters, long tongue lolling between dagger-sharp teeth. 

“It’ll help her earn a turbodog once this is all said and done. Tradition of ours, for the big jobs.” 

Maker: it will take some getting used to being called or considered part of a “big job” like this. 

After a long moment, you decide to accept. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” Since he was kind enough to offer, you make sure to give Hound an especially grateful nod. 

Commander Fox adds the offer to the approved actions he’s compiled once the exchange has finished, and moves swiftly on. There has been a lot of ground covered, and he intends to cover more before someone will be sent to collect that night’s dinner order. It’s evident enough that he’s a serious and hard-working man. He would have to be, seeing as he’s the Marshal Commander appointed to lead the Coruscant Guard. so…

So it comes as little surprise that any offer or invitation for a breather, a single moment off his feet has been turned down time and time again as the afternoon bleeds into the evening. Even in the securest of spaces, Commander Fox turns down reprieve and refreshment with the same four words. 

“No thank you,” either followed by Senator or ma’am. 

Your kindness refuses to falter in the face of his stoicism, but you’re smart enough to recognize when to let it go at the same time. 

“Okay. May I offer it to Naran and Sayber instead, then?”

Dinner had been sourced from 79’s in the entertainment district; largely finger foods made in outrageous portion sizes, meant to be shared between large groups. Aspen had ordered a slider for each of you, and a basket of protato wedges to share. There had been a slight mix-up, and the two of you ended up with a third slider and more than double the wedges that you could possibly hope to eat by yourselves. Trying to sort out the error was met with the offer to go ahead and keep the food as they were pretty slammed tonight. 

“If you wish, ma’am.” Fox replies, voice as politely disinterested as before. “I’m certain they won’t object.” 

True to form, the batchmates eagerly unseal their helmets before gratefully accepting the offered food, granted unspoken permission by their commander. It’s the first time you see any of the Clones’ faces since the start of all this unfortunate excitement. “Thank you, sir. And thank you ma’am!” Sayber exclaims. His broad grin brings out a dimple in the tanned left cheek, adding to how he looks far, far too young for this armor. 

He and Naran carry the food to the only other table in the room in order to eat, wasting no time in coming up with a way to halve the slider and wedges between them. While his men eat, Commander Fox discreetly consults the datapad he has clipped to the utility belt from which his dark kama hangs. What he’s reading is a mystery, but you could probably assume it had to do with either you, Aspen, or his shocktroopers. Maybe it was the safety plan and security detail for tomorrow. Maybe it was unrelated. 

Regardless, this seems to be the only sort of reprieve he allows himself. Once he’s finished, the tablet returns to the Commander’s hip and he reassumes position. 

His posture is meticulous, yet somehow almost elegant. Hands folded behind his back and chest high, the crimson commander does not budge so much as an inch from his post in the time it takes Naran and Sayber to put everything away. Only once they clean up and reseal their helmets will Commander Fox drop this extra rigidity. 

Fox’s earlier refusal now appears more purposeful than before when this time it is Naran who thanks you and his superior for the food. The shocktrooper’s words are met with a “Don’t mention it.” so softly spoken, it would be hard (but perhaps not impossible) to mistake it for a command. 

From this singular display of momentary tenderness, Fox has told you more about himself that he might realize: if you hope to have a better chance of befriending the commander, how his men are taken care of will likely be very important over the coming days.

Following that first night on Coruscant, you fell into a routine within a short couple of days. 

Waking up an hour (sometimes more) before Commander Fox arrived with the day’s security detail, you would quietly prepare for the day ahead of you just to have a small bit of time to yourself. Just you and Aspen. Together, you’d take this opportunity to have more intimate conversations without your second shadows in red and white armor present; to reflect on the days behind you.

And puzzle out a curious pattern beginning to develop… 

It was hardly surprising that there would be the most to say of Commander Fox out of all the Corries. You spent the most time with him. Not only was Fox the lynchpin to your collective safety, but the only time he was ever away from your side (save for using the ‘fresher) was to allow each of you to sleep for the night. 

He was by far the most reserved member of the Corries you’ve had the pleasure of meeting; the most aloof and strictly professional, all for good reason. Not only was he dealing with the Chancellor’s orders for a very serious situation, there was so much red tape for him to navigate through on a daily basis. It wouldn’t feel right to either of you to ask Commander Fox to behave in a more-friendly manner for the sake of protecting your own feelings. 

But more recently he was starting to become more warm with you, no longer just his soldiers. 

You’ve seen how he is with the younger soldiers in particular, like Naran and Sayber. Reminding them again and again to not tense their shoulders quite so much. Answering their many what-if questions. Encouraging the two of them to play a bit of holochess against you or the senator in his stead. 

Now Commander Fox was thanking you for your offers when turning down the invitation to take a short break or have something to eat. He was no longer passively listening to conversations you would have with the other Clones, but joining in on the rare occasion. You were no longer just ‘Senator Aspen’s friend’ or simply ‘ma’am’ when speaking of you, or being addressed. 

When Commander Fox began to use your name, that’s when things became a little more interesting. 

Aspen started to gently tease you after that, suspecting you were becoming somewhat charmed by the crimson commander. The gala was in two days. Your friend had promised to help you buy a formal dress here on Coruscant in order to save you luggage space. Neither of you certainly expected to have an audience, and Aspen wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with potentially being seen by Fox and a dozen or more Clones in a fancy dress or two.

Yes, the Guard was always, always very respectful of you both, but perhaps it might be a bit embarrassing. Or feel strange. Maybe you would feel self-conscious in front of Fox in particular… Something they promised was perfectly normal while you were busy getting ready together this morning as you waited for Fox and the Guard to arrive. 

“You’re saying that you think I have a crush on the commander?” 

You take a brief pause from tidying things on your side of the room, wondering whether or not you’d heard your friend correctly. Commander Fox was by and large what you might consider a “strong and silent” type of man, slow to let someone into their comfort zone, teasing the other person along inch by inch. Did Aspen really think that’s what was going on with you? That you were intrigued by some kind of thrilling mystery in interacting with someone like that?

“Well… Sort of.” Aspen admits with a soft laugh. “This kind of thing happens a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s Baby’s First Bodyguard, or you’re a seasoned professional when it comes to dealing with armed escorts. A lot of senators and diplomats tend to form some kind of feeling for the people who are there to protect them.”

You try to mask your doubt with a joking accusation. “Are you trying to feed me banthashit right now?” Is this truly as common as Aspen says it is, or are they trying to help you feel better in their typical selfless fashion? 

Sensing your doubt, Aspen promises they are telling the truth. “It really does happen all the time, sweetheart. It’s happened to me too! You know I wouldn’t lie about that. And you know I’m not going to judge you for feeling things for the commander, or possibly having a crush, either, right?” Before you can answer, you hear the sound of a distant LAAT/i, followed by several soldiers speaking at once. 

You’re going to have to wrap this up, quick. “Of course. I’ve known you for a long time, Aspen. I trust you.” They’ve always been a good friend to you; there’s never been a reason for doubt or distrust. 

Briskly getting up, Aspen helps you tidy and put away the last of your things not a moment too soon. Just as everything has been put away, Commander Fox makes himself known with four firm raps on the other side of the door. Here forty-five minutes exactly before the first of the boutiques is set to open, as discussed. 

The usual pleasantries are exchanged after Aspen has gone to answer the door. The ‘good morning’s and asking if the two of you slept well. Asking if there was anything either of you needed before joining the others back at the gunship and getting on your way. 

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Nice to see you, Commander.” 

Perhaps surprised by your choice of greeting, Commander Fox has a brief moment of pause before he’s able to reply. “You as well, ma’am. Very well. No need to inform our pilot of anything, then. We can be on our way.” Nearly positive you’re not imagining it, while still rather factual, there seems to be more warmth in Fox’s voice this morning. 

He’s still all-business, encouraging everyone not to waste any time getting to the gunship, but now his tone is less stern and terse compared to the days before. He almost sounds… friendlier. Maybe Fox just needed three days to thaw out before warming up to you. Could be that he’s in a good mood because his men are in a great one this morning, most of them comfortable enough around you by now to talk about last night’s boloball victory in whispers. 

Whatever the case may be, it makes you a little less nervous about the prospect of going shopping with such a large security detail. 

Commander Fox’s brightened demeanor hardly changes for anything. 

Even Sayber can’t ruin it by forgetting his training and speaking out with excitement while you and Aspen steadily shop around the first of the formal boutiques for a suitable dress. His reason for doing so was more than forgivable: right around the time you began reaching for a gown in a sort of pomegranate red, the young shocktrooper cried out “HAH! Eat your heart out, Police Inspector Dan Tivo! I knew the Corries would find a lead in the investigation before him!”, much to the disturbance of the other patrons. 

There would be much apologizing to do—Sayber for breaking protocol and to the shop for causing any additional inconveniences—before this would start to become the point where things really began looking up. 

The red tape would not yet loosen itself from you, but with any luck it should soon begin to lift.

Whether you believed it was a curious coincidence or not, you decided to go with the red gown you had been reaching for around the time news broke of the lead in the investigation. By cleverly pairing it with a few ivory accessories, you curated an overall image that would come close to matching with much of the Coruscant Guard. 

This way, you could quietly sort of “mark” the time spent in their company in the week leading up the gala without outright wearing any one Clone’s personal markings, or the iconography that belonged to both the Guard and the Senate. 

You also can’t pretend it was no small relief to have so many of these big decisions taken care of so quickly, or all at the same shop in a busy fashion district. What had been planned to take nearly all day was completed in the span of less than two hours. 

And the next two days went by in a feverish blur with Commander Fox working harder than ever to truly make sure your security at the formal event would be nothing less than ironclad. 

His men even claimed he was aiming to be better than beskar: creating plans for every possible situation and even going so far as to form redundancies. Mapping out where and when you would arrive at the gala venue. Choosing who would be watching over you and Aspen separately, and who would be watching both of you. How he can continue to take care of your needs. Until the time comes and the suspect behind the botched killing has been caught, Commander Fox has sworn to remain at your service, no matter how trivial the request. 

Or how foolish you feel to ask. 

With hours to go and anxieties rising, there are times that involving him in the hustle-and-bustle process of getting dressed up becomes simply unavoidable. With every instance, your gratitude for this man only continues to grow stronger than before. 

Dropped an earring under the dresser and it’s too far for you to reach? Naran and Sayber will need to lend him a hand, lifting the furniture aside so he can search for it on his hands and knees.

Hands shaking too much, and the clasp on your necklace giving you trouble? He’ll help you put it on - he only asks that you hold your hair out of the way for him. 

Turning over the string of delicate Castilon pearls, you move to stand in front of the commander. The most straight-forward way to secure the necklace will be to turn your back to Fox and allow him to fit it from behind. “Thank you, Commander. I can’t seem to get my nerves under control at the moment...” you explain, grateful he won’t see the soft flush breaking across your face as his dexterous fingers latch and unlatch the tiny set of claw clasps with relative ease. 

In his voice you hear the very same tenderness he imparts to the youngest of his brothers as he softly encourages you to relax. By the time you take a deep breath and count to five ‘battleship’s, he’ll have this taken care of. You’re going to be just fine. Ordinarily you would be, were it not for the electric ripple in your skin every time you feel the smooth material of his raven-dark gloves brush against you. 

Understanding the tensing under each feather-light touch is only a reflex, the Marshal Commander casually remarks that you’ll be hard-pressed to find a senator, dignitary or diplomat that isn’t a bit on edge or nervous about the gala. Fox says it in hopes of it serving to soothe you, rather than make you more nervous. 

“There you are,” he concludes once he’s finished securing the three-strand necklace. You allow him to check the matching earrings to make certain they won’t come loose for good measure. “I admit I may not be the best man when it comes to these kinds of things, but I give it my best effort.” 

Fetching your ivory clutch, you can at last turn to thank him once Commander Fox reports the ivory accessories are both secure. “Thank you, Commander. Fortunately I’m not looking for the very best, only a bit of help. I would say that it’s hardly a contest that you’ve been among the very best in providing an immense amount of help this week.” Your favorite pair of shocktroopers share in Aspen’s giggling amusement as Commander Fox maintains his professionalism rather than fully internalizing the compliment you’ve tried to pay him. 

“Thank you, ma’am: but I don’t believe I can take all the credit. My men have shown around-the-clock commitment to this assignment that I couldn’t be more proud of.” 

With a boisterous laugh, Sayber bravely advises his superior officer on what to say. “Now’s not the time to be all modest and humble, sir! No buts – just tell her thank you!” He’s close enough to still being considered a Shiny that Sayber can get away with speaking to a brother of higher ranking in a semi-teasing manner, and he knows it. 

Commander Fox knows it too. “You’re right, you’re right…” he relents, beginning to fix parts of his armor in a bid to stall for more time. Starting with the vambraces, he straightens them out like he’s adjusting a pair of cufflinks. “Thank you, ma’am. It is my hope that both you and Senator Aspen have felt nothing less than complete assurance in the security force I have tirelessly maintained.”

Finding it satisfactory, Sayber quickly concludes with “That’s better, sir!” after you and your friend confirm there have been no concerns in your armed escorts at any given point. 

There isn’t much time you can afford to waste, having to take alternative transport that would be kinder on any formalwear than a gunship. While helping you board the other transport, Naran politely comments on the care you’ve put into your appearance for tonight and offers his hope that you have a nice time. Doing so now just in case he doesn’t get a chance later. The same sentiment is then offered to Aspen as they are helped aboard after you. 

Fuck. You’re really gonna miss these guys when all of this is over. 

You’ll miss Naran and Sayber’s playful bickering, the way they shout “Ulyc, di’kut!” at each other when the other does something foolish. You’ll miss the pilots who have flown you over the more beautiful parts of the upper-city when there’s been time to kill; like Umate and Monument Plaza, even some of your old haunts from before. 

Miss the games of fetch with Grizzer to reward her for a good job, the meals that have been shared, and the stories of how these boys got their names. 

But most of all, you’ll miss the crimson commander.

It didn’t matter that he was rather aloof and distant. How he kept things almost strictly business. That he’s never once taken off his helmet in front of you. Only ever nodding, never showing you if his smile dimpled his left cheek like most of his brothers. Or that he never told you how he came by “Fox” for his name. Whether it had been one he claimed, or something he earned. 

Because that wouldn’t be what you’d miss Commander Fox for. 

You’d miss him for never drawing more attention to himself than he had to, shying from such spotlights in the interest of giving them to his brothers instead. Miss him for the unwavering politeness he’s had for you, treating you no differently than he would for another galactic senator, or even the Chancellor. 

All this security, all this red, had been the most reassuring feeling you’ve had all week. And it won’t be easy to say goodbye, to any of it. 

Or to Commander Fox. 

Between the sound of spirited chatter, ceaseless pop-and-chop of photographers’ camera shutters and lively, swelling music, entering the formal venue before the official start of the celebration proves easily-overwhelming near-instantaneously. 

Getting here early offers you time to acclimate. Elation and excitement should eventually find you, but there will be time to find somewhere to cool off, if necessary. It also serves as a chance for the Chancellor to visit with Aspen, hoping to speak and hear how they’ve been since Commander Fox had been appointed for protection, as well as to ask about his performance. 

The visit is kept brief, but your friend stresses the shared satisfaction you have in all Fox—and the rest of the Guard for that matter—has done for you before agreeing to speak more privately and at-length the following morning. The Chancellor is not here to detract from the hopeful enjoyment of the occasion for either of you; soon enough you are left free to enjoy the entertainment and pursue the available catering. 

It became apparent most of the music played tonight came from Naboo, much like the Chancellor - written by some of her people’s most respected and well-known composers. And much of the food was extravagant, tables showcasing what your own credits could never hope to see with plate after plate of hors d’oeuvres beyond your ability to even name. Same went for the drinks when you were unable to locate any cards or signage. 

The Commander quickly proves rather knowledgeable when you blindly select a sparkling crystal flute, scrutinizing the bubbling contents with a puzzling expression after it fails recognition by smell alone.  

“What’s this…?”

“Prized champagne provided by Pantora, ma’am. It’s recently proved rather popular.” Fox explains, hands moving from carefully held at his side to folded neatly behind his back as he approaches closer to the table. 

“And what about the tall and skinny glass, or the one with a short stem and large bowl?”

An erroneously-named Mantell mixer in the highball glass, supplied from a different planet in the Mid Rim. The snifter is a robust brandy reportedly of Wayyl origin. Commander Fox can only tell you what he’s heard when it comes to if they are any good, refraining from making any kind of decision for you or presuming what you would like. There are other drinks reported to be stationed throughout the venue, if none of them appear to be to your liking. If you would prefer something non-alcoholic, he knows where the sparkling cider can be found. 

You decide you’ll be starting off safe with the cider, for the time being. Less decision fatigue than coming up with an unfamiliar, strong drink to try. He again helps with identifying the human-suitable foods for you and Aspen to sample. That’s when you realize Fox is utilizing sensors and scanners built into his ‘bucket’ rather than strictly being knowledgeable upon a sharp pause in his explanation. 

“The cured meat is supposed to pair best with… no, wait. Damn artificial intelligence pulled up a recipe blog.” 

And rather than pressuring you to engage every instance, Aspen encourages you to go explore the venue instead of listening to them catch up with many of their fellow senators. Knowing who you’ll likely prefer for company (but might be too bashful to openly say), they give you their “blessing” to take Fox as your escort in the meantime. 

“Why don’t you go exploring for a while, dear friend? Just so I don’t bore you; I promise I’ll let you know if Senator Amidala or Chuchi are able to stop by before I catch up with you so you can decide if you want to say hello. I’ll ask Naran and Sayber to stay with me in the meantime. Perhaps the Marshal Commander can go with you… If he doesn’t mind?” 

The commander offers a cordial nod prior to replying. “Not at all, Senator Aspen.” He would be happy to, in fact. And though he will not be leading you, Fox is even offering to take you by the arm. 

You can attribute it to his work ethic and find it applicable etiquette for such a grand event. Considering there is both a chivalrous and protective tone to such a gesture, this is not a measure of control through the imbalance of a power dynamic. He is not here to dictate where you are permitted to go. 

Simply put, he’s here with no other intentions but to accompany you no matter where you go, and to comment as necessary as he listens to whatever you have to say. So when Commander Fox finds you quiet after some time, he surprises you by asking what’s on your mind. 

“Thought you would be making a small amount of commentary, ma’am. Something weighing on your thoughts?”��

Blinking in surprise, you chew over the thought of how honest you should be. “Well… there is something.” Unable to see through that impassible visor and faceplate, the hope of seeing this particular Clone’s face flickers anew. 

“S-someone…” comes the clarification. 

“Senator Aspen?” 

It’s less of a risk for him to hazard this guess, but it doesn’t make the mark. 

“No. No, not my friend.” 

After a pregnant pause, you confess that it’s him that weighs on your thoughts when he does not ask. “I can’t… I can’t get you out of my mind.” Your reasons are innumerable, and strange even to yourself. You’re not sure what explanation you can give Commander Fox that would likely not be found comforting, innocent or even sane. 

So you expect him to politely pull away. To put up walls of professionalism stronger than before. To kindly but firmly establish some boundaries. (Hell: it would hurt, but you could understand if he didn’t do it so kindly.) If you were slowly stoking the fires to a potential friendship, you might’ve just gone and done the one thing to completely stomp it out. 

And by hearing yourself say it, it sounds far more romantic than you might have intended it to. “Wait, sorry- I… I meant that very generally.” Attempting to clarify this now feels like a weak excuse to cover up that you’re backpedaling, but it’ll keep you up at night far longer if you don’t at least try. 

Commander Fox, surprisingly, does not suggest he is the least bit perturbed. Not by your admission. Not by your apology. Not even by the way you try to create distance from him yourself and begin to anxiously attempt to pull your arm free. 

An earnest “I believe you.” is all that is needed to stop you in your tracks. The gala, now well in full-swing, feels as though it is slowing down around the two of you as you feel very foolish – just staring at the red-armored commander. “I know what that sounded like. But I believe you.” he continues, now with insistence. 

“You-? You do?”

Starting with the soft use of your name, he again promises that he does - even going on to say why. 

“I’ve spent all week watching how you treat and interact with my brothers. Hearing how you speak to my men. And you’re always kind. You make honest efforts to remember their names and have a friendly word to say. Always expressing appropriate gratitude. All of it shows that you care about them, that you’re a good person.

“And good people are often honest people.” 

The work Commander Fox does for the Chancellor, the Senate, all of Coruscant… it’s thankless. What work he is thanked for is done with insincerity, often disingenuous and callous and empty. Senators like Aspen are a rarity. Ordinary people, people like you, are the most likely to thank him for his work outside of his bonds within the GAR. 

But you’re different even among ordinary people. You have truly meant your thanks each and every time he’s done what’s been asked of him. And you wouldn’t yet know it, but it has led to Commander Fox becoming so hopelessly wrapped around your little finger in the reddest thread in hopes of tasting such genuine kindness. Such a response couldn’t be conditioned or trained out of him. 

He may be a Clone, but he was not a perfect copy. Not of Jango Fett. Not of any of his brothers. It was part of that Factor H as described by Fett more than a decade ago to the Kaminoan cloners, likely before the commander’s own creation. 

‘H’ for ‘Human’. And humans… they have a base, instinctual need for forming connections with the people around them. It’s why isolation proves so detrimental. As a soldier, it was an unspoken expectation to simply not acknowledge those kinds of consequences to his formative years. 

Created in a high-tech petri dish. Decanted from a tube. Together forged by fire with a living sea of brothers. Getting planted on the singular-most crowded planet in this entire kriffing galaxy, where his failure to protect the heart of the Republic meant having to listen to more reports of dying vode. 

But tonight, he’s here, thinking of asking to dance in all of his blood-red armor with one of the most beautiful women at the gala. Having lost a complete sense of elapsing time, the two of you had been standing just on the inside to a respectably-sized dance floor when the venue appeared to be cueing up for either the first, or another of the largest shared dances. 

There’s no time to be coy about asking if you want to join your friend waiting off to the side, now that they and his shocktroopers have found the two of you. It appeared Aspen intended to have joined you, but it was now too late to step into the designated floorspace. There would still be time to step out. 

“Would you like to join your friend?” Fox politely offers. 

Historically, you and Aspen had platonically partaken in these duo-dances together owing to your closeness and long-stand friendship. Usually at some point during the night if Aspen was preoccupied with other senatorial attendees, but often at the first available opportunity. Dare you ask for another of their blessings to break a long-standing tradition?

“Aspen, I think I-”

“Go. There’ll be other dances!” Aspen urges, interrupting. They’re smiling, a promising sign you had worried for nothing. 

Hopeful, Commander Fox extends his hand out to you. A quiet offering. An implied invitation. If you’re going to accept, it has to be soon. “Another dance, then.” you promise to your friend, carefully trading off items like the ivory clutch in order to free up your hands. 

Naran suggests a crucial change before you can take the commander’s outstretched hand and join him further into the showfloor. 

“Sir! Your helmet!” 

“Right, right.”

This song with a famously long lead-in allows for the ordinarily simple unsealing and removal of the commander’s headgear to transform into something a bit more preformative, if rather hurried. With a polite doffing befitting of the high-class nature of the event, Fox removes the recently-polished helmet and allows you to see his face for the very first time since meeting earlier that week. It is then directly taken by Naran away from the dance floor, surrendered to his care and subsequently forgotten not long after. 

Following Fox, he leads you slightly deeper into the dancing crowd with a rhetorical “Shall we, ma’am?” where the two of you assume the appropriate starting position just before the lead-in concludes, and the dance number finally commences.

As a ballroom piece common to the Core Worlds, you’re given more than enough time to study the charming face of your dance partner as the two of you step through the poised and elegant choreography. 

While there is perhaps some truth to the erroneous adage “If you see one Clone’s face, you’ve seen them all!”, you are wholly committed to determining what little traits set him apart from his brothers while you have the chance. And kindly, the commander allows you to do so, encourages you to do so. 

“Do I look like you imagined?”

Mostly yes. But also, no. 

While he had the same round ala to his nose, there was faint scarring across the bridge you hadn’t yet seen in any of his brothers. (You would find others; one cutting into the arch of his right brow, and a freshly-pinked nick that tucked under his jaw on the left.) Fox’s eyes were the same, soulful brown; with an additional intensity that was hard to completely identify. A soft five-o-clock shadow along his jaw, now that you hadn’t expected. Or the touches of gray blending out in the dark waves and tight curls of his hair. 

You admit you’re starting to wish he’d taken off his helmet sooner, even though he was only doing his job… A long-suffering job that allowed you to even be here to begin with. If it wasn’t for him, your long visit home just to see Aspen would never have happened. Not the way it did. Without him, without the Guard, your friend would have asked you to take the first shuttle returning to your new home. 

You can’t even begin to fathom how you could possibly thank him enough for everything they’ve done to protect Aspen and get you to this point. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Fox pledges, both his voice and his smile tender. The dimpling in his left cheek is the most pronounced amongst any of the Guardsmen. A golden warmth that softens the watchful depths in his eyes. All of it brightens your heart with euphoria, pulse already keeping time to the soaring peaks of the strings’ music. 

When the song calls for those assuming the position of the dance’s “gentlemen” to pull their partner close, the Marshal Commander fits you so perfectly against his armor in order to make himself heard. 

His voice becomes softer—fonder—in the delicate shell of your ear. 

“But I know you’ll probably try...”

As the music begins the winding-down, Fox’s vambrace begins to squeal - an abrupt, demanding tone disrupting the pleasant, vulnerable moment between you. Needing to answer it, you assist him by depressing the instructed buttons after lowering the volume per his instructions. 

“CC-4477 to Commander Fox! We have the suspect behind Senator Aspen’s attempted assassination in our custody!” 

Fox does not reply right away, but rather he eyes the open comlink with a degree of great pride. But there is also great reluctance. After everything you’ve told him, after everything he’s told you, the long-shot he’s taken in asking to dance with you amidst all this formality and decorum, he has to leave now?

“Well done, Thire. Tell Commander Thorn-”

No. 

No, maybe just this once, he can get away with not answering a summons instantaneously. His duty may be to the Republic, but man of his honor his duty is also still to you. As of now, he is still charged with protecting you and the senator. It becomes socially acceptable to leave the gala without staining one’s reputation fifteen minutes from now, after these large, shared dances. His men can handle the suspect until then. 

Fox will not allow your standing to suffer now simply because of him. 

“Sir?”

“Tell Thorn I’m still wrapped up pretty tight here. Might take fifteen minutes to disentangle her and Senator Aspen from the gala. Maybe more.” Fox’s focused expression changes to one of warmth when the word “her” parts his lips, while his voice retains its authoritative tone. 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the comm before Thire comes up with a reply. 

“Understood, Commander. Thire out.”

Breathless and head light, you’re reeling with relief and elation that they’ve captured their suspect. This is the beginning of the end of Aspen’s nightmare. Your nightmare. But where there is joy, there too comes sorrow, knowing your time in Commander Fox’s company is coming to an end. Maybe not tonight, maybe not in the morning. But soon enough, you will part ways and return to your regular lives…

“I can’t believe they got the guy… Thank the stars, it’s finally over. If we need to leave so you can-”

“No, mesh’la,” Commander Fox interrupts you before his voice turns almost pleading. The song may now be over, but there is still music that can be danced to. Still time that he can spend with you. “Let me be a selfish man for once… Fifteen minutes is all I ask.”

Maybe fifteen minutes… can be a good place to start. 

Everything will still be there after fifteen minutes. The suspect, his men, the senator… but the clock will start to run out with you after fifteen minutes. And he’s not ready for that. 

“Okay. Fifteen minutes. We’ll… work out what comes after that.” 

When you’ve spent most of your service dealing with red tape, it’s going to take more than fifteen minutes to unwrap all of it. 

So you’ll make those minutes a very good place to start…

Thank you for making a request for my 200 follower event, Pina! Ended up longer than I initially anticipated even after everything I cut out of it, but I hope you enjoyed it! I apologize for the unexpected delays, so I hope this was well worth the extra time it took me to write it in order for you to read it! And in case anyone is curious why I chose the name "Aspen" for the name of our senator friend here, I took inspiration from the Greek word for shield, 'aspis'. I thought it felt fitting for a story focused around Fox working hard to protect even a complete stranger, being the dutiful and brave man he is. ❤️

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Always & Forever Seven - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series

Words: 3.7k

Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series

Synopsis;: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Drugs, Abuse, Smut & Angst. More warnings will come throughout the series.

|| Masterlist for Series ||

Hope you enjoy :)

Marshall heard those words over the phone before the line ended. He could not get a single word out. He could not fight her on this, but she made it clear.

They could not be friends anymore.

A piece of him wanted to go to her house at that very moment, but it was two in the morning and secondly, his daughters were home. Someone needed to be home.

She came into his life just as fast as she left.

However, he needed to fight for her. He needed to talk to her. However, she never answered the door or her phone.

Then there was Paul who suggested that he did not get involved. For his reputation sake…as Jake had a bad one and he did not need that on his radar.

However, he mourned losing his friend. His doll.

-

September 2012

It was officially her final year. Y/N was graduating in the spring, and she could not wait. Elated did not even cover her feelings nor did thrill, excited or even happy. She felt successful. She felt accomplished.

She was the first one to go to university in her family. A family of trades and business owners, but none went to university.

Y/N made a name for herself.

However, a piece of her did mourn the relationship she lost with Marshall. She missed him…terribly but Jake…he was the love of her life.

She loved him so much.

That night happened once, and Jake promised never to do it again. What she later learnt was he was high. He did a line of cocaine…a few lines. Jake told her it was to get creativity for the album. However, all it did was break her heart.

-

October 2012

Jake’s album was released and it was a rave. It was the release party and just like how the album was dropped, so was their relationship to the public.

Everyone knew of Velvet Concord, they knew of Jake and of course, they knew of his girlfriend. Jake bought her this beautiful dress for the release party. It was long and tight, but silk and beautiful with straps and pushed up her breasts. Y/N felt beautiful in her heels and her hair half up.

However, as she made her rounds at the release party, she could not help but frown as she spotted Jake talking to a blonde with big breasts and an ass. She watched from the corner as she touched him, kissing his cheek before handing something to him. It was small baggie and Y/N instantly knew what it was.

She turned around and walked out to the balcony. Drugs. He was doing drugs again. The last time he did drugs he hit her…

How would she get out of this now?

It was a house of celebrities, champagne and coke…

Jake was doing coke.

She watched him from afar, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke away. He sat there with his buddies and that blonde, chatting and talking as they did a line and chugged the flute of champagne back.

This was new to her. She had never in her life seen this or believed she would be in this situation.

However, the way he did that line it was so natural to him. A second sense as if it was not his first rodeo. Jake did drugs…

Rock and roll life, she guessed.

However, as she stood in the corner with her dress and a jean jacket, she held her drink tighter bringing it to her lips. Watching and observing the show in front of him.

His brothers sat there too, and they joined.

Y/N graduated from champagne to whiskey the minute she knew he was going to do drugs. Her brows furrowed as she watched her boyfriend enjoy his high as he chatted with his friends and laughed. Y/N was in disbelief.

“You know they say,” a voice said from beside her, “when a woman drinks, she is either trying to get rid of her problems or trying to create them. But, when she drinks whiskey, she has stories.” Y/N listened, hearing the thick accent laced in the sultry voice.  

Slowly, Y/N turned to see who this stranger was beside her.

Blonde was the first thing she noticed. Tall, thin, dark eyeliner and a pearl-like smile. She was beautiful. With blue ocean eyes that were filled with wonder and adventure. They welcomed her with just a glance. Her voice was calm like a hello sent from heaven to soothe one’s anger in that moment.

Y/N never had seen this stranger before but she was breathless…and Y/N was speechless. She wore a black suit, but no top so her breasts hung free and was simply covered by the blazer. She had a flute of champagne in her hand.

“Florence,” she said, “but call me Flo.”

“Y/N,” she said. Flo was tall nearing five foot ten.

“Are you a rockstar, Y/N?”

She shook her head.

“Shame, you could be one. You are here so what are you?” Flo asked, grinning.

However, her identity changed in that moment. “I am an artist,” is all she said in response.

“Then you are a rockstar in your own creative terms.”

Flo was a fresh breath of air and when Y/N looked at her, the world stopped for a moment, and she felt peace.

Florence…Florence who? She had an accent…Dutch…German? It was a Germanic language of some sort.

“Are you?” Y/N replied.

“Am I a rockstar?” she smirked. “I am a bassist and you are an artist. So tell me, Y/N, who is your muse?”

Y/N looked at Jake in the living room, still smiling and laughing. Who was her muse? Never had she drawn Jake. She never did. She only drew the same face and body since she met him…

“His name is Marshall,” she whispered.

She smiled and then chuckled, lighting her own smoke. “Marshall is your muse, but you’re with the guitarist,” she slyly said.

“How did you know?”

“The look of betrayal on your face when he was doing the line. You know it is not the first time Jake has done it,” she hummed.

She knew him…She knew his name.

Y/N’s brows furrowed trying to figure out how she may know Jake.

“His band opened for my band on our last tour,” Flo said. “We partied a lot. Jake partied a lot. Fucked a lot of girls too,” she told her. Flo’s tone was harsh, with no sugar coating. “Y/N, he won’t stop. It’s the life of the road. The lifestyle. Rock and roll, baby.”

“He is with me though,” Y/N whispered.

“He may be your boyfriend, but he’s still a rockstar with a coke addiction.”

“He is not addicted-“

“He is good at hiding.”

Betrayal was all she felt as she looked at the beauty next to her. A lot has happened in this relationship; however, she learnt the truth. He was an addict. Y/N took a deep breath and then looked at the woman beside her.

“It isn’t just coke, is it?” Y/N whispered.

“We live a life we are not proud about,” she mused.

Y/N glanced at them again, through the glass to see her boyfriend with his bandmates and the women around them, leaning down and touching them. He had a broad smile across his face, chuckling and throwing his drink back.

Maybe Florence was right…rock and roll does change people and somewhere between the then and now, her man was changing into someone she did not recognise.

The emotions hit her faster than she thought, analysing the man she loved in the distance. Y/N felt Flo’s fingers graze her shoulder as she brushed her hair away.

Suddenly, the pity turned into anger.

Anger…consumed her like a wave taking the shore, stripping the beach to become wet and mucky… The problem with anger is that it gets a hold on you. It did not matter that she had a few drinks, but she was not herself now. Jake was different. Jake hurt her. Was it purposeful? She did not know, but Jake was not the Jake she fell for.

He was Jake Keough, the lead guitarist of this generation’s up-and-coming rock band. Worldwide known, rich with connections across the globe. Riffs so unique, he was creating modern age music…a new sound.

Anger becomes her boss, she got the unintended consequences. Y/N turned to the blonde woman and smiled.

“Thank you.”

Y/N pulled her phone out and opened the contact of the person she needed the most right now. His name was on the screen, and she pressed the button.

Unblock…call…

She placed the phone next to her ear as she turned to look out the balcony.

“Y/N?” his voice came through. It was rushed and haste, trying to see if she was there.

“I fucked up, Marshall,” she stated, “like really badly.”

“Where are you?”

Y/N told him the address.

“Be there soon.”

Then the line went. She turned to the blonde who smiled.

“Who do you love more? Marshall or Jake? Because of the way you said his name, sweetie it was dripping with honey.”

Who did she love? Y/N was a damn basket case at this moment, but she needed to get out of Jake’s life. She was just stuck. It clicked…

She was in a toxic relationship.

-

Marshall had not heard from Y/N for a few weeks. It was nearly eleven at night when his phone lit up with her name.

She was calling him…His sweet doll was calling him which meant she was in trouble.

He pulled up the address and instantly saw the paparazzi and the cameras. His heart sunk slightly but he needed to go to her. He needed to save her. He needed his girl. Marshall threw his hood over his head as he got out of the car, hand in front of his face he pushed through the cameras to the party.

Y/N spotted him as soon as he entered. His eyes scanned the crowd till he found her and she instantly rushed to him.

“We need to go now,” she said to him once he was within arm’s reached, “before he notices I am gone.”

Marshall quickly wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her through the crowd and back into the streets. Y/N ducked her head as cameras began to flash. Marshall’s arm wrapped tighter around her, pulling her closer and trying to block her face as they got into the car.

Once the door slammed, he looked at her and she looked at him too and instantly they hugged.

“I missed you,” he whispered in her ear before pulling away.

“Don’t take me home, please,” she whispered, “he will come find me.”

Y/N needed him, and nothing will stop him because…

He loved her and she loved him without even realising it.

Marshall pulled out into the traffic as he drove back to his place. His hand found her thigh, but Y/N quickly pulled away. She stayed quiet as they drove.

“Are you going to explain the phone call?”

“We could not be friends because of Jake,” she whispered ashamed.

“He is controlling you now. Distancing you from your friends. I am not fucking psychologist but that is a symptom of an abusive relationship.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I know.”

He glanced over to see her head against the window.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, “for the phone call. I miss you too.”

He smiled. “What is he doing to you?” he whispered. “Is he…hurting you? Because if he, I will fucking kill him,” he barked. “If he laid a hand on you…”

What does she tell him? The truth perhaps but she could not. She had to figure this out for herself.

“No,” she said, “he is just controlling.”

He nodded but sighed. “Please do not do that again. Please do not call or…” he sighed, “You’re my best friend,” he whispered, “do not let any dick get between us, please.”

She nodded looking over to him and seeing him clench the steering wheel.

“You’re my world, Y/N.”

“Likewise, my muse,” she whispered.

-

Marshall pulled up to his house, parked the car and opening the door for her. Y/N looked at her phone seeing several missed messages from Jake.

11:03 p.m.

From Jake: Where are you? Did you leave?

11:04 p.m.

From Jake: According to Flo, she said you left with your ‘muse’? Who the fuck is she talking about?

11:07 p.m.

From Jake: Thought that fucking Marshall and you were done and you left to go fuck him, huh. You just crawl into his arms when things get bad? I fucking knew you were fucking him. You fucking whore.

11:10 p.m.

From Jake: Don’t bother coming home. Ever again.

Y/N pocketed the phone, reaching out to grab Marshall’s hand. He pulled her close, as he opened the door. Then he dropped her hand.

Marshall toed his shoes off before walking to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water. Y/N stood in the corridor.

“Can I borrow your shower?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know where it is.”

Y/N walked up the stairs and made her way to Marshall’s bedroom. She walked into his room and smiled, breathing in his cologne before walking to the bathroom. She slowly undressed and got into the shower.

Y/N was in there for a while and Marshall began to get worried. He walked up the stairs and went to his closet to grab a pair of boxers and a tee for her to change in. However, the door was open, and Y/N was there…naked.

He watched her as she showered. Her back faced him, and he swallowed. Her ass…round and perfect but when she turned, his heart dropped.

Bruises. Her body was covered in bruises.

Marshall did not control his movements next. In his hands were the spare clothing, but he pushed off his foot and went directly to the shower. He was hot on his trail and stood in front of her.

Y/N jumped seeing a clothed Marshall in front of her.

However, even with her naked in front of her, he shook his head slowly.

“You lied to me,” he whispered as if his heart was breaking.

“Marshall, I am naked,” she whispered.

“You lied to me and that hurts,” he said louder.

“Marshall. I am in the shower.”

“He hurts you, doesn’t he?” he stated. “Y/N…does he fucking hit you?” he said with sharpness.

Y/N turned so her back was facing him. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and then whispered, “Only when he is high.”

Marshall turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around her. Instantly, she fell into his arms as he held her close. His arms wrapped around her as he brought her out of the shower. Y/N turned around to face him.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I thought every time was the last time.”

His arms held her close, as his eyes looked down. His hand came to cup her cheek and she smiled. It was a moment as she looked into those beautiful baby blue eyes and Marshall broke.

Her face and body, and voice and touch…the way her smile moves so slowly across her face like moonrise, how clearly he missed her and how clearly overjoyed he is to have her back. Y/N buried her face into his neck as he held her. All that she could think was that she needed him. She needed his arms around her, needed him to hold her.

But as they held another, Marshall kissed her with all the power he could muster, making up for all the weeks, moons, days, minutes and seconds their chapped lips had not been touching. And finally, finally, it felt like the world was no longer burning around him.

Y/N kissed him back holding his cheeks as their lips moved such passion. Y/N’s back hit the sink as his hands held her waist and cheek letting their kiss explore more. They kissed as no words explained how they felt. This is what they know.

Y/N pulled away and their foreheads rested against each other. For the first time, she felt complete. With him, she was at ease; her skin felt as though it was the right size. It seemed so natural, to talk to him about odd things. She had never done that before. The trust so sudden yet so complete and the intimacy frightened her…

Y/N pulled away and dropped the towel.

“Stop,” she said, and his brows furrowed. “Stop thinking about your worries. Just this once. Do not care about anything else but how you feel for me.”

“How I feel for you?” he whispered looking down to see her naked body. He swallowed and took a step forward.

“When we met,” she whispered, “three times. The chances. We are meant to be in each other’s lives…”

“What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked but her hands came to cup his cheek.

“You know what I am exactly saying.”

“Then say it.”

“Don’t make me,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her lips and Y/N closed her eyes. “Marshall Mathers, I want you. Always you.”

And that was her way of saying it. She did not need to say the words as they were scary however, his kiss was powerful. However, she melted in his touch. Their kiss grew hungry as she walked forward, pushing him to the bedroom. Marshall removed his shirt throwing it behind them as his thighs hit the mattress.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she undid the belt, pushing his pants down and boxers. Marshall kicked them off as their skin hit one another…touching like fireworks going off.

She moaned from the heat that radiated off him, brushing her cool skin as their lips continued to move in sync. Marshall turned, pushing her against the bed. However, as he pulled away and leaned over her, he glanced down.

“You,” he said, “and me. Always.”

“We are an always type of thing,” she agreed, “always. You and me.”

It was their way of saying; I love you without the commitment. They feared love but they needed love and as they kissed, they knew the truth.

His hands moved from her waist to her breast, kneading it as her lips went to his jaw.

“Y/N,” he moaned, “Doll face.”

Y/N kissed his jugular as her hands ran down his chest, feeling his thick muscles and abs. She pulled away and looked back in his eyes.

Her fingers grazed the side of his jaw before touching his lips.

“You are never going back,” he whispered. “You’re mine. Forever.”

All she did was whisper, “Please.”

It was all he needed to press kisses down her chest, over her nipple before sucking it and letting it go away. His arms pushed her legs apart. Marshall settled between them, but his finger danced with such scandal down her abdomen. His lips pressed a kiss to her naval.

“You’re beautiful. You’re delicious,” he purred before pressing a kiss where she wanted it the most…right in the sweet spot. Instantly, her back curled as a loud demanding moan came from her.

Marshall smirked as he did it again with a little more force before pulling away. His fingers replaced its spot on the clitoris, pressing before moving in circles.

“Pretty girl. All mine. Forever,” he cooed. “My girl.”

“Yours.”

He went down, curling his fingers and pushing them inside of her as his lips pressed against her heat. Y/N’s hand went to his hair, running through it before moaning. He was magic as his tongue danced in places, she only dreamed of him touching. It was pleasure, it was lust, it was heaven and boy, she was ready to get on her knees to pray.

His tongue worked wonders and as he went on, she felt the knot. She felt the wave of pleasure and suddenly she was screaming his name.

Marshall placed a hand over her mouth, shushing her before kissing them closed.

“Wake up the whole neighbourhood, huh?” he mocked.

He was hard. She felt it. He felt it. However, as she rode her orgasm…he was not prepared.

“I want you,” he said.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“I am clean and on birth control.”

He nodded and looked down to her body and seeing the bruises. It was like seeing them all over again.

“Did he hurt you? By touching you?”

She shook her head. “They are old.”

“How old?”

“Two weeks maybe.”

He shook his head. “I will fucking kill him. I will fucking end his life the next time I see him. I want his corpse on a fucking stick in my yard.”

“Shh,” she whispered, “love on me. Murder later.”

His lips were back on yours as she moved her legs to wrap around him. Marshall entered her slowly, feeling him stretch her walls and fill her in ways she only dreamed. It was so different than anything she felt before. It was simply magical. Her eyes rolled back as he began to pump in and out of her.

His lips attached to the side of her head as his lips whispered sweet nothings. Bliss, pure bliss and she had no words just sounds of rapture. Her fingers grasped his back, nails digging as she scratched and ran her hands through his hair.

“So good,” he whispered, “perfect.”

Y/N rolled their bodies, moving to straddle him as she sunk on him. Marshall pushed up so their chest was flushed. His hands ran through her hair as their lips barely touched. Moans came from them as they shared the same breath of air.

It was not fucking. Far from it. It was love. It was magical. It was perfection.

They needed one another like oxygen. Like drugs…intoxicated and need a fix. As she rolled her hips and he hit the right places, they moaned. His hands ran up and down her back before cupping her waist.

Then he pushed her to the side and began thrusting from behind. She was on her side as his hand cupped her cheek, finger on her chin and tilting her head to him. Lips against one another as they came together.

They moaned one another’s name as their highs came. Pulsing, shockwaves, vibrating feelings of pure pleasure.

Eyes closed and feelings absorbing. They fell on the bed.

They were lying on their backs as he looked at one another.

Then he said something dangerous, “I think I love you.”

And her heart melted. “I love you too, Marshall Mathers.”

-

Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts and opinions.

Much love,

Ava <3

[cheriladycl01]

Better than me - Charles Leclerc x Reader P8

Plot: You are a rookie in your first f1 season, adding to the ever-growing amount of Brits performing in the grid

Everyone was panicking. Alex was out of his car pacing back and forth in the Audi garage as Lily tried to calm him down. They refused to show the reply or any current footage of what was going on. But Lily had seen it live and even she was struggling to not cry herself.

Lando was sat with his head in his hands, crying over the reason for such a bad crash. He wouldn't forgive himself, no matter how bad the crash had been, even if you just came out with a small scrape. You were on track to winning the race as well. Not that that really mattered as your unconscious self was being hauled out of the burning car that had started to catch alight when the fuel tank burst and leaked.

One courageous marshal managed to pull you out, as they were pulling you out they weren't thinking about any broken bones they just wanted to get you out the car.

They laid you down on the floor, not taking your helmet of but flipping the visor up to see if you were awake, which of course you weren't.

They held your wrist looking for a heartbeat screaming for a medic to come over and help you. In record speed time, emergency services had managed to get a helicopter to airlift you to the best hospital in Belgium.

When the drivers saw the helicopter fly off, they could tell it was a bad crash, not that they couldn't tell before but the fact you needed to be airlifted had them worrying.

Lando was near close to being sick, Oscar at his side rubbing his back as he dry-heaved into a bin.

"Oh my god, I've killed my best friend" he cried and Oscar right now had no idea what to actually say to him.

"No you haven't, she's going to be okay!" Oscar says rubbing his crying friends back.

Charles was num, he didn't know what to think and he actually couldn't talk to Carlos. Was this his fault... no it was the rain, and your team, and your radio, and your car, and Lando's fault and he was so terribly angry when he thought about it fully.

Joris had talked him out of the abyss that was Charles mind and the whirlpool of thoughts he was flowing down. He told him off when Charles started to angrily play the blame game, explaining it wasnt anyone's fault and that you knew the risks of racing.

The race wasn't continued, with only two laps to go. Lando won, Lewis in P2 and Charles in P3, that should have been your first race win and it was a dull celebration hearing your shared national anthem with Lando when it was supposed to be you up there.

He didn't do his usual champagne pop, none of them actually even popped the champagne just handing it off to their teams to enjoy who just passed it back as no one was really in the mood to drink.

Interviews were even more dull.

"Hello Charles, pleasure to have you here!" the interviewer smiles, trying their best to lighten the mood but you'd become such a presence around the paddock over the last few races that it was strange not having you around.

Charles just nods and she awkwardly looks down at her note pad.

"So obviously not a great race with the end there, but you had a spectacular race despite the rain and that long pitstop. Can you comment more on that?"

"Yeah, I think not only the drivers find working in those conditions tense and they want then best for you. Obviously the long pitstop had me loosing a few positions but like normal you just push harder and gain those places back, P3 was better than we hoped for and I shouldn't have been up on that podium today" he nods and his interview is wrapped up insanely quickly.

"Any last comments on Y/N, any insight on her condition and how she's doing?" she asks tentatively.

"No, sorry I don't!" he says with a grit in his teeth before his PR manager takes his arm and guides him away with a final nod to the interviewer saying this was over.

Lando and Alex couldn't even do any of their media duties, too upset by what happen to you that they went straight back to the hotel. Alex and Lily actually travelled to the hospital where you were at now with your family and personal trainer to see if they could find anything more out.

They arrived at the hospital in record time considering the one and a half hour drive it took to get from the race track to Brussels where you were being treated.

"Hi, we're looking for Y/N Y/L/N?" Lily asks knowing Alex had been a little choked up the whole time and could barley get his words out.

"Ah, yes are you immediate family?" she asks looking over the two of the with an eyebrow raised.

"No, but I'm her team-mate she's a race car driver and she" Alex blurts out only for the woman to interrupt him.

"Got into an accident at the race, I'm aware. Her family are on the 2nd floor outside a private suite near the trauma unit. You can go talk to them but there's no visitors in her room right now!" she exclaims and they both nod, running towards the lift to make their way up.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Alex choked out looking to Lily. He didn't know what to do if they came up and she wasn't okay.

"She's a strong girl, the halo did an amazing job protecting her. She'll be okay, I'm sure of it!" Lily say pulling her boyfriend in for a cuddle which he accepted nuzzling into her comforting smell.

The lift dinged and they stepped out, immediately stepped out seeing various doctors and nurses rushing around, even though it seemed like calm and organized rush.

They spot a group of people and your personal trainer, which Alex deducts easily that its your family. Both him and Lily tentatively walk over seeing your mother crying her eyes out into your father and your whole family looked the farthest thing from okay.

"Erm, hey" Alex smiles towards your personal trainer who also looks worried rubbing the back of his neck. Both your parents snap their head towards Alex, your mother immediately sobbing harder pulling him into a kind and gentle hug.

"Oh she loved driving with you so much, Alex right? She talked about you and how welcomed you made her feel!" she cries and Alex feels sickness building in his stomach and throat.

Your mother was using the past tense as if you were already dead and he didn't dare ask the question. He just continued holding your mum as she continued to cry.

Your father, who was trying hard to hold back his tears but ultimately was failing gave Alex a kind smile before reaching for his wife to pull her back.

"H-how is she?" Lily gulps, knowing Alex didn't have it in him to ask.

"Sh-she died on the way here apparently and she'd flatlined again once she was here. But she's in emergency surgery and their doing everything for her" her dad says and sighs not really knowing what else to do.

They all sit and wait, waiting for any news on your condition.

It felt like hours before a nurse and doctor cam trotting over to all of them.

"Family of Y/N Y/L/N?" she asks and looks around at each of them and your mum stands up grabbing your dads hand.

"Yes that's us, we are her parents" she says pointing between the two of them.

"Can we talk to you privately please?" she asks noticing the big group that included children.

"Alex, darling you should come with us so you can update her friends" your mum reaches out for him and he nods following the doctor into a private consultation room.

"So, is my daughter going to be okay?" your mum asks the pending question.

"We did everything we could, and she's a very strong girl considering her injuries. She'll be okay but she wont be racing for at least 3 months, might be the whole season depending on how much she pushes herself in physio therapy when she's up and moving" he smiles and your dad starts to fully sob hearing his little girl was going to be okay.

"What happened to her. Why did she flat line?" your mother asks.

"Her injuries were extensive. She fractured her spine, broke 3 ribs which caused her left lung collapsed which deprived her of oxygen. Which didn't help the minor head and neck injuries she suffered, and of course the fuel leak caused burns on her arms and legs" he listed of her extensive injuries that seemed to be non-stop.

"Holy shit" Alex admitted and took a seat.

"You can see her now, she's still under anesthetic and it wont ware off for a few hours but you can see her" he smiles and lets your family all hug before running out to the rest to tell them you were in fact okay.

Alex explained to Lily everything that happened and she also felt relieved. He asked if she was able to send a message to the Whatsapp chat while he got a drink of water to try and calm his heart rate down.

He ended up talking them through your condition and the fact that only your immediate family were allowed in right now but he and Lily could go in after and that your parents had expressed that they were all more than welcome to come see you.

All of them agreed that they would of course come and see you tomorrow. Your family and Alex all tweeted about how you were doing and that they would ask you to make a video or statement when you were awake and with the world.

Everyone was just glad that you were alive... and were starting to plan their trip to come see you.

A/N: Y/N going to be out of racing until after the summer break? Oh no! ... what will she do!

Also my google search history is wild after this chapter where i had to look up the healing time for all her injuries....

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

[runnning-outof-time]

Congratulations on the 3.5k followers again! You are such a loved member of this Peaky community, it really wouldn't be the same without you ❤️. From your prompt list I'm gonna go with the very last one, "I didn't get your name" and of course I will be picking Tommy 😉. Really looking forward to see what you come up with!

Thanks so much for the love, Brummie! I was secretly hoping someone would send this one in. I hope you like what I’ve done with it! I’m trying to get back on the horse after not writing for a bit - this one happened differently in my mind, but I just couldn’t put it to words….I hope it’s still alright though. Also I’m sorry if it looks silly with the same gifs going - I wanted to use the one you sent with your ask but the spacing looked weird without it under the title. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Part of my 3.5k celebration — find other stories here!

To Unbearable Parties…

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Word Count: 1018

Summary: (Y/N) and Tommy both meet someone who makes the social function they’re at a little more bearable.

People sauntered around the room, going from group to group, discussing everything under the sun: from business dealings to societal crazes. Drinks were flowing and the band was playing an uptempo song that was good to dance to. No one batted an eye at anything that was happening, because that’s just what went on at these types of parties. (Y/N) absolutely hated it.

She stood in the outskirts of the crowd, her arms semi-crossed as she held a glass of champagne in one hand. Her eyes scanned the crowd, thinking of all of the places instead of here that she’d rather be.

Upon reaching the bottom of her glass, (Y/N) made her way over to the bar. She hoped that she’d be able to quickly get a refill so that she could return to the outskirts of the room again. The bar was situated too close to the middle of the room for her comfort.

She was just about ready to head back after receiving a new glass when she overheard the bartender speaking to the man on her right. “I’m so sorry sir, but we are not serving that here tonight.”

“Fuck sakes,” the man mumbled. (Y/N) easily caught the annoyance in his voice. “You mean to tell me that there’s not a bottle of whiskey here?”

“Not one,” the barman answered with a shake of his head, “we were given strict instructions by Mr. Marshall to have only champagne and other light refreshments in order to make sure that there is not a repeat of the last year’s gala,” he then explained the reason behind the absence of stronger liquor.

The man pressed his palms against the bar, leaning against it before he nodded, “I’ll have a glass of champagne then,” he conceded, speaking like he’d lost a fight.

“I’ll get that right away for you,” the barman nodded, quickly getting to work on fetching the man his drink. “Here you are,” he said once the drink was ready. The man nodded once, accepting the glass before he turned and rested his back against the bar.

“It’s actually pretty good, you know,” (Y/N) couldn’t stop herself from speaking.

“Excuse me?” the man questioned her, turning to face her as he spoke. There was no hint of any sort of anger present in his words. He just hadn’t heard what she said.

(Y/N) got a better look at him now, and upon being given a front facing view of his harsh haircut, she concluded that he was one of the only people who could make it work. Her eyes got stuck on his sharp, blue ones. So stuck that she forgot he asked a question.

“The champagne,” she blurted out, hoping that he didn’t catch her staring, “it’s not a go to of mine, but has been pretty good this evening,” she added, raising her glass to show him she’d been drinking the same.

The man only tipped his head upwards before he brought the glass to his lips, drinking a good amount of the alcohol in one go. “Not bad,” he commented as he sat the glass down on the bar.

(Y/N) only offered a small smile before she offered a silent parting, leaving the bar to go back to the edge of the room. She went back to surveying the room; watching all of the other partygoers enjoy themselves. Why am I even here? she wondered, maybe I should just leave. But before she could, a familiar face approached her.

“You’ve been over here all night,” the man from the bar commented as he approached her.

“You’ve been watching me?” she questioned him, quirking an eyebrow as a smile teetered on her lips.

“No,” he quickly shook his head, “just haven’t noticed you anywhere else.”

“So you’ve been looking for me?” the smile was fully present on her lips now.

The man let out a breath of a chuckle, looking to the floor for a moment. He liked the quick-wittedness of this woman, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had her stuck in his mind since their interaction at the bar.

“You don’t seem to want to be here,” he said once he looked her way again.

“I could say the same for you,” she turned it right back on him, biting her bottom lip as she held his gaze, “you seemed to be rather frustrated at the bar earlier.”

“This isn’t enough to get me through the evening,” he commented, holding up his fourth glass of champagne to show her what he meant.

“I hear you there,” she smiled softly, nodding her head in agreement.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said then, his eyebrows raised slightly as he awaited her response.

“It’s (Y/N),” she smiled as she gave her answer, looking him up and down then. “I didn’t get yours either,” she stated, her eyes finding his once more.

“Tommy,” his answer was simple. (Y/N) nodded, committing it to memory. She was certain that she wouldn’t be forgetting this man any time soon. “Well, (Y/N), how about a toast, eh?” he suggested after a few moments had passed.

“What are we toasting to, Tommy?” she asked, trying his name out for herself; liking the sound of it coming off of her lips just as much as she liked the sound of hers coming off of his.

“To unbearable parties,” he announced, holding his glass up, winking as he did so. (Y/N) didn’t miss the way that his eyes trailed over her frame as he spoke.

A grin formed on her face, loving the feeling of his eyes on her. Maybe this party wasn’t so bad after all. “To unbearable parties…” she started off, biting on her lip to conceal her grin as she clinked her glass with his, “to unbearable parties that become bearable enough when you find someone to spend the night with,” she added, letting her grin show as they both brought their glasses down to take a drink from them.

To unbearable parties, indeed.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @youtifulsunshinelixfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[tinuvielsblog]

I won’t make the joke I was going to make…

Cary Grant in Operation Petticoat || Dir. George Marshall

[pauking5]

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 3 🏁

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, sports rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, spice

Word count: 15.2k+

A/N: Curious who's going to catch the Tokyo Drift reference 😏 Hope you're ready for the storm cause lightning and thunder just met for real in this one. It was literal hell to write at times, but I wanted to get more accurate with it and bring you as close to the view in my head as possible, so sorry for the delay. Tried my hand at writing tension so I hope it's good. Enjoy lovelies. Smooches to you :)

Raiko's Playlist: Bad Boy - Red Velvet, High Horse - Kacey Musgraves, Antisocial - Ed Sheeran, Travis Scott, True Disaster - Tove Lo, "good guy" - Against The Current, Summer Jam - 99 RZNS, John Gibbons, KOOLKID, How Bad Do You Want It (Oh Yeah) - Sevyn Streeter, Pump It - Black Eyed Peas, Tokyo Drift - Teriyaki Boys, Morning After Dark - Timbaland, Nelly Furtado.

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Day 3 of Tour de Tokai - Final stages

The sun was up before you could catch any sleep, peaking through the thick blinds with bright beams. That brightness didn't bode well with the small hangover brewing between your pinched eyebrows. A remainder of the excessive amounts of champagne you drank last night and the really excited twosome next door, working hard to drill a hole in the wall behind your head all night long.

At one point, they quieted down and you were near falling asleep until they went at it again and again, and you contemplated sleeping in the bathtub.

Putting on your golden blue team kit and the darkest shades you could find in the mess of luggage, you packed and dragged your heavy bags into the hallway and pressed the button on the lift for reception. You caught your reflection in the shiny silver doors and thanked god no one saw you yet. Your hair was a half-tangled mess, hidden under the team baseball cap well enough. Only two days on the job and you already had sunken in eye bags, but those were probably from the amazing beauty sleep you had the night before.

I had better days, you blew out a breath pulling up your shades.

Bags checked out and safely loaded into the airport car until later, you headed for the track. Walking out to the biggest stand on the hill overlooking the road for today, you scanned the grounds. It was still pretty early but the crowds were already making their way to the stands to get the best seats - right in the sputter of a dusty drift corner. The dirt must be doing wonders for their skin if they paid so much to sit there willingly, you thought, grimacing at the dried up mud painting most of the sun-bleached seats.

At least it was a quiet spot to just do some people watching and wake yourself up. You watched the food court vendors open the back doors to their vans before getting to work on the food. Some people were sat on the trunk of their cars, huddled in blankets or hoodies, eating a makeshift breakfast before queuing up for entrance. The race marshals were putting up the access signs and doing other maintenance checks.

The spring breeze blew softly feeling like a refreshing cup of coffee you didn't have yet. Early mornings like these were the best. Just quiet and mundane. Slow and pleasant.

Your peaceful perusal was interrupted by a figure settling in on your right, mimicking your leaned back posture on the wooden fence next to the race banner, hands crossed over your chest and all. You didn't even need to look over to know who it was. The expensive combination of lemony vanilla and other bitter, citrusy fruits entered your nostrils like ten meters ago, before he even stopped next to you.

How can someone so irritating smell so good?

"How did you sleep?" he spoke, voice low and husky, still laced with blissful sleep. A luxury mere mortals are unable to acquire at the expense of divine hedonism. Though, if that was how gods fucked, you wished to never hear it again. The girl's moans replayed like a broken record in your head even now, voice sweet like cotton candy reaching impossible notes.

Jesus Christ, you shuddered, trying your hardest to get rid of the image you just accidentally put in your head.

"I didn't," you said with a tight-lipped smile, turning to the devil beside you. He did look well-rested. "Hearing your name being moaned until three in the morning kinda ruined the peace one needs to sleep."

"I told you to join us," he shrugged, like he was asking you to join a grocery run and definitely not a threesome call. "It was a good sex catch."

I hope that angel never comes across his dick again.

Staring ahead, you hoped that if you ignored him, he would make himself scarce like he did last night at the car reveal. Instead, he leaned over to your side, lips slightly brushing the side of your ear with another offer that made your skin crawl with tendrils of chills, branching out from your nape all the way down to your spine.

"You know, we could've moved the show to your room. Get you out and about with the masses. Learn a thing or two."

You could taste the malice in his voice, looking to throw you off with raw sex talk. He pulled back to his corner, that annoying grin bright as day on his face, way too enthusiastic about his choice of words after last night.

He should work on his sweet nothings some more.

"I have my fair share with the masses. Don't you worry your frozen little braincells with that," you said, trying to shake off those chills still dancing on your spine.

"Ah, so she does get action," he laughed dryly, tilting forward with another remark he was better off keeping to himself. "I couldn't tell."

A little burst of mischief raised in you, so you turned to face him fully, pulling your shades off. Your body acted on a mindless spurt of small revenge as one of your hands lapped itself around his shoulder, gripping the other in balance and to pull him towards you, while the other rested on top of his chest. Under your palm, his heartbeat was calm and steady, just like the engine of the car before the race.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you scanned his face to see the ever-present amusement etched into every chiseled dent of his jaw, high cheekbones and perfectly angled lips. You wondered if dimples would pop out on the sides if he ever smiled for real, not just in a teasing manner or for show. Was he even capable of smiling?

The more your eyes drove up his face, the wider that eager glint in his eyes got. In the morning sun, rising brighter over the hill behind you, golden beams reflected off his orbs much like fiery bronze specks glinting off regal statues.

That eagerness turned to confusion when you inched closer to his ear, your lips brushing his in the same way his did. Your breath ghosted over his neck and you felt the smallest rise in his pulse, the muscles in his back tensing under your hold. You spoke small, but loud enough to cover the buzz of the rave music catching volume in the stands, making sure he received every single word.

"You know what would be a better catch?" you asked, tone sweet and tempting like a fiend.

His head craned down slightly and he quirked an eyebrow at you, curious as to where you were taking this. Only for it to not be in the direction he expected it to go in.

"Breaking that penis of yours in two and scattering pieces of it on the track like it's fucking gravel for everyone to drive over it. That," you enforced your threat with a swift gaze at his precious groin then moved your eyes back to his, "would be the catch of the year."

His lips parted in disbelief, the smug look on his face gone completely, as if you just detonated a bomb with his very own hand on it.

That was an unofficial war announcement. Jaw tightened in bold offensive, you stood your ground waiting for his retaliation. Your hand was still on his chest waiting for that spike to come again. But it never did.

Slowly but surely, the look in his eyes morphed to one of challenge, burning with the dire need to crush you to pieces for that daring threat.

Was this a novelty to him? A woman driving the reality train through his brain without having her legs open for him? Possibly. Because his smirk was now taut, filled with the same vindictive goading you carried. Just a tad bit darker and full of hunger for battle.

"I would like to see you try, rookie."

Rookie.

That nickname was starting to get on your nerves. Though there was no lie in it because you were a rookie in the sport, the way he said it implied that there was nothing else to you but that - a clueless beginner that will always stay a clueless beginner. Belittling at its finest. Your temper didn't buy belittling very well.

"Listen here you asswipe-" you started, only to get cut off by Don Tanaka's voice closing in behind you.

"Rai, the crew's waiting for... you..."

The words died in Tanaka's throat the more he took in how curled up you were with Naozumi. At first he was about to reprimand you for dealing cahoots with the enemy again, but when his eyes fell on the teeth grinding murderous looks you both threw each other, he decided on breaking it off before the interaction turned violent.

"Rai, step away from Naozumi."

"This. isn't. over," you gritted out with poison, plying yourself away from him.

Pushing your sunglasses back up your nose and throwing one more sharp imaginary knife right in the middle of his annoyingly handsome face devoid of imperfections, you sourly turned and left with Tanaka.

"I think it is, princess," he muttered behind you.

"Just you wait."

The really funny thing about curses is that they never truly... leave.

They might take a break and sip a cocktail somewhere sunny, like the big white-bearded gramps dressed in red does in his vacation after Christmas, letting you bask in some sort of chill ambiguity that all is well and perfect. Until nothing is well and perfect. Just absolutely horrifying and close to provoking a collective meltdown. Quite like the one in your team pen at the moment.

The team was gathered around the car with discouraged looks decorating all their faces as Sentaro, the main mechanic, relayed the news to you. Not one soul moved, everything and everyone as still as your shut off engine.

This had to be some sick joke. There was no way this is happening.

"What do you mean I can't go out on track today? You're joking right?" you laughed nervously, trying to stop your eye from twitching violently.

Apparently, the mechanics tried to start the engine and black smoke came out of it. While that issue was partly because of a clogged air filter that was vacuumed clean now, the engine also overheated to the point they thought it would blow up if they let it run longer.

From your brief experience with cars and growing up around the team garage, you had a feeling of what the issue could be.

"Is the dashboard blinking with the high oil pressure sign?" you asked Sentaro to which he nodded in response.

You were in front of the car in an instant, popping the hood open to check the oil injection. Pulling out the dipstick on a clean cloth your assumptions were proven right, though you wished they were horribly wrong. The rough dirt roads from yesterday definitely took a toll on the engine's oil filter, judging by the black sludge you were met with instead of the normal light brown color of the motor oil.

Dropping down to the ground with your phone's flashlight, you looked under the car and sure enough, there was a trail of the same dark goo leaking out from the car. The oil filter was the problem. And lucky for you, the oil specialized mechanic wasn't here today.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Tanaka, leaning on the side of the car. "There's nothing we can do."

Before you could even browse solutions, Kate ran in the pen nearly tripping over her feet. Thanks to Tanaka's steady hold, she landed upright on her feet, giving him a shy look of gratitude that didn't go unnoticed by you. They held each other's gaze for a while, not one thought behind them but a tinge of affection.

Realizing they had an audience, she cleared her throat stepping away from him. His hand shot up to rub his nape with a nervous smile.

What was that about? you thought, scrunching your nose inquisitively at the two. The faint blush spreading on her cheeks and the playful look in his eyes was a bit of a dead give away of what went on between the two. The car issue was more of a priority right now than their mutual fancy. I'll pester them about it later.

"What's up, Kate?"

Your voice seemed to break her out of whatever reverie she was having.

"The pre-race press conference starts in fifteen," she announced, eyes grazing over your team kit before flying back to yours with confusion. "Why are you not in your racing suit yet? What's going on?"

"I'll explain on the way," you replied hastily.

You moved away from the car to grab your bag and went to change in the trailer with her following in tow. Turning back around, your eyes flew back to Tanaka and the rest of the crew.

If the big man was here, he would know what to do. But he left for Tokyo early in the morning for a business meeting with a new sponsor. You were completely on your own with the team, and from the looks of it, it was time to take the lead.

"Nothing you can do," you said with a small smile trying to bring some optimism back into the sour mood. "There's something I can do. Just don't touch the engine until I'm back from the conference."

"Also, go tell the organizers I'm retiring from the first stage and keep them posted on the second one," you told Tanaka, ignoring Kate's gasp of shock. "We might still have a shot at points today. We worked too hard to let that go."

With that, you ran back to the trailer behind the pen, getting changed while Kate's worries doubled and spilled over yours in a frenzy of overly dramatic and stressed hand gestures.

"What do you mean retiring from the first stage? Are you crazy?"

Taking off the kit with a grunt, you made haste for the fireproofs and the suit.

"Not crazy," you groaned, pushing your legs through the pants of the racing suit. "Just trying not to freak out because it won't help anyone if I do."

"The car has an issue that's preventing me from taking part in the first stage today, but I hope," you breathed out, struggling to pull the top part of the suit over your hips, "that we can somehow get it out on track at least for the second stage."

With the already smoldering heat outside and your growing nerves, the ensemble felt so uncomfortable to wear. Pulling your arms through the sleeves and zipping it up to your neck, you fiddled with the soft collar unable to close it properly. Kate swatted your hands away to help you fix it so you could be out the door. Though you couldn't do that without your driver's card that was nowhere to be found.

"On a scale of one to ten, how big are your hopes of that actually happening?"

You stopped your relentless searching for your identification lanyards only to find them in the safe hold of Kate's hands.

"A solid eleven," you paused, grabbing them with a grateful smile. "On a good day. We'll have to see if today is one of those."

You were out of the trailer in no time, heading for the conference room while she ran you through possible questions you could get asked by the stingy reporters. Before you went on stage to take your designated seat, she pulled you back around for a last check.

"You know what you have to say?" she asked, placing her hands on your shoulders to make you focus.

Narrowing your eyes at her with a 'I'm not a child' look, you recounted the rules of publicity she made you repeat before each press meeting. Or more like your very own not so accurate version of them.

"No snarky replies, wait for my turn and try to maintain the already crumbling image we have. No biggie."

She smacked your cheeks together, shaking you hard to bring you back from sarcasm land. Better sarcasm than a full blown meltdown. You rolled your eyes at her dramatic antics, reciting the actual holy trinity of rules to get her off your case.

"If it's not for my own benefit or the team's, don't reply. Avoid all questions about my or dad's personal life with a simple 'no comment'. Keep levelheaded and avoid conflicts of interest," you finished confidently, but with a slight confusion on the last one.

She nodded with a bright smile, letting go of your cheeks. Whirling you around, she made quick work of your hair in a ponytail and fixed your team cap on top of your head to look more professional than you felt at the moment.

"You've got this, Rai," she encouraged sweetly like she always did. "I'll be right here in case of anything."

"Thanks Yuzu," you smiled at her, trying to ease her stress before it rubbed off on you, turning you into a ticking bomb. "I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one," she quipped as a matter of factly.

"Yeah, yeah," you waved her off, turning for the stage. "I'll tell dad to add a holiday bonus to your paycheck."

"All debts are paid," she replied, sounding like an ATM machine that just cashed out your first salary before you even saw it in the account.

You went up the stairs, taking a seat behind your name tag, near the middle row on the lower side of the makeshift stage. Most drivers were already in their seats waiting for the show to start so you could all be on your way. You caught sight of Akira about two chairs down to the left, already clocking you with a small wave.

At least there's some sunshine in the world.

You leaned over the seat, turning the mic away. He scooched over, meeting you halfway with a short smile that was enough to send butterflies swarming wildly in your stomach.

"Hello there."

"Hi," you replied sheepishly. "You ready for today?"

"I hope so. The tracks today look way better than whatever the fuck those three were yesterday."

You both shared a horrified look remembering the disaster that almost left your cars in totaled wrecks the day before.

"What about you? Ready?"

"It's complicated," you looked down in disdain, conscious of the mess awaiting you in the team pen after the conference.

What was the point in elaborating further? He's going to see the scoreboard anyway. The retirement issue was better kept under wraps for now, in case press inched to you like leeches before they even got to ask you a question.

"Hogging my seat doesn't look that complicated."

That tone of mixed delight and irritation could only belong to one person. That and the shady vibes prickling the hairs on the back of your neck like the very shadows of death were about to swallow you into the underworld.

Sure enough, craning your head backwards Naozumi was right behind you. Alarm bells rang in your head replaying his words again. His seat? What the fuck is he on- Your eyes fell back on the name tag right beside yours, reflecting Naozumi Hiyama back at you, bright as the light of day. Oh.

Naozumi was to be seated on your left for the next half an hour. What a joy. For some poor sick bastard, definitely not for you.

How did I not notice it before I sat down? I could've switched seats with the backfield guys in a heartbeat and no one would know a thing.

Looking back behind you, your small hope was crushed as most seats were taken up already, busting your escape plan. Your gaze landed back on the man, now more interested to know how much of your conversation he heard.

"How long have you been standing there like a scarecrow?"

"Enough to almost physically gag at your conversation."

Ah, there he was. Repulsion in human form. Wonderful.

You bid Akira an apologetic smile and leaned back in your seat, letting nation's finest walk by to take his own. He held onto your backseat to let himself down in his. Leaning way too close to you again, you caught an extra accidental whiff of that expensive perfume of his, toned down by the scent of the burnt rubber fumes caught to his suit. You turned your head away with a breath, resisting the urge not to choke. From the snicker on his lips pointed downwards, you could tell he did that on purpose. Fucker.

It wasn't long and the press conference finally commenced. As expected you weren't first in line for questions, both to your relief and growing unease. Your thoughts ran back to the car. The longer you spent here, looking pretty for the media that could care less, the less time you got to spend on fixing the car. Changing the oil filter was relatively less time consuming than the oil draining and changing. Besides, who knew if there weren't other problems. There were always problems.

Tapping your feet impatiently under the table, your eyes trained on the digital clock at the back of the room, mentally pushing the flickering red dots bouncing between the numbers a tad bit faster. Boring questions aimed at the other drivers went in through your ears, fading together, getting lost into an incorrigible mess of side thoughts, all while you dissociated somewhere far away.

At some point, something heavy moved on top of your leg that seems to have taken on incessant bouncing. You broke your eyes away from the clock to check. Thinking it must have been a bug or your sleep-deprived hallucination, you were beyond surprised to see a hand resting there, all five fingers of it splayed wide on top of your knee, nearly enveloping it whole.

Following the path of the muscular, veiny hand to the grey material going up the plush arm of a racing suit, you found it connected to Naozumi's shoulder. His gaze was set ahead with his chin propped on his other hand, a bored look taking over his usual amusement.

Is he looking for entertainment again?

Focusing your attention back on the press crowd, you went to push it off briskly. You felt it slide off your leg, shutting your eyes in relief that he let go and didn't put it back, going back to your daydream.

The clock ticked by infuriatingly slower, and by the looks of it, only ten boring minutes passed. You resumed your foot tapping, unable to keep cool without releasing tension in a way that kept you calm and levelheaded for the rest of the conference. You even started repeating Kate's set of three rules, again and again, until they blurred together in your head into a mess of words.

Unconsciously, you resumed the knee bouncing. That's when the same familiar weight sat back on top of your knee, trying to cease your restless shaking. You groaned mentally, aware that there was nothing else you could do but let his hand sit there until he got bored of being annoying.

Was it weird that the touch gave you a small ounce of comfort? It was so far from an actual touch, closer to a simple brush. But it grounded you back to reality in a less impatient way than your nervous foot tapping.

Jesus, Rai. The man fucked the sleep out of your brain last night. He's trying to get under your skin.

Leaning forward on your hands, you shifted your position so your feet crossed under your seat in hopes his hand would slide down again. His grip never lessened, turning firmer on top of your knee, seeing right through your trick. You huffed a breath through your nose, trying to calm down before you shoved your fist heavy with rage in his beautiful face to do some overdue damage, since he was asking for it so nicely.

In your line of sight, you saw him reach down for his water bottle, right beside his leg. His hand trailed down your calf with the movement, only for it to slide back up to its original spot on your knee.

This wasn't anywhere near comforting. This was teasing. Maybe even payback for this morning for invading his space with violent threats of castration. The side of his lip curled up in the slightest, letting you know he was enjoying tormenting you a whole lot.

Since he's so into masochism, we'll see how brave he is next time when I sneak in a lighter. The suit might be fireproof but I don't think his fingers are.

Somewhere between Naozumi's idiotic game and your patience running thin for the male species, the press finally remembered you existed and your name was called out by a reporter.

"I'm Hina from Daily Times. I have a question for Rai Suruki of Suruki Racing."

"Go on," you nodded with a smile.

"There haven't been a lot of female entries to rally in past years. Are there some goals you hope to achieve with your participation in the Seiko Rally Cup Series?"

That was quite a nice question. She seemed a little unsure of herself, probably new on the job since she was already being mangled down by the experienced male gazes in the room, especially from the reporter clique.

Turns out rally isn't the only industry where women are not welcomed.

"Well," you started, "I hope that if more girls see me out there on track, they can gain the courage to get racing too. Be it karting, rally or any other series. I grew up seeing my father's generation race and it felt daunting getting into it in the first place, since there was little to no female involvement. But times are changing and I hope it's for the better. Goal-wise, I would say the biggest one is to get girls into the sport, technically or behind the wheel," you ended with another smile, making sure she got a good amount of detail to work from.

That encouraged her to show you a bright smile in gratitude before she sat back down. You nodded back at her with one that matched.

"For Raiko Suruki, from Automotive Racing," called out another reporter, much older than the rest. "Heard the car is totally self-manufactured. How's the pace on track so far?"

Ah, technical questions. I like those.

"So far it's good. We're still testing bits and pieces to see what works best, but so far it's responding well to our tinkering. Like any car there's setbacks, as you may have seen in the previous stages, but we're working to remedy that and maximize its current performance. There's a lot of power under that hood and we're trying to see just how much of it we can bring out."

He nodded, scribbling down your words in a stacked leather notebook filled to the brim that has definitely seen better days. At least that said he's passionate about the sport and not just here to get a quote for a flimsy article. True to that, he geared up with another question.

"Performance progress-wise, do you think it's a car able to compete for the cup this year? Maybe even to reach the WRC?"

It was a reach to aim for the title, knowing the team barely got back on the road. But it was a goal nonetheless.

"Absolutely," you answered right away. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't. As for the WRC, I guess it's all in due time."

"I'm looking forward to your evolution. Thank you," he concluded his short round of questions, sitting back in his seat.

"One more question for Miss Suruki," shouted another reporter. "From Tokyo Action Sport."

Uh-oh.

Tokyo Action Sport was one of the big ones Kate told you to be wary of. Due to their huge coverage of all sports around the country, sports buffs took their word like it was the weekly Ten Commandments in print form. That and the fact that they liked to scandalize most, if not all of their headlines - basically the foul celeb tabloids in dirty sports version.

From the way the reporter twirled the pen around his nimble fingers and the sneer on his face as he skimmed over his fancy notebook, you could tell he was looking for another front page story with an equally disarming question at the ready. You nodded for him to talk, bracing yourself for the incoming attack.

"Last night, at the official car reveal, you said you will compete for Suruki Racing until the team no longer wants you," he started, lifting his icy eyes from the paper to cut through you. "Does that mean your contract has an expiry date?"

If there was a question that, when uttered out loud, would have the power to open the gates of hell, it would be this one.

Expiry date? Driving for the team that has my name on it? Fuck me if I know.

Your nervous tapping resumed tenfold, forgetting all about Naozumi's hand that was still stationed on your leg, now struggling to stay there in the wake of the shaky earthquake coursing through you with the sharp truth of the real world.

You never thought of the possibility of driving for another team. Right from the start, Suruki Racing was to be your forever home. For Christ sake, you were the only hope for the team to stay alive at the moment. But that was just your opinion, maybe Tanaka shared it. But the team might still be adamant to take you as their only viable option and that might just be the case for your father too.

Nothing guaranteed that you will always be their number one choice.

"Why did Suruki Racing pick you out of the wider talent pool out there?"

"Are you trying for yourself or for him?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

Your nervous shaking was several tempos away from rattling the panel table and attracting attention you were better off without at the moment. The aftermath of that happening was already in sight.

Suruki Racing's finest cracks under the pressure of her first press conference, would read the first page in the later Sunday print.

Is Suruki's own bloodline able to keep the legacy with no surety of a long-term contract? another one would say.

If you were lucky they would put it on the second spread or in the middle pages next to some old car adverts. But the worst part of it all is that the majority of the rally community, including the panel of drivers around you, would wholeheartedly agree with the newspapers.

Maybe this was just you making movies in your head but those were always possibilities upon possibilities and they all pointed to failure. Your failure of saving the team and seeing it succeed if you caved in to them.

The weight on top of your knee moved higher up your leg, stopping mid-way on your thigh. Enraged out of your mind, you were about to swat if off like a fly just when Naozumi did the unthinkable - his thumb started rubbing the side of your leg in circles over the suit, alternating patterns. You could feel that touch burn even through the triple permeable fireproof layers, sending all your senses in override, heartbeat pounding louder in your ears with each languid stroke of his thumb.

Was he trying to calm you down? Or was this him riding on the wave of anger surfacing from the depths of your very being to make you inch closer to exploding? Because there was a thin line between the two and you struggled to find which direction he was steering in today.

Strangely, that mildly provoking but oddly comforting caress worked. It calmed you down and drowned the black hole your mind went down into, bringing your focus back on the task at hand - giving the reporter an answer before your silence was taken as one.

"I'm afraid not," you responded, your voice bouncing back way too quiet on the microphone for it to sound like you were sure of yourself.

A handful of chuckles erupted behind you, rippling down into the audience and the rest of the media crews around the room.

"Everyone has an expiry date on their contracts, doll," commented a gruff voice from behind you. "Better find it out before the press does," they added with a chuckle.

You turned around to match the rude remarks with Katsumi's face, driver for Top Rank Racing. From what you knew about the man, he's been in rally long enough to know that he was right. Though he could've delivered that a bit more nicely.

Casting an unsure look at Kate, you saw her beckon you to say something else, mouthing several pointers that fell unheard with your growing unease. There was nothing else to say. That was the pure truth. No one had a safe seat in rally, except if you were Akira with loads of talent or Naozumi with a shit ton of cash to throw around. But you... you were lucky if there was a next year for you at all. And that might just be the case for your team too, whether it takes off or it burns to charred ashes again. Whether they keep you with them or not. And that realization hurt the deepest of them all.

"There you go again with useless questions, Misano," spoke Naozumi, successfully diverting your attention away from a meltdown.

His voice carried out smooth like whiskey over the shushed murmurs in the room, able to charm the attention of even the stingiest creature. His dark brown eyes were throwing sharp daggers with the aim to impel the man in the middle of the press convoy, almost like he had some personal vendetta against him, able to see past his journalistic tricks better than anyone.

From the few words he uttered your way you could tell why.

"Why don't you wrack your brain for something more interesting to ask?" he added bitterly.

Misano could only glare at him, shifting his attention from you to the man beside you, much more poison seeping from his tone at being interrupted.

"I was just about to get to you Naozumi. Impatient as always," he sneered. "I do have a really good one," he chuckled lowly to himself, like he was about to get the scoop of the century.

Naozumi was absolutely unfazed by his tactics. Just like you were, before he opened his mouth.

"You and Shinkai are in quite the fight to reach the higher ranks of the WRC. Did you solve the misunderstandings from last year to prevent more incidents from happening this time around?"

Naozumi laughed dryly at that, averting his eyes away from the man so overzealous for drama. When his eyes fell back on him, it wasn't with the same playful gaze reserved for toying around with people, but with raw hunger to rip him to shreds until every other word he was dying to write was out and cut to tiny little pieces on the floor.

Even you shuddered at the intensity of that look. You thanked the heavens it wasn't directed at you. If you were in Misano's shoes, you would shove those words back down your throat and run to puke them out somewhere they would be more well received, like the trash can outside, right around the door. That might do everyone in here a favor.

Naozumi finally let go of your leg, turning around in his seat to face the press with more interest. You breathed a small sigh of relief at the loss of contact. But a small part of you mourned the reassurance it provided for a short while, letting the nerves about your future race back up your spine again. At least they were dimmer now, since you put your focus on the charade of power to your left.

"If by misunderstanding you mean forced damage to my car," paused Naozumi with an icy grin matching the gaze that never once faltered from Misano, "then no, we didn't solve anything."

He delivered that affirmation so smoothly that even you leaned over the table to get a better look at him. Contrary to the calmness in his voice, there was a furious annoyance taking over his features. One far more irritated than the other looks you've seen him sport in the past three days.

"You can't solve misunderstandings with hardheaded people," piped in Akira, matching the same sweet venom in Naozumi's voice.

Naozumi could only smirk coldly, dropping his gaze to his team racing suit before he aimed it at Akira.

"That's where you're wrong," corrected Naozumi. "You can't solve misunderstandings with irresponsible people that can't admit to their faults."

It was Akira's turn to be vexed, staring down the man on his right. Those eyes, softer than melted chocolate, turned into the most violent tempest catching speed by the second. Though he wasn't necessarily asked a question, he was just as involved in the one served to Naozumi, so he turned to Misano with a comment.

"I think what Naozumi means by that is that some things are better left in the past. Or swept under the rug for the sake of it."

Point, aim and shoot.

"Let's leave the talking to the track," grinned Akira, patting Naozumi's shoulder in feign respect.

Naozumi broke into a toothy smile, tongue coming out to swipe over his teeth in disbelief. That smile grew and grew until it matched Akira's, just like a Cheshire cat. Then he leant over to him, whispering something in his ear. A threat you just so happened to hear.

"Stay the fuck away from my track. And don't fool yourself that thing was accidental to free your conscience" he mumbled.

The cameras flashed to immortalize the moment, making sure to get all sides of the burning declaration of war. They held each other's gaze with impending rage, pumping hard enough to blow out big dark fumes like messenger torches.

Keeping levelheaded and avoiding conflicts of interest was a rule their agents were probably negotiating with them, not even close to being able to enforce it.

From the looks of it, there was way more tension between the two than they let on with those loaded glances passed from one end of the paddock to the other in between stages. They had history that was better left unraveled for the sake of the rest of the season.

I take it back. The car reveal was a baby next to this shit show.

After that, the rest of the conference went by uneventfully. Surprisingly. The stifling tension however, was still palpable in the air. It was crazy how just one question from Misano turned the mood salty real fast. He hasn't asked anything else ever since, sitting merrily in the audience with a smug smirk, utterly pleased at causing an uproar.

The rest of the reporters went for decent questions as the drivers geared up for mayhem on track. As soon as the organisers let you, you dashed outside, welcoming the fresh breath of air and freedom away from that purgatory room.

Got nine more of those to endure.

"Not bad for your first press conference, rookie."

Was that supposed to be an encouraging pat on the back? If anything it sounded haughty and kind of condescending.

Does it hurt him to shed off some of that superior complex thing he has going on?

Upon remembering his game back in the conference room, you whirled around to him instantly, backing him in a corner so no one could hear your murderous intentions. The flames inside of you were leaping high and violent again. But that must have been the Naozumi effect at this point - setting you on fire then walking away only to come back and kindle you again whenever he saw fit.

"Don't ever touch me again or I will rip your hands and shove them down your cars' exhaust. Understood?"

"It was a good distraction though, wasn't it?" he smirked, pinning you with that knowing look of his that made you want to spit fire like a dragon.

"It was so fucking unnecessary-" you stopped, the rest of your words dying in your throat. "It was so -," you growled. "You're so -"

You gave up on speaking. There was no point in explaining why punching him was the right thing to do because the more you looked at it you realized he was right. That playful stroke was a good distraction from going berserk with all those demons patiently waiting to pick you apart like flies that dove into shit on the side of the road. Even if it was for a while, he managed to calm down your stormy temper. It was a miracle for anyone to even do that in the first place.

He leaned down to you, stopping just a few inches off your face. His eyes drifted down to your lips for a brief second before securing your gaze again with that dark look of his that has probably disarmed more girls than you could count on all your existent fingers, hands and toes included.

"That's what I thought," he said as teasingly soft as a brush on canvas.

Before you could say anything else he walked off, leaving you dumbfounded with your tongue poking your cheek, and kind of questioning your sanity.

He's so goddamn infuriating.

Back in your pen, you took off the suit, changing back in the team kit and made a beeline for the car. There was no time to waste. The crew gathered around you in a heartbeat, waiting for your directions.

The skilled gazes laid on you, full of years of garage work, made you very aware of the fact that they expected full professionalism from you.

God, I hope this works.

"Okay so, we need to change the oil filter," you started. "The oil inside is contaminated and from the looks of it, it's not usable anymore. The filter itself appears to have blown a gasket, so that too needs replacing," you finished in one breath.

"But our oil person isn't here today," Akio, one of the mechanics, pointed out.

"Mister Hinode isn't," you sighed, hoping the old man was enjoying himself for taking the day off today of all days. "But I am. I watched him change enough oil filters back at the garage to know what I have to do."

"Very well. Lead the way," he replied with a nod, fully placing his trust in your hands.

Though slightly unsure, the rest of the team followed. Looking back at Tanaka, you saw him nod too, letting you know he had your back. At the silent show of support, you pushed the nerves away and got to work in your full element.

"What I need from you is a car lift, a drain pan, the new oil filter, and four or five liters of motor oil," you told the team. "Draining it will take about an hour, more or less, and replacing it a little less in theory. We have less than four hours until stage two so we can't afford to lose any time if we want to get something out of today."

"You heard the girl," clapped Tanaka, moving to get all hands on deck. "Let's move."

You turned to Sentaro and the electrical engineer.

"I need you guys to run the electrical checks again, now and after I finish changing the filter, in case anything else goes off and needs fixing so we're on top of it ASAP."

"Got it. Also, regarding the oil pressure, it was on high levels last night when we brought it back from the event, but we thought it was from being out on track for so long," he said apologetically.

"Don't worry about it. It can happen out of nowhere too, especially considering the roads I drove it down yesterday. But do ping Mr. Hinode in case there's something we're missing."

"Thanks, Raiko. You're a lifesaver," he said, walking back to his laptop.

Eh, I'm a what now? you blinked trying to take that compliment in. Shaking yourself out of it, you rolled up your sleeves to your elbows and worked to lift the car at an angle you could fit under it.

Pulling over a creeper, you leaned back and got under, looking for the oil plug under the dirty chassis. Finding it right away, just a little off the underside of the front bumper, you unscrewed it with a wrench. Barely twisted open, the splotchy black goo started spilling everywhere, much more liquid and disgusting than you thought it would be. What was on the dipstick was nothing compared to what spilled out on the sides of the plug. It smelled horrible, like murky grass and three days old mud had a biochemical hazard lovechild. And there was about four liters of that to drain out.

The more you unscrewed the plug, the more it splattered everywhere, some of it flying in your hair. Jerking away so it wouldn't land in your eyes, you turned the plug tugging it off completely. The oil flow doubled right away and you realized you should've had the drain pan under it before you unscrewed it.

"Fucks sake," you grunted, holding out a hand to whoever was close by. "Loosen the oil cap on the top and hand me the drain pan."

A hand pushed the drain pan into your own and you moved fast to shove it under the oil drain, to avoid more of it staining the asphalt.

You slid out from under the hood to breathe in some fresh air, meeting with Kate and Tanaka's faces, looking at you with matching disgusted looks as they took in your very contaminated appearance.

"Your face..." started Kate, pointing at your face as she pinched her nose.

"All natural," you shot back. "You should try it sometimes."

Tanaka howled a laugh as he pulled you up from the ground, handing you a few clean cloths. You wiped your hair as best as you could, frowning at the dirt coming out of it. That will take a lot of showers to take out.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait. And make other checks on the car to make sure nothing else is broken."

Come on, pick up.

Pacing the dusty ground above the stands, you listened as the line rang and rang, each dial tone pumping the nerves back in your system. You were starting to regret this until he finally picked up on the seventh ring.

"I'm in a meeting right now," filtered your father's shushed voice through the phone.

Of course he's in a meeting. That's why he left early this morning. In the chaos with the car and the press, you forgot all about that. Now the scope of the call didn't even really seem that important anymore, preoccupied with the fact that you interrupted something that probably was.

"Raiko? Are you there?"

A car whizzed past on track, pulling roars of cheers from the crowd, prompting you to find a quieter corner.

Was there even a point in asking that?

Fuck it. Just get it over with.

"Does...," you started, but the rest of the words got lost somewhere in the mess in your head. You took a deep breath and tried again, this time sounding a bit more composed. "Does my contract have an expiration date?"

He could tell something was off. You could be as composed as you wanted, but your father could always pick up on the uncertainty laced in your voice.

You heard shuffling, rushed goodbyes and a door closing shut, before a chair creaked. His voice came through more clearly now.

"Of course not. I told you you're welcome to drive for Suruki Racing until you no longer wish to."

Those were the same words you said out loud to the reporter just last night, so sure of yourself and knowing what you wanted that it would be impossible for anyone to second guess it or even challenge your claim to the seat in the team. Until smug-face opened his mouth to comment on it in the press conference today.

"Is everything alright, Rai? I know I left in a rush but if there's anything you need, please let me know."

"Everything's alright," you reassured him, trying to sound more on top of the situation than you felt. "Sorry for disturbing the meeting."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I could use a break," he chuckled, making you chuckle too.

It was so good to finally talk to him like that. Like you were father and daughter for once in a while, before being team principal and driver.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asked again, willing to listen to any concerns you had, big or small.

"Yeah," you sighed softly. "It is now. Thanks dad."

He could tell there was more to it than you were telling him, like the issues with the car and missing the first stage, but you didn't push it. Tanaka would catch him up on it later anyways. There was no use in railing him up on a plane right now.

"Always, firebolt. Good luck out there."

That always was your I love you. He wasn't one to be a softie for cheesy stuff, like blurting out those three words, but that always never failed to reassure you that you'll get through anything and come out on the bright side. No matter what.

"Good luck to you too," you piped up, ending the call.

Looking ahead, you caught sight of the Spica Racing blue hues right on time, approaching a rocky corner. Naozumi took it so effortlessly before diving into the last drift portion taking it wide, closer to the barrier, lifting the dust and gravel off the ground to fly off in the stands like a gust of sand.

You backed away coughing a little, shaking your head with a smile at the gesture that was one hundred percent intentional.

At least someone's having fun today.

You got back to the pen at the same time Naozumi pulled up. He got out of the car much more pleased with his run than he has these past few days. He didn't even yell at his engineers this time. Peace and quiet ruled the Sigma Racing pen surprisingly.

Unfortunately for your short lived peace of mind, he caught sight of you and turned your way with a smile as wide as his pride must be flowing in from head to booted feet for completing a stage this nice. If only you had the chance to go out on the road too.

The closer he got to you, he eyed you from head to toe, taking you in all your muddy glory, scrunching his nose at the smell that was still glued to you like you sprayed on intense dirt road cologne. The nasty kind that barely washes out of your clothes after rolling in it. Your clothes also reeked of motor oil. If someone had a flint they might as well light you on fire if you just breathed in their direction.

"What happened to you?" he frowned. "Did you DNF into a bush of skunks or something?"

"Haha, really funny," you deadpanned. "I didn't even start the race for that matter."

Throwing a look at the scoreboard in your pen since it was closest, he scoured all the names of the drivers until his eyes landed on yours, staring back at him with a DNS in bold letters, right at the bottom of the grid. Shameful and defeated wouldn't even begin to explain your sour mood.

"What? How did you even manage that?"

Was he actually concerned or was he just planning to fumble the bag for more insults based on your answer? Closing in on the playful glint in his eyes, it was probably the latter and you were not in the mood for it. At all.

"Engine issues," you sighed, slumping in defeat.

It's been half an hour and you were still waiting for the oil to finish draining before you could actually fix anything. Time was ticking away and so were your hopes of somehow participating in the second stage.

"You missed a spot," he said, gesturing to your face.

Bringing your hands up, you wiped them everywhere coming up entirely clean. Is he seeing things?

He shook his head before coming closer, wiping his thumb over the tip of your nose. Your heart thrummed in your ears, drowning everything else around you but his touch and how close he was. Feeling the callused pads of his fingers on your skin, without all those fibrous layers of the suit between you, felt like being touched by millions of sparks of electricity at the same time. Heat surged on your cheeks quicker than you could hide it.

Him being him, he just had to ruin the moment. Not that there was one there.

Instead of getting the splotch of mud away, he smudged it all across your cheeks with a grin.

"There. Much better," he concluded, stepping back from you, proud of his outstanding work of art.

That only provoked you, flipping the switch on your rage. You kept it under wraps long enough and at this point, he was just asking for it. Not your fault his decency sensors must have been broken since he was born and folded in a blanket.

"I told you not to touch me ever again," you rasped, swatting his hand away a bit too violently.

"Hmm, I don't recall," he hummed, wiping his thumb on his suit to get rid of the dirt splotch he scooped from your nose. "It was probably an empty threat."

An empty threat? Hah. He's really starting to piss me the fuck off.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Because he had many of them and most of his recent issues included disturbing your peace on an undetermined period.

"I don't really have a problem, rookie," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Stop calling me that," you seethed. "I'm not a rookie," you breathed out with eyes closed to try and calm the fuse inside of you before it blew. Though you didn't mind if it blew in front of Naozumi's face and set him on fire a little.

"Oh, but you are." He took a step closer to you, broad shoulders branching out to appear more intimidating. "Need I remind you that you stepped foot in the car not even two days ago? A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

"You think you're the shit, don't you?"

"And you are?" he chuckled darkly. "You don't have the guts for it. Why don't you go back to being daddy's little spoiled princess, driving plastic cars, since it's very obvious you can't drive a real one?"

Naozumi had a talent at making sure his words drove straight to their recipient, cutting deeper than intended, at times with a purpose more painful than the edge of a knife could do damage.

But words were empty to you. You trained yourself not to believe the little white lies and rumors people tried to feed you to stay as far away from letting it affect you as possible. This was just another one of those confrontations meant to throw you off and undo the steps you've already done on the climb towards the top.

Hard pass on downgrading. But nice try.

"At least I'm not the idiot that wrecked the car in the easiest turn in the whole region just yesterday, driving it full speed with an engine failure only to blame it on my team. It takes real skill to pull that off."

His jaw ticked with fresh blood. You definitely ticked a nerve with that. If you're throwing knives at each other, might as well throw them deep just for the funk of it.

"At least I didn't get a DNF and a DNS first time on the job. Your father may have put that winning image in your head to motivate you, but if you think it will be that easy, you're wrong. You will always be a rookie and there's nothing you can do to help it."

If that was supposed to make it hurt more, boohoo, it missed it's mark. Kinda late to the pity party. Might invite you next time.

"Oh, you're one to talk," you scoffed incredulously. "You're nothing without your team and you can't even see that. What's gonna happen when they all walk out and leave you stranded to work on the car all by yourself? Will you magically pay your way out of it by hiring other people?"

"That's none of your business," he hissed.

"Real drivers help their team," you growled.

You were overtaken by a sense of kinship for your team stronger than anything the world could say or throw at you. He probably knew nothing about what it means to make constant sacrifices for something you love body and soul. But he sure had the nerve to come and preach it to you like a total hypocrite since the rules of normal society apparently don't apply to him but they do to everyone else.

"You don't get to tell me how to be a driver," he shot back, tone becoming more menacing with every word.

"And you don't get to trample all over my hard work. My team's hard work. Don't talk to me about privilege when you're living off it just fine."

You didn't even notice you closed the distance to him, getting right up in his face, seeping into his space once more, this time with a different kind of savagery - one that felt a lot like unleashing chaos. You were a brief remark away from spearing your claws out for some physical atoning.

"You don't know shit," he growled, towering over you. "So I suggest you to back the fuck off."

"Or what?," you gritted back.

The corner of his lip turned up with a dark wicked smirk, a warning pledge of fast approaching colossal disaster, just like the words rumbling out of his throat, low and deep like thunder.

"I'll make sure the rest of your time here," he paused, raven eyes boring into yours with intensity before he whispered the last words a mere breath away from your lips, "is a living hell."

A living hell?

I'm already living hell, pretty boy.

You simply chuckled at that. He had no idea that you laughed in the face of danger. He must have thought you were crazy for it. It took more than a threat to steer your wheels in that direction. The direction of sin.

His head tilted in slight confusion at your reaction, though his eyes never left their furious fire behind. You quipped a brow, silently accepting his challenge, wondering just how far he could go to prove a point and preserve his pride in the face of a mere rookie.

"I'd like to see you try."

"You're gonna regret this."

This man loved to make enemies with everyone. But he picked the wrong person to start the fight with. Unfortunately for him and his loud wrathful thunder, vengeful lightning always strikes twice. Always.

"We'll see about that."

Not another word came out of his mouth. But you knew better than to accept his silence as a retreat. His mouth curved, a devilish grin over it, as if he already started devising a wicked little plan in his head to pull the earth from under your feet when you weren't looking.

Regarding you with one more look full of hatred, he pulled back, walking off to his pen.

Little did he know, he just met his match.

Regrets... you had many for yourself. But you were sure as hell that him of all people was the last one to add to them.

Never in a million years would you let that happen.

I wouldn't wish hell upon anyone. Especially mine. But if I had the choice to curse one person in the whole wide world right now...

I would curse him in a heartbeat.

You were sitting outside the pen, glaring at Naozumi's back, until Tanaka called out to you.

"Raiko. The oil has drained out.," he said, stopping in his tracks. "What are you doing out here?"

Googling ways to overcome your enemies with the power of forced distance.

"Nothing," you scoffed, heading back inside.

Time to get dirtier than my soul.

Taking your place back under the car, you worked on changing the oil filter with a new one. Screwing off the old filter entirely by hand, the leftover oil spilled everywhere again. At least there wasn't that much left in the basin to really stain anything.

It would've been nice not to have to do this with your bare hands, but you've been Mr. Hinode's human flashlight enough to know that the filter can only be tightened by a bare hand to make sure it's in the right spot and that none of it can leak out.

"Could you hand me a filter wrench?"

"Here," popped in Akio's head, who now became your human flashlight.

"Thanks."

A little shimmying and the old broken filter finally popped out with the rest of the oil leaking out down your arms. The last drop fell on your forehead. A good luck omen? We shall see.

Passing it to Akio, you motioned to him to shine some light on the broken filter. You noticed the head gasket was indeed damaged.

"Is the new filter ready and rubbed with oil yet?"

"Yep. Good to go?"

"Yeah."

Checking the engine block with the flash light one more time to make sure there weren't any other bits or parts stuck inside, you tried putting the new filter in. You struggled to make it do inside the engine block, moving down a little farther under the car. Not a fun thrill to experience with a ton hanging above you lifted by a tool weighing less.

Please don't crush me, hun. I drive you but I can assure you that you don't want to drive me.

Spinning the part to the right, you finally got it in, puffing out a breath. You screwed it on until you felt it stop turning. You gave it another spin with your hand before you tightened it with a wrench the rest of the way.

"We should be good to go now. Pour the motor oil in."

One of the mechanics poured the oil in on top. You waited to see if any of it would still leak out only to see none.

The new oil filter was successfully attached.

Well fuck me, I just did that.

Rolling out from under the car, you breathed out a sigh of relief as the team started applauding you and howling your name out of nowhere.

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

They all laughed at your antics. Tanaka and Sentaro pulled you up as the rest threw their cloths at you to send you to shower. Your team kit was sticking to you like you just took a dip in an oil lake, save for the sweat rolling down your back. That one belonged to you.

"You smell as bad as the car after a day on track and I'm saying that in the nicest way possible," said Akio.

"Haha, really funny," you laughed, throwing some of the cloths back with oil stains. "If I had a hose I would drench you all. Don't tempt me."

Little did you know that someone came around to check out what the ruckus next door was about. He watched you from the sidelines, running around to smear the oil on your hands on whoever landed in your range of attack. Most of them didn't even move, welcoming your attack with defeated smiles. The corner of his lip tilted up in a delighted grin at the scene.

Maybe I underestimated her.

"Everything's got the green light, right?"

"Yes, Raiko," Tanaka reassured you for the hundredth time since you stepped in the car. "All other car checks came out good. Stop stressing."

"I'm not stressing."

Well, you kinda were since you lost a lot of points by retiring from the first stage. You needed a clear head before the race and after today it just wasn't happening. You fixed the car before it was time to race, but if you didn't do right by this one, you could kiss any advancement ahead in the series goodbye.

"You saved us today. Any other driver would've ripped their contract to pieces in front of the team if they had to get anywhere near motor oil."

"I think you're forgetting I'm not just any driver," you smirked, pulling your helmet on. "Let's do this shit."

You went out there and enjoyed it for the first time this weekend. Your run was smoother than anything else today. The corners were mostly wide, mid-range turns, and the car felt great with the new oil change. It would be another 3000 miles before you had to change it again and hopefully, the filter would last longer than that.

Even Tanaka seemed to enjoy himself. He didn't reach for the door handle not even once like he was used to whenever he was in the car with you. You did accelerate faster in some turns watching his hand come up halfway only to stop and retract back.

"6 left 100. Flat out."

One hundred meters left to the widest corner left in the race.

Come to mamma.

The dirt flew up in the air behind you, leaving a trail of dust on each side. You dove closer to the left where the stands were, taking the last corner with a large drift that rose up huge clouds of sand from your rear. You heard the roars of the crowd before the puckers from the slide over the gravel, all getting lost in the rave music booming through the speakers.

This is what racing was about. Leaving it all in the hands of the wheel for two minutes where the world quieted down. Being on a one track mind.

Once every driver went for their run, you sat on the hood with the rest of the team waiting for the final update of the track times. You chewed your lip in thinking, tapping your foot on the floor.

I hope all those sacrifices weren't in vain. We all worked way too hard to fall off the track right now. We need this right now.

The scoreboard loaded to display the first three names and all heads perked forward. No one spoke. Not even the wind dared to rustle a banner.

1st place - Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory

2nd place - Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing

3rd place - Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works

Naozumi's ego was strong today. He just so managed to bag podium after that whole show of arrogance. Fucker. Pushing your annoyance for the man away, you focused back on the board.

Come on, load faster.

4th place - Katsumi Ishibashi - Top Rank

I can kiss top five for Tour de Tokai goodbye. So long world.

5th place - Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing

What the fuck-

Loud cheers erupted all around you like the national football team just won the World Cup. That was totally impossible but you did it. You placed in the first point rankings. You were in top five! Still far away from the podium, but at least you didn't fall off the scoreboard.

Before you even said anything, the screen updated to display the Drivers Championship standings so far.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing - 61 pts

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 53 pts

3. Neil Emerton - Cusco Racing - 47 pts

4. Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works - 38 pts

5. Fairuz Badawi - Eliot Racing - 31 pts

6. Katsumi Ishibashi - TOP RANK - 28 pts

7. Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing - 25 pts

"It's not much, but they're good points," said Tanaka, patting you on the back. "Amazing work today, lightning strike."

Turning back to everyone, you called out to them. The team gave you their full undivided attention. Your team. Most of these people saw you grow up from a rowdy teenager into the driver you are today. They were more than your team. They were your extended family. You owed them everything.

"I know dad's not here today, but someone has to do the honorary speech" you clapped your hands together, trying to will some normal words out.

"I wouldn't have been able to get out there without you guys. You're the reason this team works like oiled parts, no pun intended."

Some of them laughed at that. You happened to have your father's humor.

"I know there's no podium celebration for us this time, but I will work even harder to bring it to you soon. For now, please rest up, eat well and stay safe. The Fuji Highland Masters round is nearby so we need to get in the gear for it soon."

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Guys, please stop," you giggled, suddenly flustered at all the attention. "Come on, go home. Before the organizers kick us out."

Grabbing your duffel bag with your things, you went back to the race banner. You pulled out your phone and took a photo of it and a selfie.

Your career officially started. It was a rocky start and the climb up to even get a chance at podium was even rockier. But you were willing to fight for it with your teeth.

Suruki Racing was born again this weekend and you were planning to keep it alive for longer than it has before.

Turning around, you cast a look at the podium. Naozumi just received his trophy, smashing the champagne bottle to spray the crowd. That million dollar smile was back on his face, wider and brighter than you've seen it. It almost looked real. Among all that lust for fame and money in his blood, he looked like he fit right in with the haze of celebration. Like he was made to be a winner.

On the other side of the podium, Akira lifted his 2nd place trophy too, fully enjoying the squeals from his fans. You didn't know what came over you, but you pulled your phone out to snap a picture of both of them for safekeeping.

Spotting you on the side about to leave, Akira took off in your direction. His hand tugged on your arm to spin you around.

"Hey!"

"Hey, you," you smiled. "Second place, huh?"

He looked down at the trophy with a small smile, not really reaching his eyes like usual.

"Yeah. Not my best drive but it's alright."

"Could say the same."

"Are you coming to the party?"

"The famed afterparty on Naozumi's yacht?" You looked back at the podium, watching him throw the champagne bottle down his throat, spilling everywhere on his suit in the process. "No, thanks. I'll pass."

"He wants everyone on the grid there. Though I would much rather not go, my agent said it's good publicity. To tame the media after that stunt today or something like that. So, come with me."

After declaring each other mortal enemies, you wanted nothing to do with Naozumi at all. Not even being in his range of view. Going to a party, on his yacht, in the middle of a body of water was the last thing you needed.

"I'll think about it."

A staff member came to pull him away for a quick press interview. He seemed adamant to leave but you waved him off. You were in need of a shower before the mud became one with your skin.

"I have to go," he pressed his lips together in a smile, dimples popping on the sides. "See you back in Tokyo?"

"Sure."

Would going to that party be so bad? I could definitely use some alcohol and if it's free, why the hell not? He must have expensive alcohol on board. I can let my pride go for a free drink.

There was no lie that Tokyo's skyline looked so magical at night, especially on a yacht ride down the central river. Skyscrapers stretched out into the sky, multicolored lights blinking back at you with sparkles. The rich really had this superb view every night and they barely took a ride here if it wasn't for business purposes.

At least yours truly knows how to pick a party location.

Speaking of the man of the hour, you counted about eight girls around him from your secluded spot at the bar. You could hear their high-pitched voices all the way there, asking him all kinds of questions about himself and the car. He just hummed in response to all of them, focusing his attention elsewhere.

If today wasn't so shit and he didn't literally declare war to you, you might have just been a tad bit happy for him. The most you mustered was a mumbled congratulations when you boarded the ship. He just passed you a grin and left it at that.

He doesn't deserve my cheerfulness. He gets it from the world enough as it is. Plus the fact that he invited everyone on his yacht just in spite.

None of the drinks at the bar were for free and most were too expensive for your pocket, so you had to drink a mocktail. Even his hospitability was in mocking.

More girls scooched closer to get a piece of him, tanned arms and bare legs brushing up against him from all sides. He didn't even seem to be bothered in the slightest that his space was being taken up. But he did mind when it was you doing it.

"Then let's make a toast again!"

"Cheers!"

"Congratulations on being the champion!"

The girls cheered and clinked glasses, sipping on the expensive champagne. He joined on the clinking too, though he didn't drink with them, keeping his glass aside.

His eyes drifted from the champagne glass in his hand to you. The small smile on his face turned into a smirk of provocation. A smirk that went right to the epicenter of your rage. He came to kindle that fire again.

Before you knew it, you made a beeline through the crowd stopping right in front of his table. The girls shot you disapproving looks, sizing you up and down in every way they wanted. Picking apart your messy, tousled hair. Your tomboy outfit. Some even mumbled something about your nails not being in fashion. You shot them a look and they stopped looking at you altogether.

Naozumi just regarded you with a knowing look, averting his eyes to the water surrounding the boat in dismissal. You just stood there with your arms crossed, waiting for him to stop his passive ignorance.

"Got something to say to me, rookie?"

Would he explode if he just called me by my name?

"I do actually."

"Then," he extended a hand around one of the girls getting more comfortable with her. She snuggled into his body, giddiness taking over her for getting so close to him. You could feel the jealousy oozing off the other girls, waiting for their turn. "Let's hear it."

He really does have a thing for public humiliation.

Akira stepped beside you, lightly pulling at the sleeve of your leather jacket to get you away from trouble. Little did he know you loved trouble more than anything in the world. Especially when it involved a certain know-it-all with an annoyingly handsome face.

"Rai, let's go," he muttered, aware that some people turned around to watch the scene. "You're better than him. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"I wasn't talking to you, Shinkai," spat Naozumi, not once lifting his eyes away from you. Not even when the girl at his side caressed the side of his neck with obvious want. "Go lick the boots of your own team principal."

"Talk, rookie. Or did the cat get your tongue?"

You want war on and off track, Naozumi?

You have it.

The words were out of your mouth in a heartbeat, not one thought behind them. Nothing but the sole need to see how he would react to being challenged publicly.

"Let's settle it on the road. You and me. Our cars back at the docks."

An illegal race on the streets of Tokyo. Might as well be career suicide for some. But you had way too hanging by a thread, while he only had his pride. Taking that away would be like shoving him off his throne and sitting on it like it was yours.

Best case scenario, you win and leave him with a shattered ego.

Worst case scenario, you lose or end your career.

The only good thing was that the odds were in no one's favour out there on the road. It took skill to win an illegal race in a city that was built up on street racing of the highest stakes.

"What does the winner get?"

"Always so set on winning, aren't you? Would losing something dim your small manly pride?"

His tongue pushed his cheek in the same annoyed manner it would at his brother reprimanding him for being incapable of listening to simple directions.

"That's between you and me," you added, settling on making this as private as you could.

The sudden realization was written all over his face. He knew what you were referring to since you threw his very own words back at him.

"A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

Ripples of gasps echoed around you, people already murmuring things about you. Until the rumors started being directed at Naozumi and his ability to drive. It was time for him to prove himself worthy of the crowd as well.

Naozumi sat back swirling the champagne in his glass until the liquid was left without bubbles. He seemed to give it a good thought.

There was that curiosity dancing in his eyes again. The same rush of novelty measuring up on your very own. He wanted to know where you would take this if he gave you the chance.

"Fine by me," he said, taking you up on your offer.

Shaking off the female arms circled around him, he got up and threw back that glass of champagne emptying it in one go, before calling out to the captain to turn the boat around. He walked to you, stopping mere steps away from you.

"Where?"

"The hill over there down to the docks. No time cuts, no tricks."

"You shouldn't drive after drinking," you remarked.

He smirked, taking one more step towards you. "Are you worried about me, princess?"

"No," you said, taking one step in his direction.

One more step from each of you and you were chest to chest, facing off like it was a real battle for the very pride of driving. People made a circle around you, staying away from the tension already wafting through the air.

He bent down to your ear. "To settle your worries, it was non-alcoholic champagne. But don't let them know. I keep my alcohol for the big wins."

He really was the biggest asshole on the planet.

The two of you were the first to get off the boat and find your cars, driving them up the top of the hill with some of the crowd from the yacht following right behind. It would be a drive down through traffic and tight corners but it looked much more doable than the roads you've driven through today.

You heard his car purring before he pulled up next to you turning in your seat to gawk at it - a midnight blue R8, a beast of a car compared to yours.

It was an older model, so overpacked with modifications it made your head spin. Nothing on that car looked like it belonged on it and you had a hunch that long hood curving over the engine held a lot more mysteries than the outside body of the car.

He rolled down his window, leaning a hand over it to check yours out too. He scanned it back to front and from the twinge in his lips, he appeared impressed by your weapon of choice. Who wouldn't gape at it when yours was a collection car worth more than three of his yachts together.

"Veilside RX-7. Not bad for a rookie."

He sounded genuinely respectful.

"Thanks."

"I'll give you a five seconds head start," he added.

"I think you could use them a lot more than me," you shot back.

He revved his V8 engine, roaring it to life like a lion looking to claim his rightful throne. You did the same, revving your V6 longer to prepare it for the sprint race. Your engine missed two cylinders and some horsepower but yours had way better grip on the road. Though small compared to his speed intake, you had a shot at winning this.

He was big and wide, a monster under the hood but one that got swallowed on serpentine roads like the one that awaited you. It was a show car. It wasn't made for racing. That and your car was smaller and bunchier, meaning you were able to whizz through corners much faster if needed.

He can't beat me at what I know best.

I was born with the drift in my veins.

And illegal street racing?

Not my first rodeo, pretty boy.

Someone walked to the front stopping between your cars. It was the blonde woman from last night. Shorts that were shorter than your lifespan climbed up her buttocks, joined by a tank top that hugged her boobs better than any of your bras could. A checkered flag hang in her hand, getting rustled by the cool night breeze.

"Not too late to back out," he piped up.

"See you at the finish line. That is if you can keep up," you said, rolling up your window to avoid more of his attitude from seeping inside your car.

You cast a look down to your right at the docks then turned back around to the road.

On second thoughts, Tokyo's skyline looks way better from up here.

The blonde rolled her hand with the flag calling out a count and holding up her fingers. The crowd cheered behind you, already getting gassed by the fumes burning out through the exhausts.

"Three."

It's not about how fast you go.

You revved the engine loud, feeling the car shake with the raw horsepower under the hood.

"Two."

It's about how long you go fast.

Throwing a look at Naozumi, you caught him looking right back at you, that shit-eating grin back on his face.

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

The flag barely hit the floor when you pressed the gas like a madman. His extra horsepower propelled him a few meters ahead of you. You kept close on his tail, letting him take the tight corners before you so he felt it on his own skin that this wasn't the type of road to get cocky on. Not with a million dollar car like his.

Passing the first two corners, he moved to the middle of the road to cover more ground. He must have realized his car takes way too much space to even drift. And this was a drifting road.

The next corner gave him an opening to shift gears and drift. You went on the outside, trying to overtake him but he was way too wide to get past. You needed a wider corner.

Moving around a rocky hillside, you noticed the road barriers curving down into a wider path, less narrow with more flow.

Naozumi slowed down, reducing his drift angle in the process, rear jerking in a light drift. That's my cue. You pulled the hand brake, pressed down the clutch then quickly stabbed the gas, turning the steering to the left. Accelerating, you flew past him, sliding in front of his car over the middle of the road, slick and smooth like butter on a hot frying pan.

The next turn was just as wide. He accelerated trying to get past you and he almost did if you didn't know him any better. You took the drift faster than him, with the risk of letting the car skid off the road. The tyres screeched loudly at the excess of pressure. Thinking fast, you dropped in the clutch moving down in second gear, finding the sweet spot where the rotations aligned and swerved left into another perfect drift. The roaring growl of the engine was music to your ears.

This is how you drive a car, baby.

A few more turns and you skidded out into intense night traffic. The move from rough to slick asphalt sent your rear wide in the middle of an intersection, passing a red light and being honked at from all sides of the intersection. Naozumi followed right behind you, mere meters away from smashing into your tail lights if you slowed down in the slightest.

You entered a tunnel, whizzing past city cars as fast as you could, overtaking them in fast twisting zig zags. Going back down the hill of the main road, he slid in beside you, pushing the car to its limits to close the gap to you. You didn't let off either, dropping down another gear to rev the engine and push past him.

The docks were just a few blocks away. So close.

Police sirens howled loudly in the distance. One look in the rearview mirror and sure enough the red and blue lights shone bright behind you, heading for you and Naozumi.

Three more police cars pulled up two blocks down, trying to block the street and the two of you from passing through. You shot him a quick look he shared with you, fully aware that this was going to get messy. He threw his head to the blocks on the side, wanting to take the longer route and go around. You laughed at that, turning back ahead.

Go hide, Naozumi. I like to face things head on. You should try it sometimes.

Pressing the gas pedal to increase the speed, you slid in front of him and went through fast. The hands on your speedometer went past 120 kmph. If the officers didn't want to get crushed, they had to pull away. But they didn't. Not that you wanted them to.

You cut the gas, tapped the clutch and steered left really tight, drifting down the lane of the street that was left unguarded. You held on tight to the wheel to stay in control of the car as the force pushed you into the door. Your tyres skidded with a screech at the amount of power, but you drifted into that lane and got the car back around straight, leaving the law enforcement behind you.

Two hundred meters in, you repeated the same maneuver this time to the right and steering wide, diving into another turn down the street, completely losing them. The farther away you got, the less you could hear the sirens. They didn't follow.

One thing about police here: they didn't give a fuck if they didn't stop you on the first try. With the amount of street races around Tokyo at night, they gave up on speeding tickets too. If you can do better than one-eighty they can't catch you. They just liked showing up for some ruckus for people to know they were worth their taxes.

Naozumi slowed down behind you, unable to understand how you got away. He followed your drift on the stretch, miscalculating how wide and low he was as his wheels got up on the sidewalk, scraping his front bumper in the process.

Circling around the last blocks with him in tow, he raced up to you, catching speed until he reached you again.

Now it was finally head to head.

Eight hundred meters stood between his dignity and your career getting knocked off and thrown into the river. None of you backed off, increasing the speed to inhumane limits. Not even the rally cars went this fast. The tyres gripped the asphalt hard, engine thundering under the hood, wheel quivering in your hold the faster you drove.

Five hundred meters.

On your left, his R8 got closer, trying to take away from your ascent. A lower portion going under a bridge came up ahead with a tight corner between the pillars. You veered under it, drifting with his car at the same time. He took the inside pushing you off into the rocky sidewalk as payback for his scratched bumper. Your rear wheel caught onto it, swaying the car off the road. The tremors shook your seat the more you drove over the rocks and you managed to get off it just before you smashed into the pillar, sliding back on the road.

Motherfucker.

You pushed the car even faster to catch up to him. You played fair and square and he was pulling tricks. Fairplay was in the trash at this point when it comes to him. What was worse was that you expected more, but maybe that was a mistake.

Three hundred meters.

The size of a football stadium stood between you and the finish line. The docks were now in view, tall and shabby warehouses littered on the sides of the road. Time for Plan B.

Just because I don't have one between my legs doesn't mean I can't act like a dick too.

You let go of the throttle, slowing down to fall behind him and tailed him, sticking to his end like a leech. He liked to play dirty. At least he could have a taste of his own medicine.

He tried to shake you off, going in chicanes and slowing down in the process. He was growing impatient and it showed because you weren't letting off his tail not in even a little, keeping close to his end. If you had more horsepower you could've kissed his back bumper for shits and giggles.

He tried his hardest to lose you, turns getting Once he steered right really wide, you took the opening and accelerated, speeding through ahead and leaving him behind. You turned to wave at him with a smile as you passed by, bolting through to the end.

You whizzed past the redhead waving the checkered flag, getting the crowd yelling as you drifted around them, lifting some of the dust up in the air as you did some victorious doughnuts. Naozumi pulled up behind you and you circled him a few times before you stopped in front of him.

That dark look in his eyes was full of hatred just a few hours ago. Now, it turned furious with rage, pride absolutely shattered. He took a gamble on your inexperience and he lost the game he started so confident in his own powers.

Everyone rushed to your car to cheer on you. You got out shocked at the crowd pooling in. Akira bolted through the endless mob of people, reaching you and bringing you in a bone-crushing hug you couldn't help but melt in.

"That was batshit crazy! We could see everything from down here."

"I know," your voice came out muffled from being tucked in his shoulder. "I can't believe I did that."

"Well," he pulled apart to hold onto your shoulders, "believe it 'cause you absolutely just did that."

The crowd started chanting your name and you couldn't help the giddiness overtaking your senses. Some of those people were either drivers or really famous and they were calling out your name with excitement.

You might have fallen off the track today but you won the crowd tonight. This was yours to enjoy fully and no one could take it away from you. You earned it. You proved that you belonged on the road.

Naozumi finally cut the engine off. He slumped back in his seat for a moment before he got out to inspect the damage on the front of his car. You walked over to him to see him threading his fingers over the scratched paint stretching over to a dent, covering a good part of the corner in front of the right wheel.

"That looks nasty," you said.

He shot you a look filled with hatred. That graze looked worse than nasty could describe and from how he grinded his teeth in annoyance, it looked like it was entirely your fault in his head.

Not one word was uttered between him getting back in his car and speeding away, leaving his victory celebration for you to enjoy.

I think I scratched his ego too.

Akira slid in beside you, eyes trained on the back of his car, watching it drift away until you could no longer see it.

"Is it wrong that I feel bad for him?"

"Nah, you earned this. He's just complicated." Then he paused, rotating to you. "Frankly, I don't think anyone threw him off his high horse this hard before. Not even me," he said with a grin, happy at Naozumi's demise.

Maybe he was right. Naozumi was a really complicated person. But the more you faced each other on and off track, the more you got to know more about him. And the more your hands inched closer to unravel that puzzle on the shelf with his name on it.

One thing was for sure.

After today's events, that plastic foil on his puzzle box was entirely gone. And one of your dying curiosities was satisfied tonight.

You now knew what made Naozumi tick.

And it wasn't losing.

🏎️Glossary of terms and other useful information 🏎️

The Points - Points in rally get awarded on a top 10 places basis. Depending on the placement at the end of the final stage, the score one gets differs. First place can get as high as 25 points, while tenth place gets only one point. *The last stage is called the Power Stage, giving drivers in top five extra points in the overall standings.

Drivers Championship standings - The overall points gathered over the course of all rounds. If you're familiar with F1, it is the equivalent to the Drivers' World Championship standings.

Downshift - One of Raiko's favourite things. Changing gears from an upper one to an inferior one, where the car revs up before it speeds up. Also the sweet spot where the rotations align and the engine roars.

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Thank you for reading! Please leave a note, comment or reblog :)

Taglist: @ellisaworld @howimeetyoukit @jonnelpunk @nadlx33333

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: December 24, 2024

Reworked Group #1: Rebel Army

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, fanaticism, drug usage, and SA.

Overview

Multiple terrorist organisations began to form near the start of the 21st century, fueled by rapid technological advancements and escalating violence. For most of the past 20 years, these groups lacked cohesion and were merely a nuisance to the Regular Army, who didn't consider them a significant threat. However, everything changed in 2023 when the Central Park bombing claimed the lives of Field Marshal Donald Morden's wife, daughter, and son, forever altering the course of events.

He was deeply disturbed by this news and learned that the Regular Army had opportunities to prevent the tragedy, but failed to do so. He attributed this failure to systemic issues within the government and military. Following a period of personal struggle and disillusionment, he resigned and eventually disappeared from public view, accompanied by a group of loyal troops who admired him as a leader.

Behind closed doors, Morden began to slowly build up his army, establishing a unique structure for his military organisation and specialised divisions such as the Japanese Infantry and Arabian Infantry. He even acquired ancient technology that had once belonged to his ancestors, the Tuatha Dé Danann. Most of his troops were genetically enhanced using Tuatha Dé Danann technology from the Hadean Eon, which explains why many of them shared a pale complexion and identical physical characteristics—the varying shades of black and blonde hair, and eyes that ranged from deep blue to vibrant cyan. Additionally, Morden consolidated various extremist groups and insurgent forces into his organisation and procured some military technology from the Regular Army through clandestine means.

They prove to be more than a match for the Regular Army, boasting horrifyingly vast and varied resources as well as legions of fanatically loyal infantry equipped with an array of weapons beyond imagination. Their troops are known for their devotion to duty, but have been observed to flee when faced with a particularly dire situation. Although their ranks appear endless and their weapons are brutally effective, some of their arsenal seems somewhat outdated. Furthermore, their combat skills and strategies are arguably less sophisticated than those employed by the Regular Army.

In 2026, the Rebel Army emerged, revealing itself as a military organisation. Led by General Donald Morden, the Rebel Army launched a series of coups aimed at purging the government and military of corruption. However, Morden's ambition was tainted by a megalomaniacal desire for global domination. As a result of this tainted ambition, the main goal of the Rebel Army shifted to overthrowing the Earth Federation and establishing a worldwide authoritarian state under the iron-fisted rule of General Morden. Despite suffering numerous defeats at the hands of elite forces, including the Peregrine Falcons Squad, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., Ikari Warriors, and Division 6, the Rebel Army remained resolute in their goal to expose the corruption within all governments and military forces. They have gone to extreme lengths to achieve their objective, forging alliances with the Amadeus Syndicate, Pipovulaj Army, and Ptolemaic Army.

Insignia

It features a white circle, outlined in scarlet, with a black dragon at its centre. The dragon's wings are outstretched, and it grasps a human skull with its sharp claws.

Uniforms

Cadet Uniform

They wear a champagne-hued sleeveless shirt, paired with a light grey armband featuring the Rebel Army insignia. Over the shirt, they wear a short-sleeved jacket with an olive green, terracotta, and sandy beige camouflage pattern. This jacket has four pockets for storage and two hidden strapped compartments. Their headgear consists of a black beret with a scarlet stripe and a white stripe, and a rolled light grey neckerchief secured with a terracotta woggle. They also wear a dark brown utility belt for carrying essential gear, sandy beige army cargo pants tucked into black combat boots, and olive green knee and elbow pads.

Commanding Officer Uniform

They wear a feldgrau military coat with the Rebel Army insignia emblazoned on the left side, adorned with silvery epaulets and gilded aiguillettes featuring rhomboid-cut reddish amethyst pieces. The coat has dark green cuffs and a rise-and-fall collar, a silver-white eight-button front, and a scalloped rear vent. Their attire is completed with a red-violet necktie, crimson gloves, navy blue trousers, and charcoal grey jackboots. On their head, they wear an Imperial Italic-style helmet, embellished with alternating black and yellow plumes.

Special Forces

They wear dark green gas masks with orange-tinted lenses and an industrial tube connected to a bulky metallic grey air tank with three light blue stripes centred on it, which is strapped to their shoulders. They wear olive green gloves, a coffee brown Kevlar vest, beige combat boots with crimson spiked soles, and a gilded armband bearing the insignia of the Rebel Army. Their uniform consists of saffron-yellow, navy blue, and black camo army cargo pants and field tunic, featuring a luxor gold collar and four front patch pockets with scalloped flaps and pleats.

Their coffee brown belt, adorned with a gilt-brass buckle, features seven black pouches for ammunition and a scarlet waist pack containing basic medical supplies, such as bandages. They carry olive green rucksacks bearing the Rebel Army insignia, containing a wide range of supplies, including tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, canteens filled with water, weapons, additional medical supplies, gas masks, and walkie-talkies.

Bodyguards

They wear bulky, neurally-controlled exosuits with a dark, iridescent nanoceramic coating, providing adaptive protection and augmented mobility. The suit features AI-driven strength amplification, thermal regulation, and self-healing joints for unparalleled flexibility. Their armour is complemented by a holographic visor helmet emblazoned with the Rebel Army's insignia, equipped with a neural interface offering real-time tactical projections and voice command. They don a chromatic gas mask with retinal implants, granting enhanced low-light vision, dual nano-filter mounts, and a voice modulator encircled by fractal-patterned, silver-nanowire spikes.

Their integrated load-bearing backpack stores additional supplies, including ammunition, medical kits, tactical gear (e.g. smoke grenades), rations, and hydration pack. Underneath their exoskeletons, the bodyguards wear a tactical, high-coverage ballistic bodysuit made from a dense, flexible kevlar-latex hybrid material. Their bodysuits are a deep, rich scarlet colour and feature strategically integrated, articulated padding at the shoulders, elbows, and knees.

They’re primarily armed with a Mauser C96 pistol for close-quarters engagement, FG 42 rifle for versatile, high-accuracy firepower, and an MG 42 machine gun with bipod foregrip for sustained, heavy suppressive fire. The Mauser C96 can be equipped with an extended magazine and silencer attachment, the FG 42 features a telescopic sight and folding stock, and the MG 42 boasts a high-capacity drum magazine and quick-change barrel system.

Land Troops

Troops in woodland areas wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a brown, beige, and olive green camouflage pattern, which holds ammunition and their walkie-talkie. They wear earthy green army cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back and field tunics with a six-button bronze front closure. They also wear an earthy green ballistic helmet, a ruddy brown belt with a bronze buckle, dark green paratrooper boots, and a fern-hued armband bearing the Rebel Army insignia. They wear dark green bandoliers that form an X-shape, holding additional ammunition. They carry moss-green load-bearing backpacks with reinforced webbing and waterproof linings, containing supplies provided by special forces such as emergency shelters and high-calorie rations.

Troops in snowy areas wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a white, frosty grey, and pale blue camouflage pattern, which holds ammunition and their walkie-talkie. They wear snow-drab army cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back and insulated field tunics with a six-button silver front closure. They also wear a snow-drab ballistic helmet, steel grey belt with a silver buckle, and an azure armband bearing the Rebel Army insignia. They wear black paratrooper boots lined with warm polar bear fur and equipped with crampons, which provide traction on icy ground.

They carry arctic white tactical backpacks with black accents and reinforced insulation, containing supplies provided by special forces such as thermal blankets, emergency bivvy sacks, and high-energy rations. They carry spiky riot shields made of blue-grey metal, rimmed with a scarlet stripe and a black stripe. Additionally, they carry a bluish-white canister on their back containing ice mist, which enables them to launch shards and spikes of ice at enemies.

Troops in desert areas wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a sandy beige, terracotta, and light grey camouflage pattern. They wear khaki army cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back and field tunics with a six-button brass front closure. They wear a khaki ballistic helmet, light brown bandanas that cover their necks, crimson-plated tactical goggles, and ivory-hued ponchos adorned with the Rebel Army insignia on the back. They also wear a reddish-grey belt with a brass buckle, tan leather paratrooper boots, and a dusty brown armband bearing the Rebel Army insignia.

They wear three reddish-grey bandoliers with two forming an X-shape across their chest, holding ammunition, and a third one positioned above their belt, holding sticks of dynamite. They carry dune-beige tactical backpacks with built-in hydration bladders and MOLLE attachments, containing supplies provided by special forces such as water purification tablets, desert survival kits, and emergency rations.

Troops who operate as fanatics are required to wear a black sheath or drop leg holster for their combat knife or electrical baton and carry their improvised weapons, including fireworks, rolling bombs, and hammers, in their backpacks. Fanatics are trained to sabotage enemy vehicles and are infamous for their lethal leaping knife attacks.

Troops who operate as grenadiers are required to wear a crimson waist pack and seven black belt pouches, each filled with grenades.

Troops who operate as bazooka wielders are required to carry an anti-tank weapon that closely resembles the American M1 Bazooka, but is emblazoned with the Rebel Army insignia. Some bazooka wielders carry around an energy-blasting bazooka similar to the one used by the Future Bazooka Soldiers from Metal Slug 7/XX. They serve as the backbone of General Morden's ground forces regiment. Bazooka wielders are specialised in tank destruction and sometimes arrive on the battlefield by parachute, typically laying down fire on any enemy soldiers on the ground.

Troops who operate as shielded soldiers are required to carry simple riot shields made of grey metal and wield a machete alongside a Desert Eagle-designed pistol. They slash at enemies with their machete when they get too close or shoot them with their pistol when they're out of machete range. They serve as a line of defence to help protect the main body of the army from enemy fire.

Troops who operate as vehicle drivers are required to carry a rocket launcher capable of firing homing missiles. Once the vehicle they were operating has been taken down, they fire one or two shots before fleeing.

Troops who operate as minelayers are required to wear a gilded or silvery drop leg holster for their combat knife and carry mines in their backpacks. Once a mine has been laid, they often flee or launch a frenzied attack against their enemies. They specialise in laying mines to eliminate careless enemies, employing stealthy tactics to sneak onto the battlefield and deploy their explosives. Alternatively, they may rush in and drop mines in strategic locations, catching their foes off guard.

Troops who operate as bikers for the Rebel Army Bike Squad are required to wear grip-enhancing greyish-brown gloves, glossy black combat boots, and bronze-plated goggles. They utilise two different types of motorbikes, the Micka Horn and Thunder Moto, for quickly reaching their destination or attacking alongside moving vehicles. Sidecar bikers have an attached sidecar with a trooper carrying either a bazooka that fires homing missiles or a highly reliable automatic rifle. Fanatic bikers perform wheelies with their motorbike and will jump off when close to an enemy, allowing the motorbike to crash into the enemy. Missile bikers have a large missile secured to their back with three ropes; when ready, they’ll detonate it, sacrificing themselves in the process and launching a massive fireball.

Troops who operate as snipers are required to carry rifles that closely resemble the Mauser Karabiner 98k, along with a crimson waist pack for their special ammunition. These rifles have a slow rate of fire and are surprisingly unreliable, often jamming after only a few shots.

Troops who operate mortars are the light artillery of the army, being required to bombard oncoming enemies with high-explosive mortar rounds.

Troops who operate as Gatling soldiers are required to carry a heavy minigun with a back-mounted ammo supply. Due to the intense recoil, rapid overheating, and high ammo expenditure, they only fire in short bursts. Their large ammo containers, made of dark grey metal, are designed to withstand several shots.

Troops who operate as flamethrower soldiers are required to carry flamethrowers connected to canisters containing flammable induction particles, which enable them to control the shape and direction of their attacks.

Marine Troops

Troops wear a specially designed mottled grey and blue camouflage wetsuit, featuring a horizontal front zip and a hood with an integrated communication earpiece pocket. They wear durable flippers with rugged spikes in a rusty orange finish, which provide stability and traction on underwater terrain. Their underwater goggles are plated with durable copper and brass for corrosion resistance and clear visibility. Finally, they wear bronze-hued, waterproof gloves, ensuring dexterity and protection while handling equipment in wet conditions.

Troops who operate as rocket divers are required to hold a giant missile on their back. They're often positioned in medium-depth waters, sneaking up on enemies before jumping out of the water and tossing their rockets at them. The camouflage wetsuits of rocket divers have a bright yellow sheen, and they use a self-contained underwater breathing apparatus connected to two bulky air tanks.

Troops who operate as marine divers are required to carry an oil drum on their back, strapped to their shoulders by sturdy rope, which is fitted with explosive charges. The camouflage wetsuits of marine divers have a reddish-black sheen, and they wear rebreathers that allow them to reach a depth of 2,000 feet (609.6 metres).

Troops who operate as cannon divers are required to carry bazooka-styled cannons, utilise flotation devices or life preservers, and hide under bridges and cliffs to wait in ambush for their enemies. The camouflage wetsuits of cannon divers have a greyish-green sheen, but some of them wear only white boxers with crimson spots beneath their flotation gear.

Aerial Troops

Troops who operate as pilots wear fire-resistant Oxford blue flight suits, adorned with multiple pockets for storing essential gear. A transparent plastic pocket on the thigh holds aeronautical charts, while a built-in utility belt features a drop leg holster for their combat knives. They wear oxygen masks and helmets with communication speakers and bronze-plated goggles to ensure clear visibility and are equipped with night vision mode. They don steel-toed muddy brown safety boots with ankle support and flotation collars that automatically inflate in water.

Their uniforms are completed with woollen champagne-hued scarves, each featuring two scarlet stripes at both ends, and lapis lazuli blue armbands bearing the Rebel Army insignia. They carry desert tan load-bearing backpacks containing supplies provided by special forces, including survival radios, high-intensity flashlights, signal flares, aeronautical compasses, and whistles.

Troops who operate as special airborne soldiers comprise the female units of the aerial division. They don a cutting-edge, neuro-linked exosuit in a sleek, obsidian blue finish, reinforced with adaptive, impact-absorbing smart materials. The suit is integrated with a motorised helicopter backpack, enabling seamless transitions between ground and air operations. Advanced, high-resolution optics are embedded in the sleek, silver mirrored piloting goggles, providing real-time data overlays, low-light enhancement, and AI-assisted navigation. A compact, high-pressure air supply system is mounted on the chest plate, incorporating advanced oxygen recycling and CO2 scrubbing technology for extended high-altitude missions.

Beneath their exoskeleton, they don a sleek black tactical jumpsuit crafted from high-strength, bullet-resistant latex, reinforced with strategic padding at vital joints. Over this, they wear a ruggedized, tan-coloured MOLLE vest, equipped with four utility pouches. These soldiers are armed with either a portable Gatling gun or an AR-10, which fire homing missiles. Additionally, they wear a sturdy waist belt holding six canisters of flammable acid and eight smoke bombs, which can be thrown at their enemies.

Vehicles

Combat Vehicles

Type-2 Di-Cokka

Type-3 Bull Chan

Type-4 Girida-O

Type-5 Iron Iso

T-2B Melty Honey

Shoe & Karn

M-15A Bradley

Denturion

Big Shiee

LV Armor

Iron Nokana

Formor

Rebel Gigant

Emain Macha

Tani Oh

Iron Sentinel

Aircraft

R-Shobu

MH-6J Masknell

Tetsuyuki

Flying Tara

Eaca-B

Orewana KO-42H The Keesi I “Hi-Do”

Orewana KP-61 “The Keesi II”

VTOL Heavy Bomber “The Keesi III”

Hairbuster Riberts

Naval Vessels

Jet Hammer-Yang

Hammer-Yang

U25U

Mini-Sub 88

Hozmi

Morden's Battleship

Support Vehicles

MV-280B

Nop-03 Sarubia

MG-36

3-ton Utility Truck

Landseek

Rebel Van

M-3 Rocket Launch Support Van

Dararin Dara Dara

Mini-Bata

Mini-Blimps

Kaladgolg

Walking Locomotive

Vigilance

Balor

Pipe Spider

Jupiter King

Dragon Nosuke

Working Machines

Bull Drill

Aeshi Nero

Miscellaneous

Cabracan

Fall Climber

Special Weaponry

Support

TM-1 Missiles

Turrets (Anti Aircraft, Spike Bunker, Double Bunker, and Hill Turret)

Vigilance

Laser Drone

Patrol Robot

Metal Mole

Supervisory Cameras

Sensor Mine

Pods

Rebel Walker

Mosque Artillery

Spider Droid

Biological Weapons

Mutated Soldiers

Flying Killers

Enormous Moray

Chowmein-Congas

Ohumein-Congas

Huge Hermit

Rebel Army Base

The Fortress of Königsdrache serves as the strategic headquarters for Rebel Army operations and the residence of General Morden. Notably, its design bears a striking resemblance to Morden's Castle from Metal Slug 3D. Four large dark red banners, emblazoned with the Rebel Army insignia, flank the castle on all four sides, while advanced surveillance and monitoring networks secure the interior.

Beneath its foundation, the castle features a robust hexapedal locomotion system, comprising six arachnid-inspired, cybernetic legs. These legs are reinforced with insulated dark mahogany and myrtle green wiring. The wiring interfaces with an intricate network of brass fittings and copper pipes. Notably, the design of its mechanical legs is virtually identical to those found on Morden's Castle from Metal Slug 3D.

The castle's core houses a centralised arsenal, featuring four Denturion-like cannons that launch AI-guided, quantum-entangled TM-1 Missiles. These missiles employ real-time adaptive guidance, countering evasive maneuvers with precision. Flanking the primary arsenal are dual high-energy laser cannons, their prismatic lenses pulsating with intense, supercharged plasma. Supplementing the primary arsenal, sixteen omnidirectional, auto-targeting turrets are strategically positioned along the castle's periphery. These turrets unleash hypervelocity, explosive cannonballs at detected threats, guided by sophisticated real-time predictive analytics.

The grand hall boasts a large fireplace, a circular rosewood table, a gilded throne with a turquoise-dotted crimson seat cushion, and fifty mahogany business chairs, where General Morden's strategic command team convenes, supported by communication arrays and a holographic map of the world. The central courtyard boasts a fountain showcasing a unique four-winged angel with the head of a crocodile, carrying a water jug, while a crowned swan follows closely behind. The courtyard is surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant flower beds, adorned with a variety of blooms, including foxgloves, delphiniums, peonies, clematis, honeysuckles, lavender, sunflowers, dahlias, and castor oil plants.

The castle features a stunning chapel adorned with vibrant stained-glass windows, depicting angels with magnificent wings, shown assisting humans and battling demons. It also boasts a sunny retreat for General Morden, a vast library housing a diverse collection of manuscripts and books across various genres, and a kitchen accompanied by a well-stocked pantry. Additional facilities include a dungeon designated for holding special prisoners, an infirmary for medical care, a bathhouse for relaxation, and a gatehouse for secure entry and exit. 

The personal quarters of General Morden, Sagan, and Logan include three bedrooms, three private offices, a situation room, a secure storage facility for their personal arsenal and tactical gear, and direct access to the grand hall and other critical areas of the fortress via secret passageways and elevators. General Morden's Space Tank and the original Shoe & Karn, which belong to Sagan and Logan respectively, are housed in a garage that doubles as an entrance to a subterranean chamber. The basement houses 30 cyborg replicas, consisting of three sets of 10 identical units, modelled after Morden, Sagan, and Logan. Additionally, the room features a vast wardrobe, storing a customised outfit for each cyborg duplicate. The replicas stand upright in cryogenic tubes, lining both walls, receiving a vital, tar-like liquid that prevents mechanical corrosion and digital decay.

The fortress also comprises an armoury and munitions room, a heavily fortified storage facility for advanced weaponry, ammunition, and equipment; the barracks, special accommodations for elite Rebel Army personnel featuring personal quarters, training facilities, and armouries; and an intelligence hub, a cutting-edge facility for gathering, analysing, and disseminating critical information to support Rebel Army operations. Within the castle, other rooms include:

A crystal-clear sky dome with an automatic emergency closure system featuring a dark grey adamant barrier.

Comfy beds and toys for the elite’s German Shepherds and Doberman Pinschers, complete with a doggy playground and a pet grooming station.

An environmental aquarium suitable for four Enormous Morays (Helen, Linda, Jenny, and Barbie) and a few Flying Killers with a simulated ocean current and a treasure chest feeder.

A central tubular fish tank full of tiny jellyfish, surrounded by a circular seating area with velvet cushions.

A hidden passageway behind the aquarium leading to a secret room with a doggy cinema playing canine favourites.

A dog treat bar offering healthy snacks and refreshing drinks for the furry friends.

A veterinary care station with state-of-the-art equipment for any medical needs.

Extra Information

Most pilots and special airborne soldiers are Rebel Army cadets with either sufficient or barely passable piloting skills. However, some are kidnapped Regular Army cadets who have been brainwashed and enticed with promises such as financial aid��and, if female, subjected to emotional manipulation—to serve General Morden's cause. To maintain their obedience, they are forcibly administered amphetamine pills and methamphetamine injections on a weekly basis. This potentially explains why some pilots exhibit self-destructive behaviour, such as kamikaze attacks.

Fanatic land troops are known to ingest hallucinogens, believing it will render them numb to the emotional pain associated with taking lives. They also believe it will intensify their conviction to eradicate all governmental and militant corruption. They claim to receive visions revealing strategies to annihilate their enemies and words of encouragement from General Morden, who’s revered as a deity-like figure.

Many soldiers fear the fanatic land troops due to their unpredictable, drug-crazed, violent behaviour, which targets not only enemies but also perceived threats to their well-being and anyone who insults them. However, other soldiers resent these troops for receiving disproportionate attention and praise from General Morden, who favours them for their veteran status, bravery, and unwavering loyalty. Furthermore, they’re troubled by their unsettling dynamic with Sagan. They lavish her with gifts of devotion and gratitude, including the severed heads of their enemies and traitors. In return, Sagan reciprocates with a mixture of hallucinogens, other drugs, alcohol, and sexual favours.

Similar to the fanatic land troops, marine divers known to be suicidally fanatical and extremely loyal to the Rebel Army's cause, willing to sacrifice themselves to secure a better future for their faction.

Some male fanatic land troops, bikers, and marine divers have been known to engage in coercive recruitment tactics, including love bombing to manipulate women into joining the Rebel Army's land, marine, and aerial divisions. Additionally, there have been instances of sexual assault perpetrated by these individuals against women in opposing factions.

The bodyguard armour stands at an impressive 8 ft (243.84 cm) in height. However, many individuals inside these suits exist in a severely degraded yet remarkably functional state, despite suffering from adverse reactions caused by their genetic enhancement. This enhancement involves the forced integration of Tuatha Dé Danann DNA into their genome through chemical means.

Certain cadets turn to stimulants to stay alert and focused, while others use them as an escape, attempting to dull the psychological impact of warfare and the moral weight of harming others.

Some soldiers have a habit of slacking off, engaging in activities such as calling loved ones, taking smoke breaks, gossiping, cooking food, dancing to music played on the boombox, drinking, flirting with those who catch their attention or playing games on their handheld consoles.

[jumpingjoltiks]

A Risky Flirtation

Warnings: Jealousy, Sugar Daddy-esque relationships

(Sugar Daddy!Submas x Reader)

The Twins bring you to lots of events. Charity galas, premiers, battling contests - they're invited to plenty of things that they can't always say no to, so you end up at fancy parties two to three times a month, maybe more. Not that you're complaining. Your little side job pays very well, and ever since they asked you to be their "regular" date, they've been quite generous with other gifts too.

It's at one of these parties that you happen to meet four of the most prestigious battlers in the world - Unova's Elite Four.

The twins have introduced you to plenty of gym leaders by this point, and of course, you knew Elisa even before you knew them, but the Elite Four are different. They're curious about you, a newcomer to the scene. It's hard not to notice when they go out of their way to talk to you.

And it's hard for Ingo and Emmet not to notice when the Elite Four start openly encouraging that interest.

Whether you're admiring Marshall's muscles, laughing at one of Grimsley's jokes over a game of poker, talking to Shauntal about her new book, or having a quiet moment with Caitlin over champagne, the twins are capital J Jealous.

It takes them a few events to realize what this strange mix of feelings is - the anger, the despair, the longing, the frustration - and by the time they have some tabloids have already caught on. Part of why it takes them as long as it does is that ... they really shouldn't be feeling this way.

They definitely can't say anything to you outright, because technically your relationship is strictly business... isn't it? They won't forbid you from spending time with anyone else. You should be allowed to have fun with whoever you want, as long as you're still fulfilling your job as their (secretly platonic) date. It doesn't, shouldn't matter how they feel. But they just can't get it out of their heads whenever the E4 are around.

Fortunately for them, there are two of them. One of them can always swoop in to distract you, even if the other is held up. Emmet pulls you square into his lap during poker and has you pick cards for him. He whispers in your ear to stay focused while his thumb rubs circles on your hip. Ingo whisks you into a dance and away from Marshall and Shauntal, his graceful movements take your breath away. It feels like dancing on air with him. Both twins saddle up on either side of you when you're with Caitlin, placing a hand on each hip and offering you a new flute of champagne.

The Elite Four are not blind. They can see how deep in Ingo and Emmet already are for you and have discussed it among themselves. It's become a little game for them to see how quickly they can rile the boys up.

As for yourself, you love the attention. Your heart warms each time the twins tumble over themselves to be near you. And sure, maybe that's them trying to prove to the cameras that they're good dates (they DO get a lot of good press in the days following). But could it be something more? It felt real, but can your feelings be trusted? Or are you just trying to see something that's not there? What would really be the harm in flirting a little more to find out...

[bullet-prooflove]

3 Times Sabatino Thought About Proposing and the 1 Time He Did - Part Two: Sassy - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @words-and-seeds @novamariestark @thiashazzywriting @whateversomethingbruh @trublu2u @stelacole

3 Times Sabatino Thought About Proposing and the 1 Time He Did:

Part One: Adjustment Period - Nik decides it's time to propose.

Sabatino’s going to propose tonight.

He’s ready, he thinks you’re ready.

You’ve been happier since he quit the CIA. He thought the transition period would be a little more awkward, that you’d fight over stuff like emptying the dishwasher, but you don’t. That’s all-petty shit compared to what the two of you have been through.

You’d been ecstatic when he suggested dinner at Elixir, it’s been on your radar since you saw the reviews in the LA Times a couple of months ago. It had been impossible to get a reservation, until Fatima had pulled some strings. She’d made arrangements with the manager for some private time on the rooftop terrace, they’re going to set up some champagne, add a few touches to make it special. Sabatino owes that woman big time.

It feels like the stars have aligned, because everything is going perfectly. The weather is balmy, the sky is clear. Somehow the two of you are both home at a reasonable hour which almost never happens in your line of work, giving you plenty of time to get ready.

He’s pulled out his best suit for the occasion, it’s blue with tailored fit, he wears a crisp white shirt underneath. He doesn’t get much opportunity to wear a suit anymore now that he’s with the US Marshalls, he’s missed it. He catches a glance of himself in the mirror in the living room, smoothing his palm over his hair once more. He’s feeling good about tonight, he looks good. His hand drifts to his left interior pocket, checking for the ring. It’s the millionth time he’s done this in the past hour, and it still resides in the same place.

When you step out of the bedroom, he thinks he could just marry you there and then. You’re wearing a black, off the shoulder dress that clings to your form like it was made for you. You’ve always been beautiful but this, this is next level.

“You’re stunning,” He tells you, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs chasing over the line of your panties through the fabric as his lips brush over the curve of your jaw. “So gorgeous, I’m not sure we’re gonna make it out of the house.”

You laugh as your fingers lace at the back of his neck. The scent of your perfume floods him, it’s new something a little darker, a little sexier. You really are pulling out all the stops tonight.

“Wait until you see what I’m wearing underneath.” You whisper, your breath ghosting in his ear. It sends a thrill chasing through his nerve endings. It’s an exhilarating feeling to be desired by you and he treasures that sensation.  

“How about a sneak peek?” He asks you, his voice husky before he holds up his fingers to indicate the measurement. “Just a little one.”

“Nik…”

He fucking loves the way you say his name, when you get back home, he’s going to spend the entire night making you say it.

When the doorbell rings he wants to ignore it but then there’s the knocking. The rapid, incessive raps that he knows can only belong to one person.

No, he pleads, not tonight.

Any other time, just not tonight.

As soon as you open the door, he knows his night is over.

Your younger sister Sassy stands on the doorstep with a Louis Vuitton overnight bag slung over her shoulder and mascara running down her cheeks. Your sister is an adult version of a Valley Girl, selfish and over the top. It’s going to be one of those nights he can tell.  

The thing about Sassy, she’s a hot mess. She hasn’t met a wellness craze or a man who earns more than six figures she doesn’t like. She switches careers more than she hops fiancés, which by his reckoning must be coming up to double figures soon. The other thing is she’s also the only family you have in this world so when she’s in ‘crisis’ you drop everything.

Sabatino sighs before stripping off his suit jacket and folding it over the back of the couch. He undoes the cuffs of his shirt before rolling his sleeves up towards his elbows. He knows you’re not making that reservation; he also knows you skipped lunch in anticipation of tonight, so he busies himself in the kitchen. He makes linguini alfredo while he listens with half an ear to Sassy as she tells a story he’s heard a thousand times before.

She was engaged to Anton, who caught her in an intimate embrace with Tobias, now he’s broken off the engagement and she’s realised he was the only man she ever loved. She’d said the exact same thing about David and Juan before him. He gives it a week until she finds some other rich, young thing to torture.

It’s when you disappear into the bedroom to get changed out of your dress that something in his chest just sinks. He glances at the clock and sighs because that special moment he’d planned, it’s passed. Dinner and a rooftop proposal at Elixir was a one-time thing and now it’s been wasted.

“You’re usually a lot more vocal.” Sassy says as she picks up the half empty bottle of red wine and tops up her glass.

It’s the good wine of course, the one you usually buy for special occasions. She’d taken it out of the wine rack the second she’d step foot in the kitchen, helping herself.

“You don’t want my input.” He warns her as he takes two plates out of the cupboard and sets them down on the counter.

“That’s never stopped you before.” She points out before gesturing at the space between his brows. “You’re in a mood, you have that little crease you always get when you’re trying to bite your tongue.”

Despite the fact Sassy is a complete disaster in every aspect of her life, she’s emotionally intelligent. She reads body language like a pro, it’s the reason she’s managed to ensnare so many affluent men.

“We had plans tonight.” He says, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. “And as usual you bulldoze your way in here with your melodrama and theatrics. You don’t care about this guy, just like the fact you won’t care about the next one. You just like being the centre of attention and when you’re not getting it from them, you come running back here to get it to your sister. It’s the same thing everytime.”

“Oh Vostanik.” She tuts, his full name rolling off her lips harshly. “You haven’t been around long enough to judge the relationship I have with my sister.”

“Almost five years.” He informs her, his mouth setting into a grim line. “That’s how long I’ve been with Alana.”

“You were barely in her life for four of them.” She reminds him, swilling the wine glass in her hand. “She’s the girl you fucked when you came to LA, I’m sure you had one in every port, you private security guys always do.”

Private security was the cover story you both used to explain his absence in your life. He was away in foreign countries ‘consulting’. Sassy thought he’d been living it up with sheiks in Dubai instead of evading capture in Iran. She’s accused him before of fucking his way through continents. He’s denied it of course, but when that woman gets something in her head there’s no telling her otherwise.

“You do know the only reason she’s with you is out of obligation.” She tells him as she takes a sip from the wine glass. “My sister is extremely loyal, and I think if you hadn’t taken that bullet for her in Afghanistan then we wouldn’t even be here. She’d be happily married to a man who deserves her, instead of stagnating in a relationship that’s going nowhere.”

It's a slap in the face, one that hits him hard because he’s always had this doubt, this tiny insecurity that the reason you’re with him is because you feel indebted to him on some level. Sassy’s picked up on that, he realises. That’s what your sister does. She finds the weak spot and she pushes it and pushes it until it gives.

Every single part of him wants to kick her out, to tell her he’s sick of all the drama, that she needs to grow the fuck up and take a long, hard look at her life choices. The only reason he doesn’t is because the only person it’ll be hurting is you and he would do anything to prevent that.

You step out of the bedroom just as he snatches up his jacket from the coat hooks. You’ve changed into one of his old band t-shirts and leggings, a pair of his socks are pulled up over the calves. His heart warms at the sight of you because no matter what Sassy says, it’s these moments that mean the world to him.

“I’ve made dinner.” He tells you, tipping your chin up so you can look into his eyes. He hopes you see the love there, that he’s not running from you right now but from the situation because he knows if he sticks around, he’s going to say something he regrets. “I’m gonna go out for a while, catch up with Deeks, give the two of you a little space.”

He sees the slight furrow in your brow, you know that something’s happened, but he can’t bring himself to explain it, not with Sassy still sitting there watching the exchange over the rim of her wine glass.

“I love you.” He says as his lips brushing over yours tenderly. He’s not ashamed to say it or to show it. He doesn’t give a shit if Sassy believes him or not, all that matters is that you do. You smile as he pulls away and he knows he has nothing to worry about, that Sassy’s just yanking his chain the same way as always. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 43

Synopsis : Reader tries to distract Em from his disappointment.

Author’s note : Thank you (as usual) to @shady-577 who agreed to read this beforehand. And thank you to all of you who have been reading my stuff lately ❤️. I don’t have time to reply to every single Ask you send but I see all the love and I’m grateful for it 🥰

- Marshall, you’re going to kill me ! You nearly cried as the love of your life planted a kiss on your neck, signaling he was ready for yet another round.

- Of course not, he cooed. You’ve got more in you.

- I don’t think I do, you panted. I’m exhausted.

- Fine, he said with a small pout before kissing your temple. I guess I can wait a bit.

It had been nearly a week since he last set foot in the studio and, instead of working on his music, he had apparently decided to work on your cardio. Judging by his efforts in the bedroom, he was trying to determine how many orgasms it would take to kill you. He seemed to be horny all the time and, what was all fun and games in the first days of him staying home turned out to be exhausting. Sure, it seemed like champagne problems. Too much pleasure, too many orgasms… a lot of women would argue that, at least, you were with a man who put your pleasure first and foremost and that you were lucky. But you had reached the point of exhaustion. You were even starting to doubt whether or not Marshall was taking stimulants because it made absolutely no sense for a man his age to have such insane stamina. Thank God, he was just as skilled and attentive when it came to aftercare and, each time you reached your limits, he made up for it by dotting on you. Plus, with your thumb being broken, he was extra attentive. For the past seven days, he had been all over you and you hadn’t been able to get much done. Arguably, your broken thumb had been a pain in the ass but it didn’t help that Marshall wouldn’t let you leave the bedroom.

You let your head roll on the pillow while Marshall got up and went to the bathroom to draw a bath for the both of you. God knows your sore muscles needed it. You joined him a couple of minutes later and found him inspecting his face in the mirror.

- Your beard is getting too long, old man, you giggled. You need to trim it.

- You think ? He asked.

- I know, you said with a smirk. With the amount of time you spend with your face between my legs, I can feel it.

- Oh, he simply chortled. Sorry about that, babe. Yeah I haven’t trimmed it in a minute. I keep up with it when I go to work, usually but… you know.

- Yeah, about that, you hummed. When do you think you’ll go back ?

He sighed and looked at you, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t seem too happy with the question but you knew you had to bring it up anyway. You stared at him, waiting for an answer.

- I’m not going back, he simply said.

- Marshall, you said softly.

- What ? He sighed. Don’t you like having me home ? We’re having a good time !

- You know it’s not that, you said softly as you cupped his face. But now that you’re talking about it… I don’t think my body can take it. Nor can the checklist of everything I need to do for the wedding. I’m behind on everything !

- Come on, he said with an eye roll. It’s not that bad.

- Twelve, you simply said.

- Twelve what ? He asked.

- That’s the number of times we did it yesterday, you giggled.

- If you were still able to count, I guess I didn’t do a great job, he said with a smirk before grabbing your waist. Might have to correct that.

- I swear to God, if you try this, I will cry, you giggled.

He chuckled and pulled you into his warm embrace as you both watched the water fill the tub.

- Are you going to share your secret, though ? You asked as you nuzzled his chest.

- Secret ? He asked.

- How do you do it ? You giggled. Viagra ?

- No, he chuckled. But judging by your complaints, if I were to take that, I would break you. I don’t know, I’ve always had a high sex drive.

- It’s through the roof, these days, though, you pointed out.

- I tend to have some phases I go through, he shrugged. I work like that. I find something and I pour all of my energy into that. Like when I got back to exercising when I got sober. I tend to hyper focus on things and not half-ass it.

- I see, you hummed. So… it’s not because I’m irresistible ?

- What ? Of course, he said. I didn’t-

- Relax. I’m just joking, you said before kissing his pec. I get it. Plus, sex is great when it comes to getting your mind off things.

- Right, he nodded. I need that, lately.

You hummed and entered the bathtub. You sat in silence, enjoying the warm water and Marshall’s embrace, gently stroking his arm.

- You know you can talk to me, right ? You nudged him.

- I know, he sighed. I just… I’m so used to pouring all of my energy into my work that now, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I have this anger, this energy…

- Have you tried writing about it ? You suggested. That usually works for you.

- I can’t, he groaned. Because if I write about it, I have to do the whole thing. Again, I can’t half-ass it. So I have to record it, speak it, rap it. I have thousands of recorded verses, just to ease my mind. I know it’s fucked up, but that’s how I work. But I can’t do that now because it doesn’t feel like a safe space anymore. Because some nasty shit I do might get leaked. And I can’t trust anyone, now.

You nodded and squeezed his hand, encouraging him to keep talking.

- And even if I could, I wouldn’t trust myself, he continued. Because… look at what happened. I hurt you. I fucked us over.

- We could always put the home studio back together ? You offered. No iCloud, all analog, you wouldn’t have to see anyone…

- I don’t want that shit in our home, he said as he shook his head. If I’m honest, I should have tossed it away a long time ago. When I was at the height of my addiction, I used to go to the basement and get high all the time. I don’t have good memories. But it’s also hard because rapping… it’s all I have, you know ? I’m just frustrated. Whatever. It’ll pass. I talked to the therapist about it. I’m working through it but it takes time. That’s tough to swallow.

- Right, you hummed. But… in the meantime, you’re just… not working ?

- I guess, he shrugged. It’s just as well, though. I guess being home will be good for me. For us. We’re still working through our own issues, doing therapy. We could use some time just the two of us.

- I like having you with me, you said lovingly. I just want to make sure you’re ok. So… are you ?

- I don’t know, he said earnestly. Honestly, I don’t think so. I’m mad at tracy for the shit she pulled. I’m fucking livid ! And it’s not only about the leak, you know ? But she was my friend ! She worked with me for almost a quarter of a century. Nevermind the fact that we dated, but she was there for every important moment of my life. Not just my career, bu my personal life, too ! She was almost an aunt to the girls, you know ? When I was heartbroken, I can’t even tell you about the number of times she was there for me. She was always the one telling me I deserved to be happy, she supported me in everything I did ! She was just as important as Paul. You haven’t been alive long enough to know what it’s like to be betrayed by someone who’s been in your life and working alongside you for this long but I can tell you… It fucking hurts. I always thought « If I can’t trust Tracy, I can’t trust anyone ». Well… I guess I can’t trust anyone. I really can’t. It feels like I’ve been lied to for the past twenty-five years.

- I hate to be the one saying this, but what she did, however vile, doesn’t erase most of the good times you had, you said tentatively.

- No but it does, he said. She ruined the most important things for me ! By leaking that fucking track, she hurt you, she ruined your reputation, she ruined my relationship with my daughters and she ruined the thing that makes me feel alive : music ! How the fuck am I supposed to go back to work after this ? I was fucked over ! All the things I worked so hard to build protect, they’re fucking gone !

You stared at him and saw tears well in his eyes, a mix of sadness and anger. His baby blue eyes gazed into yours before looking away as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

- I’m sorry, he mumbled. That needed to come out. I shouldn’t bother you with that shit. You have enough on your plate as it is. You’ve been through a lot and it’s my fault.

- Babe, no ! You immediately interjected. I did ask if you were ok and I’m glad you were honest. You’re allowed to be honest and vulnerable.

- That’s exactly how I feel, he sighed. Vulnerable. You know, when I was a scrawny kid whose life sucked, music was my safe space. It’s what made me feel good, allowed me to feel tough. I can’t tell you how amazing it felt, the day I realized I was good at rapping. I decided that I wanted to do it for the rest of my life. And it allowed me to channel all the feelings that were overwhelming for me. And even later, when so much shit went down… It fucking saved my life. So now, not feeling confident, and having been fucked over by one of he people I built everything with… It fucking sucks. I’ve spent the past week trying not to think about it. Every time I do, I feel fucking helpless.

You nodded sympathetically and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes before pulling you closer to him and burying his face in your neck. You weren’t used to seeing him so vulnerable and, even in the rare instances he was, he usually wasn’t so vocal about his feelings. You were happy he had finally spoken about it, and that he felt safe enough with you to tell you how he really felt. You held him and ran a hand in his back, gently stroking his skin, feeling him ease up against you.

- It feels good, he whispered. Thank you.

- You don’t have to thank me, you hummed. I love you. I want to be here for you, take care of you…

- It’s my job, though, he mumbled.

- It’s a two-way street, you know ? You giggled. We can take care of each other.

- I like that, he nodded with his eyes closed. I love you.

- I love you too, you replied lovingly. Now how about we get up, put on some clothes and watch Superbad ?

- I thought you didn’t like that movie ? He asked.

- I just don’t love it as much as you do, you shrugged. Plus, I know it’s your favorite.

He smiled against your skin and you stayed in each other’s arms for a few minutes before getting out of the bathtub. You got dressed and you ordered Marshall to get in bed while you went downstairs and prepared some snacks for the two of you. You were putting everything on a tray in the kitchen when he walked in.

- I told you to stay upstairs, you scolded.

- How are you going to carry everything, smart-ass ? He asked.

- With one hand, you shrugged.

- So that I have to get up and clean after your clumsy ass once everything’s on the floor ? Don’t think so, he chuckled. You don’t have to take care of me, you know ?

- I know. I want to, though, you assured him.

- What do you have in mind, then ? He mused.

- Well, believe it or not, I don’t really have a « my boyfriend’s been fucked over by a longtime friend and employee who turned out to be a bitch » protocol in place. So I’m giving you the « heartbroken bestie » treatment, you said.

- Which is ?

- It involves a bed, a movie, tons of snacks and cuddles. A face mask if you feel like it.

- I guess it’s worth a try, he said with a smile. Thanks, babe.

You went upstairs and stuck to the plan. You were in Marshall’s arms while you both watched the movie and he mindlessly played with your hair. A funny scene came on and you noticed he was not even paying attention to the movie.

- You’re not laughing ? You asked with a raised eyebrow.

- What ? He asked. Oh. Yeah.

- It’s not working very well, is it ? You asked.

- No, it is, he shrugged. I mean… I don’t know. I’m just thinking about a lot of stuff. It’s hard to turn my brain off. I’m sorry. Does it usually work when one of your friends gets dumped ?

- Sometimes, you shrugged. If memory serves, putting on slutty dresses and going dances can work too, but I’m sensing it’s not for you. Though your music videos prove that you’ve worn your fair share of slutty dresses. Or… We could go for a drive.

- Sounds good, he said as he got up. We haven’t left the house in a week.

- Whose fault is that ? You asked with a grin.

- Mine, I know, he chuckled.

- I liked the drives we used to go on, you commented. I remember the first one. It was great.

- When I took you to the observatory, when we met ?

- No, the time we went for a drive in the Aston Martin, you corrected. Right after our first movie night. I remember feeling so good with you. Thinking « wow, he’s great in bed and I love being in the car with him ».

- It was fun, he nodded.

- And then, you broke my heart, you recalled. When you said nothing would happen between us, ever again.

- Stupidest thing I’ve ever said, he chuckled. Because I’m fucking glad we’re together. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

You squeed and kissed him before getting up and putting some shoes on. You headed to the garage where Marshall let you pick a car for your drive. On an everyday basis, he usually drove the Escalade because it was more practical and less flashy than the others, but night drives like this were an opportunity to enjoy his impressive car collection. You settled for the Lamborghini Aventador, much to his delight. You knew it was one of his favorites. As you were exiting the garage, he looked at you with a mischievous grin.

- The point of this whole thing is to cheer me up, right ? He asked.

- It is, you agreed. But why do I feel you’re up to something ?

- I have an idea, he said with a smile. How about you get behind the wheel ?

- Y-you want me to drive ? You asked nervously.

- We always talked about how I’d have to teach you, he shrugged. It makes sense now that you live here. If you knew how to drive, you wouldn’t need Uber or people chauffeuring you around. Honestly, I’m shocked you didn’t learn earlier.

- That’s because cities in Europe are centered around pedestrians, you explained.

- You’ve lived in the US for years, babe ! Come on, I’ll teach you, he said with excitement. You always say you like my car collection !

- Yeah, they’re nice to look at, but…. Do you really trust me with your car ? You asked. Especially this one ?

- A car’s a car, he shrugged. You have to start somewhere ! Come on, I’ll just show you how it works and we won’t even get out of the property.

- My thumb’s broken, you reminded him.

- Come on, people drive with splints all the time, he chuckled. Please ? We’ll have fun !

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow but his smile was so genuine that you ended up caving in. In your twenty-eight years of life, you had never bothered with learning how to drive, partly because the Europe infrastructure thing was true, but also because you were terrified. However you trusted Marshall with your life so you were ok with giving it a go. You switched places in the car and he quickly explained the basics to you. You listened carefully, trying to make mental notes of everything. You started the car as he encouraged you and walked you through the pedals.

- See ? It’s easy ! He said with a smile. Now, we’re going to drive a bit, ok ?

- Ok, you said as you tried to get your confidence together.

You managed to work the pedals and drove a bit around the house. Honestly, it wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be and you enjoyed it. You also liked having Marshall coaching you through the whole thing, a hand on your thigh.

- I did it !!! You shrieked in excitement. It’s actually really easy !

- Hang on, he chuckled. You haven’t tried driving stick, or in traffic. But I’m proud of you, babe. Now how about we go for an actual drive ?

- You don’t want me to drive on the road, do you ?! You asked in panic.

- Of course not, he chuckled. I don’t want to get pulled over by the cops. Or die. I’ll drive.

You switched places again and drove for a while, listening to the radio. Some hip-hop tracks that Marshall hadn’t heard yet came up and he listened carefully, commenting on a couple of bars. Most of the time, when he listened to tracks, he did so on his own but you actually enjoyed having him provide content, context and explaining the most intricate bars to you. Whenever he talked about music, you could see his eyes light up. You watched him lovingly as he rambled on, talking about an artist, commenting on their discography. At one point, you stopped at a drive-thru and ordered some food, before driving to the observatory where he took you, after you first met. You sat in the car as you watched the sun set, talking about random things.

- I like this, you commented.

- Yeah ? He asked. I’m glad. I can’t believe you had never had Taco Bell before !

- No, I mean, this, you said as you gestured to the both of you. Going on a drive, talking, enjoying sunset… I like this. I’m happy living with you and all, but I like going out of the house and just talking, and not just about what we did during the day. Is it crazy that I feel like we haven’t done that in a while ?

- No, I agree, he said with a smile. Does that count as a date, then ?

- I think it does, you giggled. I like dating you, Marshall.

- I like dating you too, babe, he said softly. Now that I have more time, I’ll be more present, I promise.

- You’ll have to go back to work eventually, though, you pointed out.

- I don’t know, he shrugged. I love my job. Music is… It’s everything to me, you know ? But maybe it’s a sign. Maybe I should put a stop to all of this. Maybe I could just sell Effigy, call it quits and focus on my foundation and my family life. Us. Maybe I should retire.

[cancerian-woman]

Just saw ur last post abt Hope not having a powerful witch mother and you mentioned of she was biracial you would cast Bailey Bass as her (which I agree she would be such a good Hope) - and idk if you’ve seen iwtv but if Klaus had lived i’d imagine his relationship with Hope would be similar to Claudia (Baileys character) and Lestat (idk what the point of this ask is but yk) 😭

Do you mean the never ending tumultuous mother/daughter coded relationship for Lestat/Claudia? Or how Claudia becomes a mini Lestat in her own way thus being the consequences of his actions. I think the second right? Sorry if I’m wrong 💜

Hear me out. I think if Klaus lived, we’d have more of that S5 characterization in Hope very far removed from her legacies personality. Klaus would be her number one supporter in her wrongdoings or not-so-wrong since Hope was studying who Klaus was and following his footsteps lol. (Applies to Marcel too) Quoting my friend here @occulthours kidnapping your mother and blackmailing your father to come to you is a very Mikaelson move.

Klaus is a nightmare to just about everyone but he couldn’t even face Hope after she saw one of his many lil murderous tyrants I don’t he’d ever grow to be a real aggressor to Hope. While he snapped and “fought” with Marcel he never killed him or did anything damaging too long lol. Klaus is just twisted like that.

I do think if Hope felt like Klaus was being wrong she’d hold him accountable. Hope seemed more upset about the abandonment than Klaus ever being a “monster” yes it was confusing but all she wanted to do was talk about it and for him to be there. Hope was at her happiest in that season surrounded by her family at Freelin’s wedding. Babygirl ain’t give a fuck about what he did. Hope had her daddy and some champagne it was all good 😭(I’m laughing as type this.)

I understand why Hayley/Freya’s parenting of Hope consisted of making sure she stayed “good” or “calmer” ig..for her own safety. As we can see Hope was not doing well with staying the “good little Hope Marshall” and Klaus gave her the freedom to snap. My own headcanon is that Klaus/Marcel and Hope traveled the world at the end of s5. I think Hope would’ve loved that.

[starrycourtss]

MY FULL GEAR PREDICTIONS BECAUSE I GUESS THIS IS WHAT I DO NOW:

Zero Hour

Big Boom! AJ vs. QT Marshall

Deonna Purazzo vs. Anna Jay

4-Way Match: Dante Martin vs. The Beast Mortos vs. Komander vs. Buddy Matthews (really don't know who's gonna win this one but also don't really mind who wins this)

Main Card

Champagne Championship Celebration: Toni Storm returns. It's being said that her 'retirement' was just their way of retiring the "timeless" gimmick, so she could come back either as her old Toni or as a crazier version of Toni (credits to @kayfabe-is-king for this theory, and I would love to see this happen)

MJF vs. Roderick Strong

Jay White vs. Hangman Adam Page: I really want Jay to win but I fear Adam's gonna kill him. I love you Jay, please don't die. 🙏🏽

Will Ospreay vs. Kyle Fletcher: you just know the Don Callis family are gonna get involved somehow, but tbh I don't mind who wins this one.

4-Way Match for the AEW World Tag Team Championships - Kings of the Black Throne vs. Private Party vs. The Outrunners vs. The Acclaimed: Private Party went through too much to lose the tag titles right now.

Swerve Strickland vs. Bobby Lashley

TBS Championship Match - Kris Statlander vs. Mercedes Moné: I really don't want Mercedes to win, but I fear she's gonna (KICK HER ASS KRIS)

TNT Championship Match - Jack Perry vs. Daniel Garcia: again, I wouldn't really mind who wins this one.

AEW International Championship Match: Konosuke Takeshita vs. Ricochet

AEW World Championship Match: Jon Moxley vs. Orange Cassidy: I just know this match is gonna stress me the fuck out.