#another to mark for the told you so pile later

[sleepynegress]

While I'm on celebrity bullshit... I am still amazed that Herny Cavill is still a thing, and I'll go so far as to predict that eventually, it will come out that he is just as much of a knob as the woman he dated back in the day, Gina Carano.

[harryslittlefreakk]

recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

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[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize, Part 3 (ABO, Yandere Alpha!Shanks x Omega!Reader)

on Ao3 18+ MDNI

All the other chapters

Shanks POV

Shanks blinked awake a few hours later, his arm wrapped around your waist as you slept tucked into his side. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep next to you, it had just come naturally after laying down beside you. Even though he’d rather drift back off to sleep curled up next to you, he was hungry and thirsty as he’d missed dinner taking care of you. As he slowly retracted his arm trying to avoid disturbing your sleep, you let out a soft chuff of displeasure but didn’t wake. Shanks smiled, you derived some kind of physical pleasure from sleeping near him even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud. He left the bed and the cabin as quietly as he could, tiptoeing his way around the piles of dirty clothes he’d left on the floor. He decided to leave the door slightly ajar so he could hear if you woke in distress, perhaps frightened of an unfamiliar location. 

As he moved further from his cabin across the deck, his ear was pinched and tugged. Hard. He trailed behind Beckman who kept a firm hold on his Captain’s ear.

“ Ow! Hey! What gives?” Shanks whined as his first mate’s smoke wafted into his face. Beckman kept walking towards his cabin, not turning his face to answer.

“Did ye hear anything the doctor told you? He said -” 

“ ‘Course I did! I did everything he told me - bathed her, gave her food -” Beckman stopped walking after Shanks spoke and turned to face him. He pulled on Shanks’s ear even harder, making Shanks pout.

“You laid her down…next to you…in your bed..for the night. Are ye trying to get her to go into heat faster? Her smell’s all over you, did you fuckin’ mark her? If you did Shanks, I’m gonna cut off yer dick myself -” Beckman finally released the Captain as they were approaching Beckman’s cabin.

“I didn’t! Hardly even touched her. Poor thing fell right asleep, barely had time to get a sentence in before she was out like a light,” Shanks said, rubbing his ear with his hand.

“Decide what ye want to do with ‘er, Cap. By the end of the night,” Beckman demanded, opening the door to his cabin. Shanks usually liked Beckman’s cabin, the tidy space a pleasant spot for drinking and talking the night away. Right now Beckman’s potent smell inside made Shanks’s nose wrinkle in displeasure. When had Beckman started to reek so badly? Shanks leaned on the doorframe but didn’t follow his first mate inside.

“What now, Redhair?” Beckman grumbled, getting two glasses out of his small cupboard.

“Dunno. Just…don’t wanna come inside right now,” Shanks answered, not wanting to offend his friend.

“Are ye… sigh ..no wonder I went gray so fast. No shit ye don’t wanna come inside. I’m another Alpha and you’re about to start courting that Omega sleeping in your bed. It’s not personal, it’s biology. Doesn’t mean we’re not friends or that I won’t be yer first mate. Just complicates things for a few days between us,” Beckman said while handing Shanks his glass of whiskey. Both of them took their first sips, Shanks enjoying the burn on his tongue. 

Beckman looked over at his Captain, who was draining his glass quickly. “Yer keepin’ her,” Beckman stated. Shanks polished off the whiskey in a gulp and held the glass out for more. 

“Think so,” Shanks confirmed. 

“It’s a bad idea to keep an Omega on a pirate ship,” Beckman said, pouring Shanks another drink and handing him back his glass.

“Roger did it. That’s how he got Ace,” Shanks replied, swirling the drink in the glass. Beckman grunted, but Shanks wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or not. 

“Not sure that’s the best example to pick,” Beckman argued lightly, leaning against the doorpost to his cabin.

“What else’m I gonna do with her? She’s injured and alone, can’t just drop her off on an island. Not gonna sell her, there’s nothing else -”

“Oi. Play games with yourself but not with me. Admit you want tae keep ‘er for yourself. I know you, Shanks. I know what’s going on in that head,” Beckman said with a knowing look.

“Fine. I do want to keep her, yeah, that’s part of it,” Shanks muttered sullenly. He hadn’t sorted through his thoughts about you yet but Beckman wasn’t wrong. Shanks almost felt compelled to keep you and protect you though he’d barely known you a day. He supposed it was biology but he was also one to take things as they came - who was he to interfere with the plans of fate?

“So be it. We’ll dock tomorrow or the day after, she’ll make it until then. Just don’t fuckin’ mark her or she’ll go into heat right thereafter, yeah? Keep yer head on straight,” Beckman’s voice was firm as he gave his captain a hard stare. Shanks resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his first mate’s attempt to lecture him. He’d listened to Hongo, he knew what to do. Taking the next drink in one gulp, he handed the glass back to Beckman.

“And stop drinking my good whiskey like yer cheap vodka,” Beckman complained without rancor. 

“Aye, aye Cap’n,” Shanks said easily, saluting and handing the glass back to the first mate. He was still hungry and meandered down to the kitchens, looking for something to snack on. Shanks overheard the conversations flowing between his commanders as he approached the kitchen and he found himself rolling his eyes as they prattled on. He should have known they’d be gossiping because normally he’d be right there with them talking shit. Shanks stood listening in just outside the open door to the galley.

“- know he’s gonna keep ‘er, there’s no way he won’t,” Rockstar exclaimed, slamming down something heavy on the wooden table.

“‘Course he is, have you seen her? All that hair, those legs, the smell? Can you imagine what it would feel like to fu -” 

Shanks’ Conqueror’s haki surged with power causing the wood door to splinter as a rumble simultaneously built in his chest. Bonk Punch, Gab, and Yasopp looked up from their seats astounded, nearly frightened. Their stares confirmed that this wasn’t the Shanks they were used to - he had never used any kind of force against a member of his crew. He was barely conscious of his actions but he couldn’t stop himself from acting this way. He’d barely felt his haki gathering much less activating, shocking himself as much as his crew. But hearing the Omega in conjunction with the thought of anyone other than himself fucking her was sending him into a rage. Yasopp looked over at Gab and put his hands up in an apologetic supplication.

“Sorry, Cap. Was just…chatting. Didn’t mean nothing by it,” the sniper’s voice was faint as his eyes darted from his captain to his crew mates. Shanks tried to stop growling but the apology offered wasn’t enough to calm his Alpha side.

“Go,” was all Shanks was able to say in between warning growls. The men scrambled away with their plates of late night food forgotten on the table in their haste to leave. After they were gone Shanks sat down heavily on the wooden bench before dropping his head into his hands, the long red strands in the front falling over his fingers. Shanks prided himself on his self control, on his ability to be who he needed to be at all times. And this? This Alpha wasn’t someone he recognized or wanted to be. His mind raced as he began to think that maybe keeping the Omega wasn’t the right decision to make after all. Shanks munched on his crew’s leftover food as he meandered back to his cabin, purposefully avoiding talking to any more crew until he’d sorted his mind out.

Pushing the door in while holding it down to avoid the creak he knew would come, Shanks inhaled your light scent of lily of the valley and cedar and the smell went straight to his cock. You had moved from your previous position, now curled up completely into a little ball at the far end of the bed against the cold wall with the bathrobe from before discarded at the foot of the bed. Shanks frowned at the sight of your defensive sleeping position. Throwing off his cloak again, he undressed completely and laid down where he was previously. Shanks didn’t like wearing clothes to bed so he figured you might as well get used to it sooner rather than later. 

“Come on, Love,” he said while pulling you towards him again. You were warm and sweating despite the cold air in the cabin and your muscles were tight as he shifted your body so your back was against his chest. You jerked awake as Shanks settled you into his side, moving your arms and ducking your head quickly to protect your face. The sight of your terrified and confused expression broke Shanks’ heart all over again. He patted your face and hair, trying to calm you down from whatever nightmare you’d just been experiencing. How could he think to get rid of you when you were so traumatized and broken? No, he needed to keep you by his side and protected - he’d work on his aggression. Maybe after you’d gone through your heat his aggression would decrease on its own.

“Shhhh, it’s just me. Go back to sleep, it’s the middle of the night,” Shanks whispered into your ear as he resumed purring for you. You closed your eyes again and tried to relax your stiff body but whatever you’d been dreaming about was sticking with you. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Shanks asked quietly as his purr rumbled through his chest. He wasn’t surprised when you shook your head in response to his query but Shanks didn’t mind. There would come a time when you’d want to share everything with him, and he was willing to wait as long as it took. To Shanks’ surprise, you rolled over and buried your face in his neck, feeling the vibrations of his purr on your face. He ran his hand up and down your back as your scent blossomed in the cabin. The longer he purred for you, the more your scent bloomed in the small cabin, making his desire to scent you grow with each whiff of flora he inhaled deeply in his lungs.

Holding you close to his nude body, Shanks couldn’t help himself from licking a long stripe up your neck, tonguing hard over your scent gland. Your wound was on the other side of your neck, he wasn’t going to risk reinfecting you, but the smell you produced was so tantalizing and potent he couldn’t help himself; he simply had to taste you. He also couldn’t stop himself from moaning softly as he ran his lips over your scent gland and trailed his tongue over the front of your neck. You tasted just as good as you smelled and he wanted more. He spent several minutes mouthing and licking your scent glands, wanting his smell to linger there as you shivered beneath his attention. He could smell your slick starting to pool between your thighs, it was said that the scent glands of an Omega were as sensitive of an erogenous zone as their groins. 

Shanks felt his canine teeth elongating in preparation for a bite before he pulled himself away at the last moment. His dominating side was roaring at him to bite you, to properly claim you, but his rational side knew it would bring you into heat faster. As he pulled back, Shanks noticed you were stiff and unmoving in his hold despite the purr still emanating from him, your eyes wide and wary of his next move. You were leaning back away from him, as far back as you could get without moving away.

“ ‘M sorry, got away from me,” Shanks mumbled his apology into your hair. He was sorry you were afraid but he wasn’t sorry he’d done it. Even Hongo said that you needed to have his scent on you, this was one of the ways he could do that. Ideally, he would have loved to continue his scenting and stuff you with his cock but he knew that would only ruin whatever small amount of trust he’d begun to build with you. He resumed slowly stroking the skin of your back, purring all the while. Eventually, you were lulled back to sleep by his soothing purr, Shanks feeling your even breath fanning across his neck. Drifting off, Shanks couldn’t believe he’d thought to get rid of you.

Your POV

You woke up confused. You were very warm and no one had come to wake you via bodily harm. You hadn’t been woken up in the middle of the night by someone pulling on your chains - and actually, you had no chains on. You were…in Shanks’ cabin. Alone. Covered by his blankets and doused in his smell as the late morning sun streamed through the window. You weren’t sure what time it was but it was definitely later than you’d slept in a long time. You blinked a few more times as your memories of the previous day came back to you - the rescue, the bath, the food, the scenting…

Shanks’s attention to your scent glands the previous night worried you. He had come back to bed naked, you could feel his hard length grinding against your ass as he held you close. You’d wanted to stay like that and try to forget the nightmare you had but he’d started purring and your resolve weakened. You’d wanted to feel his strong purr, to wrap yourself up in it as securely as the blankets around your body. So you’d turned towards him and immediately felt yourself held in place as Shanks licked and sucked on your scent gland. Between the purr, the heat of his body, his hard cock, and the feeling of someone almost lovingly tending to your glands, your mind was swimming in the face of the overwhelming stimulation. You felt more pliant under his hold, like any whim that came to his mind was yours to fulfill. The rational part of your mind screamed for this to stop but another part of you had come forward to not only accept his ministrations, but to revel in them.

Besides, it wasn't like you were actually going to tell him to stop. Those were all thoughts swirling around your head as you fell under his Alpha spell, but you’d let him do anything he wanted to you. After all, you knew how things went with an Alpha from your time on the Victoria Punk. You’d let him do as he willed, merely grateful he stopped before he bit you.

Alone for now, you took stock of your injuries as was your morning custom. Your neck hurt where Hongo had stitched it but that was to be expected. Your other sores ached as well but you were used to it and you hadn’t received any new injuries so all in all you were doing well as far as you were concerned. Looking around, you saw the Emperor had an ensuite you hadn’t noticed the previous night. Even Kid had let you use the bathroom when you needed to, surely you could now. After relieving yourself, you happened to look at your face in the mirror hanging above the bathroom sink.

Objectively, you knew it was yourself staring back at you. Who else would it be? But the longer you looked, the more separate you felt from the person in the mirror. The features that were once so familiar to you, that reminded you of your family, now belonged to a stranger. You reached up to touch your chin, the same one your Grandmother had, and pinched it hard. The body you were in registered pain but you couldn’t seem to care. Pulling your eyes away from the person in the mirror, you returned to your spot on the bed and hid yourself with the covers once again. You were hungry but there wasn’t any food in the cabin and you wouldn’t have eaten it without express permission anyway. 

You lost yourself in thinking about the person in the mirror while you sat in the bed for an indeterminate amount of time. You didn’t mind, you were used to waiting without any diversions, and you had always enjoyed spending time alone. At least here you weren’t in chains or bound in an uncomfortable position. The sun shifted as the day passed, bringing the warmth of the afternoon into the cabin. The way the cabin steadily grew warmer made you glad you were naked, you would’ve been a sweaty mess by now if you had been clothed. As you lounged and absently brushed your tangled hair with your fingers, there was a single knock on the door before it opened. You averted your gaze and brought the blankets up to cover your neck.

“Good afternoon, Sleepyhead!” Shanks said merrily, opening the door with his hip to bring in a tray of food and drink. You didn’t reply and didn’t look up, choosing the safer option of waiting for him to tell you what he wanted you to do. Even though he had been fairly nice so far you didn’t want to push him before you knew him well enough to predict his behavior. 

“Been up for a while, then? Why didn’t you say anything or come out?” Shanks asked with genuine curiosity while holding a mug of water out to you. You extended your hand to accept it but he pulled it away before you could take it.

“Answer me, Love. I enjoy hearing your voice. Why didn’t you let me know you were up or come out of the cabin?” he prodded gently. The truth was you weren’t going to do anything he didn’t tell you to do, but that wouldn’t satisfy the Emperor. He’d already told you he wouldn’t harm you but you weren’t sure if you could trust him and you didn’t want to risk incurring his wrath should your doubt be considered a slight against him. Instead, you gave him a half truth and hoped he’d accept it without asking anything that might put you in danger.

“No clothes,” you said in a rough voice before accepting the water as Shanks handed it to you.

“Ah, right. My fault for that one,” Shanks said with an easy smile and set the tray down on the bed. You watched him amble over to his clothing pile on the floor where he began kicking it with one sandaled foot. “Go ahead and eat while I look for something for you to wear. Those need to be washed, not for you. Maybe there’s something in here,” he said while opening a chest filled with fabrics. Rummaging through them, he pulled out breezy cotton shirts, loose fitting pants, and an endless array of sashes.

“Hmm. Not sure there’s anything in here that would fit you, but we’ll give it a go. Here, try….these,” Shanks said, handing you a billowy top and hideously colored orange pants. You set the mug of water you were still sipping on the bedside table and stood up to pull the shirt over your head. It had one button that sat below your navel and the plunging neckline left your breasts completely exposed. The pants were large but you rolled the legs up a few times and they would work if you didn’t have to run anywhere. 

“Well, that won’t do. Can’t have everyone seeing you like that, yeah? Maybe I could…hold on. Lemme go check and see what’s on the ship. You sit tight here and I’ll be right back,” the Emperor said while looking at your outfit. Sitting back at the edge of the bed, you waited patiently and nibbled at the food until he returned just moments later. 

“Well, it’s a mixed bag. The good news is that we’ll be docked at an island by tomorrow and I can buy you new clothes. The bad news is I have nothing for you now, so you’re gonna have to wear these. I don’t have a lot of, oh wait…I have one long sleeved shirt I think…the one from the time with Ace…" The Emperor was throwing clothes from his trunk onto the floor as he sorted them while still looking for something for you to wear. It was almost surreal, here was one of the strongest men in the world at your feet, looking through his old clothes on your behalf. He must have sensed you were watching him because he looked up and beamed at you. You didn’t know what to make of the gesture so you looked down and picked at a stain on the pants you were wearing.

“Ah well. We’ll be at an island tomorrow so we can raid their stores. Not literally though, we’ll pay for whatever you need,” Shanks said, stuffing everything back in the trunk without sorting or folding and shutting it by pushing the lid down. Your heart swelled with the thought of being on land once again, you hadn’t set foot off a ship since the day Killer had brought you to the Punk. 

“Can I go too? Please?” you asked quietly without looking up. After a moment, Shanks stood up and walked over to where you were by the bed. He put his hand on your forehead, the action causing you to flinch backward. As he touched you, the feeling of his chilly hand against your hot forehead felt wonderful. You leaned into his touch, wanting to feel something cold against your warm skin.

“I don’t think so, Love. You’re already getting warmer, you’re getting too close to your heat to risk going on the island. I’m not going to let anything happen to you but it might make other people uncomfortable with how much scent you’re producing. So, no, Love, you’ve got to stay here for now. I don’t even want you leaving the cabin until your heat starts.” Shanks was patting your hair, like you would a dog who needed to be shown affection lest it act out again. You nodded at his statements. Logically, it made sense and you understood why the Emperor had denied your request. But…it had been so long since you’d asked for anything and you were immediately told no. You were keenly aware of your place once again while you sat and waited for his next command.

Shanks POV

Shanks was distraught at the Omega’s minute reaction as he told you that you had to stay on the ship. He wanted to show you the world as he saw it, a place rife with fun and adventure, not keep you in a cage like you had been before. But based on your rising body temperature, they’d dock at the island just in time for your cycle to begin. The increasing smell emanating from you was already causing the crew agitation, even though the majority of them were Betas. Hongo had assured Shanks that once you’d started your heat and he joined you, it would be easier on everyone as your scents merged. For now tension was high on the ship, tempers rising and fights breaking out over small matters.

Shanks had left the cabin to look for clothes for the Omega, thinking that maybe Beckman or Yasopp had something that would fit you since Ben liked smaller shirts and Yasopp was the shortest on the crew. He hadn’t made it three steps outside the cabin before he’d turned around in disgust. Shanks couldn’t bear the thought of his Omega wearing anything but his own clothes, if anything at all. You wouldn’t be wearing anything from Beckman or Yasopp or anyone else on the crew as long as he was breathing. Turning around, he saw Beckman growling while talking to Monster, something he hadn’t seen in all the years they’d been sailing together. For the crew’s sake, he had to tell the Omega to stay in the cabin.

Breaking the news to you hadn’t been easy either, your carefully schooled features concealing nearly all your sadness as he said you had to remain in his cabin. Just the slightest wobble of your lush lower lip told him you were upset about his decision, though you didn’t voice any discontent. You merely kept your gaze averted as your hands gripped the fabric of the pants you were wearing tightly in your small fists. Shanks sat down next to you on the bed, crowding you with his physical proximity.

“It’ll be ok, don’t worry. You’ll get off the ship soon, just not now. You can be brave for a few more days, yeah?” You nodded as you moved your torso slightly further away from Shanks. Shanks moved around and laid on the bed, opening his arm to you, wanting you to receive affection from him. You took the hint and laid down next to him, side by side on the bed, your head resting on his bicep.

“Who will…help me?” you asked in a small voice as you worried the fabric of your shirt between your fingers. 

“Through your heat? I will, Love,” Shanks informed you with a kiss on the top of your head. You pressed your lips together tightly and closed your eyes. It was well known that if an Omega didn’t have an Alpha for their heat it was tantamount to torture, so someone was going to have to help guide you through it and it might as well have been Shanks. He was the Captain and an Apex Alpha beside, no one else was going to have the honor. 

“This will be my first time with an Omega in heat, we’ll both be new to this. We’ll go through it together,” Shanks said reassuringly, pulling the Omega up farther so your neck aligned closer to his mouth. Your scent glands were tantalizing in their nearness, he just wanted one small taste to tide him over for now. Flicking out his tongue, you couldn’t help but shiver when he licked over your scent glands as he had the night before. He wanted to feel you shivering under his tongue in other places…and he would be soon enough. Shanks began lapping your neck, making sure to avoid the area with the stitches. 

“Needta get you things for your nest,” Shanks thought out loud, remembering what Hongo had told him. He threw his leg over yours, keeping you still beneath him as you squirmed from his attention to your neck. He still hadn’t kissed you on the mouth, Shanks wanted to wait for you to initiate that intimate moment between you. 

“Afterward…after the heat…am I…” you asked him in between kisses, licks, and nips to the skin of your neck. You’d let the question dangle but Shanks knew you were asking if he’d free you. Another disappointment to come your way, Shanks thought. He’d find some way to make it up to you, some kind of present you’d like. 

“No, Love,” Shanks said, stopping his onslaught against your neck for a moment. He propped up his head on his hand, looking down at you lying on his bed. Your face was flushed and your pupils were blown wide, your body preparing you for pleasure at his hand. You looked radiant and it was taking a great deal of restraint to hold himself back from opening the shirt you were wearing further and sucking on your pert nipples. “You can’t go back. You’ve been identified now and there’s a target on your back. Unless you’d rather be sold at a slave auction, you should stay here with me,” Shanks said. Your face paled immediately at his words and your hands reached for him, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling gingerly.

“N-no, please Emperor. Please let m-me stay,” you bleated out. Shanks almost regretted his choice of words but seeing you reaching for him, for his protection, had his Alpha side crowing in delight.

“Of course you can stay, Love, don’t worry,” Shanks murmured into your skin as he kissed your shoulder where his shirt had fallen to the side. 

“You’ll be with me for as long as you’d like.”

Taglist: @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle @whore-of-many-hot-men @one-piecelover @anemonyee @joana7654-blog

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P1]

(Yandere × F!Reader)

[Series link]

[Warning: obssessive, workplace/academic discrimination, xenophobia, mention of SA, slowburn, dense plot, not even sure if its dark romance, not sure if its romance at all]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

You knew his type. Rich, spoiled, and never told no. In college, you would see them flocking down walkways in goofy polos, or if there were events, in color-coded suits and ties as if going to their first communion. They were never alone, stuck in bubbles of laughters and champagnes and vape vapors. You were not there besides them. You sat rooted in the library chair, dropping in and out of kickbacks of other students who also never fit into their puzzle of oxfords and high heels. You didn't resent them. You had your own little life. You found comfort in turning it up in the weekend with your fierce eyeliner and fishnet when your bank balance was full, or sitting in your friends' living room greening out on Mexican weed when you were broke.

So when you graduated side by side with them, ordered by names, you didn't feel as if you missed the school spirit. Your ex was chatting up with his crowd a couple rows down, arms in arms with a known rapist. In a sea of them you treaded in your scuffed heels and walked the stadium to your fine, leather-bordered diploma and took a half-hearted photo with the dean before sneaking out early, never to see any of them again. Sure, you missed your friends, but you could always call and catch flights (when your bank balance so permits). The rest of them slipped off your mind easily like vapor.

You moved country. That was the right move. Sure, you could stay in the States and try out a desk job, but you didn't find it in you to belong. Plus, with the recent development of AI  technology coupled with the impending economic recession, you weren't too optimistic about finding a position that lasts. So you packed up and left, missing barely anything. 4 years of your life remained in the tissues your cried into in the dingy airport toilet. You called your family to let them know your ambition. They scoffed, trying to talk you out of it for the last time yet, before their persuasion became discouragement. Before they told you that the corporation needed an heir, and that you were stubborn just like your father was. You turned off your phone and boarded. Your 20s seemed wide open, soaring with you, louder than the plane engine that roared even in your sleep.

3 years later, in your little cubicle in a Japanese high school, you didn't feel like you were soaring anymore. Perhaps your wings got caught somewhere, shredded in the engine just before you landed. You buried your head into piles of notebooks, your red pen gliding. The power to decide who passed and who failed was in your hands, and the soft-hearted nature you carried with you squirmed as you had to mark down zeros and ones. You found yourself smiling at your students and encouraging them, as well as enduring the resistance from the rebellious ones. Little by little, the spark of hope in you matured into a quiet resolution. You learnt to be calmer, to hang your head more, and to speak less of your opinions. In the mirror, you saw a new face.

You pushed on, narrowing your shoulders in the subway, cooking your dinner in your modest kitchen, and packing your own lunch at five in the morning. Sometimes you went out with your coworkers, sometimes you remained indoor. Settling in a monotony as Tokyo raged on with its flourescent storm, you feel, in your quiet moments, as if you were half asleep.

Then one summer morning just before another school year ended, the head of the foreign teacher department walked in. Walking by her was a face you didn't recognize.

"This is Mr. Lukas."

As customary, you stood up and greeted with a polite smile.

"Yes, good morning Mrs. Tahara. Good morning Mr. Lukas."

"I know this is late into the school year", Tahara said, "but Mr. Lukas is the perfect fit for our school. He has plans to stick with us for the next 2 years, so I was hoping he would get the training he needs by trying out at our summer program."

"That seems like a lovely idea", you acknowledged.

"Since you have the most experience in our department so far, and also the only one left since the rest of the team has taken an early vacation as customary for them", Tahara continues, finally building up to her point, "I was wondering if it is not much trouble for you to mentor him this summer. I know that you have said that you would take the summer off this year, but there is nobody else we would trust quite as much!"

You felt a knot of frustration in your chest. After 3 years of dedicating yourself to the summer program, you did finally decide to take the summer off to have some time for yourself. Truth was, you had found yourself growing weary of the monotony in your life which had lulled you into a state of daydream. This summer was supposed to be for you to travel and visit your family. Plus, with the money your had accumulated by pinching your purse, you were hoping to finally fly to LA to meet with a long-term friend you had been dying to see.

But you knew this was not a request. It was an order. Though Tahara was smiling, she was not going to take "no" as an answer. The woman did not climb to her position in this expensive international high school in the heart of Tokyo by being softhearted like you.

"I see", you nodded, the blank smile yet to leave your face, "Very well, then. I will do my best."

Tahara also did not let hers falter when she tried to soothe you, "I heard the staff vacation is to Thailand this year. How exciting, right? It is the 10th year anniversary of our school after all. Tell you what, I will lobby for you the best room there is!"

The pang in your heart did not go away as you chuckled, "Oh, there is no need at all. Please, I am happy to do this job."

"Nonsense", Tahara insists, "Best room there is! Please leave that to me. All you need to worry about is Mr. Lukas."

You bowed your head.

"Thank you very much. I will do my best."

With that, Tahara turns to the newcomer: "Your cubicle is right here next to her. Please get settled in, and she will show you around. You have her full attention for today- I checked, there are no classes today, right, Miss?"

You nodded at the last part. Tahara briskly walked away, leaving Lukas standing in front of you.

You finally turned your attention to him, getting a good look for the first time yet. Lukas was tall, black haired, with a strong nose and freckles. His defined body was complemented by his white button-up and slack pants. The way his body opens up by his wide shoulders and his face held up high told you that he was a stranger not only to this work environment, but to the country as a whole. He still seemed alert, yet to be lulled into sleep like you.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lukas", you held your hand out for him to shake. His hand was soft, and his grip was gentle. You could tell clearly now... he hadn't been a working man.

"Hi", he smiled, "I'm so excited to be here. I'm all yours now, so... lay it all on me!"

American, you mused in your head, noticing his accent and the loud, overly friendly manner. He reminded you of the people you knew from college.

"Of course. Let me give you a quick tour of the school before we get started!"

"Great! It's a beautiful school. Can't wait!"

The moment you and him exited the teacher lounge, Lukas couldn't help but immediately make small talks.

"So... how long have you been working here?"

"Oh, for 3 years now", you replied absentmindedly.

"Woah, that's a long time. To be honest, I just graduated college last December, so this is all totally new to me."

You hummed and pointed out to him the nurse's office, letting him know that he could find assistance there in case of student injuries. Finding it difficult to simply ignore his attempt at a conversation and partially feeling sympathetic at the assumption that he may feel alone in a new country, you picked up the small talk.

"I understand it may feel intimidating at first. I was just like you... moving from an American college to work here is a big change."

"Oh, you were in the States, too? Where at?"

His head turned toward you. He seemed intrigued.

"Yes. I was studying in Texas. X Univerisity."

"So you are smart, then. I was in T University. Your rival school."

"That's a good school, too. What did you major in?"

He sheepishly grinned.

"I was in their business program. What about you?"

You didn't want to divulge more information about yourself, so you directed the focus back on him: "Business? Then what makes you decide to teach here in Japan?"

"Well, I wanted a change of pace... My family, they have a job lined up for me already, and I can come back for it whenever I want. So right now I guess I'm just, like, trying to live my life, you know? Figuring myself out. I thought Japan would be a nice start."

A part of you felt that you could relate to him. Indeed ... if you wanted, you could simply go back to your own family company and work toward inheriting it. But from the way he was talking, it seemed he had a better relationship with his folks.

"That's a great way to challenge yourself", you nodded, now leading him to visit the indoor gym. Your indifference toward him left you with a lukewarm response.

"What about you? You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

It was your turn to look at him now, a bit bewildered. You didn't expect him to show interest in what you do. Most people usually got caught up in talking about themselves, especially with you who knew to ask more questions to evade the attention.

"Oh... well, I guess I've been interested in linguistics ever since high school. This place put me into curriculum development and researching, so I figured it would be a great addition to my CV."

He narrowed his eyes barely.

"So you have a plan?"

"I do."

"You wanna get a Master's?"

"Well, higher, if I can."

"Ahhh... so you are smart smart."

Uncomfortable now that the topic was you, you quickly looked away: "Not really. Tell me, what is the position your folks have lined up for you?"

He chuckled.

"Business consultant. It's nothing special, but it's steady."

"Where are they based?"

"New York."

Right. So they have money money.

"Are you perhaps a nepo baby?"

He laughed.

"Well, I guess you could say that. But I don't want to be defined by them. I want to create my own ... my values, you know?"

You almost felt yourself sympathizing with him, but the feeling of seperation came back. You remembered the looks you received and the empty seat next to you in classes filled with his type. You remembered being talked over and put aside when you wanted to speak on team projects. You remembered the blatantly perverted things you were told, the arms that linked with rapists, the lack of protection that you and your friends got from anyone when one of them had laid his hands onto a girl you knew.

"Anyway... would you be free for dinner sometimes this week? I'm totally new and alone here, and I could use someone to show me around, you know?"

You held back a sigh as you looked at him who had stopped in his track. He still was younger and, as he said, new and alone in Tokyo. When you were just like him, your coworkers indeed did you the same favor he was asking of you.

"Yes, I can arrange that."

"Does tonight work? If you don't mind, of course."

Against the strange aftertaste that lingered on your tongue, you agreed: "I can do that."

You knew that it wasn't in your nature to ignore someone who felt lost. But you decided that you would not be too close a friend with him. After all, you knew his type.

[thewayitalknj]

Since a few of you kindly asked for a Part 2, here you go! Thanks for the love!

Warnings - reader feels a bit insecure for a split second! Word Count - 2.6k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You stare at him, cold blooded. So he did figure it out? You shut the door behind you and reach for the silk robe hanging on the back of the door. 

“Aw come on don’t cover up because it’s me-”

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

He makes a silly dance move, trying to be funny but definitely not helping. “What do you mean? I came for a private dance.” 

You finish tying a bow and cross your arms. “How did you know I work here?”

He gets up and walks towards you. He moves your robe off to the side and points to your birthmark. “This. I noticed it while you were dancing.”

You sigh and look back up at him. He stifles a laugh, “Ed, this isn’t funny.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a fucking dancer?”

“Oh yeah, because that’s a great conversation starter-” You notice him looking you up and down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m hot or…some shit.”

“Well, I mean-”

“Look, I get off at midnight. We can go back to my place to chat afterwards if you want. But for now, you can hang in the dressing room. We won’t be back there until we close up anyway.” You open up the door and motion for Eddie to leave.

“...does this mean I don’t get a private dance?” You give him a stern look this time, “yes ma’am.”

As you enter your front door Eddie goes and takes a seat on your couch as you head to your bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. When you take a seat next to him just a few minutes later you explain everything to him.

You have been working at the strip club for over a year now. As much as you loved working at Family Video it just wasn’t paying enough. Bianca was a regular at FV with her family, and you grew a work-type friendship with her. One day she came in by herself and asked if you wanted to come to a charity event they were holding at the club. She immediately made it clear how odd it sounded about having a charity event at a strip club but assured you it was always a hit ; how the money went towards good causes in the city and the toy drives were always overflowing. You wanted to show your support so you went and had a fun time. Bianca introduced you to everyone, from her boss to her coworkers to regulars. It was a strange family-oriented work environment you never imagined. When Pam, the owner and boss, asked if you were interested at all in working for them you turned it down. But when bills started piling up and the holidays were around the corner you thought earning some extra cash would be helpful. So you went back, and was hired right from your interview. 

Pam explained how the club was run by women for women only. Everyone took you through training, first just as a waitress. You learned tips and tricks, and also had to come up with a fake name for security and privacy.

“Wait, so what’s your ‘fake name’?” Eddie asks using quotation marks.

“Lilith.”

“Why Lilith?” 

“It means ‘belonging to the night’. It’s also associated with meanings like ‘demon’ or ‘spirit.’”

“Well that’s badass. How did you come up with that?”

Look down at your lap. “Um, in one of your D&D books. The one you gave me about character building.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah…so anyway. I didn’t even think about dancing but Bianca asked me one day if I wanted to try it, so I did. Everyone thought I did a good job…I was on the next night and it just took off from there.”

“Why haven't you told anyone?”

“Because when Bianca asked me to come to the charity event I didn’t really know what to think about her being a stripper. I didn’t want to judge her, and I didn’t want people or colleagues to judge me. I really enjoy it. I have this new built confidence when I walk through those doors. We all really care for one another and root each other on.”

Eddie shifts himself closer to you. “What do you mean ‘new built confidence’?”

“Let me answer this with a question for you. How do you feel when you’re DM’ing at Hellfire?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, like I’m taking charge. Assertive. I know what I’m doing and I like how I make people feel afterwards.”

You reach and put your hand on his leg. “That’s exactly how I feel when I’m dancing.” You smile, shake your head, laugh to yourself.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just hilarious that we both feel the same way about two completely different scenarios.”

“Hm, true.”

“Can I ask you a question though?”

“Sure, anything.”

“...What did you think…about the dance…on your birthday?” You gulp.

“Psh, don’t you remember the way I was talking about you when I came here the next morning?” You nod. “Everything I said was true. I couldn’t get you out of my head. And then when I figured out it was you I just…had to tell you I knew. Couldn’t live with that secret, it would have driven me nuts.”

“How did you ask for me anyway? You didn’t even know my name.”

“I asked for the devil from the night before. The women who led me to the private room recognized me from when I was called up for the dance.”

You pondered, “Was she dressed in all silver?”

“...yes?”

“That’s Jade. She gave me a bit of a pep-talk, I almost asked her to go out instead of me.” 

Eddie looks at you muddled, “why didn’t you want to dance for me?”

“Because you're Eddie, you’re one of my closest friends and it just felt…I don't know, awkward.”

“Well, if I’m being honest your friend is very beautiful but,” he takes your chin and lines you up with his eyes, “I’m glad it was you.”

You smile, “I’m glad it was me too.” 

You stare at him for a bit, melting into his touch and his eyes ; and when your lips touch just seconds later without even realizing how close you were, you feel like you died and went to heaven. It was when his tongue slipped its way into your mouth that that confidence you talked about earlier started to kick in. You kick yourself up and straddle his lap, bringing your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself but never breaking the kiss. His hands find your hips, rings digging deep into your shirt, bringing them along to the slow steady pace as he starts with his own hips grinding up. You follow his rhythm and hum, starting to feel way too good.

And even though that confidence was built up for a few moments, your insecurities came rushing through. You part and separate yourself too quickly and mumble “no” ; Eddie looks upset as you stand up. “What’s wrong? Did I take it too far, I’m sorry-”

“No no it’s not you it’s just..me. I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You stutter, tears beginning to paint your cheeks. “It’s just-you never did any of this before. And-now you find out I strip and we’re suddenly making out on my couch. I feel like I’m in some stupid rom com where I took off my glasses and suddenly you see me differently.”

“Hun, I can promise you it’s nothing like that.”

“I don’t mean to sound rude Eddie but I think you should go.”

“But-”

“I just need space, if that makes sense? Can I call you tomorrow or sometime later this week?”

“Yeah of course, whatever you need. I know this is a lot for you.”

“Yeah-yeah it is.” 

He walks over and kisses you on the top of your forehead before leaving. 

“And that’s basically what happened.” You swirl around in an office chair, disappointed in yourself. You were a mess, you spent the whole next morning thinking about Eddie and what happened. Today is even your day off, but you felt like you needed company so you made your way to the club for some hopeful reassurance you weren't taking this too far or overthinking.

“I think it’s sweet he’s giving you space, he understands your concerns and he’s respecting it. You don’t see that a lot nowaday..” Your other co-worker and current security cam watcher Leah has been listening to your rants all day. She just came back from maternity leave but wasn’t ready to dance, so her shifts have been bartending and security watch, mainly the private rooms from the cameras. When you arrived at the club no private dances were happening, so Leah took you to the security room for privacy. “I’m kinda glad you came though, I want to show you something from the night he was here.” She holds up a VHS tape and puts it in the VCR. You watch with bated breath as Eddie shows up on screen.

“What does-”

She puts her hand up, “Just listen.” You watch the footage, as Eddie paces the private room waiting for you to arrive. 

“Hey so, I’ve kind of liked you since high school and…no I can’t start with that.”

>>FF>>

“Finding out about dancing? That is just a perk that will come in the soon to be hopeful relationship…no that doesn’t sound right. Soon to be hopeful relationship? Steve is a fucking idiot for coming up with that line.” 

>>FF>>

“So…wanna go out on a date? Bowling, dinner? …What am I, 14?”

>>FF>>

“Alright Munson, you got this. Just tell her you figured it out and that this doesn’t change how you feel.” Then he plops down on the couch and lays back just as you found him.

Leah stops the tape and looks back to you.

“He…likes me?”

“Guess he does. So much for your negative thoughts huh?”

“I can’t believe this. He’s never shown any signs of…anything.”

“Pft, guys are weird. It took my husband years to ask me out on a first date but I waited! Here we are three years later with a new house and baby. It was all worth the wait, and I’m sure this will be for you too.”

“But how can I make this right? I feel like I screwed it all bigtime.”

“Why don’t you invite him to our charity event in a few weeks? It’s how your story started. Maybe it’ll be a new chapter for him too. Show him instead of talking to him to make things right.”

You smile wide, “...Has anyone told you you’re a genius?”

“And I thought Mom-Brain was getting to me already. But I’ll take the compliment.” You give Leah a hug and head out to make a very important phone call.

Eddie (of course) agreed to attend the charity event, and even offered to pay full price instead of the family and friends discount. You went in a few hours earlier to help set everything up while Eddie arrived when the event began. You introduced him to your co-workers ; some already knew about what happened but for your sake played it off like they knew nothing, which you greatly appreciated. Eddie took a seat at the bar, wishing you luck for your performance later which he was secretly looking forward to. Just before heading to the dressing room you stop by the DJ booth.

“Hey Cassie, here’s my tape for my dance. It’s Track 8, and I go on at 11.”

“Got it. Thanks love!” She looks at the cassette and ponders to herself, “huh, who’s Corroded Coffin?”

Your turn couldn’t come soon enough. Eddie was only two drinks in, constantly looking at the clock waiting for 11 to strike.

“You okay babe?” Leah, (or in tonight's case since she’s working, Carmella), comes over to check on him.

“Huh-yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course, she’ll be on in a few. Excited to watch her?”

“Ohyeah-yeah,totally.Can’t wait.” He takes a large sip of his drink.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“Can I be real with you for a second?”

“I’m a bartender, I’m here to lend an ear to your problems.” Leah leans in, “talk to me.”

“I’ve liked her forever, I’m just stupid and have never asked her out properly. And I don’t want her to think I’m asking her out now because of all this,” he motions his arms around the room.

“Well maybe she won’t think that.”

“But she does, I know she does. And I just feel like a fucking idiot.”

“Eddie, I can assure you by the end of the night you’re not going to feel that way.”

“How do you-” Just then the lights dim ; Eddie looks at the clock ; 11:00. 

Cassie takes the microphone and introduces you, “and now ladies and gentlemen one of our veteran and favorite dancers, Lilith!”

You take the stage ; back turned towards the crowd, grabbing onto the pole ; a beautiful black outfit snug to your body ; and your music hits the stereos, a loud guitar solo opening the song. 

Eddie thought his eyes were going to fall out of his sockets, immediately recognizing the solo as his own. ; And when you turned your head to face the crowd making eye contact with Eddie and giving him a wink, he knew he was done for.

He watched you in awe, he couldn’t believe someone in a strip club was dancing to his song. But in this case it wasn’t just anyone, it was you. Someone he’s known almost his whole life, someone he’s been trying to ask out for way too long but had doubts because of his own stupidity. When your performance was over he whistled from his seat and immediately turned to Leah, “are any of the private rooms taken?”

When you exited the stage and headed back to the dressing room you were met with cheers and hugs. Everyone loved your dance and gave you your praises. 

After a few moments of celebrating and thank yous, Leah came in, a smirk across her face ; more or less as a ‘I told you so’ look. “Room #2. Go, now” The girls all gave a collective “ohhhhhhhhh”, as you rolled your eyes and left.

Eddie is standing in the middle of the room this time. You shut the door and lean up against it. You're the first to speak up ; “So,” you start to walk closer, “what did you think?”

“Don’t come any closer.” 

You stop, baffled at his words. “Why?”

“Because if you come any closer I’m going to lay you on this couch and do unthinkable things to you.”

You blush, hard. “You sure you wanna do that with a security camera in the corner?”

He looks up at the camera and waves, “free entertainment, no?”

You chuckle, such a typical Eddie answer.

“Well-”

“If you wanna know what I thought, I’m seriously never gonna get you out of my head now. How the hell am I going to ever perform that song without thinking straight?”

You look down shyly, rocking on your heels. 

“And as much as I would love to give your friends some content, I do want to do this whole thing right.” He brings himself to stand right in front of you, “let me take you on a date, a proper one. Pick you up, dinner-”

“Maybe…bowling?” He brings his head to the side, giving you a bewildered look.

“I mean, if you want too-”

“I’m joking, but dinner would be great.”

“Cool-cool. Can I pick you up tomorrow at 6?”

“Sounds like a date.” You stand more on your heels, placing a small kiss to his cheek and leaving him alone in the room.

Quick Notes - Didn't expect this to get as much love as it did so thank you again! Reblogs are appreciated! :) also yes I have an idea for a Part 3 but we'll see!

[mydearestbeloved]

#0.3 [Rough Draft]

CW: Implied Yandere, a little NSFW

⚠️ POTENTIAL SPOILER ALERT to my "Trial Player"-AU (Imagine 1#).

Note:

Any 'Rough Draft' like this is more like a 'What-If's scenarios: not yet cannon/can be cannon or not cannon at all in my story in the future (I'll decide as I go).

I have too many ideas but too little time, so I'll just post them as drafts here until I have the time to edit them thoroughly. If I do decide to include these scenarios in my story, then the scenarios' [Rough Draft]-status will be updated as [Chapter].

_____

Draft I:

You should’ve known this was a terrible idea from the start.

After that... debacle with Jinwoo, where he had barely let you leave the bed, you thought a change of space—a brief moment to breathe—might clear your head. Meeting your friends seemed like a good idea at the time. Seemed.

But here you were, sitting at a café, your friends’ relentless teasing ringing in your ears, Jinwoo seated beside you, his usual silent presence somehow looming even larger today. He wasn’t supposed to be here! You were supposed to meet them alone, but he had tagged along, and the moment your friends saw him, the mood shifted.

They hadn’t missed the telltale signs: the slight limp in your step, the fading marks along your neck barely hidden by your collar, and of course, the possessive way Jinwoo’s hand rested on your thigh the entire time.

“Oh my God, (Name), you’ve been busy, haven’t you?” one of your friends teased, leaning in with a grin.

You shot them a glare, face heating up as you tried to deflect. “It’s not—”

“Oh, it’s definitely what it looks like,” another friend chimed in with a knowing smirk. “When were you planning to tell us about this insanely attractive boyfriend of yours?”

Jinwoo’s hand squeezed your thigh slightly, as if in agreement with their assessment, his lips twitching with amusement, though he stayed quiet.

Your friends kept piling on, their teasing relentless. “You’re practically glowing! We knew something was up when you kept dodging our calls last week.”

You huffed, wishing you could just melt into the chair. Meeting them was a mistake. A big one.

“Anyway,” one of them said, waving off your protests, “since you’ve been keeping this little secret, we’ve decided for you. You guys are joining us on a couples’ trip next weekend. No excuses!”

“Wait, what?” you blurted out, eyes widening. “Couples’ trip? I—”

But it was too late. Your friends were already planning it out, excitedly discussing dates, locations, and accommodations. They even showed you the website of the camping site they had in mind—complete with cozy cabins, perfect for romantic getaways. It was absurd, and you opened your mouth to protest again, but Jinwoo’s quiet chuckle beside you sent a shiver down your spine.

“I think it sounds fun,” he said, his tone casual, but the look in his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking.

And that was how you found yourself roped into a couple’s trip.

---

A few days later, you were trudging through a forest, heading toward a cabin that was meant for “lovers”—according to the marketing brochures your friends had gleefully shown you. It had been a relatively peaceful day, with your friends and their partners chatting and laughing.

And as if fate couldn’t resist throwing more absurdity your way, a dungeon break occurred nearby. Just your luck.

You and Jinwoo were more than capable of clearing this dungeon while your friends struggled to set up camp. Jinwoo had taken care of the magic beasts with ease, and though you helped, it was clear that the two of you were functioning on an entirely different level. It was like a strange, dangerous couple’s date, where you fought off monsters instead of enjoying a romantic picnic.

Once the raid was done, the two of you rejoined your friends, who were none the wiser, completely oblivious to the destruction you had just prevented nearby. They were already by the fire, chatting and making s’mores as if nothing had happened.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop glancing at Jinwoo, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. That look in his eyes—predatory, intense—told you that this evening wasn’t going to end peacefully, no matter how much you tried to keep things normal.

Later, after your friends had all retreated to their own cabins, you found yourself standing awkwardly in the middle of yours, Jinwoo’s eyes never leaving you. His presence filled the space, making it feel smaller than it actually was. The two of you had been silent for a while, but you knew exactly where this was headed.

“Jinwoo…” you began, but the words stuck in your throat.

He was already stepping closer, his movements deliberate and slow. As usual, there was no need for words between the two of you.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. You had known this was coming from the moment you agreed to this trip. Hell, you had known it since the dungeon raid, where he’d been sneaking glances at you the whole time, clearly eager to finish the fight so he could focus on you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him—you did, more than you’d care to admit. But this was... ridiculous. You had literally just cleared a dungeon, and now—

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, backing up toward the bed as Jinwoo’s hands found your waist.

He smirked, his voice low and dangerous. “And yet, you can’t resist me.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you against him, his lips crashing down on yours, and all your protests melted away as heat pooled in your stomach.

---

Hours later, the cabin was bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light, the quiet sounds of the forest outside filling the air. You lay on the bed, skin slick with sweat, your body aching in the best possible way. Jinwoo was beside you, looking comically refreshed, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire night ravaging you like a man possessed.

You, on the other hand, were starting to have an existential crisis.

You let out a muffled scream, covering your face with a pillow.

Jinwoo chuckled softly, pulling the pillow away so he could look at you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare skin. “You love it.”

You shot him a look, exasperated but strangely satisfied. “You’re insatiable.”

His smirk deepened, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “Only for you.”

And the worst part? You did love it.

_____

Draft II:

You knew this was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Yet here you were, sitting at a cozy café with your friends, Jinwoo at your side, hovering in his usual subtle but unmistakable way.

It had been only a few days since that exhausting week you'd just survived with Jinwoo, and your legs were finally functioning again. You thought maybe a change of pace would help you clear your mind, escape this suffocating intimacy. Little did you know it would only drag you deeper into the mess you’d been trying to avoid.

At first, it had seemed innocent enough—a casual meetup, a chance to reconnect and breathe after being wrapped up in his world for so long. But the moment you arrived at the café, it became painfully obvious you had made a grave miscalculation.

Now, as you sat there, trying to enjoy a peaceful brunch, your friends’ teasing was just as relentless as Jinwoo’s gaze—both of which were burning holes through you.

“You look glowing today, (Name),” one of your friends chimed in with a mischievous smirk, clearly picking up on the awkward vibe between you and Jinwoo. She nudged you playfully, while her boyfriend leaned in with a knowing grin. “Is it just me, or does this feel like a post-honeymoon glow?”

"Oh! Should we be expecting wedding bells soon?"

You almost choked on your drink. Jinwoo, ever the master of composure, simply sipped his coffee beside you, acting as if he wasn’t responsible for every mark, every limp, and every damn second of the previous week’s exhaustion. His hand, however, was resting possessively on your thigh under the table, and you swore he tightened his grip at the word "honeymoon."

Jinwoo really looked as if he is considering the idea, leaning forward slightly, “Well...” Jinwoo’s voice was smooth, teasing, but you shot him a look so sharp he instantly backed off, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Nope, definitely not just you,” another friend added, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “(Name), are you finally going to tell us why you’ve been MIA for days? Or should we just assume?”

You opened your mouth, desperately searching for an excuse, but nothing came out. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t make this worse? Jinwoo wasn’t helping either, his presence practically daring you to lie about where you had been.

“We’ve been busy,” he said casually, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Right, (Name)?”

Your friends all shared knowing glances, their smiles growing wider with every second of your flustered silence. One of them even leaned in, whispering, “Busy, huh? I bet.”

You could feel your face burning. Meeting your friends was supposed to be a distraction, a way to regain some semblance of normalcy after Jinwoo had practically claimed you for a solid week. Instead, this brunch had turned into an interrogation, with your friends relentless in their teasing and Jinwoo not even pretending to let you off the hook.

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a couples brunch,” you muttered, trying to change the subject as you glanced around the table. Every single one of your friends had brought their partner, and somehow, you had been roped into this nightmare of a double date. “Seriously, guys, why?”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t want this,” one friend teased, leaning across the table with a wink. “You and Jinwoo are practically glued together these days. We figured you’d appreciate the company.”

Company? No, what you needed was a break, some air, some distance. But no, here you were, stuck in the middle of a couple's date with your overly-attentive not-boyfriend who had literally spent an entire week making sure you couldn't ignore him. The worst part? The teasing wasn’t the only problem. Jinwoo’s subtle touches under the table—the way his hand was lingering, the way his thumb traced small circles on your thigh—was doing nothing to help your composure.

“We thought it’d be fun,” another friend chimed in, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “You know, catch up, see how you two are doing... especially after your long disappearance.”

Jinwoo leaned in, his voice a low murmur just for you. “You didn’t tell them about us?”

You shot him a side-eye, the corner of his lips tugging upward in amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing. The bastard.

“No,” you hissed quietly, leaning away from him slightly. “Not like this.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, and suddenly you were very aware of how close he was. How possessive his presence felt. It didn’t help that your friends continued to pry, clearly enjoying how flustered you had become.

“So,” one of them asked, completely unaware of the tension building between you and Jinwoo, “what’s it like being official now? You two must be spending a lot of time together.”

Jinwoo’s hand moved higher on your thigh, and you nearly jumped out of your seat.

“(Name)’s been getting plenty of rest,” he said, completely unbothered by the chaos brewing inside you. “But she works hard.”

Your gaze shot to him, wide-eyed and mortified. He met your stare with an innocent smile that did nothing to mask the glint of mischief in his eyes. He was enjoying this—this game, this playful torture. And the worst part? Your friends were none the wiser.

“Jinwoo!” you scolded softly, but he just chuckled, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

You could feel your pulse quicken, embarrassment and exasperation mixing with something more dangerous. You were supposed to be here to relax, to enjoy some time away from all of this... tension. But no, Jinwoo had other plans, and apparently, your friends were unwitting participants.

One of your friends leaned in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “So when’s the next couple's trip? Should we plan something fun, maybe a getaway?”

You groaned inwardly. A getaway? The idea of spending more time alone with Jinwoo in this relentless teasing atmosphere made your stomach twist. Not because you didn’t want to—God, did you want to—but because the last week had shown you what Jinwoo was capable of. And the last thing you needed was to be subjected to that level of intensity again in front of your friends.

“Maybe after some... recovery time,” you muttered, earning a few raised eyebrows from the group.

“Oh?” your friend asked, amused. “Need some recovery time, huh?”

You glared at her. “You have no idea.”

Jinwoo chuckled beside you, his hand moving slightly again, and you swore he was getting some twisted enjoyment out of watching you squirm. The thought was enough to make you grit your teeth and shoot him another pointed glare, though it only seemed to fuel his amusement.

“Well, whenever you’re ready for that trip,” your friend teased, “just let us know. We’d love to see more of this dynamic you two have going.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and trying to will away the blush creeping up your neck. Yeah, you really needed a change of pace. But clearly, this was not it. Not with Jinwoo sitting so close, his hand lingering on your thigh, and your friends blissfully unaware of the storm brewing under the table.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d avoid them next time. At least until you could figure out how to survive Jinwoo’s relentless attention without completely losing your mind.

End Note:

I want to try writing smut, already started some drafts, but can't bring myself to continue them due to embarassment.

So, here's a sneak peak through alternative scenarios--aftermath of what I dubbed for now, thee "Tangled Shadows"-Arc (which is *Spoiler Alert!*: 24 percent of (Name) having an existential crisis / 7 -ty six percent of Jinwoo being horny. I'M SORRY!)

The "Tangled Shadows Arc" will be a lot further into the story. So please, DON'T actively wait for it to be out, because it'll be torture what with my schedule now. 🥲

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Hello! I love your writing sm!! I was wondering if I could request promts 13 and 17 from your promt lost with crosshair or wrecker?

Hello hello!

Thank you so much, gives me the warm and fuzzies knowing folk like my writing 🥰

Part of me wanted to write this for Wrecker but it ended up screaming 'Crosshair'

Better than Nothing

Your little scheme during a night out on shore leave doesn't go according to plan - but that's okay, Crosshair has another plan in mind that's just as fun.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: established relationship, teasing, grinding, thigh riding, pet names, naked reader and clothed Cross, some armour on, praise, dirty talk, implied oral (f!receiving), implied PiV, one use of ‘daddy’, D/s tones, very light choking, light marking, heavy eye contact, light (non-toxic) possessiveness, they be secure in this relationship.

Your whine reverberates around the hotel room, lips pressed into a pout as you watch Crosshair lean back on the couch that’s shoved up against one of the walls. That stupidly handsome smirk tilts his lips, hawkish eyes raking over your body.

You’d taken advantage of a brief stint of shore leave, booking several hotel rooms and heading out into the city. A nearby bar had seemed like a good idea, and all of you had piled into a booth. You’d all chatted and drank for a while, but when glasses were empty, you’d headed up to the bar for another round, only to be approached and hit on.

You might’ve played into it, batted your eyelashes and leaned in towards the stranger. It had lasted two minutes before Crosshair appeared over your shoulder, scaring away your new friend.

Before you could say anything, he’d dragged you outside and back to the hotel, leaving his brothers in the booth. Two years as their civilian handler had taught you a lot, in particular, that Crosshair enjoyed your little games, and the resulting sex was more spectacular than usual.

This time, however, he wasn’t playing into your plan.

Crosshair can see the frustration on your face, and your adorable pout pulls a small chuckle from him as he pats one of his thighs. He knows the little game you sometimes play, and while he’s usually happy to indulge you, he wants you to work for it this time. “It’s my thigh or nothing. I’m not helping you get off.” He states, voice low and slow. If someone had told him two years ago, when you’d first joined them, that he’d end up enamoured with you, he’d have scoffed. And yet now, he couldn’t fathom not having you around.

You weigh your options, eyes flitting down to the thigh plate he’d slid on while your back had been turned. You appreciated the gesture – the friction from his jeans would be unbearable – but you also knew the act wasn’t wholly selfless. He’d always gotten some sort of kick out of seeing you wearing or using his armour.

Playing along, for now, you step closer, fingers finding purchase on his knee. You go to straddle his thigh, but slender fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Clothes off, doll.” Crosshair insists, watching the flick of emotions across your face. Your hand pulls back from his knee, and he watches as you reach for the hem of your dress, shimmying it up and off your body. Kicking off your shoes, your bra follows, discarded on the floor, and then you’re bending down, prying down your panties until they’re off, too.

Holding out a hand expectantly, Crosshair waits for you to give them to him, and when you do, he tucks them into the front pocket of his jeans. You could have them back later.

He pats his thigh again, eyes roving across your naked body, a low rumble of delight starting in his chest as you move, straddling his leg, slowly sinking down until your pussy is pressed against the plastoid.

You shiver at the contact, the coolness of his armour contrasting your body’s heat. One of your hands finds its way to his shoulder to steady yourself, toes barely brushing the carpet. Eyes finding him, your teeth sink into your lower lip as anticipation coils in your belly. As much as you’d pouted earlier, you were excited about this.

Shifting a hand to your hip, Crosshair gently squeezes your body. “Grind.” He commands. “Grind on my thigh, kitten. Go on. Nice and slow.”

You start small, a gentle roll of your hips that brings the faintest twitch of a smile to his lips, the cool plastoid between your thighs beginning to warm up.

“Attagirl.” Crosshair coos, delighted at how easily you follow his instructions. He doesn’t feel much of anything through the thigh plate other than your weight, but that doesn’t matter. The sight of you, hips rolling, your fingers digging into his shoulder, naked and needy, makes his half-hard cock twitch. “There you go. Keep going.” He encourages, his hand on your hip helping guide your movements.

Grinding down, your clit presses against the plastoid, pleasure shooting through you. Your slick provides glide, a whine leaving your lips as you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut. The warmth starts to build in your belly. You reach out blindly with your free hand, searching for Crosshair.

“Want me to touch you, pretty girl?” He can read you like a book and knows the soft touches make you feel loved. Your little nod pulls a smirk from him. “Use your words.”

Head tipping forward, you open your eyes to catch his gaze, hips still rolling, pleasure still building. You know the eye contact does it for him. “Please. Want you to touch me. Wanna feel your hands on my tits.” You tell him sweetly, enjoying the way his eyes darken.

“See. That wasn’t so hard.” Crosshair murmurs, bringing his free hand up to brush across your collarbone, fingers dancing over your body. His hand sweeps down, palm finding your breasts, which he grasps gently, squeezing the soft mounds. “So beautiful.” He leans forward, peppering open-mouthed kisses to them, drawing a nipple into his mouth. He sucks, laving his tongue across the stiffened peak. Your moan is delightful, as is your hand on the back of his head, holding him close as you continue grinding on his thigh. Pulling back after a moment, his fingers tweak your nipple, making you gasp.

“Cross...” You moan his name. Your body is on autopilot, desperately chasing the high you know Crosshair can give you. Glancing down as he pulls back, you spot the telltale bulge in his pants. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and your hand that was on his head reaches downward.

You’re stopped mid-motion, wrist caught by slender fingers. You whine a little in frustration, but it turns into a soft sigh as Crosshair brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. “No, kitten. You need to come first.”

You know that’s the rule – it has been since the first time you tumbled into bed together. Most people assume he’s selfish, perhaps even cold and unfeeling. But you’re privy to who he is away from prying eyes, who he truly is, and he’s far from any of those things.

“You want to come, pretty girl?” Crosshair asks, lowering your hand from his mouth to press your palm against his chest, leaving it there, letting you feel the heavy thud of his heart. He knows you’re close already; he can see it in your eyes, the draw of your brow, and the way your chest heaves and your hips roll. “Tell me how much you want it.” He insists, his hand on your hip guiding you just that little bit faster now.

He’s always loved hearing you speak, hearing exactly what you want. He’s never denied you anything, so long as you tell him. “I wanna come. Please. Wanna come all over your thigh – all over your armour. Mark it up. Make a mess.” You babble, hips shifting that bit quicker, the warmth in your belly almost an inferno. “Only you make me feel this way.” You tack on, breath coming in short pants.

Your words are like music to his ears, but there’s one thing left for you to say. Crosshair reaches out, lightly grabbing your throat, bringing your faces close together. “You’re not going to do that again, are you?” He asks, taking in your lust-blown eyes and the fast beat of your pulse under his fingers. You were always so receptive to this. “You’re not going to indulge unsuspecting civi’s and make me mark my territory. You’re going to be a good girl.”

There’s a hint of playfulness in your gaze, and Crosshair loves you even more for it. He knows you’re only playing when you indulge civilians, and he’s happy to play along, to scare them off and then bend you over the nearest surface as funishment. After a year together, he knows you’re not interested in anyone else.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly – not enough to hurt you, never to hurt you. This is all part of the play. “Now, I’ll ask again. Are you going to be good for me?”

Something about having his fingers wrapped around your throat makes you feel secure. While others might be terrified of your super soldier, you feel safe with him. Your hips are still rolling, the little back and forth throwing fuel on the fire, and the edge is so close. You momentarily let his words hang in the air, just to push back a little before you nod. “Won’t indulge unsuspecting civi’s again.” You agree.

“Good girl.” Crosshair praises, satisfied with your answer, before he draws you in for a bruising kiss. As your lips part, he presses his forehead to yours, sharp eyes glancing down to watch you ride his thigh. His armour is shiny with your wetness, and he licks his lips. He can’t wait to taste you. Eyes lifting, he meets your gaze. “Come. You’re allowed to. Come real kriffing pretty for me.”

You grind down a little harder, breath stuttering as you chase release. A few more rocks of your hips, clit brushing against the worn plastoid, and you’re thrown over the edge. Pleasure slams into you, hips stuttering and thighs trembling as you’re swept along for the ride. Keeping your eyes open and locked on his, knowing how much he loves it, your lips part with a cry of his name. 

Pride blooms in Crosshair’s chest. You were always gorgeous, but it hits differently when you’re in the throes of pleasure. Soft noises slip from his lips as he watches you ride through the high. “There you go, kitten. So good for me, making a mess on my armour.” He whispers, the hand around your throat sliding up to smooth across your face and through your hair. “Feel good, pretty girl?”

His cock aches, but he ignores it, focusing instead on taking care of you. Your little nod at his question has a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He finds the little trembles still working through your body adorable. “Not done with you yet, though. Wanna taste that pretty little pussy of yours and then pound you into the mattress until you can’t take it anymore. Fill you up so you never forget who you belong to.” He rasps, enjoying the way your breath catches. “Sound good, princess?”

The pleasure starts to recede, and you nod again, not trusting yourself to speak. Heart pounding, you catch your breath, absorbing the hungry look in Crosshair’s eyes. Even now it still astounds you that he loves you, that he hadn’t scoffed when you’d quietly confessed your feelings to him while on watch together in the cockpit of Marauder between missions.

Waiting for you to catch your breath, Crosshair leans in to press a sweet kiss to your lips, hand smoothing down to your hip so he can hold you. “But first, you’re gonna lick my armour clean.” He decides, scooting you back slightly to free his thigh plate. It glistens with your slick, and his cock twitches at the sight. With one hand, he unlatches it before holding it up right in front of your face. “Go on. Clean up the mess you made.”

You lean in, holding his gaze, one hand still on his shoulder while the other rests against his chest, and you slowly drag the flat of your tongue across the smooth planes of the armour. The tang of yourself hits your tongue, along with a faint trace of the cleaner he uses to wipe down his kit after every mission. Your moan echoes in the room.

Crosshair’s cock is throbbing, pressing almost painfully against his pants. He desperately needs to be buried inside you soon. “Good girl.” He whispers, watching as you lap up every drop of your release. Once satisfied that you’ve done an excellent job, he discards the plate to the side, letting it drop to the floor before hauling you entirely into his lap. His lips meet yours for a fierce kiss, and he groans as you grind down on his cock.

Hands on your ass, he squeezes it, pushing himself up to stand. Your legs lock around him, and he carries you over to the bed, laying you down, pinning you beneath him. He grinds down against you, chuckling at your mewl of pleasure. Lips dragging down your throat, Crosshair bites down gently, enjoying the moan that escapes you. Continuing, he presses kisses to your breasts, sucking marks into your skin as he reaches your stomach until he hauls you to the edge of the bed and finally kneels between your thighs. A wicked smirk crosses his lips as he looks up the length of your body. “Legs spread, pretty girl. Daddy isn’t done with you yet.”

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

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[talenlee]

Game Pile: The Comprehensive Videogames History of Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty

Watch this video on YouTube

Thumbnail and script below the fold!

You might have found this because you would Rather Be Listening to Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty. This is because, inexplicably, the internet loves Rob Thomas, a walking meme of a man with whom I have a weirdly complicated relationship, not in any small part because for as long as I’ve been able to tell you what pop music is, he has been part of something in it that’s cool.

Not necessarily something that’s very cool.

But pretty cool.

At least, cooler than me, a guy who thinks Rob Thomas is cool.

Rob Thomas (of Matchbox 20) lives somewhere in the same space as All Star or Lazytown, a meme that is shallower than you think and yet better known and more well-liked than you’d expect. Meme fodder. That kind of memetic status is what led to the time, back in 2015, Nicholas Kula to design a T-shirt with the excessively specific and middlingly funny I’d Rather Be Listening to Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty shirt slogan shirt. Kula put the shirt on Redbubble, it got a little bit of attention, and then it got copied and then it became a wildly successful meme raising upwards of hundreds of dollars, reblogged by Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty), then shut down by the representatives of Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty) for violating the copyright of amongst other people, Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty). The design is back up, now, I suppose?

You might have seen this shirt, maybe on some streamer or the like, a really deliberately ironically un-funny funny thing that exists in that special place of meme magic that has no value but to remind you that hey.

Products exist.

It’s still a thing that put Rob Thomas, who hadn’t had a hit on the radio since, really, 1999 and also, what the hell is a radio, on the radar around that time, so that meant that after all this furore in 2016, it was a time ripe for the retrospect. Rolling Stone took the time to strike while the iron was gone, and three years later (around the song’s twentieth anniversary, I suppose), and it was thanks to a guy named Rob Wesley sharing an excerpt of the article that the conversation takes a turn for the gamer.

What Wesley shared in the thread is a section where the narration outlines the way that Rob Thomas was playing Silent Hill and how that was important to Santana’s relationship with him – that their friendship during the songwriting of the song Smooth was marked by long stretches of Rob Thomas playing Silent Hill games while Santana got stoned and told him what to do.

[Excerpts on screen]

This presents us with an interesting question: Was Carlos Santana playing a videogame?

Now there’s a way to discard this argument pretty conveniently; you can say ‘no,’ and that’s that. That’s fine, if you want to be boring about it, but that also shows an unwillingness to engage with the question, to work out what the question is asking and what kind of answers present ways to view the world.

What Carlos Santana was doing was passing instructions to another player, while probably chemically compromised, and that player – ostensibly enacted their will. How is Carlos not playing that game? If we assume that you need direct control over a game for it to count, then a lot of chess games in history were played by nobody. Fancy lads with fancy hats would send one another letters with chess moves in them, and then the recipient would put those moves in action on their chessboard and send a letter with their own moves in it, in response to the state they were both maintaining. Now in no case did either of these players have direct hand on the chess pieces on the other board, meaning that if directing a player to enact your intention doesn’t count, then these people were playing against literally nobody, and therefore, not playing chess, and therefore, probably didn’t exist.

This also runs into the problem of Dungeon Masters or Gamemasters or whatever – after all, in all those games, you have to give your game actions to another player, and then they enact your intentions. This capacity of confusing intention and outcome is a thing I refer to as enrolment, where you become enmeshed in the behaviour of the game. One of those things that games just do is that when you partake in playing in the game, you are committing actions whose outcome is uncertain; not impossible or unknowable, but just that when a game becomes inevitable, it loses something, and players tangibly react to the nature of a game being decided. You know what it means when you’re entering endgame. Players often can predict the outcome of the end of the game when it becomes inevitable and either fold or scrap for their last points.

That means there is some clear element of game playing that is the way that the control mechanism, while maybe feeling good, is not necessarily capable of delivering perfect outcomes. You don’t need your control scheme to be reliable for you to to be playing the game. After all, one-handed play or players for whom an interface is incompatible aren’t not playing a game just because the controller wasn’t designed for them, they’re just dealing with an interface problem.

Now to look at the alternate side of things, how about some people in a similar situation, trying to influence a game, badly, with a control mechanism that doesn’t reliably work, by talking to someone else? Ie, what about people watching a stream?

Stream audiences clearly try to have impact on the game they’re watch. In popular channels, it’s not uncommon for them to cheer, to try and remember or suggest strategies, to try and ask the streamer to take a more explicit or clear route through their thinking process. They will try and influence the conversation happening around the game, where they will invite the streamer to speak on a topic, and that has an impact on how the game is played. There is a stimulus, a response, an uncertain outcome, and a control scheme. They are engaged with the stream, and the streamer is affected by that engagement.

Okay, what about the chat where the player is wholly unaffected?

What about streams where the players are isolated? What about streams without chat, or without the audience necessarily speaking to the streamer? Are they going to have an impact on the game, as it is played? Are they playing the game through their presence? Is their observation an engagement with the game of the stream? Streamers will often explain that the presence of an audience transforms the experience of playing a game – that when you have to be aware of an audience, it changes one’s focuses and reactions. Even if that audience is elsewhere, even if that audience does not interact with the streamer through conventional interface, is the fact of being observed a thing that can be done as the engagement surface of a game?

Well, they’re doing something, right? If the audience, if the crowd, wasn’t a factor in a game, well, the most obvious example of spectators in a game, sports, wouldn’t have a meaningful idea of ‘home team’ advantage. We know that spectators in a sport influence the game that’s being played, after all — if nothing else, there are a lot of times in Baseball’s history in particular where a game was concluded, thanks to the actions of the spectators. Bless you battery hucking weirdoes. Now, hang on, you might argue that that’s not playing the game, and yeah, maybe it’s not. It’s concluding the game, with a different set of priorities. But the knowledge that fans can do that kind of thing, concerns that the reactions of the fans could curtail the game certainly play into the game’s players’ functions. They are an influence on the playing of the game, so we can definitely not say that they are separate from it.

But let’s say that that’s a material concern; that the game is agnostic of the spectator behaviour, and that the game is only defined by the rules that they experience. This is a great big discussion, something you can delve into at length through The Philosophy Of Sport, but that mighty tome is built on the work of Bernard Suits, the author of that book Grasshopper, Life Games And Utopia. From this book I draw my definition of games, where he defines games as the voluntary overcoming of unnecessary obstacles. Under that definition, there are definitely some things to squint at. It’s a very broad definition, after all, and you may feel it includes some things that don’t count. It means that you can’t be coerced into playing a game, and that can ask questions about whether people who are playing a game as a job are still playing a game, if their continued livelihood is contingent on it. It is a definition you use for what it lets you do.

What it lets me do, is talk about games in a way that includes lots of different types of game.

Something that book describes is that just because people are all playing a game together that doesn’t mean they’re playing the same game. Suits describes the way that a player might be cheating, which immediately means they’re playing a different game, since you can’t both play a game and violate its rules. There’s also players playing for reasons to impede the game, the spoilsports, who are following the rules but playing in a way that reduces the play or the fun of the other players. Similarly, what if I’m playing a game with a little kid, and I know the game much better than they do, but I’m deliberately trying to impose rules on my self to ensure that kid isn’t blown out? We might both be playing Rhino Hero but I’ve set myself an extra, additional limitation – I’m trying to beat the game, I’m trying to win, but I’m trying to do so in a way that keeps the game close, while also making sure this other player doesn’t feel like they’re being humoured, and trying to make it fun for myself. This may involve imposing new, other rules on myself. I’m playing the game, but I’m also playing another, nested game on top of it.

If you accept it of game experiences as maximally inclusive, you have a tool for when you can sit at these odd intersections and ask the question: Are the audience playing a game? And if you’re trying to be maximally inclusive, and you want to include the idea that engaging with the game, trying things, hoping, cheering, hypothesising strategies and seeing how your strategies relate to the enacted ones, then you are playing a game, it’s just a game with an entire other game as one of its components. A lottery is a game, and that’s a game where you’re trying to correctly guess a number with exactly one attempt, and the result of that is a stunningly engaging game if the incentives are lined up right.

What about an audience who are completely disconnected? What if we took the audience completely out of the sport, let’s put them in a remote location, where they can’t say or do anything to the players, like the esports community of South Korea’s Starcraft channels. For lower-tier matches, outside of code A (at least ten years ago when I was paying a lot more attention), players weren’t getting a live audience, but their games were being broadcast to satisfy a bottomless demand… and we know in that case, that nerves, choking, all are factors that the audience’s existence can impose on the players.

Okay, so what if we remove the ability of the audience to influence the players. What if the players are somehow, emotionally, unaffectable by the attention of an audience? What if they were cold, efficient, and entirely automated in their play experience in a way that could be equalised and fair? And in order to make sure they’re not too complex, let’s make these game players as simple as possible such that they can’t fail or break or be otherwise impacted, meaning the game can operate in the purest possible way, without any psychological influence of the audience.

Are those spectators playing a game, with these ideas of enrolment and maximally inclusive game definition?

Yes.

In that simplest possible definition, there is a goal, and the spectator is trying to achieve the goal, with a consensually-chosen unnecessary obstacle: Specifically, the goal is to get their chosen simplified actor into a victory position, with a control mechanism that is completely deprived of all functional agency. The spectator wants a player to win, they want to succeed, but the only means they have to influence the game are by cheering and by wanting. They negotiate, they pray, they plan, they strategise, they try to find a way to see their chosen player win, or get better results, or wind up where they want them to be, all through no means at all, through the least effective means possible. They are in many cases, trying to construct visions of the future for what can happen if it does happen, to get the outcome they want, which is itself, a prediction game that can be satisfied or not.

I forward then that the audience are playing a game when they map out expectations, when they cheer, when they connect with one another. They are playing a game just as Carlos Santana was playing a game when he, stoned as hell, gave instructions to Rob Thomas; he wasn’t necessarily playing the same game as Rob Thomas.

…

The story about Rob Thomas and Santana is completely false, by the way. When I first wrote about this was when I learned, because it took me four years to get around to checking the source material.

I mean…

It doesn’t matter if it’s false.

But it is a pretty funny example.

And chances are, you might have thought that Carlos Santana was a Silent Hill fan for some reason.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[i-heart-yellowstone]

6 - Questionable Law

Part 7

Raised Fair Share Of Hell

Tag list @bvbwestfall l @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989

Shutting the top cabinet above the stove I opened the oven letting the fresh smell of baked biscuits fill most of the house. I heard multiple sets of footsteps begin rushing down the wooden and creaky steps before I saw Kayce, Tate and Faith all pile in the doorway of the kitchen. “I figured this would get y'all up this morning.”

“What did you make exactly. I swear I recognize that smell.” Kayce shifted the air trying to place the familiar scent.

I pulled the tray out and laid it down on the kitchen island. “You should know what these are quite well, Dutton.”

“Biscuits! How did you make my mother's biscuits?” Kayce’s face lit up with excitement and awe.

Laying down a rag on the kitchen island I held up the piece of paper that was inside the pocket slip of the apron I was wearing. “I found this in the cookie jar up on the fridge. It’s her handwriting and so I thought I’d give it a shot. So you’ll have to tell me if they’re crap or not.”

“Mmm.” Faith tore a piece of one biscuit and gave the other part to Tate before they both moaned at an enjoyable taste.

Kayce tore half of one apart and tossed the bite into his mouth where I saw a cheeky grin cross his face before he moved around the island cupping my face in his hands. “You’re amazing. Have I told you that?”

“Not recently I must admit.” I smiled back up at him before he pressed his lips down onto mine. He wrapped his arms around my body tugging me closer to his chest deepening the kiss.

Faith and Tate replied in disgust. “Eww!”

“You know what had to happen to make you two right?” I warned them feeling Kayce giving me a confused look when we had slightly separated from one another. “A whole lot of kissing.”

Faith corrected very off guard. “You mean when animals get together.”

“Faith!” I scolded her, feeling my face turning red.

Kayce shrugged his shoulders lightly, chuckling. “You should know they’ll learn all kinds of life growing up on a ranch.”

“Just because I know it doesn’t mean I want her to say it out loud. Uh, come on kids we gotta go to work.” I glared at him removing the apron and hanging it up on the hook.

Kayce picked his hat up from the hook, sitting it on his head and shrugging his jacket on. “I’ll see y’all later tonight - Alissa!” He called my name from the front porch barely having the front door shut behind him.

“Wait here.” I touched the kid’s shoulders crossing the living room and out onto the porch seeing two black police trucks pulled up at the edge of the steps and I saw an officer come up to us. “Can we help you, officer?”

He didn’t even look in my direction. “We’re here to make an arrest, Mrs. Dutton.” He moved around his back twisting his arms around his back, handcuffing my husband right in front of me.

“You can’t do this.” I told him watching him push him down the wooden steps to the police truck.

Kayce called over his shoulder, getting his head pushed inside the truck. “Alissa, call Jamie!” The truck door shut and I watched them drive off feeling my stomach twisting in knots so quotation like it had years ago.

“What do you mean you joined the Navy!” I gasped sitting on the couch with a large round pregnant belly considering I was at my 6th month mark on the calendar.

Kayce was standing in front of me in my parents cabin living room seeing I was clearly upset with him. “Alissa, I’m doing this for our family. For our little girl and you so that you don’t have to use my father’s money to raise her.”

“But we agreed we would raise her together. That's one of the reasons I accepted your proposal.” I throw my hands up in the air feeling tears welling in my eyes.

He noticed the tears coming to sit down on the couch beside me. “Lissa Rae, please don’t cry. Okay I’m not happy about it but I’m trying to do the right thing here.” He wrapped his arms around my shaking body and I buried my face into his shirt sobbing for a few minutes.

“Promise me! Promise me that you’ll fight like hell to come home to us when it’s all said and done.” I lifted my head up from his shirt clutching it under my fingers.

Kayce touched my face with his freehand, keeping one hand rubbing my back. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve never broken a promise to you and never will.”

“Thank you, Kace.” I mumbled snuggling up against his chest and he kept his arms around me just keeping his little family as close as he could for as long as he could before he was shipped off to the Navy.

“Wait out here and don’t go with any strangers.” I told the two kids who I had to sit down on a wooden bench outside the sheriff's office. They didn’t need to hear whatever they were accusing him of. I opened the door and shut it behind me eyeing the officers. “What exactly are you arresting him for?”

“We aren’t at liberty to disclose that with you, ma’am.” An officer responded.

I snapped with a sharp tongue. “I’m his wife. So you will speak to me about whatever the hell you are charging my husband!”

“I didn’t switch any barrel of a gun on purpose. So if you want to point fingers at someone he told me to do after someone told me that they found my gun bullets in Monica Long’s brother.” Kayce began explaining from the night that had killed Lee. John had cremated his body and a few days later he told me they asked to see Kayce’s gun when they did an investigation on how the other guy died.

“Did he waive his right to an attorney?” The office door suddenly opened and I watched his brother Jamie enter the room presenting the lead cop with his lawyer card.

The native guy named Rainwater throws his hands up with a scoff. “He requested an attorney and like magic one appears.”

“We can’t help that his brother went to Law School. Now can you please let my husband go because he hasn't done anything wrong.” I cut in the conversation.

Jamie glanced back at me. “What are the claims?”

“That officer is claiming that Kayce made him switch barrels with him to cover up the fact that he had to shoot the Long brother in self defense.” I entered the conversation standing behind Kayce’s chair.

Kayce ran a hand over his mouth. “When he told me to switch barrels with him I didn’t think you would then accuse me.”

“Kayce.” Jamie sent him a warning out of the corner of his eye.

I throw my hands slightly up. “It’s an easy fix and they’re trying to turn it into something bigger.”

“Is there any forensic evidence that ties my brother to the scene other than a ballistics match to your weapon?” Jamie asked and neither of the officers said a word where he got to his feet heading to leave the room. “You see where I’m going with this. If you have no real evidence then I think it’s time we leave. So switch barrels and everything will be cleared up here.”

The officer got up from his chair taking his gun out along with Kayce’s and slowly switched the barrels before he handed him the gun back. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s go, you two.” Jamie touched his brother's back leading us outside. I took Faith and Tate by the hand until we were standing outside of the Dutton ranch truck. Jamie had called a car to bring him there. “Just remember that the next time you may get arrested, say nothing until I get there.”

Kayce nodded, looping my hand in his. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I’ll pay you back in biscuits. I managed to re-create your mothers.” I grinned leaning my head on his shoulder and Kayce nodded in agreement before Jamie smiled back at us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[mystic-writings]

remember the nights | chapter fourteen — a rom-com happy ending

WORD COUNT — 2,841

WARNINGS — pure fluff, weddings

NOTES — i can't believe it's already over :( well, not really bc this series will always live in my head, way into their college years, but for now this is the end <3

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Ever since your Uncle Mark started staying in the guest room and wedding prep picked up even more, your house was never quiet. Between final food tastings, organizing the tables and stationary, plus the horrendous amount of extra schoolwork you were dealing with due to a new semester starting up, life never slowed down. 

Things at school got better, so long as you ignored Newt in any way, and focused on your college applications and spending time with Brenda. Plus, your uncle Mark made sure to spend all his extra time with you, since you hadn’t seen him in two years. 

He and Maggie’s brothers got along well, and made the house extra vibrant as everyone got to know one another over game nights and dinners. The very first night you’d met them — Maggie’s brothers, George and Dean — they embraced you lovingly, claiming that Maggie had always wanted a daughter. 

Valentine’s Day started with a bright dawn and a calm air, and you could tell even with the cold that it was a beautiful day for a wedding. The day started early, at around 5am, with Maggie shaking you awake, offering you a toasted waffle and travel mug of coffee. The house was void of men and instead filled with the women of the bridal party, all running around and getting ready in different parts of the house in order to have things done on time. 

Everyone had their dresses in different places, and you and a woman named Sarah did each other’s makeup in your bedroom by the desk before taking turns getting dressed and finding your purses, accessories, and proper coats. 

Maggie was already on her way to the church in just her makeup by the time everyone was ready, leaving you to lock up the house and pile into one of the three cars occupying the driveway. You texted with Brenda, Harriet, and Sonya on the car ride, talking about the reception happening later on. 

You and Thomas were allowed to bring your friends to the reception (with Brenda and Jorge being the exception, as they were invited to the ceremony), something that your parents agreed upon not long after they told you about the proposal. Since the bonfire, though, the group was shattered, and you really only talked to the girls for now. Thomas was inviting everyone else who wanted to come, though, so you’d see everyone there, anyway. 

One thing you did notice, through the bustle and stress of the wedding and finals, was that your friends had been acting odd, to say the least. Thomas was the same, but every one of your friends were exchanging an unsettling amount of smiles and glances — not just the girls, but Gally and Minho, too. You’d even asked them about it one day, but they all refused to give you an answer. 

You shook the thoughts from your head and texted the girls to update them on where you were. They were all excited for the wedding, and you were, too. Everything about this day had felt spectacular so far, and you couldn’t wait to actually see Maggie and your dad get married. 

The church was empty for now, but you and the girls all filed into the bridal suite, where Maggie sat, pinning up her hair into the most elegant style you’d seen. Since her hair was neck length and wavy, it was difficult to get her hair into a style that looked nice. However, she managed to take some strands from the front to frame her face, while still having the majority of the upper half of her hair pinned back with pearl beaded pins, her waves still flowing free. 

You almost cried at how wonderful she looked, before realizing it was up to you and two other bridesmaids to help her into her dress. 

If you hadn’t been emotional before, you definitely were now. 

Maggie looked like she’d stepped right out of a fairytale. Her bodice and sleeves were mesh, patterned with intricate lace, her skirt made of silk with a slight volume to it and lots of movement. The lace pattern bled into the skirt, blending well with the silk and forming it into a cohesive piece. 

Everyone’s compliments overlapped as you took her hands in yours, the both of you smiling widely at one another. 

With a gentle squeeze of your hands, and a knock on the door from her brothers, ready to walk her down the aisle, Maggie sighed. “Well, ladies, I think it’s just about time I got married, don’t you think?”

The ceremony was, to say the least, perfect. 

Out of the entire bridal party, you were the last to walk down the aisle, with Chuck and Thomas on either arm, all three of you beaming like sunshine. 

Your dad, along with everyone in the church, welled with tears upon Maggie’s entrance, both  of her brothers on her arm. Everything went without a hitch, and you must have ran through a pack or two of pocket kleenex. You’d never be able to replicate the joy in your heart when your dad finally called Maggie his wife. 

To no one’s surprise, the reception started strong and continued to stay that way. The hall looked absolutely amazing, with round tables and white wicker chairs, beautiful flower centerpieces. In the few-hour long break between the ceremony and the reception, Sonya, Harriet, and Brenda’s attitudes have kicked up in suspicion, but all things considered, you simply brushed it off. You had a lot more to worry about today than their behavior, and one of those things was your speech. 

All of your friends sat at a table near the front, watching your uncle wrap up his speech. Thomas and Chuck were going to do one as the best men, but didn’t quite know what to say, so they passed that duty onto Mark. One of Maggie’s friends offered to do the same for you, but you had already started with an idea, and this was too important to pass off. 

With shaking hands and messily written index cards, you stepped up to the microphone next to your parents table, smiling at the people around you. You kept your eyes on Maggie and your dad, though, for the most part. 

Clearing your throat, you leaned into the mic and began your speech. “I know that there’s a lot of people here who might not exactly know who I am, but I’m very glad to be here to share this day with all of you. I’m the daughter of the groom, and my name is Y/n. I want to start by congratulating my dad and Maggie, who I can say, deep in my heart, I know were meant to be together. Sure, it took them a while, but I guess finding ‘The One’ takes time, right?” You took a deep breath, adjusting the cards in your hands, finding that you didn’t need them any more. “I’ve only known Maggie for about four years, but she’s one of the greatest people I’ve ever met. I’ll forever be grateful for all of the things she’s helped me and my dad through, and for always being there. Maggie, you and your boys have changed everything in our lives, and there won’t be a day that I won’t be thankful for that. You showed my dad how to love again, and you didn’t hesitate for a second to share that love with me, too.” 

You were only looking at Maggie, now, eyes wet with tears and a smile stretching your face. “And it’s because of that love and dedication that I am proud to be here today, with all our friends and family, and be able to call you my mom.” 

You watched the emotions change on your parents faces and laughed lightly. “I can only finish this off by saying that I hope that everything the both of you want out of life comes to you, and to tell you that I love you both to the moon and back.” 

Quietly, you stepped away from the microphone and walked over to an already standing Maggie, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“I love you so much, honey,” she whispered, kissing the side of your head. 

You squeezed her tight, tucking your face into her neck. “I love you, too, mom.”

After you let go and sat down, you glanced over at your dad to find him trying his best to hide his tears. He hadn’t been doing so well, considering you could see the shine of tears building on his waterline. 

Dinner and cake came after the speeches finished, both of which were delicious — you made a mental note to personally tell Jorge how good the cake was — and made you heavily consider taking seconds, despite knowing you would pay for it later with a stomach ache. 

Soon enough, the dance floor filled with people, and you searched out your friends to spend more time with them. 

You found them easily, the seven of them clumped into one corner of the room, just by the hall’s main entrance. They greeted you warmly, talking over one another about the food and the speeches. You told them everything about your day so far, and how proud and elated you were that the wedding finally happened. It was only when you were getting into how hectic things had been at the house that Gally’s phone rang, and suddenly the whole group went quiet. 

He stepped away, answering the phone and nodding like the person on the other line could see him. Everyone was looking at him, cheeky smiles on their faces as Gally came back, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. 

“What was that all about?” You asked him. 

Gally smiled at you, something he didn’t do all that often, a playful gleam in his eye. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“Why?” Your brows cinched as you dragged out your question, glancing between everyone as a slight chill ran up your spine. 

“He’s got a surprise for you, that’s why.” Brenda nudged you. “Just go, I promise it’ll be worth it.” 

You looked between everyone wearily before following Gally out to his car, not bothering to grab your coat. Your heart was racing with every step, the anticipation and confusion building in your head. Brenda said it was worth the trip, but you just didn’t know what was going on. Not to mention everyone’s odd behavior…

After driving around for a few minutes, Gally pulled into the school parking lot. A light flurry of snow had begun to fall, dusting the grass and pavement, and slightly impairing your vision as you looked around from the passenger’s seat. “Gally, why are we at the school?”

The boy looked up from his phone with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

Not a moment after he finished his sentence, your phone pinged from your dress pocket. Your heart stopped when you pulled it out, reading the new message in your notifications. ‘Come to the willow tree’

It was from Newt.

You looked up at Gally, who’s smile widened as he nodded toward the field. 

“He’s waiting for you,” Gally said, and you had to remember how to breathe. 

With one final, reassuring nod, you exited the car, bracing against the cold as you raced to the willow tree. Through the flurries, you made out Newt’s figure by the tree, and stopped yourself from running any further. 

Once you were able to move your legs again, you took it slower, walking through the thin layer of accumulating snow, picking up your dress to make it less likely for you to trip. With every step, you could make out Newt’s figure a little clearly, and it made the ache in your chest grow larger. 

You came to a stop under the tree’s canopy of dead leaves, providing some protection from the snow. Newt was wearing a black suit, and you couldn’t deny how great he looked in it. He was still staring at his shoes and picking at his fingernail when you stopped walking, almost as though he hadn’t heard you approaching him. 

Gripping the sides of your dress, you found the courage to speak up. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.” 

Newt looked up from his shoes with a smile. “I lied.” 

“But that’s what you said, isn’t it? On Christmas. When you slammed the door in my face.” 

“I know what I said, and I’m sorry,” Newt sighed, stepping a bit closer. “I was a prick for saying it, too. I never should’ve done what I did, you didn’t deserve it.” He took a breath, running a hand through his hair and tucking a hand into one of his pockets. “Ever since the party, Sonya’s been telling me every day how upset you were. Hell, everyone was, and it’s been driving me mad ever since, because I hurt you, and I’ve never wanted to do that.” 

Teary-eyed, you opened your mouth to speak, but Newt continued. 

“I don’t care what Tommy thinks about us being together anymore. But I want us to be together. Hell, the only thing that kept me quiet about how I felt for so long — that stopped me from asking you out when we hung out together on our own for the first time — was how I thought he would react, or if he would disapprove of it. But I don’t care anymore. I love you, Y/n. More than anything. Staying away from you for so long has been killing me, and I can’t stand it anymore.” He stepped closer again, leaving only a few inches of space between you. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to follow you outside when you came to Mickey’s with Brenda. To apologize for what I said, for leaving you that night. To—” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “—to kiss you bloody senseless.” 

You stared up at the boy before you, the one you never thought would talk to you again, in awe of his words. After the bonfire, you never believed that Newt would say something like that to you, let alone plan something as intimate as this was. You blinked away tears for the fourth time that day and realized there was only one thing you could say at the moment. 

“So do it. Kiss me.” 

Newt closed the distance between your bodies, pulling you into him by the waist and pressing his lips to yours. Elation filled every inch of your body as you wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him as close as you were able, pouring all your love into the kiss. You felt one of Newt’s hands snake up your neck, palm splayed over your jaw as he tried in vain to pull you closer into his body. 

You wished you didn’t need air to breathe when you were forced to pull back, lipstick smeared on Newt’s swollen lips, and likely on your own, as well. But you still had one question to ask. 

“Why now?” You asked, smoothing the hairs on the nape of his neck. “I mean, after everything, why now? You spent two months pretending to hate me, so what changed?”

“The jacket.” Newt told you. “Sonya practically forced it into my hands after you left, and then she yelled at me for half an hour about how big of an idiot I was being, and how wrong it was for me to keep treating you the way I had been. After that… I sat on my bed for a while, holding the jacket and thinking about how right she was. About how much I missed you. After that, I knew I had to do something, so…” 

“So you planned all this?” You said, a coy smile spreading on your lips. “Just for me?”

Newt smiled wide, laughter bubbling in his throat. “Just for you, darling.” The nickname made your heart skip a beat, and your smile widened. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. You  saw what I did for you in New York. Making elaborate plans to see you happy isn’t anything new.”

Without another word, you pulled his head down to kiss him again. You couldn’t fight the smile on your lips as you kissed Newt, reveling in how amazing it felt to finally be able to kiss him. Just as you were pulling away, a thought crossed your mind. “Wait. What about Thomas? And our friends?”

“Did you not hear a word I just said?” Newt laughed. “I don’t give a damn what Tommy thinks. I only care about you. And our friends have been in on it for the past week, love.” 

You smiled bright at the boy holding you, pulling him back into another searing kiss. 

Under the canopy of the willow tree, on the greatest day of your life so far, you got your movie-screen happy ending; and everything that happened to get it was entirely worth it.

series taglist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine @yes-fangirl-things (open!)

[gorogues]

Fictober 2024

Prompt number #4 Fanfiction Fandom: Flash Rogues Rating: T – Teen and up Warnings: Profanity, general miscreant behaviour

Day Four: “No, we’re not doing that”

The Rogues had piled into the van for a road trip to Chicago to see the Cubs play, as they did every year or so, but things quickly seemed strange to anyone paying attention.

“Hey, why aren’t we heading to the interstate?” Mark called from the back seat, and Len tightened his grip on the wheel.

“We ain’t going to Chicago,” Len replied calmly.  “We’re going to Keystone.”

“What!  What about the Cubbies?!” Mick demanded.  “You said we were going to Wrigley to watch `em play the Cards!”

“Nope, we’re not doin’ that.  We’re gonna go watch the Combines play, because somebody set off a stink bomb in my bed and now we’re gonna do what I want to do.”

Axel’s cheeks reddened a bit, but he figured the best defence was a good offence.  “Hockey totally sucks, and this isn’t Canada!  The rest of us don’t like it and you’re outnumbered six to one!”

“I don’t care one way or another, mate, they’re all shit Yank sports to me,” Digger shrugged, and Evan nodded enthusiastic agreement.

“It’s nae fitba.”

Len took his attention away from the road to grin aggressively at the others.  “Funny you should mention Canada, `cause we’re gonna watch the Combines play the Leafs and it’ll be one hell of a bloodbath.  I get to see my team stomp another, and you dickheads get to watch a team embarrass itself by choking in the clutch every single time.”

Roscoe began fumbling with the van’s side door, intending to make a speedy exit, but the doors were locked from the driver’s controls.

“Oh no, Dillon, you aren’t going anywhere.  Trickster told me the bomb was your idea.”

Roscoe’s eyes flashed with an angry green glow.  “I should have known there was a reason you insisted I go to the ballgame!”

Len just laughed, and the van soon approached the river-spanning bridge to Keystone.

+++

One hour later found the Rogues seated in the arena, watching the start of the game with varying levels of interest.

“This sport is so dumb.  Why the skates?” Axel complained as Len swigged some beer and enjoyed the misery of the idiots around him.

“It’s cold in here,” Mick whispered, shivering.  Mark surreptitiously draped Len’s coat around their suffering comrade’s shoulders, having observed that Dear Leader was absorbed in the action on the ice.

“The brawling’s not bad,” Digger observed appreciatively as several players exchanged punches and one guy tripped another with his stick when the ref wasn’t looking.

“Aye, I’ve watched the ice hockey before in Glesga.  Bu’ it’s nae all that popular with the local lads except for all the doin’,” Evan replied, moderately bored by the game.  His eyes were on another patron’s expensive watch which was located three rows in front of them, seductively glinting under the overhead lights.

Roscoe sat silently and tried to hide his annoyance to deprive Len of any satisfaction, though with only middling success because Len knew him better than he knew himself.  He paid most of his attention to the other Rogues, finding their behaviour more interesting than the mediocre game itself.

But Len was having a blast.  “Fuck yeah!” he jeered when the Combines scored yet another goal over the hapless Maple Leafs, inadvertently drenching Mark with beer.

“God, Len, could you not?” Mark grumbled, dabbing at his favourite Cubs jersey with a greasy napkin.  “I didn’t set off any stink bomb.”

“S-so c-cold…” Mick murmured, and Evan was getting a distinct gleam in his eyes as he stared at the fancy watch.

“Say, have you noticed that gentleman’s beautiful watch?” Roscoe conversationally observed to his fellows.  “Who wants to bet that I can lift it from his wrist without him noticing?”

Evan glared at him; he was determined that the prize should only be his.  He stood up, claiming to need the washroom, so Roscoe sat back and relaxed.  Time to wait for things to blow up.

Soon there was a scuffle a few rows in front of them, involving lots of shouting and shoving.  “Hey, this guy tried to steal my watch!” shouted an indignant voice amidst the melee.

“Fight!  Fight!” Digger cheered from his seat, simply enjoying the drama and not caring who was involved.

Len got up with a sinking feeling, trying to see what was happening.  “Dammit, McCulloch…”  He pushed his way to the aisle with the faint hope of retrieving his idiot before the police were called and the game was potentially ruined.

“I think Mick would appreciate it if you raised the temperature in here,” Roscoe said to Mark in that same conversational tone, and the Weather Wizard knew exactly what he was doing but was only too happy to oblige.

“Y’know, you’re right,” Mark muttered, seeing an opportunity to go home without the boss finding out.  He waved his wand, and the interior of the building began to slowly heat up.  Not enough to make anyone ill, but enough for the ice to start melting in ways the players didn’t like, and they left the rink soon after.

“Your attention, please,” the arena’s announcer droned over the public address system. “The game is temporarily on hold due to unforeseen conditions on the ice, and your patience is appreciated while the matter is investigated.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Len demanded when he returned to the group with a shame-faced Evan in tow.

“No clue.  Something’s gone wrong, I guess,” Mark said smoothly, and the Rogues who’d caught on to the scheme had the common sense not to chuckle.

Len snorted with extreme annoyance.  “We can’t wait around here for things to maybe continue, because this dipshit tried and failed to steal some rich guy’s watch.  McCulloch, I don’t want you to get snatched by the cops on the way home, so you head back right away via your mirror.”

“Aye,” Evan mumbled, and prepared to exit the building via a small mirror from his pocket.  Most of the other Rogues eagerly tried to follow, but Len narrowed his eyes at them, already suspicious about the evening’s various misfortunes.

“Nope, the rest of you jerks are with me, and we’re all gonna drive home together.  And we’re gonna take the scenic route too.”

The heavy sighs Roscoe and Mark uttered were an incredible balm to Len’s soul.

[vodika-vibes]

A Healer's Touch

Summary: As the official for the ARC Knights, you have a difficult job, only made more difficult when ARC Captain Alpha-17 refuses to listen to you. But when things take a dangerous turn, there's no one you trust more to keep you safe.

Pairing: ARC Knight! Alpha-17 x Healer!Reader

Word Count: 4401

Warnings: Canon typical violence

A/N: So this does not have any specific fairy tale it's based on, simply because I couldn't think of a single fairy tale that would work with Alpha-17.

Divider by saradika

“Are you, perhaps, dumb, Captain?” You ask as you set your hand on your cocked hip, “Or perhaps you suffer from selective hearing. Because I’m fairly certain, Captain, I told you to stay off your feet until your ribs healed.”

“Hm? What was that? I wasn’t listening, Doc.” Alpha-17 drawls as he pulls the ice pack away from his ribs.

You take a deep breath, “Captain-”

“You know,” He interrupts, “When you say my rank it sounds an awful lot like Fuck You. Why is that?”

You slam your hand on the table, “Alpha!” You snap, and then you turn away from him and take a deep breath, “Alpha,” You repeat, once you were sure that you weren’t going to try and rip his head off, “Your ribs are broken. Broken ribs are bad. You have to let yourself heal.”

“Eh…no thanks, Doc.”

“Are the things I’m saying just going in one ear and out the other?” You ask, annoyed.

Alpha’s gaze drags lazily across your face, and then he flashes a slow smirk, “I want a second opinion.”

“Yeah, and I want to smother you, but we don’t always get what we want now do we?” You counter as you fold your arms over your chest, “You need to rest, or I will go over your head and make you. Am I clear?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Alpha hops to his feet and tosses the ice pack at you, a cocky smirk crossing his face as you fumble with it, “I’m not going to listen, Doc, but I hear you.”

“You-”

“I’ll see you later!” He calls over his shoulder as he leaves your infirmary. 

“No…Alpha!” You poke our head out the door to yell at him, but he’s already gone. “Ugh, why do I even bother?” You ask the empty hallway, before you turn back into the infirmary and walk over to your desk, and grab the file for Alpha-17.

You make a mark, indicating that he is not cleared for duty, and then drop it in your ‘to be filed’ box, and you drop in your seat and rub your forehead just over your eyes.

The side door cracks open, and your assistant pokes her head in, “Is the Captain gone?” She asks nervously.

“Why are you skulking around like that?” You ask.

“Um…Captain Alpha-17 intimidates me.” She admits, “I can’t believe that you can actually yell at him.”

You scoff, “Someone has to yell at him, it might as well be me.”

Your assistant shakes her head, “You’re braver than I am.” She whispers, “Also, I finished the inventory. We’re solid on everything.”

“Good to know, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She shifts, “Can I go home?”

You cut your eyes towards her, and then roll them, “Yeah, yeah. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you!”

You’re absently aware of her gathering her belongings and then hurrying out of the infirmary, and soon enough, you’re alone with your thoughts…and the pile of charts that need to be filled, and filed.

It’s the start of another very, very long night.

You have been the Head Healer for Mandalore for less than a year at this point, and you’re beginning to think that the only reason you were offered the position at all was because you’re the only healer who isn’t the least bit intimidated by…anyone?

The position did come with a nice raise, nice enough that you bought a house closer to the palace, but the position also came with a massive jump in responsibilities…and a headache in the form of one Alpha-17.

You can handle him, you’ve been his personal healer for several years now, but you would like for him to not fight you about his medical care, at least once. 

Of course, it’s never going to happen. Alpha fights and bickers as easily as breathing. The only time he doesn’t fight you on medical stuff is when he’s not awake to do so. It would almost be a relief, if the sight of Alpha still and quiet didn’t make your heart twist painfully in your chest.

Yeah, you don’t examine that too closely. 

You flip through the charts on your desk, and release a sigh. 20 charts, fifteen minutes a piece…this is easily going to take you hours. 

You stare at the pile of charts for a moment longer, and then sigh and push to your feet. You grab the stack and slide them into your bag, and then sling it over your shoulder. If you’re going to be working until midnight, you might as well do so from the comfort of home.

You step out of your office, and lock the door behind you with a touch of magic, and then you poke your head into your co-workers office, “I’m out for the night.”

“Lucky you,” He replies without looking up from his own charts, “I can’t wait until we switch shifts so I’m working day shift.”

You laugh, “It’s only a few more weeks before we switch, don’t worry.”

“True, true. Good night.”

“You too.” You wave at him, and side step his assistant as she rushes into his office, babbling about something, and you decide to leave before you get dragged into whatever emergency is brewing.

You make it through the palace and just outside the gate when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. “Well now, isn’t this a surprise.”

You sigh and turn at the familiar voice, “Alpha. You’re meant to be resting.” You say pointedly.

“I’m walking, Doc. Nothing strenuous happening here,” He retorts easily, “You taking off for the night?”

“I,” you reply, “am going to get dinner, and then I’m going home.”

He falls into step next to you, “Oh yeah? Hot date, doc?”

You scoff, “As if I have time for that.”

“Come on, pretty lady like you? I’m sure you have men lining up for a chance to date you.” Alpha replies dryly.

“I’m not talking about this with you.” You say with a shake of your head.

“Hm. Sounds to me like you just don’t want to admit that you have a string of boyfriends.” 

You shake your head, “Believe what you like, Alpha. But I legitimately don’t have time.”

“There’s more to life than work, doc.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, “Said the pot to the kettle,” You retort.

He smirks at you, “I take plenty of breaks. In fact, I’m going clubbing with some of the other Alphas.”

You stop in your tracks and you pin Alpha with a serious glare, “You have three broken ribs!” You hiss.

His smirk grows, “I’ll club gently.”

You take a deep breath, “You know what. You’re going to end up with a punctured lung, and I’m just going to let you die, you stubborn asshole.”

“No you won’t,” Alpha says confidently. 

“Watch me.” You snap.

He drapes an arm over your shoulder and you stumble into his side, “Oh, cyare.” He coos annoyingly, “You’ve spent the last four years keeping me alive.”

“Maybe I should have stopped after the first time,” You grumble, “Why are you touching me?”

“You’re always touching me,”

“I’m a healer! I’m your personal healer, even! It’s not the same thing!” You sputter.

“Hm.” He doesn’t reply, but his arm around your shoulder tightens slightly and you feel his fingers trail against the skin of your throat, “you’re so soft-” His voice is barely a whisper, and you get the feeling that you probably weren’t supposed to hear that.

You swallow hard, “Alpha.” You keep your voice very calm, “Can you let me go, please.”

His gaze locks on your face for a long moment, and you feel his fingers pause on your throat, “Am I making you nervous, doc?”

“Never,” You answer honestly, “But I still need you to let me go. You have plans, Alpha. And I need to get home.”

He slowly pulls his fingers away from your skin, as though it physically pains him, “You should come clubbing with me, Doc. I’ll show you a good time.” Alpha says as he finishes pulling away from you.

“Not this time, Alpha.” You say with a shake of your head, and you take a step away from him, “Have fun, but be careful. I don’t want to have to patch you up because you overdid it.”

“But you will.” 

“Well, that is my job.” You smile at him, fondly, “I hope you have fun, Alpha.”

“It’d be more fun with you, doc.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be.” You reply with a shake of your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you then.”

You feel Alpha’s eyes on you for a while longer, though by the time you reach the city proper, he’s not standing outside the palace anymore. With difficulty, you put all thoughts of Alpha out of your mind, and you focus your attention on getting food.

You stop at a food cart, deciding to make life easy for yourself, and you’re considering what to order for yourself, when a young woman hurries over to you, “Excuse me! I’m sorry for bothering you,” She says with a bow, “But…you’re clothes…are you a healer?”

You release a silent sigh, and push your hunger to the back of your mind, as you turn to look at the young woman, “I am, are you hurt?”

“Not me,” She says as she wrings her hands, “No, but my father is badly injured and…please…I don’t want him to die.”

“Alright,” You smile soothingly, “Why don’t you show me where he is.”

“Oh, thank you! He’s this way.”

The young woman leads you through the busy streets, down several side alleys, until you’re on the outskirts of the village. There, sitting on a tree stump with his back towards you, is an older gentleman with gray hair. “Your father?” You ask.

She nods rapidly. 

You frown slightly, “Alright…” You’re confused. The man doesn’t look badly injured, and the girl passed four other clinics who see people on an emergency basis all the time. Something about this doesn’t feel right. “Sir? Sir, I’m a healer, may I come over to you?” You call.

The old man sways, almost drunkenly, “Oh…” He slurs, “Oh yes…I hurt so bad…”

You frown a little more, and you slide your hand into your pocket, and you grip, and prime, your panic button. With the button primed, it’ll activate and alert everyone if you release it without deactivating it.

You walk over to the man, and you move so you’re standing in front of him, “Sir? What seems to be the problem?”

The man lifts his head, and you take half a step back when you see golden eyes. “Hello, my dear.” He says in a crisp accent, “I am sorry for the deception, but I’m afraid you need to come with me.”

“...no thank you.” You reply as you take another step away from Count Dooku.

“I’m afraid this isn’t an invitation you can turn down,” He says gently, as though he wasn’t a known terrorist. “Hands out of your pockets, please.”

You slowly release the panic button, and pull your hand out of your pocket. You’re able to feel the swell of magic that’s associated with the panic alarm being released, and you feel the magic latch onto you. 

But if you can feel it, so can Dooku.

“Clever.” The older man muses, “The distress beacon latches onto you, rather than the item you’re carrying, so the people looking for you can find you. And you triggered the beacon as soon as you entered the clearing, I’m guessing.”

“She passed four other emergency clinics to find me…as if she was looking for me specifically.” You whisper.

“And as the personal healer of the ARC Knights, you’re suspicious by nature.” Dooku continues with a small nod.

“...yes.”

“Hm…a shame.” He murmurs.

And for a terrifying moment, you think he’s going to kill you. But instead he turns to the young woman who lured you here, and with a snap of his fingers, she bursts into flames.

A cry of horror falls from you and you reach out, your own magic lashing out to try and save her, only for Dooku to grab you by the arm and jerk you back next to him. 

You press your hand over your mouth as Dooku stays until the young woman is no longer screaming…and then continues to remain until the fire has gone out. 

“Ah look, that calvary.” Dooku murmurs as his gaze is drawn to the alley, where a group of ARCs are sprinting your way, led by Alpha. The men fill the clearing, leaving a wide berth around the smoldering body.

“Dooku,” Alpha-17 says, his voice a snarl, “Release the Healer.”

Dooku smiles and jerks you tighter to his side, “I’m afraid I need her more than you do.”

“There are a lot more of us than there are of you,” Another ARC growls from behind you and Dooku.

“True. But, you see, magic is the great equalizer.” Dooku replies, “Time to go, my dear.”

You can feel the swell of magic around you, and you try to twist out of Dooku’s grip.

You fail.

Your gaze locks with Alpha-17’s. His jaw is clenched, and he looks absolutely furious, “Alpha-” You whisper, and then the magic swell breaks, and you’re ripped through a maelstrom of magic, protected from the buffering power only because Dooku doesn’t want you injured.

You stumble when there’s suddenly solid ground under your feet again. You take a chance to look around yourself, and you feel a chill. Serrano. Dooku’s home nation, and the nation where he’s the sole ruler.

“Follow me, Healer.” Dooku orders as he leads you through the streets, his grip is still tight around your arm, so it’s much less that he’s leading you, and more that he’s dragging you.

He drags you to the palace, a dark and cold looking building filled with dark wood and deep burgundy accents. “Where are you taking me?” You ask as you half run to keep him from actually dragging you across the ground.

“You will see.” He replies.

Dooku leads you through massive halls, and down into the deepest pits of his palace, and he only releases you after he pushes open a door, revealing a very well stocked infirmary.

There are three Zabraki men in the room, and at first blush you assume that they’re either brothers, or close cousins.

“Introductions,” Dooku says coolly, “Savage Opress,” He motions to the largest of the men in the room, “Feral Opress,” He motions to the slender young man who is watching you with frightened eyes, “and Maul Opress.” He motions to the badly injured man on the bed. “You are here for Maul. Take a look.”

You move closer to the bed, and look him over, carefully lifting the blanket to see the full extent of his injuries, “He’s been bisected.” You say blankly.

“Yes, I’m aware. Can you fix him?”

“I…maybe?” You say faintly.

“Hm…do your best.” Dooku replies, “Feral will help you, he’s been learning some healing.” And then he looks at Savage, “With me.”

And then you’re alone, with a critically wounded man, and his younger brother.

Feral smiles at you kindly, “I shall try not to get in your way, Healer. But I would appreciate anything you have to teach me.”

You clench your hands to stop them from trembling, and you smile politely at Feral. “Alright then. Can you tell me what has already been done for Maul?”

***********

Two weeks later, you’re still in Serrano.

It’s much colder here, than in Mandalore, and you eventually were forced to ask Feral for thicker clothing, and he ended up just giving you some of his cold weather gear, all while telling you that you’d adjust to the cold eventually.

Feral’s not built like Savage, but he’s still much bigger than you, so you’re swimming in his clothes, even while you work.

You like Feral, he’s a good kid, for all that you’re pretty sure he has a few years on you. He’s innocent, almost. And he’s got an excellent work ethic, and he wants to learn to heal. 

Savage is quiet, and intimidating, but he mostly just comes down to the infirmary to check on Feral. You wouldn’t say that you’re fond of Savage, not like you are of Feral, but you’re not uncomfortable around him.

And then there’s Maul.

He’s much more tolerable when he’s unconscious, to be honest, but you’re a healer and you will do your duty, even if this whole situation feels like you have a blade hanging over your neck. 

Maul is polite, if nothing else. But he has a tendency to think that he knows best about all things. Including medical care. Fortunately, Feral is able to handle Maul when he’s at his most disagreeable.

“He seems to be healing nicely,” Feral notes thoughtfully as he watches his older brother carefully stumble around the room on the prosthetics you crafted for him.

“Yes, I agree.” You reply as you make a note in Maul’s chart, “I’m impressed, actually. Most people aren’t up and walking on their prosthetics so quickly.”

Feral laughs quietly, “Well, he has a very stubborn personality.”

You shake your head, and Feral laughs again, “He’s not the only one I’m impressed with.” You note as you tilt your head towards Feral, “You’re picking up some of the most difficult theories of Healing Magic faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

He ducks his head with a blush, “Well…you’re an excellent teacher. The books I read never made much sense, but it all makes sense when you explain it to me.”

“Hm…” You turn to Maul, “Alright, that’s enough for now.” You say to him, “Back in your chair.”

He scowls at you, but moves to sit back in the chair, “I can still do more,” He insists.

“I’m sure you can. But too much can hurt more than help,” You point out, “How do they feel when you’re walking on them?”

“A little awkward, something feels a little off in the left foot.”

“Oh, I can take a look at that!” Feral says enthusiastically, “Um…can I, healer?”

“By all means.” You reply. You step back and allow Feral to kneel at his brother’s side, and start a diagnostic scan, “What do you see, Feral?”

“Mm…it looks like a screw came loose.” Feral replies after a moment, “I can fix that! Let me get my kit!” With that he gets to his feet and hurries into the next room.

“...you’re good for him.” Maul notes, his yellow eyes piercing.

“He’s a good kid. Smart, kind. He’ll be a great healer, if he’s given the chance.” You say with a shrug, “He has the right personality.”

Feral hurries back into the room before Maul can answer, and he immediately sets about repairing the broken screw in Maul’s foot, “...and…there! Try now.” He scurries back as Maul stands and walks around the room.

“Much better.” Maul replies, “Am I able to walk now or should I still use the chair?” He asks you.

“I would prefer you to use the chair, but since I doubt you will, just make sure you don’t overdo it.” You warn.

“No promises,” Maul replies. He nods at his brother, and then walks out of the room, something that had been impossible only a week earlier.

“Amazing!” Feral beams at you, “Can you heal anything?”

“No, not at all. Dooku was clever by grabbing me. I’m a trauma specialist. Injuries like what Maul had are what I decided to focus on.” You reply, “You’d make a fair pediatric healer, Feral.”

“Oh, no. I probably should focus on Trauma as well.” He replies, “To keep my brothers healthy.” He pauses, and shifts guiltily, “But, I’m afraid I have to return you to your cell now, Healer.”

“I know Feral. It’s okay.”

You allow him to lead you down the halls to the small, cramped, cell that has been your room for the last two weeks. “Ah, new blankets.” You note.

“It’s meant to get cold today, so I asked for extra blankets for you.” Feral says, “I’m sure if you swear allegiance to Count Dooku-”

“I’m not going to do that, Feral.” You step into your cell, and pick up a blanket to pull it around yourself, “Thank you for the blanket.”

“You’re welcome.” Feral shuts the door, “I’ll bring you your dinner later, Healer.”

You nod and turn to settle yourself on your cot. You probably could escape, if you wanted to. But you’re no warrior, and your oaths prevent you from knowingly harming another person, so you’re stuck here, having to wait for someone to come for you.

It’s several hours later, after you’ve eaten dinner and have already drifted off to sleep on your cot, when you’re jerked awake by the sound of a massive explosion. 

You scramble to your feet, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, and you press yourself into the corner of your cell. You wince as you hear another explosion and the sound of shouting, and your cell door is wrenched open, revealing Feral on the other side.

“Come on, you can’t stay in here!” He says, hurrying into your cell and taking your hand. He pulls you out of your cell and to the stairs at the end of the hall and starts dragging you up the stairs.

Feral pulls you through burning halls, and then helps you out a broken window, “Where are you taking me?” You ask as he pulls you through waist height bushes.

“We need to get to the lake, Maul and Savage are waiting for us there.” Feral replies.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” You squeak when a strong hand grabs your arm, and you’re jerked, unceremoniously, against a set of armor. “She’s not going with you, kid.”

You blink up at the very familiar helmet of Alpha-17 and you slump against him, relieved. And when his arm, the one not holding a weapon, wraps securely around you, you have to fight the urge to cry.

“I…Healer…”

You turn to look at Feral and you offer him a small smile, “You should go to your brothers, Feral.” You offer, “I’m not in any danger here.”

Feral looks between you and Alpha for a moment, and then he nods slowly, “I wish you the best, Healer. Maybe we’ll meet again in the future.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

And then Feral is gone, and Alpha is carrying you up the slope to the Mandalorian encampment. He ushers you to a tent painted in his colors, and he gently sits you down on the table and tugs the blanket off of your shoulders, and then he stops.

For a moment, you don’t think he’s even breathing. “Um…Alpha?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, his voice a low rumble.

“Probably still in my cell,” You reply, “They were far too thin for the temperature here-”

“Whose clothes are those?” Alpha interrupts.

“Um…Ferals? Though the top is Savage’s.” You say after pausing to think a moment.

Something dangerous flickers across Alpha’s face and though you don’t, quite, understand what he’s so angry about, you reach out and place your hand on his chest plate, “Alpha, I’m okay. They gave me some of their clothes because I was going to freeze.”

He rips his gloves off, and he cups your face with his hands, tilting your head so he can see your face clearly. He scans your face, taking note that you have no bruises, or any injuries at all. “They didn’t hurt you?” He asks.

“No. Not at all. They needed me.”

His fingers twitch against your face, “For what?”

“Healing. Maul needed healing.”

“And you did?”

“I had to!” You defend your actions, with wide eyes.

“Hey, hey. You’re not in trouble.” His voice is soft and almost soothing, “You did what you had to. That’s a good thing.”

You stare at him with wide eyes, “Thank you for coming for me.” You say after a moment.

His smile is very small, “Of course…you called for me after all.”

“...yeah, I guess I did.” You whisper.

You don’t realize how close Alpha is standing to you until you feel his nose bump against yours. There’s something warm in his gaze, and it makes you feel warm to the tips of your toes, “I’m going to kiss you now, ner baar’ur.” He murmurs.

You lick your lips, nervous, and his gaze snaps to the flash of pink that is your tongue, something hot entering his gaze, “Okay.” You whisper.

His lips crash against yours. The kiss is as demanding as Alpha, and you’re helpless to do anything but submit to him, your fingers lightly curling against the ridges of his armor.

You start when you hear a throat clear near the door, and your face flames when you see Fordo standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face, Alpha, for his part, merely sets his hands on your shoulders and pinned his brother with a furious glare, “What.” He barks out.

“Dooku escaped,” Fordo replies gleefully. Far too gleeful for the situation, “But we found something weird that we’re calling the court wizard in on.”

“Great. Get out.” Alpha snaps, as he turns his gaze back towards you.

“The vod’e are waiting for their orders. Surely you can hold off on kissing your pretty baar’ur for long enough to get us out of this hellhole.” Fordo says, with a growing grin.

Alpha releases you and turns on his brother, a string of curses falling from his lips. “Fine!” He snaps, and then he turns to you, “Are you good to work, ner baar’ur?” 

You hop to your feet, your face still burning red, “Yes. Of course.”

His gaze softens, “Good girl,” Alpha murmurs, his fingers coming up to brush your cheek again, “We’ll talk about this,” He motions to the pair of you, “Later.”

“Alright.” You whisper.

“The medical tent is a little further back, white and red.” He says quietly, “Oh, get yourself into clothes that don’t belong to other men. Please.” Alpha adds, “It really, really bothers me.”

A quiet laugh bubbles from your lips, “I’ll see what I can find.” And then you duck out of the tent. You’re not supposed to be a frontline medic, but trauma is trauma, so you’ll do the best you can.

[dangraccoon]

Invitations

Week 9 ~ "your hands are freezing" ~ bonfire ~

Word Count: 2475 Content: party, alcohol, flirting, Echo is aroace in this one

@clone-wars-winter-challenge

Mando'a Guide: jetii - jedi osi'kyr - a strong exclamation of surprise or dismay

You hadn’t thought that the wild pack of men that had piled into your office a week ago would’ve organized well enough to complete all the necessary and repetitive forms needed to get what they wanted, yet here you sat at your desk with the permit–clearly marked “approved”–pulled up on your computer.

You chuckled to yourself, tapping the button on your desk for the intercom.

“Andrel? Can you comm the commander of the Coruscant Guard for a meeting?” you requested. “Fox, I think his name was.”

The line was quiet for a moment. “Really?” your assistant murmured.

“What– yes, really,” you said.

“No, like do you actually need to talk to him?”

You huffed in disbelief. “Yes, I do–”

The door to your office slid open, revealing the young Mirialan, moving quickly to sit on the edge of your desk. He leaned in, almost conspiratorially.

“I heard from some of the other assistants about him,” he whispered. “They said–”

“Andrel,” you groaned, hands rising to massage your temples. Your assistant was like a little brother to you; yes, you loved him, but he had an uncanny ability to find and press all your buttons. 

“No, I’m serious!” he protested. “They said he’s prickly! He’s got a bad attitude and he’s grouchy and terse and rude!”

“Andrel, I’m not going to avoid the meeting I should be having with him just because some of your friends said he’s an asshole,” you sighed. “I’m a middle management cog in the endless wheels of Coruscanti bureaucracy. I need to do my job.”

Andrel fixed you with a confused and slightly judging look–one you’d usually give to someone making a scene in public–but returned to his own desk with a shake of his head. 

A few moments later your intercom dinged. 

“Line one, boss,” Andrel hummed. 

 “Thank you,” you sighed, tapping the button. 

“Commander Fox?” you greeted. 

“What can I do for you?”

You could hear that the voice was the same as the few other clones you’d met, but this voice held the smallest hint of a growl like raxshir was waiting to pounce behind each word. It also sounded–to be blunt–tired.

“Well, Commander, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” you murmured in the voice you reserved for the various coworkers and other office workers you typically dealt with. “But I think I’m about to make your day a little worse.”

The Commander chuckled humorlessly. “Would you be surprised to learn that very few people actually can?”

“My assistant mentioned what office I’m calling from, right?”

“He did,” Commander Fox hummed. “Not sure what the Head of the Coruscant Department of Public Event Permitting could want from me.”

“Well, I had a visit from a few troopers last week,” you started.

From the other end of the comm, you could hear something hit against something else with a faint clunk followed by a long sigh. “Maker, please tell me they weren’t mine?”

“I can’t say I’m fully versed on the different colors they were sporting, but there was a pair in red who seemed to be in charge of the…” you trailed off as you thought. “The… gaggle? Herd? What do you call a group of somewhat unorganized troopers?”

“A ‘clusterfuck’,” he offered, somehow sounding more tired than when your conversation began. “Who’s on your forms?”

“Um, let’s see…” you scanned through the documents until you came across the ‘organizers’ field. “Looks like they’ve got CT-4477 and–huh, that’s funny– CT-7744 as the event’s main organizers. But, like I told them last week, they are not recognized as citizens by the Republic–ridiculous and… frankly, horrifying as that is–so they’ve got… Obi-Wan Kenobi and Bail Organa signed on as the official sponsors.”

The line was quiet again. You could hear another clunk, followed by the shuffle of footsteps and a door sliding open.

“Thire! Thorn! My office in ten minutes or I will kill you myself!”

You stifled a laugh as the footsteps returned.

“My apologies,” Commander Fox said, his tone sounding nearly exhausted. “What exactly is it they’re planning?”

“That’s why I’m calling,” you said. “Would you believe me if I told you that they managed to correctly fill out all of the datawork to host a bonfire outside of 79s?”

Once again, you were met with silence.

“Honestly, I’m just impressed they had all of the correct forms and that everything was filled in correctly on the first try,” you continued. “That’s less common than you would think.”

“You said Kenobi is somehow involved in this?” the Commander half-groaned. 

“Yes, he’s signed as one of the sponsors–”

Fox sighed. “Not only did two of my commanders organize all of this, no doubt pulling in their buddies from other units, but they got my twin to do the datawork and his General to sign off on it all.” He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “Thank you for the heads-up. It would be a great help if you could forward the forms and permits to my office; it’s going to be impossible to organize the guard that night.”

“Not a problem, Commander,” you hummed, eyeing your assistant as the doors slid open. “I’ll send that right over.”

“Thank you… I– I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”

You chuckled lightly, reminding him as Andrel smirked.

Fox thanked you again, this time by name and with another apology.

You smiled at the comm unit on your desk after the call ended.

“So you’re going, right?” Andrel grinned wickedly, the geometric tattoos shifting across his skin.

You blinked up at him. “Going?”

“To the clone bonfire! I know for a fact that at least some of these men are exactly your type.”

You whacked his arm. “I don’t have a type!”

“Yes, you do,” he laughed. “You like the grumpy ones–broody and mysterious.”

You could feel your cheeks warming. “No–”

“You do! Remember when we were at that fundraising event with… oh which ones were they… ah– the 104th! Didn’t you go home with that commander with the cybernetic eye?”

You were certain your face was redder than the Guard’s armor. “I didn’t ‘go home’ with him; he walked me home!”

“Sure, hun,” Andrel said. “Anyway, you should go!”

You sighed. “I don’t think this is something they’d want… people like us at, you know? Would they really want to hang out with a… not-clone bureaucrat?”

“I know they would because a couple of them stopped by to let us know they received the permit and thank us for helping them by inviting us to the party.”

Kriff.

-

Two weeks later, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you as the chilly updraft from the traffic pushed against you. You’d never been to this section of Coruscant, but you could tell you had the right level as you gradually saw more clones and fewer other people–‘natborns’, Andrel’s new boyfriend had explained to you–in the crowds around you. 

You could hear the cheers and laughter of similar voices as you approached, followed closely by the smell of cheap beer. It almost reminded you of attending university.

“There you are!” Andrel called, pushing through the crowds with his boyfriend and another clone in tow. He thrust a disposable cup of some kind of drink into your hands. “You remember Fives, right?”

The trooper, whom you’d only seen in armor, gave you a crooked grin. “Good to see you again,” he said.

“You too,” you smiled, taking a sip from the cup. 

“This is Echo, my twin,” he said, gesturing to the poor trooper who looked like he’d rather be just about anywhere else. 

“Nice to meet you,” you said. 

Echo gave a nod. “And you.”

“Echo here is an ARC Trooper,” Andrel whispered loudly, wrapping his arm around you. “And he’s single!”

Echo also looked like he wanted to melt into the ground. You gave him a sympathetic smile. 

You couldn’t help the face you made as the alcohol burned your throat. “Maker,” you panted. “The hell is that?”

“Jungle juice,” Fives grimaced. “Don’t worry, they’ve got other drinks inside.”

“We are going to be dancing,” Andrel laughed, his cheeks and nose a deeper green than normal. He was definitely a few rounds in. “Go get a drink with Echo and then find me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved them off, chuckling.

Echo was polite but quiet and as soon as your well-meaning assistant and his kindhearted brother were out of sight, you saw him visibly relax a bit. 

“Listen, you’re very nice, but–”

“I’m not your ‘type’, right?” you finished for him. 

Echo sighed softly. “Sort of,” he admitted. “It’s more like I don’t have a type– no, that’s–” he huffed. “I’m not interested in… any of that,” he shrugged, quickly adding “Not that I think you wouldn’t be a lovely person to– ah, it’s just that I don’t really– does any of this make sense?”

You smiled. “I understand, Echo. You haven’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

The tension eased from his body, but only for a brief moment as he gazed into the crowd. 

“What’s wrong?”

Echo sighed heavily. “I’ve got to go wrangle our shinies or at least one of them is going to the hospital or jail.”

“Yes, I think it’d be best if you intervene,” you laughed. 

He started to walk away but stopped, then turned on his heel to face you again. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “You ever need anything, the five-oh-first’s got your back.”

You smiled, and shooed him off, then wove through the crowds until you found the bar, which was less packed to your relief. 

“What can I get vor you?” the twi’lek bartender asked as she threw a towel over her shoulder.

“Can you make a Hyperdrive?” you asked.

She nodded and set about her work, quickly mixing the drink and placing it before you. You set a few credits on the bar and nodded your thanks.

A clone sat a couple of seats over from you. “Hey Teva,” he greeted the bartender. “Didn’t know you worked weekends.”

“Ah, Vox!” she half-shouted with a smile. “Just zhis once vor zhe party. You want your usual?”

The clone nodded. And you snuck a glance at him. Something struck you as familiar, but you couldn’t quite place why beyond the obvious.

“Fox!” Another clone shouted, his hands landing roughly on the other’s shoulder. “You don’t come out with us often enough!” Wait, Fox? You started to wonder if this could be the same commander–whose voice you hadn’t been able to get out of your head since speaking to him last week–but you were quickly answered as the clone spoke again. That same tone, rolling like thunder that you’d heard over the comm met your ears. 

“Bly,” Fox grumbled. “I swear to every deity of every planet in the galaxy, if you don’t let me get at least one drink alone, I will tell General Secura about the dream you told me about.”

The pair bickered back and forth, but you found you couldn’t make out most of it as you simply stared at Fox.

He wasn’t quite what you were expecting. Obviously, he still looked like the other clones, but as you met more of them, you couldn’t help but notice the differences between them. 

His hair was a mess of short, dark curls, streaked with a grey that most of the others you had met didn’t have. A light scar stretched across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You couldn’t deny that it was attractive to you, nor how you found yourself fighting the impulse to run your fingers through it. 

“What brings you to the clone bar?  Especially with all that nonsense outside,” his voice broke you from your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed that he’d shifted one seat closer to you; not far away, but not too close–though it still quickened your heartbeat. 

You cleared your throat. “I was invited to the party, actually.”

Fox scoffed. “Poor soul.”

About a hundred possible responses flew through your mind, but nothing landed in your mouth, so you chased the silence down with a few sips of your drink. 

After a moment, Fox huffed quietly. “This is going to sound weird, but you sound familiar to me.”

You grinned. “We’ve talked,” you said, surprising yourself with your coyness. 

One of Fox’s eyebrows quirked up. “That so?” 

As you smiled into your drink, he dropped the number of stools between you from four to three. 

“Let’s see,” he drawled. “I don’t think you work at the senate.”

“What, I don’t look senatorial?” you gasped with mock disbelief. 

Fox chuckled and smirked. Damn, you thought. That shouldn’t be that cute.

“I’ve met almost all of the senators,  I know you’re not one of them. And at the risk of sounding like a jetii, you don’t have the right… energy for an aide.”

“Oh? What energy is that?”

“They’re almost always either frantic or pompous,” he shrugged as he moved so only one seat sat between you. “So you’re not from the senate.”

“I’m not from the senate,” you confirmed with a grin. 

“I haven’t met you in person, so obviously you’ve never been booked through the station,” he smirked.

You chuckled. “What makes you think you haven’t met me in person?”

“I never forget a face,” he shrugged, taking a long drink from his glass. “And one like yours? Definitely not.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “I commed you about the party,” you finally admitted. 

Fox smirked. “Damn, that was my next guess.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you chuckled.

“So you decided to take the boys up on their invite?”

“It was more to appease my assistant more than anything else,” you hummed. “I’m surprised you’re not on duty; you made it sound like it would be all hands.”

“I might not be on shift in an official capacity, but anyone who knows who I am knows to behave while I’m looking,” he scoffed into his drink. “They’re good guys, but you add that… jungle whatever monstrosity they’ve mixed up out there…”

“I'm sure,” you said. “Hopefully, they’ll hold off long enough so I can get out of here before the chaos begins.”

Fox eyed you and quickly finished his drink. “I know a way to make sure you get away before it.”

“Really?”

Fox nodded, leaning toward you conspiratorially. “Here’s the plan: you finish your drink, and then we go anywhere else,” he smirked, his eyes burning into yours with the intensity of a sun. You felt your heart jolt as he reached toward you, laying one of his gloved hands over yours. “Would that–Osi'kyr!” His hand jerked, but he didn’t pull it away. “Your hands are freezing!”

You laughed. “It’s windy and I lost my gloves,” you explained.

“Yeah, alright,” Fox scoffed. “We’re going somewhere inside then.”

Mando'a Guide: jetii - jedi osi'kyr - a strong exclamation of surprise or dismay

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[ghostshipernr1]

16-year-old Dewdrop doesn't have it easy.

What he would like most in the world is to bury his nose in books and never leave the room. Unfortunately, his family thinks otherwise and forces him to marry a stranger. Who will save him from such a terrible fate?

otherwise:

My favorite ship but its Vampire Middle ages Universe!!!

Human Dewdrop x Vampire Aether

Witch-hunt

chapter 1

The weather outside was sunny and beatifull. Right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the city, right by the market square, lived a noble family. The entire house had well-placed windows so that daylight could easily spread throughout every rooms. In this beautiful house, behind a brick wall, lived a young nobleman named Dewdrop.

"Mom, I'm not going to wear this," said Dewdrop, looking at the small, leather corset lying on a pile of other too-tight clothes. "Don't argue with me Dew and hurry up, you have to look perfect today," his mother shouted back from another room. "Is this really a good idea? I don't want to marry him. He's a disgusting old man and..." Dewdrop didn't have time to finish his sentence, he heard the sudden bang of a laundry basket falling to the ground. Hard footsteps echoed throughout the room, disturbing his previous peace, suddenly Dew didn't feel like laughing so much.

"No, you won't talk about him like that, you won't think like that at all. He's a good, rich man!" She moved towards him like a snake ready to wrap itself around the neck of its victim and kill him instantly. "You'll go there and show off those pretty teeth, put on a beautiful white veil and then spread your legs for him, do you understand?" His mother shouted, glaring at him with a hostile look that he was already used to.

Dew didn't have the strength to fight anymore. Not again. After all, what could a quarrel change if this was what the entire court required of him? His entire family would be disappointed if he objected now. After all, he was nothing more than a commodity ready to be undressed, placed on a dirty wooden counter and sold for a pittance so that someone would finally be proud of him. "Of course, mom," he whispered, looking down at the ground. Better remorse now than a red mark on his cheek later.

As if on cue, the woman reached her rough hand towards his face. "Oh Dewy" she murmured, stroking his cheeks "He's not that bad, at your age I had my doubts when I was supposed to meet your father... You'll be fine, you'll get everything you want"

"Will I get my freedom?" He asked unconvinced.

"What do you need freedom for when you're rich?" The older woman replied.

Dewdrop was about to answer but his mother realized that if they didn't leave soon they would be late. Dew had no choice but to lower his head, suck in his stomach and squeeze into the tight corset and then cover it with a layer of purple, tight material.

The dress wasn't ugly. In fact, it was very pretty, he would even like it if it weren't for the circumstances in which he had to put it on, after all, today his "beloved" would propose to him. For this occasion, his family and his partner's family organized a joint dinner after which the fathers of the future young couple would finally strike a deal and manage to connect the land, which would bring many benefits to both parties. However, if it was just about marriage, Dew wouldn't mind, he had never been interested in looking for a significant other, so having one in his life wouldn't change a thing, Uranus, because that was his name, was also a very wealthy man, so he could even sponsor Dew's education. But it wasn't just about that.

After all, what kind of marriage is it without an heir?

Dewdrop really doesn't want to get involved in this. He's heard a lot of stories about poor girls who were not even 14 when they were told to give birth to their first child, then another, and another, until they finally couldn't stand it and...

Dew preferred not to think about it. Everyone around him tells him that she got lucky. A young, beautiful sixteen-year-old ready to accept a great fortune and also responsibility. Maybe if he ignores the heir issue, he will be able to enjoy a future relationship?

It was already late after sunset. The party was organized in a large wooden house with a beautiful balustrade on which a large wooden table was spread. The location was located on the edge of the so-called "black forest" so there was a view of trees all around.

It was the middle of spring so Dewdrop was wearing a long, tight purple dress with (thankfully) long sleeves. The dress had many gold decorations on it which really highlighted his hair which was almost golden in color. He also had a large white necklace with a large green gem in the middle around his neck.

Dew and his parents entered through the large oak doors. Right at the entrance he was greeted by his future parents-in-law led by his future husband.

After exchanging unnecessary pleasantries, the fathers of both families went in an unknown direction to talk. Dew wanted to eavesdrop on what they were talking about so interestingly but unfortunately they had already gone too far to hear anything.

"I apologize for my husband, he couldn't wait to meet you." His mother laughed.

"Relax, it was the same with mine." The woman glanced furtively at her son. "The maids should be finishing up dinner soon, in the meantime why don't you keep Dew company and show him around the house?" "Of course mother, would you do me the favor dear?" He asked, holding out his hand, waiting for the offer to be accepted. Dew noticed in the meantime how his face took on a disturbing attitude. Feeling his mother's gaze boring into the back of his head, Dew reluctantly accepted the offer and gave the man his hand.

Without waiting for the two women to answer, the boy pulled Dew and immediately they were both practically running up the stairs and from behind he could hear the laughter of two women.

After a moment, they were both standing on a wide balcony overlooking the dark forest. Dew noticed from the corner of his eye the fog that was slowly starting to swirl at the foot of the trees. "I thought you were going to show me around" He broke the awkward silence that was slowly turning into unpleasant tension. "Believe me, there is no reason for that because soon you will see this place everyday" He replied, reaching his hand towards Dew's hip. "Excuse me?!" He stopped in surprise. "But this place is so far from the city that it will take me half a day to get to school!" Such changes will definitely disrupt Dew's studying plans. "Don't get upset. Anger doesn't suit your pretty face my love, together with your father we decided that there will be no need for you to continue your studies. This area is roughly surrounded by a dense forest and as a result there are many wild animals here so it would be dangerous to leave the house especially since you will soon be pregnant" At these words a sharp shiver ran down Dew's spine. Something was definitely very wrong here. "I haven't promised anything yet" He mumbled quietly. "Oh honey, but you don't decide here" The older smiled and took his hand off his belly.

"Come on, I'll show you something" he said in a singsong voice and not waiting for the words of protest that were surely already waiting on Dew's tongue ready to attack, he pulled his hand again, this time landing in the bedroom next door. At the sight of the large bed and the curtained windows Dew came to his senses and immediately tried to head for the exit. "Easy, honey, not today yet," he said in a disturbingly calm tone and reached for the dresser. Dew was not calm at all, he was still standing in the doorway watching every slightest movement of the man in front of him. After a moment of fighting with the lock like with a monster, where an old rusty key served as a sword, the man pulled out a strange red crystal, resembling a ruby but not quite, tightly wrapped in gold and formed into a necklace.

"What is it," Dew asked. "Have you heard about what lives in these woods," he asked, staring straight into the other's eyes. Dew felt disoriented.

"Wolves, foxes, hares..." He started to list but was interrupted after a moment. "So not after all," he sighed. "Do you have any idea about the series of disappearances that have been taking place?" "Well, my father mentioned something about it and insisted that witches were to blame," he replied. "Your father is not telling the truth, it is impossible for this to be the work of witches." "Then what creature carries this burden?"

"Well, my dear, they are none other than vampires."

"These bloodsuckers? In our forests?" Dew sneered. "Exactly," He confirmed, gently turning the jewel over in his hands. "And do you know where this necklace came from?" He asked. "No," He replied, intrigued. "Let me change that."

__________________________________

A long time ago, in this very forest, there was an old castle. It was inhabited by a noble family, specifically two parents and their daughter. The castle was not large by courtier standards, but it was not small either, since they ruled the nearby lands.

The family was doing very well, until their daughter's 8th birthday, when she received this necklace as a gift. That same night, hired assassins sent by a rival court did not sneak in and murder the poor girl's mother and father. Fortunately, the daughter managed to escape unharmed, but unfortunately, due to the trauma, she quickly fell into madness and began to take an interest in the occult. Legend has it that her heart was so torn by longing that she even went so far as to try to summon her parents from beyond the grave. Unfortunately, as is usually the case with playing with evil forces, the ritual went very badly. A few confused sentences and something much worse emerged from behind the barrier of the afterlife. The demon Mephistopheles emerged from the circle. The distraught girl lost control over the demon, and when he realized this, he immediately possessed the girl. And so, once her closest home, became the chamber of the worst torture you can even image. From the chambers where she used to run carelessly with a smile on her face, you can hear the worst groans of agony. We can only imagine what agony she experienced due to the fact that later, not a girl but a woman, she had 4 sons with a demon. Who, as it turns out, started the vampire bloodlines. From then on, anyone who approaches the castle will disappear forever.

__________________________________

After the story ended, a deafening silence fell between the two. "Why are you telling me all this?" Dewdrop whispered. "Because that's why I'm here, I've been exploring these areas for years to find even traces of these beasts. If I manage to find evidence of their existence, it will flow to Dew's great fortune is on our heads." He stated very confidently. He squeezed the jewel once more and, taking off Dewdrop's old necklace, put a new one on his neck. This time with a red jewel at the forefront. Dew didn't answer. He couldn't. Not a shred of protest. So he asked another question to divert attention. "Since vampires live nearby and there are a lot of disappearances, why do we have to live here? It's dangerous" "it will be easier for me to investigate these monsters from here, and besides, don't worry that pretty little head of yours with such nonsense, Dew. You'll soon have more important things to do. Besides, vampires don't leave the tree areas anyway, so as long as you don't go in there, nothing will happen to you." As if not wanting to listen to any objections, the man left the room without a word, leaving Dew on the bed to herself.

Dew's head was full of thoughts. Why did all this have to happen to him? Maybe Uranus is going mad. It's impossible for him to be telling the truth. Vampires don't exist and this whole story was made up, right?

Dewdrop didn't have time to stay alone for long because one of the servants sent for him and announced that dinner was ready and everyone was waiting for him.

Oh, great.

Dew slowly walked down, looking around the walls so as not to look at his family and at the beginning of his own downfall. Unfortunately, time can't be stopped and Dew had to sit in the middle next to Uranus, right across from his mother.

Since a lot of time had passed since dinner time, everyone immediately started eating. Everyone except Dew, who was currently appetite was taken away. Apparently none of the guests at the table noticed this or simply did not care and everyone went about their own business. The mothers chatted about all sorts of things. From new dresses that made your eyes pop and caused a lack of oxygen, to matters related to the wedding. Both fathers and their future husband were not so scattered in topics and only talked about future business. Dew wanted to cut himself off from the world. Not paying much attention to the rest of the family, the nobleman looked out the window. The fog was already quite large and the blackness of the night completely covered the sky. The old trees, probably carrying hordes of various stories from hundreds of years of their existence, seemed quite quiet today, despite the frosty wind raging outside. Dew imagined that in less than a month, because that would probably be how long it would take for him to move out of the house, he would walk these corridors countless times, dreaming of freedom. Soon this charming house with a beautiful porch would become an icy stone cell for him and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

"Ahem, I'm so sorry but I have something to announce." Suddenly Uranus spoke up, hitting the glass of red wine inside with his spoon. The man moved away from the table and fell to one knee. Suddenly Dew couldn't breathe. His parents probably expected a reaction full of fake joy and a stupid smile but the only thing that could be seen in the Dews eyes was pure terror.

Fear of the unknown.

A place unknown to him.

A man unknown to him.

A future unknown to him.

As if at that very moment, his entire life flashed before his eyes. In the background Uranus was delivering his perfectly rehearsed monologue but Dew couldn't hear a thing. He was focused only and exclusively on the memories of his previous loving life. He saw his friends, school, safety. However, out of all the memories, this one stuck with him the most. The one when Dew was 4 years old and his parents were putting him to sleep. They both seemed so... loving then. Without any traces of tears, arguments or financial problems. His father was not an evil monster who entered their home and took away love and safety, but a strong but gentle authority figure. His mother was not a loud hypocrite, but a loving support always ready to comfort him.

Dewdrop does not know what happened to them.

He also does not know what will happen to him.

Will he become like his mother?

Or maybe like his father?

Dewdrop looked at Uranus from the table. Finally ready to make his own decision for once in his life. There was silence around, everyone waiting for his reaction. Dew took a deep breath, feeling the moisture on his lips. He looked at the man beneath him from head to toe.

The decision that would change his fate forever had been made.

"No Uranus, I will not marry someone like you"

Dewdrop did not wait for his family's reaction.

He got up from the chair and ran towards the forest without even looking back.

Dewdrop has no idea what the future will bring. Happiness? Or maybe more sadness. This thought wrapped around his head but he ignored it. He pushed it into the deepest corners of his mind and ran.

He ran feeling the wind in his hair.

He ran feeling the freedom flowing through his veins.

He ran feeling strong.

Finally the steel shackles that his loved ones had tied around him for so long fell to the ground.

And he was finally free.

[gatheringbones]

[“I managed to get out in three months. While out on parole for Christmas, I begged my father not to send me back. In another of our few tender moments, he caved. And he was the one who went to collect my stuff from this place. He returned so shaken he couldn’t talk about it beyond mumbled regrets. He’d never actually seen the place. These mumblings marked a third tender moment.

I had a reprieve, but not for long. I still hadn’t learned my lesson. The cure hadn’t worked. And I was still under the care of this same shrink, which meant still seeing Beth. I made the same gaff, telling Beth about yet another woman, and again she reported back. My father, having been informed, made his last strategic strike. This time he told the shrink that his sister was manic-depressive, and perhaps I was, too. Eureka, they’d solved it, solved me.

Once more I was called into the shrink’s office. I listened to a masterful pitch for Lithium. He made it sound like a drug addict’s dream. That it would allow me to manipulate my mood at will. Next he described me as a Virginia Woolf type time bomb. I’d certainly kill myself by forty. Now I was some kind of suicidal genius. But through the miracle of Lithium I could be saved. The flattery worked, the pitch worked. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Took another script to the drug store, this time believing in magic.

I didn’t know you needed a blood test for dosage, but presumably the shrink did. For the next ten days I didn’t eat or sleep. No need to, this stuff made me high as a kite. Unlike most actual manic-depressives, I had no experience with mania. And while I’d done speed, of course, and coke, downers were always more my thing. I’d never gone so hyped for so long. You could say my judgment was a bit impaired. This set the stage for the last act.

The shrink suggested I sign myself into a hospital, just for a couple of weeks to stabilize the dosage. Even impaired, I didn’t immediately bite. So Beth was brought in for bait. Unlike me, she’d learned her lesson, was on board this time, though I didn’t know it yet. She coaxed me and I began to waver. I don’t remember why, but I was at my brother’s house when I called her. I do remember I was alone, staring into his kitchen, which had this amazing pile-up of empty Dewars bottles. The same scotch my parents drank by the gallon. The sight of all those bottles seemed to be what made me call.

It was night, a Friday, I think. I know Reagan had just been elected to his first term. Time had passed. I’d later joke it was his election that tipped me over. Beth came and picked me up. Took me to this place. I signed myself in. My parents didn’t even know. The weekend meant two more days of no sleep or food, even so I realized I’d made a mistake, a big one—been duped.

My father bailed me out, took me home. That might have been that, but it wasn’t. I was still on the stuff—the lithium. By now it’d turned me into some punk girl version of Travis Bickle. For reasons I don’t recollect, I was wearing army fatigues, combat boots, and a lot of those heavy silver biker rings. My mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner. My father and I were watching the news. As my kind of luck would have it, Cambodia, perhaps then still Democratic Kampuchea, was news that night—the Khmer Rouge, Pal Pot, the killing fields—they were dredging it all up again, showing old footage.

That’s all it took. The fuse was lit. The only question now was who’d explode first—me or Dad. I think it might’ve been simultaneous combustion. But he was the one on his feet first. When I hit him, I believed it was self-defense. If I hadn’t been wearing the damn rings, I might not have done damage.

My mother tried to break it up—a first. Somehow she and I wound up on the stairs. But how she fell, honestly I don’t know. I only know I didn’t intend to hurt her. I think I was just trying to get her attention. She wasn’t badly hurt, not physically. But she sat at the foot of those stairs yelling she never wanted me inside their house again. Meanwhile my father was on the phone to the cops—or rather a cop. A friend/employee of his. This guy drove me back to the snake pit. This time they took my jewelry, hell, they took everything. This time they doped me to the gills. This time it was progress when I finally got out of a tiny cell to roam a locked ward with women who’d had lobotomies, and I assure you I’m not exaggerating.

I’ll spare you the gorier details. Things you’d expect but might not believe. After all, nobody believed Martha Mitchell either, at least not until it was way too late to do her any good. So let’s just say that given the condition of the other inhabitants, I was a real find for the night nurse. She made a bundle pimping me to the orderlies. I did eventually engineer my release, aided and abetted by a young woman working in occupational therapy. She was the only person who knew or rather cared that I didn’t belong there. She coached me.

For added insurance I managed to get a guy I knew to come pose as my boyfriend. We went so far as to announce our engagement, and I was released shortly after. At the time I believed the engagement stunt was what cinched it. Now I assume it had less to do with the insurance I’d arranged than with my parents’ Blue Cross, which no doubt had been bilked to the max.

The doctor who released me was the same one who’d been there the night I’d signed myself in. I hadn’t seen him or any doctor since, save the one time he’d called on me to act as playmate for a wealthy woman friend of his who was there taking a much-needed rest from the jet-set. If my whole time there had been like that one week with her—good booze, good drugs, good food, and good sex—I might never have left. But it wasn’t. It was a beautiful fluke amidst grueling ugliness.

As this guy released me, he laughed, even gloated about the amount of Thorazine he’d managed to pump into me. I’d remember the number. Again, I learned from a book that this dose was more than double what was considered safe for an actual psychotic. I got the point. I resolved never again to display an emotion, never again to state an opinion, and never again to fall in love with a woman.

Needless to say, I got away from my family. But I still kept those resolutions for nearly two years. The first two fell away first. The last one was lost to a woman I’ll call Ingrid. And while falling for Ingrid would begin yet another sordid story, it’s the end of this one.”]

heather lewis, from richard nixon and me, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[scaryscarecrows]

Welcome to Camp Kill Batman

When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.

It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.

Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?

What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.

“These the new recruits?”

Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits.

There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.

“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”

There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But that’s–”

“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”

They follow it.

About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.

Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.

* * *

Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”

So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.

“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”

What.

“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.

“Shoot at me.”

“What.”

“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”

He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.

He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing, bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.

“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”

The Knight just laughs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”

* * *

Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.

He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.

“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.

He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”

Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”

“Anyone else?”

There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”

That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.

“What.”

“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”

He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.

“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”

Good point.

“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”

No.

They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.

Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.

THE END

*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p