#wanted to draw for so long but i got really busy and tired the past few weeks

[jazzjlan]

hi guys. quick wimd drawing cuz it's finally the weekends and i can finlally draw more teehee

[jetii]

A Dance With Danger

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 19,621 (oops!)

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends to lovers, implied trauma and sex work, sexual assault type situations, canon typical violence, protective!Hunter, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, primal kink kinda? it's Hunter so...

Summary: Life has been pretty good since Hunter and the Batch unexpectedly entered your life, but you can't help but want more. When Cid offers you a job you can't refuse, you find yourself drawn back into the life you worked so hard to escape from, and Hunter's protective nature doesn't help.

A/N: I've had this one saved in my drafts for literal years, and it's a relief to finally post it. Somewhere along the way this got way longer than I intended so it's a bit of a hike to get to the smut.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

With a confident stride, you make your way through the colorful chaos of Ord Mantell City's market, a covered satchel slung over your shoulder. The city has no set market square. Instead, makeshift stalls and tents offering a variety of goods dot both sides of the street, creating a maze-like sprawl.

You focus your attention on your path, making sure not to bump into any of the other beings that are hurrying past you. The crowd thins a bit as you leave the main bazaar and head down a series of increasingly narrow and deserted side streets. A few minutes later, you step out of a shadowy passageway and into a dimly lit back alley.

Suddenly, loud gasp escapes you as you feel yourself being tugged forward and pulled into the alley's darkness, a pair of strong hands on your waist.

Before you can react, you’re yanked onto your toes and pinned against the wall, a knife jutting into the delicate skin of your neck.

"You’re dead,” a voice rasps.

But you feel no fear. Instead, you smile and laugh, leaning in to the edge of the vibroblade and pushing your body against the hard contours of the man who holds you. The weapon quickly pulls away from your neck before it can slice into you.

“Hunter!” you say, your voice laced with amusement.

In the near dark, you see his eyes flash in annoyance. 

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” Hunter admonishes.

“Oh, I’m plenty aware.”

Your eyes flicker downward toward the blade held deftly in your own hand, its tip poised towards the seam in his chest plate. He follows your gaze, eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise, before he draws back and sheathes his weapon.

He gives you a begrudging smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Fair play.”

You wink, sliding your knife into the sheath on your thigh. "What brings you to this end of town, Hunter? Business or pleasure?"

"Bit of both, really," he answers with a smirk, and you roll your eyes. "I had a delivery to make in the area."

You reach out to straighten the cloth around his shoulders, the red fabric soft and worn. "And how much was your cut?"

Hunter tilts his head, regarding you for a moment. "Not nearly as much as you'd think."

You pat his shoulder. "It never is, is it?"

“Where are you off to?” he asks as your hand retreats.

“Got a meeting with Cid. Walk with me?”

He nods, falling into step beside you as you begin to walk back through the market towards the arcade.

You move through the crowd in a comfortable silence, occasionally brushing against one another as you maneuver your way through the throng. You notice his gaze lingering on you as you walk, and a small smile crosses your lips. You’ve caught him looking before, but you never tire of seeing him do it.

You’re no stranger to the attention of men, and there was a time when you had relished it, but those days are long gone. Thankfully now, as you walk with Hunter, the gazes of the merchants and the other men seem to slide off you, unnoticed.

There's something different about him. He came into your life unexpectedly, and though his presence has disrupted the careful order of your days, it’s a welcome change.

He makes you feel safe. Protected. Wanted.

And he certainly isn’t hard on the eyes.

"So," Hunter begins, glancing at you. “You talk to her yet?”

“Ugh, yeah.” You roll your eyes. “Never heard her laugh so much before.”

As your foot kicks a rock in your path, he fixes you with a sympathetic look, but he doesn't say anything to try to comfort you. You like that about him — Hunter isn't a man of many words, so when he does speak, they count. And he never seems to tire of listening to you, somehow always knowing when you want to share something and when you want to stay in silence. He's good company.

“She said ‘it'll be a cold day on Mustafar before I let a circus freak tell me how to run my business,'" you say, altering your voice as you recall your boss's words. Normally, mimicking the Trandoshan makes you feel better in times like these, but it only serves to make your blood boil more.

Hunter sucks a breath through his teeth in a wince, knowing that you don't take that insult lightly. He stops walking and turns to face you, putting his hand on your shoulder to pull you aside before you can reach the arcade’s door. His hand is warm and firm, and you find yourself wanting him to leave it there.

"Hey. Look at me." His tone is commanding, but you detect a hint of warmth. You meet his gaze, taking in the rich brown of his eyes, the lines on his brow.

"Don't worry about Cid. You'll get your chance." He leans closer to you, and you're surprised at the tenderness in his voice.

A grin creeps across your lips.

"Hunter, are you giving me a pep talk?"

His expression doesn't change.

"Just a little encouragement," he says, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

You sigh. You want to believe him, but he doesn't know Cid like you do.

"She's right, though. I am a circus freak," you mutter.

"I don't see it," Hunter replies. "I mean, you are a bit of a show-off, but..."

You give him a shove, and he laughs, his eyes crinkling. You love when he does that — his smiles are few and far between, so you treasure every one you manage to elicit.

You shake your head at him, smiling in spite of yourself.

"Well, thanks. I'll take it."

He nods, removing his hand from your shoulder, a ghost of a smile still on his lips. "Anytime."

Hunter opens the door for you, and you make your way through the arcade, weaving past a group of Pantorans who are huddled together arguing over Sabacc. Hunter's brothers are already posted up at the bar, their usual spot. Omega is seated on the counter next to a bottle of some kind of soda, her legs dangling and kicking.

Cid looks up from behind the bar, her reptilian eyes narrowing in on you immediately.

"You're late," she barks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Had an appointment," you answer, giving the Trandoshan a saccharine smile. Cid doesn't ask for details, just snorts and gestures for you to join her in the back.

Omega looks at you and waves. "Hi!"

"Hey, kid," you reply, giving the girl a little wave in return. "How you doing?"

Omega's eyes light up as she speaks to you. "Good! We just got a new job. Well, we're waiting for the client to show up."

"Oh, really? That's exciting." You turn your gaze to the others, who are all looking at you, and offer a small smile. You're still a bit embarrassed by your behavior the last time you were on a job together, when you made an impulsive move and got yourself injured.

You spent several days recovering in the clinic, bored out of your mind, until one afternoon, Omega showed up to keep you company. You didn't mind her company; she was a sweet girl, and a smart one, too. She reminded you a bit of yourself at that age, though with a much better head on her shoulders.

Your attention returns to Hunter, whose brown eyes are fixed on you. He has a curious look on his face, like he's trying to puzzle something out, and you're tempted to ask him what he's thinking.

Omega looks back and forth between you, clearly noticing the silent exchange, and you give her a little wink, causing her to grin.

"Well," you say, turning toward the hallway that leads to Cid's office. "Have fun on your next job, guys."

"We will!" Omega calls after you.

In Cid's office, the older woman is seated behind her desk, the same scowl on her face that she has every time you come into the room. It doesn't matter how many times you go in there, or how much Cid trusts you — it's like her face is stuck that way.

"Sit," Cid commands, pointing a claw toward the chair in front of her desk.

You sit down, placing the satchel on your lap. The Trandoshan stares you down, her yellow eyes piercing.

"You're not gonna believe what I'm about to tell you," Cid begins.

"You're right," you reply. "I won't."

Cid snorts, a sound that you have grown used to over the years, and reaches for the bottle of liquor sitting on her desk. You watch her pour two glasses and slide one over.

"What's the job?"

Her answering grin reveals sharp teeth, and you know you're going to like what she’s about to say. "The biggest one I've ever landed. It's gonna be worth a fortune."

"Well, spill." You lean forward, propping your elbows on your knees.

"There's this artifact." Cid lowers her voice. "A crystal."

You frown. Not what you were expecting.

"Oh."

"It's supposed to give its bearer great power," Cid continues, undeterred by your lack of enthusiasm.

"Sounds like a load of bantha shit to me."

"Yeah, I know." The Trandoshan sighs, scratching her chin with her claw. "I told him I didn't believe in that crap, but the guy said he was willing to pay us 500,000 credits. Can you believe that? I can finally fix this place up, make it nice."

"500,000, huh?"

"Yeah."

You purse your lips. "Why don't we just grab the thing and sell it ourselves? Seems like there might be people out there who would be interested."

Cid narrows her eyes. "That's not how I do business, kid. If the client knows the location, it's better if we just do the job and collect the pay."

"And what if it's a set-up?"

"Then we deal with it." Cid leans back in her chair, taking a sip from her glass. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"I see." You pick up your own glass and take a swig. The liquid burns as it makes its way down your throat, but you enjoy the feeling. Better than sitting here sober, anyway. “This sounds too easy, Cid. All I have to do is go to this place and grab the crystal? That's it?"

"It's a little more complicated than that.” Cid shifts in her seat. You bite back a groan. “You see, it's already been stolen. The client hired us to find it and bring it back to him. He's got the money and the location of the thief."

"Oh, that's wonderful," you say. "Anything else I should know?”

"The thief is on his way to Nal Hutta to make a deal," Cid says, and your heart leaps to your throat. You immediately start to shake your head, the words escaping your lips in a rush.

"Cid, no. I'm not going back there."

"You go where I tell you to go.” She bares her sharp teeth, hissing.

"Cid, I'm not."

Cid snarls and rises to her feet. Her hands slam down on the desk and rattle the glass and the bottle. “This is a huge job, kid. We're gonna make bank."

"Why don't you send someone else?"

"Because I'm sending you.” She jabs a claw in your direction. "I've got a lot riding on this, so I need you to go and bring me the damn crystal."

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. The fight bleeds out of you as you realize that you won't be able to change her mind. “How?”

Cid's demeanor changes, and she relaxes, settling back into her seat. She picks up her glass and takes a sip, gesturing toward you with it. "It's pretty simple, really. You’re going back to your roots. Word around Hutta Town is Nola’s cantina is looking for new dancers, and I said I knew just the girl for the job.”

You feel yourself tense, and your fingers clench the arms of the chair.

"Oh, so you want me to dance for this guy? Maybe suck him off in the back room while I'm at it?" you snap, not bothering to mask the disgust in your voice.

Cid doesn't seem affected by your words, her expression remaining neutral. "Do whatever you have to, kid." She shrugs. "Just bring me back that crystal."

You take a deep breath, exhaling loudly. "Fine."

“What?” 

A voice just outside the door gives you both pause. Your eyes widen, and Cid looks downright murderous.

A moment later, Hunter bursts into the room, boots eating up the ground between him and Cid's desk before you can blink. He crosses his arms, fixing Cid with a look that would've made a lesser being tremble. 

“Absolutely not."

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and Cid's lip curls.

“You should keep that big nose out of business that doesn’t concern you, bandana,” Cid hisses, rising from her chair again. “She’s a big girl. One who works for me and does what I tell her to."

You sigh and rub your temples. "Hunter, please —"

"No," he snaps, his gaze still trained on the Trandoshan. “You’re sending her to steal from the Hutts without backup. That concerns me.”

“Hunter, I'll be fine,” you try to interject.

“Like hell you will be.” He glares at you, and you blink, mouth falling open. You haven't seen him this worked up in a long time, and you’re not sure how to feel about it. You rack your memory for the last time someone came to your defense like this and come up short. It’s a little flattering, but it also stings a bit.

Cid slams her fist down on the desk. You flinch, and Hunter doesn't move.

"Listen closely," Cid growls. "She's my employee. I'm her boss. She's not your responsibility. Now get out of here."

Hunter's gaze is hard. You watch the muscles in his jaw twitch.

"She can also take care of herself," you interject, and Cid points at you.

"That's right, she can."

Hunter whirls on you, his face incredulous.

"You can't be serious," he spits.

"I've done a lot worse for a lot less," you remind him, standing up. You're trying to stay calm, but his words are starting to get under your skin. You hate that you have to explain yourself.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Hunter snaps. He’s nearly shouting now, and you grit your teeth. You're starting to lose your patience, and you can feel a familiar tightness building in your chest.

"I don't care how you feel. She's been doing this for a long time," Cid growls, baring her teeth. “Longer than you’ve been alive, probably."

Hunter turns to face her, and you watch him square his shoulders, preparing to go toe-to-toe with the Trandoshan. You wonder if he has a death wish, but part of you can't help but be intrigued by his brazen display.

You shake your head, reaching for the bottle of liquor.

You know Hunter and Cid are arguing, their voices becoming more heated, but the words fade away as you lift your glass to your lips and swallow. The alcohol is sweet and strong, burning down your throat and spreading heat through your limbs. You’re beginning to feel better already until the next words out of Hunter’s mouth hit your ears.

"You can't expect me to sit idly by and allow—"

“Allow?” You slam the glass down on the desk. The sound echoes throughout the small office, and Cid and Hunter both fall silent, turning their heads toward you. You fix Hunter with a glare, your eyes narrowed. "Excuse me, what exactly do you think you can do to stop me?"

Hunter's jaw clenches. "I can make you see reason."

"Or you could let her do her job," Cid says, a cruel smirk twisting her lips. “Listen to her if you know what’s good for you.”

"No." He crosses his arms. “She's not going alone. It’s suicide.”

"Well, it's a good thing it's not up to you." You stand up and take a step closer, squaring up to him. You're shorter than he is, and he has a good deal of bulk on you, but he doesn't intimidate you.

Hunter's eyes widen, and you think he looks a little taken aback, maybe even a bit impressed. But the emotion doesn't last long.

His brow furrows, and you can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to find another way to convince you to listen to him.

"I'm not letting you go."

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. This is not the first time you've disagreed about a mission, and it certainly won't be the last, but this time, you won't allow him to talk you out of it. Not with a take this big.

"Look, Hunter," you say, keeping your tone light, "I appreciate the concern, but I can handle it."

His expression shifts, and the anger and frustration in his eyes give way to disappointment. You try to ignore the way it stings.

"This is how I make my living. It's just a job, like any other," you say softly, hoping he can hear the sincerity in your voice.

He looks at you for a moment longer, his eyes searching your face.  Then he crosses his arms and shakes his head. "That's not good enough for me."

"Well, it's all I have."

He sighs and closes his eyes. “No. You're not going alone.” 

“Hunter—“

“I’m coming with you.”

The air around you seems to still. Cid sucks in a breath. Your brows knit together.

"What?" you ask.

Hunter's eyes meet yours, his expression determined. "I'm coming with you. You need backup."

You shake your head. "Hunter, no. I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking." He's smiling, and it's a soft, genuine smile. He places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. His gaze is warm, and it fills you with an unexpected sense of calm. "I'm offering."

You can tell he's serious, and the thought of him accompanying you both excites and terrifies you. You know you're strong and capable, but the idea of working with a partner again has you feeling nervous.

And the idea of working with Hunter specifically? Well, it does things to your insides that you don't care to examine too closely.

"What about the others?" you ask, and he shrugs.

"They can manage without me."

"That's not fair. You can't abandon them because of me.”

Hunter gives your shoulder a little shake, his expression earnest. "I'm not abandoning anyone," he says gently. “I'm coming with you. They will be fine. They're more than capable of taking care of themselves."

"I... Hunter, I don't know."

He lets out a quiet chuckle and removes his hand from your shoulder, the absence of his touch making you feel strangely bereft.

"We can argue about it, or we can agree to go together," he offers.

"Hunter—"

"Oh, this is too precious," Cid mutters, cutting off your objection. She looks back and forth between you, a toothy grin spreading across her face. "Look, lovebirds, I won't stop you if you decide to go together, but you're splitting her cut."

You open your mouth to protest, but Hunter speaks before you can, his voice low. "Deal."

"What?"

"Deal," he repeats, looking at you.

You shake your head, running your hands over your face. Your skin is burning, your mind racing. How could he be so willing to just...leave his team like this? To offer himself up for the sake of your mission, for the sake of your well-being?

It makes no sense.

And yet...

"Fine. We'll do it your way," you finally say.

"Good." Hunter gives you a curt nod.

"Good." Cid chuckles, the sound like a growl in her throat. "Here's the plan..."

“Do you really think I can’t do this alone?” you ask after nearly an hour of silence between you.

You're both en route to Nal Hutta, traveling undercover in an older model cargo ship, and you've been quiet most of the journey. Hunter had expected you to be angry with him, and perhaps a part of you was, but you've also been withdrawn and quiet. You spent the first part of the trip going over the details of the mission, and he can't help but feel like something has shifted between you.

He doesn't regret his decision, not even for a second.

He knows that you can handle yourself, that you've survived in the galaxy on your own since before he was even decanted, and he respects that. But it doesn't stop him from wanting to be there, to protect you if he needs to. It's something he can't explain, an instinct that he feels deep down in his bones.

But you're right. It isn't his place to make this decision for you.

Hunter turns toward you, his gaze roaming over your form. You're seated next to him, your legs crossed, and your gaze is focused out the viewport, watching the blue streaks of hyperspace pass you by. He wants to reach out and place his hand on your knee, to reassure you that his intentions are not meant to be condescending.

Instead, he chooses his words carefully, speaking slowly.

"I didn't say that."

You frown. "You were thinking it."

He sighs, turning back toward the viewport. "I don't think you need anyone," he admits, his voice quiet. "You're a…very capable woman."

You scoff. Yeah, he definitely could've phrased that better.

You lean forward, your hands folded together between your knees. Hunter can't help but admire the way the fabric of your shirt pulls taut against the curves of your body before he forces his eyes away.

"That's not what you said in Cid's office."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He can't deny that his words were a bit harsh, that he allowed his frustration and concern to get the better of him, and he can only hope that he hasn't managed to completely ruin his chances with you.

"I'm sorry about that," he says. "But I can't help how I feel."

"What is that supposed to mean?" you ask, your tone sharp. Hunter turns his head, finding you looking at him, your gaze curious and intense.

"I—" He pauses, licking his lips, searching for the right words. He can't very well tell you the truth. That you've come to mean more to him than he ever intended, that he's grown to care about you and respect you. That he's not sure he can let you out of his sight again, at least not until this is all over.

"It means that I'm concerned," he finally says, settling on a version of the truth that feels easier, less risky.

"You don't need to be," you reply, crossing your arms.

Hunter wants to reassure you, but the truth is, he's worried about you. The thought of you walking into that den of Hutts, alone and defenseless, makes his blood boil.

You've been tight-lipped about your past, and he hasn't pressed you, but he can tell you're hiding something. And the idea that you're going to be forced to relive it, forced to face whatever trauma you've endured, leaves him feeling uneasy.

He has his own demons. He can only imagine what yours might be.

"Look, I know what I'm doing," you say when he doesn't reply, your voice softening.

"I know you do,” he says quietly, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

“Then why did you come?”

He inhales sharply, exhaling through his nose. It isn’t an easy question to answer, especially given the tumultuous state of your relationship. He’s long since given up denying his feelings for you, but you're a wildcard. You’re unpredictable, and he never knows where he stands with you.

There are times when he feels like he could just tell you, but the timing is never right. You’re always on your way out the door, or off to some job or another. You flit in and out of his life like a ghost, and he can never seem to catch you.

And then there are moments when you're close, when he's caught you staring at him, when your fingers have lingered on him just a bit longer than necessary. There are times when he swears he sees something there, something soft and tender in the way you look at him. But then you put the walls back up, and he's left wondering if he’ll ever truly be able to get close to you.

Still, the desire to confess his feelings is always there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity. At this point, it's almost inevitable, but he knows that it will take time, patience.

And so, for now, Hunter settles on an answer that isn't entirely the truth, but that's not exactly a lie, either.

"I couldn't let you go alone."

You blink. "Why not?"

He's quiet for a moment, searching for the right words. 

"It’s not a regular job, cyar’ika. This is dangerous. I know from experience how often missions go sideways, variables change…with the Hutts involved, it complicates things.” He sighs. “And I couldn’t just stand by and watch you go into that den alone."

You purse your lips. "I could handle it."

"I know you could," he says, the corners of his lips quirking up.

"You're insufferable," you mumble, shaking your head.

He chuckles. "Maybe, but I'm telling the truth."

"Mmm."

You look back out the viewport, your expression thoughtful. He watches you for a moment, taking in the subtle curve of your cheek, the delicate arch of your brow. There's a slight flush to your skin, and he knows that you're trying to hide the way his words are affecting you.

It's adorable. You don't blush easily, and seeing the color rise in your cheeks makes him want to lean closer and press his lips to your temple.

The urge is almost overwhelming, and he's forced to look away.

It's strange, the effect you have on him. He's used to keeping his emotions in check, used to being in control, but around you, he feels like a ship spinning out of control. You make him feel things he's never felt before, and it scares him. Hunter is far from the only man who has noticed how beautiful you are, but it's more than just your physical appearance that draws him to you.

There's something about the way you move, the way you carry yourself, the way you speak, the way you fight. It all appeals to him on a primal level. He feels protective of you, and the desire to keep you safe is strong, but the urge to make you his is even stronger.

He's not sure if it's just lust or something more, but he knows that he wants you. Badly.

He just doesn't know how to tell you.

"So, you came along because you were worried about me?"

His attention returns to you, and he finds you looking at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He doesn't return the expression.

"Yes."

Your smile falters, and you sigh. "Hmm."

"What does that mean?"

You turn away from him again, staring out at the stars. He can tell that there's something on your mind, something that's bothering you.

He knows that asking will only push you further away, and so he bites his tongue, resisting the urge to prod.

"Just that you're a bit of an ass, is all," you say, and the words are soft, without any real bite.

He laughs, and you shoot him a small grin.

"I never said I wasn't," he retorts, and you snort.

"Yeah, I suppose not." You smile.

Silence stretches between you, but it's not as awkward as he expects. Instead, it's comfortable, and he allows himself to relax a bit. He missed this in the short time you've been apart, the easy banter, the feeling of being close to you.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," he says after a moment, keeping his tone light.

You shake your head. "It's okay."

He studies your face. There's no anger there, only acceptance. It's not the reaction he expected, but he's grateful for it.

"Really," he continues. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you couldn't do it."

"It's okay, Hunter." You pat his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I know you're just looking out for me."

He swallows hard, his eyes dropping to where your hand rests on his arm. You must notice his gaze, because your fingers curl slightly, and a shiver runs down his spine.

“I appreciate you tagging along. Even if I don’t think it’s necessary,” you admit, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s nice to have some company for once.”

His heart swells at the confession, and he nods, unable to speak. You're looking at him with such openness and affection that it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs. He's grateful when you finally pull away and return your gaze to the viewport.

"Just don't let it go to your head," you add.

Hunter chuckles, leaning back in his seat. He watches you out of the corner of his eye, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he admires you.

It's not the first time he's wondered what it would be like to kiss you, to run his fingers through your hair, to feel the warmth of your body pressed against his, but it's the first time he's considered acting on his desires.

It's a tempting thought.

One that he quickly pushes aside, not wanting to make a fool of himself. You're not some random stranger at the cantina or an easy conquest. You're important to him, and he wants to take things slow, to treat you with the respect and reverence that you deserve. No matter how attractive he finds you, no matter how badly he wants you, he can wait.

He hopes.

Hunter feels his body heat up, and he forces himself to look away, clearing his throat. Now is not the time. You turn your head and give him a questioning look, and he realizes he hasn't spoken in several minutes.

"So, um..." he begins, trailing off as he tries to find the words.

"What?"

"I didn't know you could dance," he says.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh?"

He nods. "I don't think I've ever seen you dance before."

You smirk, and the look makes him feel warm. Your brow arches. "Oh, you don't know the half of it."

He doesn't know what he was expecting you to say, but it wasn't that. His eyes widen slightly, and he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Is that right?"

You nod, crossing your legs. He tries not to stare, but his eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of your thigh, and he swallows hard. You laugh softly, and the sound makes him look back up at you.

"Yeah, it's part of my act."

"What?"

You nod. "Back in the day, I had a routine."

"A routine?" he repeats. Not because he didn't hear you, but because he doesn't know how else to respond. His mind is supplying him with all sorts of images, and he can't seem to focus on anything else.

"Yeah. It's pretty standard. Some dancing, some acting, a little bit of seduction..." You trail off, giving him a coy look.

Hunter blinks, his brain finally catching up with the conversation. He sits up straighter in his chair, clearing his throat.

 "Seduction, huh?"

"What? You don't believe me? That hurts, Hunter. I'm hurt." You pout, placing a hand on your chest, and he bites back a groan.

"No, I, uh... I didn't say that."

"I can be very convincing when I want to be," you murmur, leaning closer.

His heart rate quickens, and he licks his lips. He has no doubt that you could be, especially with the way you're looking at him. He's seen how good you are at manipulating others, and he knows you're probably just messing with him, but his body is responding to your advances nonetheless.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low and husky when he speaks.

"You should show me sometime."

The tension between you is palpable, and he finds himself leaning closer to you, his body moving of its own accord. Your gaze drops to his mouth as the space between you shrinks. His skin tingles, his lips parting, and he's almost certain that you're going to kiss him.

Instead, you sit back, grinning.

"Maybe I will."

He exhales slowly, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. You're watching him with an amused look on your face, and he can't help but chuckle.

You're infuriating, and he should be frustrated, but he isn't. You're teasing him, and it's working. You're pushing him to his limits, testing his self-control, and he's enjoying it. It's not something he's experienced often, but he's finding that he likes it. He's never met anyone who has made him feel like this, and he wants more.

Hunter leans back in his chair, breaking eye contact, and you giggle. He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face, groaning softly. When he looks up, you're watching him with a knowing smirk on your face. He can't help but smile back.

"We should probably focus on the task at hand," you say, your voice light and teasing.

"Yeah. Probably." He shakes his head, the corners of his lips still turned up.

"Right. So...let's go over the plan one more time."

He nods and takes a deep breath. "Right."

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Nal Hutta smells every bit as awful as you remember. The stench is overwhelming — the swampy miasma of rotting vegetation, pollution, and the smell of too many beings packed into a small area. Inside the cantina isn’t much better, but at least you can breathe without choking on the fetid air.

You make your way through the crowded club, the music blaring and the lights dim. You can feel eyes on you, the patrons watching as you pass. You ignore them, keeping your gaze straight ahead. You're dressed to impress, and your clothes leave little to the imagination. You're showing a lot of skin, and while the outfit is functional, you still feel a little vulnerable, but you've always enjoyed being the center of attention.

You've changed a lot in the last few years, but there are some things that will always stay the same.

Your hips sway to the beat as you cross the dance floor. You catch a few admiring glances and appreciative stares, but the one you feel most keenly is Hunter's. He's watching you, keeping his distance, and you can feel his gaze burning into your back as sure as if it was a physical thing.

Normally you find Hunter’s protectiveness endearing, but right now, it's nothing short of infuriating. When you returned to the ship to tell him Nola had given you the job, he insisted on coming along. Not that you would have allowed him to stay behind, but it would have been nice to have a say in the matter.

You had hoped that by allowing him to accompany you, he would have enough faith in you to allow you to work alone.

You were wrong.

He's been glued to your side since the moment you landed, hovering, and watching, and making you nervous. It was like pulling teeth getting him to agree to hang back and let you handle the situation on your own, and even now, his presence is distracting.

You try your best not to look Hunter’s way. You’re supposed to be making eyes at every customer, after all, not just the brooding man posted dutifully in a corner booth, an untouched drink in his hand. And he is brooding. You can practically feel his displeasure coming off him in waves as his eyes follow you around from table to table.

Thankfully, no one else seems to notice. They’re much too busy drinking, gambling, and attempting to grope you as you walk by to detect anything amiss. Your gaze flicks up briefly, and you catch his eye, and you see the way they narrow as a drunk patron reaches out and grabs your wrist.

You freeze, the touch like ice on your skin. The man yanks you forward, pulling you close enough to speak directly into your ear. "How much?"

You stiffen, and your stomach roils.

"Sorry," you mutter, pulling your wrist free. "Not for sale."

You don't wait for his response. Instead, you turn on your heel and walk away as quickly as you can without breaking into a run.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you duck around a corner, pressing yourself against the wall as you take a few breaths, trying to calm yourself. It's embarrassing, really, how rattled you are by such a simple gesture. It's only a stupid drunk patron, and yet here you are, hiding in the shadows and struggling to pull yourself together.

You curse under your breath. You’ve done this a hundred times, and you aren’t some wide-eyed child. There's no reason to let the encounter affect you so deeply.

Except, it's the first time you've been back in a place like this since you left.

You shake your head, taking a deep breath and forcing your hands to unclench.

Get a grip, you tell yourself.

A hand settles on your shoulder, and you flinch, your hands flying up in front of you.

“Easy, sweetie," a vibrant pink Twi'Lek murmurs.

You lower your hands, giving the woman a shaky smile. "Sorry, Isa."

"I get it." Isa shrugs, the motion jostling the crystalline beads dripping down her bodysuit. Isa pulls off the look far better than you could ever hope to, and she's got an ease about her that comes from years of experience. It’s no surprise she’s the longest-standing employee here and the most well tipped.

"I don't blame you for being skittish,” she says, retracting her hand. She makes a disgusted noise in her throat. “These people are all sleemos. You want something stronger to drink before the show?"

You shake your head. As much as you'd love one, you're going to need a clear head to make it out of this alive. "Thanks, though," you say.

"Alright, just let me know if you change your mind. You're gonna do great, kid. Just stick to the choreography, and you'll be fine."

You nod, stomach in knots. Isa breezes by and steps on stage as the crowd hollers and cat-calls, the music beginning. You watch as she performs her opening routine, her movements hypnotic and graceful. She's a beautiful woman, and you can see why the patrons are so drawn to her.

"Hey," Hunter's voice is in your ear, his tone soft. You shiver at the sound. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you reply, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. "Just a little nervous, is all."

He's silent for a moment, and you picture him frowning. You know he's probably not happy that you're doing this, but there's nothing he can do about it. Not now, anyway.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Hunter."

"You can always abort the mission," he says, and your stomach sinks.

"I'm fine," you say, and you can't keep the edge from your voice. "Don't worry about me."

You make your way behind the stage, palms sweaty and pulse pounding. As you wait for the cue, the music changes and spotlights hit the stage, bathing it in bright light. You watch Isa dance gracefully and feel a twinge of envy. You used to be like her, graceful and seductive.

You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, steeling yourself. You can do this. All you need to do is play your part and keep your head on straight. The target is the only one that matters.

It doesn't take long for Isa to step off stage, smiling and waving to the crowd before passing you with an encouraging grin.

The announcer calls out your name, and you step onto the stage.

Hunter has been a soldier for years, and he's seen a lot of things that would make most people recoil in disgust or horror. He's been shot at, stabbed, nearly blown up on more than one occasion, and that was all before he and his brothers started working for Cid.

But nothing has ever shaken him the way watching you perform does.

His mouth goes dry, and his jaw drops. He's thankful the cantina is so dim, because he knows he's staring, but he can't help himself.

You're beautiful, your hair swept up, the pale blue light casting a glow over you. And the way your hips move, and your back arches, and your lips curve into a teasing smile, make his blood heat and his heart pound. His eyes follow you as you move, your body twisting and undulating to the music. It's a sensual display, and one that he knows is part of the act, but your movements seem to reach out to him, pulling him in.

Your hips roll, and your fingers slide down your thighs, the sheer fabric of your dress clinging to your body, and the light from the stage highlights the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts. Your movements are graceful, and it's clear that you're no stranger to performing, and yet, there's an edge to them. An intensity. A hint of danger.

The way you're moving, the way you're looking at the crowd, the way you're teasing the audience... It's like watching a predator stalking its prey, and he finds himself transfixed, his body reacting to your every move. 

The crowd is eating out of the palm of your hand, and Hunter is right along with them, transfixed by you.

As if sensing his thoughts, you glance at him, a wicked smile curving your lips. It's a look that makes his pulse race and his imagination run wild. He can almost imagine you whispering in his ear, telling him to meet you after the show. He can see you taking his hand, leading him to your room and letting him explore every inch of your body. He can picture what it would feel like to touch you, to taste you, to bury himself inside you.

Your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you turn away, the music growing louder. When you spin around and bend over, giving him a full view of your backside, he knows it's intentional.

You're teasing him, and he can't say that he minds.

Your hips sway and gyrate, your hands traveling over your body. He knows he should look away, should give you the respect and privacy that you deserve, but he can't.

He wants you.

The thought hits him like a freight train, and he feels the blood rush to his groin. His breath catches, and he licks his lips, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It's a thought he's had before, but it's never been this powerful. It's more than desire, more than a passing fancy. It's a burning need that he can't deny. He's never wanted someone the way he wants you, and the realization leaves him reeling.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and focus on the clientele. He can hear the wolf whistles and cat calls, and it makes his skin crawl. But as much as he wants to go up on stage and put an end to this, he knows he can't. Not yet, at least.

Instead, he does what he does best and watches the room, observing. Most of the audience is made up of humans, a few Twi'leks, and a smattering of other species. There are a couple of Hutts, their massive bulk taking up two tables, and several other creatures in the dark corners of the cantina. Hunter has a feeling they're the reason for the high number of bouncers posted at the doors.

This is the sort of place that draws the dregs of the galaxy, he thinks, just as his eyes catch sight of a pale horned head at the bar. His back is to him, but he doesn't need to see his face to know that it's your man.

Hunter tenses, and his fingers twitch.

There you are.

As you dance, you can hear the crowd cheering, and you let the music carry you. You’ve spent many nights in places like this, and you can read a crowd. You know what the patrons want to see, and you can give it to them. You just hope you were attracting the right attention.

When the song ends, you give a little bow and blow a kiss at the crowd, the smile plastered on your face feeling more natural than it did a moment ago. The applause and cheers follow you as you turn to leave the stage, and your legs feel like jelly as you walk, your breath coming hard.

“I have eyes on the target. Zabrak at the bar in the blue vest," Hunter rasps in your ear.

You glance out of the corner of your eye toward the bar. A Zabrak you saw earlier was wearing a blue vest, and sure enough, there he was. He’s in conversation with the droid bartender, which gives you the opportunity to examine him further. You spot his hip pack — likely where he’s storing Cid's crystal — and smile. It’s almost too easy.

The target turns suddenly and catches you looking at him. You mask your surprise with a flirtatious wink, and his expression immediately dissolves into one of interest. He takes his drink from the bartender and lifts it in your direction before taking a sip.

Over the rim of the glass, you can see the darkness of his gaze, and a plan immediately begins to form in your mind. It's not the one you'd intended to follow, but it will work just as well.

“I’m engaging,” you mutter quietly to yourself.

"What? No!" Hunter hisses in your ear.

"Hunter, trust me," you insist. "This is what I do. Let me do my job."

"Your job?" he snaps, his voice rough.

"Yes," you reply sharply, your irritation rising. “I can get the crystal without you having to lift a finger. Just keep your head down and let me do my thing."

"I don’t like this."

"Trust me."

Hunter is silent, and you can practically feel his disapproval.

Fine. Let him be upset. You can handle yourself.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still locked with the Zabrak. He’s decently attractive, with strong features and an impressive physique. Not the worst mark you'd ever had, that's for sure. You can do this.

You give him a coy smile, turning and making your way down the stairs and over to the bar. Your hips sway as you walk, and you put a little extra swing in your step. He keeps his eyes on you as you approach, and the closer you get, the more you can see the clear lust in them. Cid mentioned he had a thing for human women during the briefing, but this was something else.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" he says, his voice a low rumble.

You smile and lean against the bar, your fingers tracing patterns on the worn surface. "I was hoping you’d say that."

"Why's that?"

"Because you seem like the kind of man who could show a girl a good time." Yuck.

"Is that right?" he asks, leaning closer. His hand brushes against your hip, and his breath tickles your neck. "And what makes you say that?"

"Call it a hunch," you say, smiling coyly.

"You have good instincts."

"I have a few," you say, your gaze flicking to the pack at his waist. You lean forward, your hand cupping his cheek. “Is this seat taken?” 

The Zabrak smiles, revealing yellowed teeth and sharp canines as his eyes rake over you. He sets his drink down on the bar and turns toward you to pat his lap with a clawed hand.

Pushing down the shudder threatening to creep up your spine, you slide onto his legs. Your arms wrap around his neck so your fingers can caress the back of his bare skull. The leathery texture of his skin feels wrong, but the claws on your hips are much worse.

His fingers squeeze your flesh, and you fight the urge to flinch. You hate this. Hate being this close to someone, hate the way their hands roam your body. It's too familiar, too dangerous. You can feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, and your skin crawls. But this is the only way to get what you need.

"I'm Vesh," he tells you, his voice deep and gravelly.

You respond with your name, your voice a whisper.

Vesh repeats it, and his fingers flex on your skin. "It's a pleasure."

"Mmm," you murmur, your hand trailing down his chest.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he says as you swing your legs around to dangle off the side of his own.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. At his nod, you lean in closer, nose nearly brushing his ear. “It’s my first day.”

He draws back and grasps your chin with a clawed thumb and forefinger. You resist the urge to jerk your head away as he brings your face close to his.

"Is that right?" he asks, his breath hot on your skin.

"Mmhmm," you nod, your fingers curling into his vest. “You’ll tell me if I’m doing a bad job, won’t you?”

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he growls, his hand sliding up your thigh, "I'll make sure you're nice and thoroughly trained."

The innuendo is glaringly obvious, and the implication is clear. You can't help but wonder if he thinks he's being charming. He's not.

You force yourself not to recoil from his touch. Instead, you lean in, pressing your body against his. "I hope so."

You hum, running your hands over his chest, the muscles beneath your palms tense and firm. Your gaze drops to his hip pack. It would be so easy to snatch the crystal and run, but the last thing you need is to alert him or the guards. Instead, you allow him to tilt your head, your body pliant in his grasp.

As he leans down to kiss your neck, you can hear a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl over the comlink.

“I’m coming over," Hunter rasps.

“Don’t!” you blurt out. Vesh makes to withdraw, and you quickly hold onto his neck to keep him in place. “Um, don’t stop. You’re so good at that.”

He needs little encouragement from there. With dry lips, he mouths at your neck and chest, hands moving to caress your waist and thighs. You give sighs in all the right places, leaning into his touch, all the while feeling a pair of eyes burning into you from across the room.

It's an easy plan. One you've pulled off more times than you can count. Seduce the target, steal the goods, and run.

What you didn't anticipate was your reaction to Hunter's presence. The way his gaze is practically boring into you, his displeasure rolling off him in waves. Or the possessive noise that escapes him when Vesh touches you. It's thrilling and terrifying all at once.

It's been a long time since someone has felt so protective of you, and while it's unnecessary, there's a part of you that likes it. It's a heady feeling, knowing that someone cares enough about you to get angry on your behalf.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Vesh's hand slip under your dress. You tense, your thighs clenching around his leg. He growls in your ear, low and throaty, and his hips buck up, grinding against you. His claws rake across your skin, leaving burning trails behind.

It takes every ounce of your willpower not to pull away and run. Instead, you force yourself to stay put and focus on the task at hand.

Vesh's free hand reaches up to cup your breast, and your breath hitches.

"So eager," he murmurs, his voice thick and heavy with lust.

"I can't wait," you purr, your eyes sliding over his shoulder to meet Hunter's. His gaze is molten, and his jaw is set, a muscle ticking in his cheek. You force yourself to turn back to Vesh, a smile on your lips. "Why don't we take this somewhere private?"

"I like the way you think." He grins and nearly shoves you off his lap as he moves to stand.

Vesh leads you forward with a hand on your lower back towards the staircase leading to the private rooms. You glance over your shoulder in the hopes of meeting Hunter's eyes, but he's nowhere to be found. Kriff. You wanted to do this alone, and now here you are. Alone.

Once you reach the top of the stairs, the target takes you by the hand and leads you down the hallway. It's empty, and you can feel your stomach sinking with every step you take. You try your best not to drag your feet, but the hot breath on your neck and the hand pressed against you is anything but encouraging.

When you arrive at a door at the end of the hall, he crowds you against it, eagerly pressing his hardness to your lower back as he wraps an arm around your stomach. He types in the code, and as soon as the door slides open, he releases you to shove you inside.

The room is a small square with a bed and a single chair. The only other door leads to a refresher, but much more worth noting is the small window embedded deep in the wall behind the bed. It'll require climbing up to reach, but it's large enough for you to slip out and drop to the roof below. Easy.

The door slides shut, casting the room in shadow.

Time to put your skills to use.

"Don't move," Vesh orders. There’s a strange, misplaced sound, like metal clicking, and it takes you a moment too soon to realize.

You turn slowly, and the sight that greets you makes your blood run cold. The barrel of the Vesh’s hand cannon stares you down, his glowering face just behind it. 

“I must say, you put on quite the display back there,” he says with a tilt of his head.

You swallow hard, your eyes flicking from the blaster to his face.

"But you just had to go and ruin things, didn't you?" he snarls, taking a step toward you. “You almost had me convinced. But I know what you’re really after.”

You freeze, your eyes widening. You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel the panic rising in your chest. Your eyes flick to the door behind him, hoping beyond hope that it hadn’t locked automatically.

"You think I haven’t dealt with thieves before? You're not the first,” he sneers. “Though I will admit, you are the most attractive."

"Well, you got me." You hold your hands up, palms facing outward. "I'm sorry. Now, just let me go, and we can forget this ever happened."

Vesh gives a mirthless laugh. "Oh, I don't think so." He steps closer, his grip on the blaster tightening. "I think you're going to stay right here and do exactly what I tell you."

“Wait—let’s talk. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

“How about this: you strip, and I’ll think about not blowing your pretty little head off. How does that sound?"

Your eyes dart from the gun to the door, then back again. Your mind is racing, and you know you need to think fast. If you can get close enough to him, catch him by surprise, you might be able to make it out of here in one piece with your prize.

You bite your lip, considering. If you play your cards right, this could work in your favor.

"Okay, okay. I'll do whatever you want," you say, your voice trembling.

"That's my girl," he growls.

Slowly, you reach up to the straps of your dress, letting them slide down your shoulders. You can feel his eyes on you, drinking in every inch of skin as it’s revealed. You hate the way he looks at you, and the thought that this is for him makes your stomach turn, but you need to buy yourself enough time.

Vesh’s breathing becomes heavy, and he shifts his weight, his grip on the blaster slackening ever so slightly.

"More," he growls, his eyes darting to the exposed swell of your breasts.

You take a step forward, then another, until the barrel of the blaster is pressed against your collarbone. The metal is cold, and the promise of death lingers in the air. But it's enough. It gives you just enough room to maneuver.

You prime yourself to spring forward, your fingers closing around the handle of your knife, but you’re thrown off when the door slides open, bathing the room in the light of the hall.

A gloved hand appears, pushing the blaster aside, and Vesh lets out a surprised grunt. You stumble backwards, your back hitting the wall as you watch Hunter take down the Zabrak. You barely blink, and then the target is flat on his back, his weapon kicked aside and Hunter's foot pressing his windpipe into the floor.

He leans down, and your breath catches.

"Stay down," he growls.

Vesh sputters and coughs, his hands clutching at Hunter's boot. He tries to speak, but Hunter's foot only presses harder.

"What the hell are you doing?" you gasp, your heart hammering in your chest.

"I told you I was coming," he replies, his eyes never leaving the man underneath his boot.

"I had it under control," you insist.

"Like hell you did!"

"What is it with men not thinking I can handle myself?" you demand, throwing your hands up.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute without you nearly getting yourself killed," Hunter snarls, the anger rolling off him in waves. Vesh pushes against his boot, but Hunter's knee presses into his chest, effectively pinning him.

"Get off me!" Vesh spits.

Hunter leans in, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You’re lucky I don’t kill you."

"What the hell are you even doing here, Hunter?"

"Making sure you don't do something stupid," he shoots back.

"I had everything under control."

"Under control? It looks to me like he was about to have his way with you!"

"That was the plan," you retort.

"Plan?" Hunter's gaze snaps to yours, and his eyes are dark. He looks furious. "You mean you were going to let him—"

"He was about to give me what I want," you cut him off, your temper flaring.

Hunter's expression hardens, and he turns back to the Zabrak, pressing his weight onto the man's throat. Vesh coughs and struggles against the pressure, but Hunter's relentless.

"Hunter, stop," you shout, panic rising in your chest. This is going downhill fast, and if you don't do something, he is going to ruin everything.

"No," Hunter says, his voice tight. "He doesn't get to hurt you."

You move forward, grabbing his shoulder and tugging. He doesn't budge. "Hunter, listen to me."

He opens his mouth to reply, but he hesitates, tilting his head. A second later, you hear heavy footsteps pound up the stairs and down the hall.

"We need to go," he snaps.

"No, wait, we’re so close—"

"Now!" Hunter pulls Vesh up and pushes him against the wall before grabbing your arm and dragging you to the window. He throws the latch, and it swings open.

"Go," he orders, gesturing for you to climb through.

"What about you?"

"I'm right behind you. Go!"

You don't need to be told twice. You scramble up the wall and slide through the window, dropping down onto the roof below. The sound of shouting and running feet comes from behind you, and you spin around to see Hunter climbing out the window.

"Come on," he says, grabbing your arm again and pulling you across the roof.

You run to the edge, and you hesitate. "It's too far," you say, looking down at the narrow street below. 

Hunter doesn't seem to hear you. He blows past you, scaling down the wall with ease. You watch him go, jaw slack. Is he really just going to leave you behind?

He reaches the bottom of the alley and turns back, his face illuminated by the glow of the street lamps. "Jump! I’ll catch you.”

“You can’t be serious!" You yell.

"Do you want to get caught or not?" he yells back, his arms spread wide.

You glance back, and your heart leaps into your throat. Vesh’s angry face appears in the window, followed by his hand cannon.

There's no time. You have to go.

Taking a deep breath, you jump.

For a terrifying moment, you feel weightless, suspended in midair. Then, strong arms wrap around you, catching you and pulling you close. You fall back against the wall together, and you bury your face in his neck, your heart pounding.

"See, I told you I'd catch you," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're crazy," you mumble.

"And you're reckless."

You lean back and glare at him, and his grip on you tightens. You can't believe he dragged you away from the job like that. He ruined everything.

"What now?"

"Now we get the hell out of here and go home," he says, setting you down on your feet. You immediately pull out of his grasp, ignoring the way his hand lingers on your arm.

"What?" you hiss. "What about the job?"

"Forget the job." His hand moves to grab yours. "We're leaving."

You let out a sigh and let him pull you along. As you run through the streets, your mind races. The night didn’t go the way you planned, but somehow, you made it out. And if you’re honest with yourself, a part of you is relieved. Relieved that you didn’t have to go through with your plan. Relieved that Hunter was there to protect you. But your relief is tinged with frustration. Frustration at yourself for letting your guard down. Frustration at Hunter for being right. 

And, more than anything, frustration at the fact that you’re going home empty-handed. Again.

As you run, the sounds of the city fade away behind you, and you can't help but feel like this is only the beginning. Like this is just the start of your troubles. Because the truth is, Hunter’s right. You are reckless. And when it comes to your own safety, you’ll do whatever it takes to get what you want. Even if it means risking your life.

As soon as the two of you are back on the ship, the doors seal, the engine rumbles to life, and the atmosphere around you turns yellow and then black. You let out a breath and lean back in the copilot’s seat, your stomach roiling.

Hunter doesn't look at you.

He didn’t say anything as you entered the cockpit behind him, his jaw tense and his expression blank. When you sat down, he put the ship on autopilot, and then simply stared out the window, his eyes fixed on the stars.

You can't stand it. The tension in the air between you, the unspoken words. It’s suffocating. You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and you hate it.

"Hunter..." you start, not even sure where you're going.

"Don't."

The word is harsh, sharp, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your mouth clamps shut, and you sit back in your seat, your eyes wide.

Hunter's gaze is still fixed on the stars, his expression inscrutable. You can't read him, can't tell what he's thinking. He's closed himself off to you, and it hurts more than you want to admit.

"Hunter, please."

He shakes his head, his fingers tightening on the controls. You can hear them creak under his grip. "You should shower.”

"What?"

"You should shower. Clean yourself up," he repeats, his voice tight.

"No," you snap, your temper flaring. You don't care if he's upset. He doesn't get to treat you like this.

His shoulders tense, and his jaw clenches.

“You smell like him,” he elaborates.

Your blood runs cold. You didn't notice. The adrenaline must have been covering up the scent, but now that he mentions it, you can't help but feel the ghostly touches. Hands and claws and lips on your skin, the scent of booze and cigarra smoke.

You suddenly feel guilty, and it’s not a feeling you're used to. Your hands clench into fists in your lap, and you try not to think about the way his lips felt on your neck, the way his hands felt on your body.

Your mouth opens and closes, the words stuck in your throat.

 “We’ll talk when you’re done,” Hunter says, his eyes still not meeting yours.

You sit there for a moment, your hands clenched tightly in your lap, and you can feel the heat building behind your eyes. You know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. 

“Fine.” You swallow thickly and stand up, your legs trembling slightly. The crystals dangling from your dress ping together with the movement, and you swear you see him flinch at the sound. You don't look back as you head out into the common room.

You grab some clean clothes and your toiletries and head into the refresher. When the door closes, you sigh and lean against it. You can still feel his hands on you, and you want to scrub your skin raw until there's nothing left. You shake your head and push the feeling away. It's not productive. Instead, you strip and step into the shower, allowing the water to wash away the night.

It was far from the first time this has happened to you, but it never gets easier, not entirely. You’re just numb to it. Just another in a long line of unsavory decisions you've had to make in an effort to survive in the galaxy. To feed yourself and keep a roof over your head. To get what you need. But this... this feels different, somehow.

Hunter shouldn’t have seen you that way. He shouldn’t have seen you so desperate, so willing to do whatever it took to get what you wanted. No one should see you that way. But especially not him.

You scrub your skin until it’s red and raw, but it doesn't seem to matter. The shame and frustration inside you continues to build, your fists clenching and unclenching as you replay the scene over and over in your mind.

The way Hunter looked at you, the anger and disgust in his eyes.

It's the same way everyone else looks at you.

You've always been seen as less than. Less than worthy. Less than capable. Less than important. It's not something that's ever bothered you before, but now, in front of him, it does.

It stings.

It shouldn't, but it does.

And you hate it.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to relax, your shoulders slumping. The water cascades down your body, washing away the grime and dirt, the evidence of the night's activities.

It's not a big deal, you tell yourself. Hunter was just trying to help. And maybe you needed the help.

As much as you hate to admit it, he's right. You were reckless. You're used to being on your own. To making your own decisions and dealing with the consequences. Working with a partner — a team — is new. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely new. Hunter made it clear from the start that you're in this together, but clearly he wasn’t ready to see you like this.

It isn't the first time you've used your body to get what you want, and it won't be the last. It's a useful tool, one you've honed to a razor-sharp edge. You can read a room and a target in an instant, and you're always prepared to think on your feet.

Hunter’s seen you at your best — smart, witty, skilled. But now he's seen you at your worst. Vulnerable. Desperate. Pathetic.

And he doesn't like it.

You understand why. You don't like it either.

As soon as you’re clean and dried, you get dressed. You don’t linger in the refresher, don’t even bother to look in the mirror. You just grab your things and leave. You have no desire to spend more time than necessary hiding away.

When you return to the cockpit, Hunter is still there, his eyes fixed on the streaks of light outside. He doesn't turn to look at you, doesn't acknowledge your presence, and the silence between you grows thicker and more oppressive.

"You want to talk," you say at last, breaking the tension. "So let's talk."

"Fine." Hunter stands and pushes past you, stalking through the cockpit toward the common room. You follow, your heart hammering in your chest. You're not sure what to expect, but whatever it is, you know it's not good.

As soon as the two of you are in the common room, Hunter rounds on you, his expression dark.

"You jeopardized the mission."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.

"Excuse me?" Your anger flares, and you step closer to him, your chin jutting out. "Need I remind you whose mission this is?"

"And need I remind you that we're a team? We're supposed to work together."

You scoff, shaking your head. You can't believe him. After all that, this is what he's upset about?

"We are working together," you snap.

"Is that what you call it?” Hunter growls. "Because to me, it looked like you doing everything you can to prove you don't need my help."

"I don't!”

"Clearly." His words are heavy with sarcasm, and it makes your skin crawl.

You hate him, hate the way he makes you feel, hate the way he can read you so easily. He's always been able to see through you, and it makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. You can't stand it.

"Look, I don't need you telling me how to do my job."

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't so reckless," he shoots back.

"Reckless?" Your voice rises, your temper getting the better of you. "That's rich coming from you. I'm not the one who charged in there guns blazing and nearly got us both killed."

"But I'm not the one who was going to sell myself to some lowlife for a chunk of rock!”

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" he snarls. He steps closer, looming over you, his eyes dark with anger. You refuse to be intimidated, but your stomach does an unpleasant flip.

"Yes, really," you snap, holding his gaze. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You went off script. We agreed we’d approach the target together and you just went right up to him!” He’s shouting now, and his voice echoes in the small room. "You didn't tell me the plan. You didn't wait for my signal. You just acted without thinking. Just like always."

"I had it handled," you yell back. You jab at his chest plate with a finger, and unsurprisingly, he doesn't budge an inch. If anything, he leans closer.

"Handled? You call getting caught 'handled'?"

"If you hadn't barged in, I would have had him eating out of the palm of my hand," you insist.

"You can't be serious. That man was seconds away from having his way with you!” he shouts. “He was going to use you, and when he was done, he was going to kill you. And I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about it."

You scoff and roll your eyes. This is ridiculous.

"So that's what this is about? You're mad because I didn't let you play the hero?"

"Haar'chak, I'm mad because I'm the only one around here who seems to care if you live or die!"

You reel back as if struck. You're not sure if it's the sudden realization of what he said or the fact that he's shouting in your face, but whatever the case, it feels like a punch to the gut.

You open your mouth to retort, but no words come out. Hunter's eyes are dark, his brow furrowed, his mouth set in a tight line. He's breathing hard, his nostrils flaring. You've never seen him like this, so angry and out of control.

"You don't think. That's your problem. You act on impulse and don't think things through. It’s like you don’t care at all about your own safety."

"So what?" you finally manage.

"So what?" Hunter echoes, his voice incredulous. He steps back, his arms gesturing wildly. "So, what if you hadn't been able to seduce the target? What if he had seen through your little game and shot you? What if I hadn't been there to stop him?"

"Well, thank the Maker that you were, isn't that right?"

"This isn't funny!"

"I'm not laughing," you retort, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You're so--" He breaks off, and takes a deep breath. His hand covers his face, and he shakes his head. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and strained. "You act like it doesn't matter, like your life doesn't matter. But it does."

His words take the wind out of your sails. You've never heard him sound so... defeated. Like he's tired of fighting. Like he's given up. It's unnerving.

You're scrambling for something, anything to keep your anger burning. It's the only thing holding you together right now. If it fades, if you let yourself feel the shame and guilt and humiliation, you'll fall apart. And you can't let that happen.

"You don't understand," you mutter, turning away from him.

"You're right, I don't.” He grabs your shoulder, forcing you to face him. His eyes search yours, his brow furrowed. "I don't understand why you're so willing to throw yourself into danger like that. You deserve better than that."

"Better than what?"

"Better than this." He gestures around the ship. “Better than having to use your body as a weapon. Better than letting Cid take advantage of you."

"That's my choice," you snap, pushing his hand away, and it falls back to his side. "This is my life, Hunter. This is what I've had to do to survive. It's not pretty, but it's the only way I've found that works."

"There's a better way," he says, his voice firm.

"Not for me. Not when all I have is this." You gesture to yourself, to your body, and he flinches, his jaw clenching. "I have nothing. I'm nobody."

"You're not nothing," he insists, stepping closer to you. "And you're not just some weapon to be used and thrown away. You're important."

"I'm not."

"You are," he says, his voice low and rough.

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I—" He pauses, and his gaze softens, his eyes searching yours. "I care about you. I care about what happens to you."

The words echo in the small space between you, hanging in the air like a bomb ready to go off. Your heart races in your chest, and you take a step back.

"Hunter, I—"

"No, don't." He closes the gap between you, his hands reaching out for yours. "Just, please, just listen. I know I'm probably the last person who should be telling you this, but you need to hear it. You need to know that you're more than just a body to use. You're so much more. You're strong, and capable, and kriff, you're brave. Too brave. But that's not a bad thing. It's just part of who you are. And I..."

His hands are warm on yours, his voice a low rumble. Your stomach twists into knots, and your head spins. Hunter cares about you. He's said the words aloud, and you don't know how to process them.

No one has ever said that to you before. Not like this.

"I know what it's like to be used. To be seen as nothing more than a means to an end. I know what it's like to do things you're not proud of." He pauses, his eyes searching your face. "And I don't want that for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart aches. You can't believe what you're hearing.

“I’m sorry for yelling." Hunter says, his voice strained.

"It's fine," you mumble.

"It's not. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. But seeing you like that, with him..." His jaw clenches, and his fingers flex around yours. "I hate it. I hate seeing you like this, using yourself like this. You deserve better, and I'm not just saying that. It's true."

You're not sure how to respond. A part of you is still angry, still hurt, still defensive. But a larger part of you is moved by his words, by the concern in his voice. He means what he's saying, and that's enough to make the knot in your stomach loosen ever so slightly.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't apologize."

"No, I should. You're right. I should have talked to you before I did anything. I should have trusted you."

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says, his hands sliding up your arms. "I do. I trust you with my life. But I care about you too much to watch you get hurt."

"Hunter, I—"

"You don't have to say anything. I know I've probably crossed a line, and I'm sorry. I just had to say it."

"Thank you," you murmur.

You feel him shift, and when you open your eyes, he's close. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against him. He rests his chin on top of your head, his grip tight. It feels good, being held like this, and a sense of peace washes over you. You're not used to feeling safe, but with Hunter, you do. It’s a bit terrifying that he’s come to mean this much to you.

His thumb strokes along your spine, and you lean further into his touch. It's intimate, more than you're used to, but it's nice. More than nice. You've never had anyone hold you like this, care about you like this, and it makes you feel warm all over.

"Say it again," you whisper.

"I'm sorry," Hunter repeats, his tone questioning. You pull back and meet his eyes, and the worry, the hope in his expression is enough to take your breath away.

"No, the other thing," you say.

Realization dawns on him, and a small smile plays across his lips. "I care about you."

This time, when the words are spoken, they don't hurt. They don't sting or burn. They settle over you like a warm blanket, like a comforting embrace.

You smile, and a small laugh escapes you. It's a silly, stupid sound, but you don't care.

"You care about me," you repeat, as if saying the words will make them more real.

"I do," Hunter says.

His hands cup your cheeks, and he tilts your head up, his gaze searching yours as his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, and then he's kissing you, his lips warm and gentle on yours. You close your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest as you melt against him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and a soft moan escapes your lips.

Kissing Hunter is unlike anything you've ever experienced before. It's soft and sweet, but there's a hint of hunger, of desperation, like he's been holding himself back. You can't help but smile, and his lips curl into a smirk against yours.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your skin. You feel giddy, drunk on the kiss, and you can't keep the smile from your lips.

"Hunter..." you begin, but you're not sure what else to say.

"I meant it," he says, his voice a low rumble.

Your smile widens, and your hand reaches up to trace along his jaw. His stubble is rough under your fingers, and you can't help but admire the sharp lines of his face.

"I care about you, too,” you whisper.

He smiles, and his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your heart is still racing, and you feel like you're floating, like your body is made of stardust and light.

Hunter's gaze is tender, full of affection, and it's almost too much to bear. He makes you feel like you're the only person in the galaxy, and it's a feeling you've never experienced before. It's overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

"I'm still mad at you," he whispers.

"I know," you say, smiling. "But I'm mad at you, too."

"Fair enough."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours once more. The kiss is brief, but it sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but chase after him as he pulls away.

He lets out a muffled noise of surprise as you crash your lips onto his. You kiss him, hard, pouring everything you feel into the moment. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as he kisses you back. His mouth is hot and insistent, and you feel the heat of desire pool in your belly.

You've kissed plenty of people in your life, but never like this. Never with such abandon, such need. Never with such raw passion. You can't get enough of him. You press your body against his, desperate to be closer, and he responds in kind. 

It's like a dam has burst, the two of you crashing together in a tangle of lips and teeth and tongues. Hunter guides you back until you’re pushed against the wall, his body caging yours. His hands are everywhere, on your waist, your hips, your breasts. Your fingers dig into his back as your leg lifts to hook around his waist. He takes the hint and grabs it, then the other, lifting you up.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands slide under your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin. He pins you against the wall with his body, and you can't help but moan at the contact. You're already aching for him, and the feeling of his codpiece pressing against your core isn't helping.

When his lips finally leave yours, you're gasping for air, your body trembling with need. Hunter's eyes are dark and wild, his lips swollen from the kisses. You've never seen him look so undone, and the thought that you did this, that you're the one responsible for the desire burning in his gaze, makes you dizzy with lust. 

He looks at you, his gaze raking over your body, and he swallows hard. His voice is low and husky when he speaks.

"I can't believe I almost lost you," he says, his breath warm against your skin. "If anything happened to you..."

"It didn’t," you whisper. You reach out and gently trace the outline of his tattoo. "I'm here. I'm safe."

"You scared the hell out of me.” His eyes meet yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart skip a beat. "Don't ever do that again."

You bite your lip, and a sly smile spreads across your face.

"What?" Hunter asks, his eyebrow quirking.

"It's just..." You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "You're kind of a hypocrite."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I'm not the only one who does reckless, stupid things." You tilt your head and smile at him.

His brow furrows, and then realization dawns on him. He chuckles, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"You may have a point," he admits, and you laugh.

You lean in, your nose brushing against his. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into the touch, his lips brushing against yours. It's gentle and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body is pressed against yours, and you can't help but sigh softly.

"What a pair we make, " you murmur.

"That we do," he agrees. His eyes open, and he pulls back slightly. His gaze is intense, his pupils blown wide. His hands are still on your thighs, and you can feel his thumbs moving in small circles on your skin. It's a tiny gesture, but it makes your heart race, and a shiver runs through your body.

The tension between the two of you is almost palpable, and you can't stop staring at his lips, at the way they're slightly parted, like he's waiting for permission.

You don't hesitate.

You kiss him, hard. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and you feel him smile. You can't help but smile too, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.

The kiss grows deeper, and Hunter's tongue slips past your lips. His hands move from your thighs to your waist, pulling you closer. You're completely pinned against the wall, his body flush with yours, and your hips cant against his, desperate for some kind of friction.

He lets out a low groan, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You gasp, and his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. He trails his lips down your jaw, and his teeth graze over your neck, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin.

"Hunter," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall. He lets out a groan and grinds his hips against yours, his codpiece rubbing against your clit as his hands slip under your shirt.

The feeling is electric, and you can't help but buck against him, desperate for more. He responds in kind, his body rocking against yours, his mouth hot on your skin. Your fingers bury themselves in his hair, pulling him closer, and his lips trail up to your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

"Do you want me to stop?" he murmurs.

"Stars, no."

Hunter laughs, and his lips find yours once more. You can't help but moan, the kiss sending sparks through your body. His hands slide up your sides, his thumbs brushing over the curve of your breasts. You arch into his touch, and his fingers deftly unhook your bra.

He pulls away just enough to lift your shirt, and you let your bra fall off your shoulders, your hands reaching up to help him take it off. You're left completely bare from the waist up, and his gaze is hungry, his eyes roving over your exposed skin.

He doesn't give you a chance to feel self-conscious. His hands are on your breasts, kneading and squeezing, his thumbs rolling over your nipples. The sensation is incredible, and you gasp, your head falling back against the wall. His head ducks down, his tongue trailing over your skin. When his mouth closes around one of your nipples, you nearly lose it, a moan tearing from your throat.

Your fingers bury themselves in his hair, and you can't stop yourself from grinding against him, the pleasure building inside you. His teeth graze over your nipple, and his hands slide down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants.

"Please," you whimper, the word slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

He lets out a low, satisfied hum and kisses his way across your chest, his mouth hot on your skin. One hand cups the back of his neck, pulling him closer, while the other grabs his wrist, urging him lower.

Hunter doesn't disappoint. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants and underwear, and then he's stroking you, his fingers sliding easily through your slick folds. You let out a choked moan, your hips bucking against his hand, and he smiles against your skin, his teeth grazing over your nipple.

“Never thought I'd hear you beg," he murmurs.

Your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, his thumb presses against your clit, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. His touch is electric, and your hips rock against his hand, desperate for more.

Hunter chuckles, his breath hot against your skin, and then he’s pulling away, his fingers slipping out of you.

You nearly whine, the loss of contact making you ache, but then he's dropping to his knees in front of you, and you can't think of anything else. His hands find the waistband of your pants and underwear, and he slowly, tantalizingly, drags them down your legs. You step out of them, and he tosses them aside, his gaze raking over your naked form.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands sliding up the backs of your legs.

He doesn't give you a chance to respond. He hikes a leg over his shoulder and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and a low, needy sound escapes your throat.

"Hunter..."

He doesn't need any more encouragement. He moves in, his tongue licking a hot, wet stripe over your folds. Your hips jerk, and he lets out an obscene groan, his hands sliding up to grip your ass. He pulls you closer, his tongue circling your clit before flicking over it.

"So good," he rasps against you, and the sound goes straight to your core.

You can't help but moan, the pleasure building inside you, his mouth hot and wet and insistent. Your hips roll against his face, and his fingers dig into your skin, his breath coming in ragged pants.

He devours you, his tongue delving inside you before returning to your clit. He alternates between teasing licks and hungry sucks, his pace relentless, his desire to make you come clear in his every movement.

The way his mouth moves over you, the way his tongue works you over, it's unlike anything you've ever experienced before. He's focused, his eyes closed, his lips and tongue working tirelessly. He's clearly enjoying himself, and it shows.

You've never had anyone eat you out with such enthusiasm. With such need.

His fingers spread you open, and his tongue plunges deeper, his nose rubbing against your clit. It's almost too much, and you can't hold back the moans spilling from your lips. His mouth is perfect, and the pressure is building, the pleasure mounting. You're so close, so kriffing close.

Then, his eyes open, his gaze locking onto yours.

And he doesn't look away.

He holds your gaze as his mouth works you over, as his tongue swirls and flicks and teases. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there's a hunger in them that takes your breath away. Hunter's always been intense, but this is different. This is a whole new level, and it's enough to send you hurtling over the edge.

You come, hard. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you let out a cry, your orgasm ripping through you as you double over, your fingers gripping his hair for dear life. He doesn't stop, his tongue licking up every last drop of your release. Your hips buck against his face, and he groans, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body.

It's a long moment before you come down, and even then, you're trembling, your body flushed and spent. You can barely stand, your legs weak, but Hunter's arms are there, supporting you. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and you let out a shaky breath.

When you finally manage to open your eyes, Hunter's still kneeling in front of you, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Maker, yes," you say, laughing. You shake your head and run a hand through your hair, your mind reeling. “You’ve been holding out on me, Sergeant."

Hunter stands and takes your face in his hands, his gaze searching yours. There's a heat in his eyes, a desire that makes your breath catch in your throat. His thumb brushes over your lips, and he leans in, his mouth ghosting over yours.

“Want more?” he whispers.

"Please."

The word is barely out of your mouth before his lips are on yours, his kiss hot and hungry. He pushes you back, and you let him guide you, his mouth never leaving yours. He steers you until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bunk, and you stumble backwards, landing on the bed with a small yelp.

Hunter doesn't waste any time. His hands move to the latches of his chest plate, and he quickly removes it, letting it clatter to the floor. The sound of it hitting the ground echoes through the ship, and a jolt of anticipation runs through you.

You're really doing this.

You're really going to have sex with Hunter.

As he steps out of his boots, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and your stomach does a little flip.

You've been dancing around this, whatever this is, for weeks. Months, even. You've wanted him, wanted this, and now, you're finally going to have it.

It's exhilarating and terrifying, and you can't wait.

Your hands reach out for him, and you undo the belt at his waist. It falls to the floor, and he lets out a soft chuckle, his hands finding yours. He lifts them up, and places a gentle kiss on each of your knuckles, his gaze meeting yours.

The gesture is sweet, tender, and it takes your breath away. Your heart skips a beat, and you can't help but smile, a fluttering feeling filling your chest.

This man, this soldier, who's seen and done so much, and still manages to be kind and caring.

Who makes you feel safe.

Who makes you feel cared for.

You can't believe your luck.

"Hunter," you murmur, unable to look away from him.

He pauses, his eyes searching yours.

"What is it?"

"I..." You trail off, not sure how to express what you're feeling. It's all too much, and the words don't seem enough.

He lets go of your hands and cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"It's okay," he says. “We don’t have to do anything you're not ready for."

You laugh, a small, breathless sound. "No, that's not it. I want this. I want you."

His eyes widen, and he swallows hard. For a moment, he doesn't move, doesn't speak. Then, a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Force, the things you do to me," he murmurs, his thumb running along your bottom lip.

You can't help but smile.

Then, his lips are on yours, and the rest of the world fades away.

It's not a gentle kiss. It's raw and desperate, a primal need driving the two of you. His hands are everywhere, and yours are, too. You can't get enough of him.

Your hands tug at the fastenings of his blacks, and he pulls away just long enough to shed them along with his briefs, leaving him naked before you.

Hunter’s skin is hot beneath your fingertips, his muscles taut and defined. You can't help but admire him, his broad shoulders and trim waist, the dark tattoos that cover one side of his body, the scars that mar his skin. He's a sight to behold, and a small sigh escapes your lips.

"See something you like?" he asks, a playful tone in his voice.

Your eyes dip lower, following the trail of hair down his stomach, and a smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. His cock is already hard and straining, the tip glistening with precum. You bite your lip, and when you glance back up, you catch him watching you.

A blush rises to his cheeks, and he gives you a sheepish grin.

"Like I said, the things you do to me," he repeats.

You laugh, and reach up, pulling him in for another kiss. You let yourself fall back, and he follows, his body covering yours.

His skin is soft and warm, his muscles firm under your touch. You let your hands roam, sliding over his shoulders, his back, his ass, anywhere you can reach as he pins you underneath him.

He shudders under your touch, his hips rolling against yours, and a groan escapes his lips. The feeling of his cock sliding against your clit, even with him between your legs, is enough to send a shiver through your body. You can't help but arch up into him, and he lets out a soft grunt, his breath hot on your neck.

“Kriff, you're killing me," he murmurs.

You laugh, and nip at his neck. He gasps, his hips jerking against yours, and you can't help but revel in the feeling.

Hunter is usually so in control, so disciplined, but you can see that control slipping, his restraint crumbling. It's a powerful feeling, knowing that you're the one who's making him lose his mind, and a sense of pride washes over you.

You slide a hand between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and he lets out a choked moan, his body tensing above you. Your thumb teases the sensitive tip, spreading the precum around, and he drops his head to your shoulder, his breathing ragged as his eyes squeeze shut.

"Fuck, that feels good," he groans.

"Yeah?" you ask, giving him a squeeze.

"Yes," he breathes, his hips rocking into your touch.

"I bet you'd feel better inside me," you murmur.

"Fuck, I bet you're right."

His mouth finds yours, and he kisses you, deep and hard, his tongue exploring yours. You stroke his cock, slowly, and he lets out a muffled moan, his hips thrusting against you.

His hands slide down your body, grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart. The movement is rough and sudden, and a small gasp escapes your lips as he holds you open. Your hand falls away from his cock, and he takes the opportunity to settle between your legs, his body pinning you against the bed.

He rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy, his eyes locked onto yours. The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the tension between you is almost too much, and your heart hammers in your chest.

He reaches down, taking himself in his hand, and rubs the head of his cock against your clit. The sensation is incredible, and a choked moan falls from your lips.

He gives a small, teasing thrust, the tip just barely entering you, and a shudder runs through your body. You want him so badly, and he's barely giving you anything.

You let out a frustrated huff, and Hunter smirks.

"Ask nicely," he murmurs.

You swallow, the heat building between you, and your mind is reeling. You’re too far gone to worry about your pride, and if that's what he wants, then that's what you'll give him.

"Please, Hunter," you breathe, and he lets out a low groan.

Then, finally, he pushes inside you.

It's slow, agonizingly so. His tip pushes past the tight ring of muscle, and then he's stretching you, inch by glorious inch, the feeling of his cock filling you stealing the breath from your lungs. The way he’s holding you open, the angle he's at, it's all perfect, and it's all for you.

He doesn't stop until he's fully sheathed inside you, and even then, he waits, his cock pulsing against your walls, giving you a moment to adjust. The teasing look in his eye is gone, replaced by a heated desire. He watches you, his gaze roving over your body, drinking in every detail.

The feeling is almost overwhelming, being stretched so completely, and you let out a shaky breath.

"How does it feel?" he asks, his voice strained.

"Good, really good."

He smiles, and gives a small, experimental thrust. You both gasp, the pleasure of the movement making your toes curl. He does it again, and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, and his eyes close, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

"Don't," he grunts. "I'm barely hanging on as it is."

"Don't what?"

“If you keep that up, I'm not going to last."

The words send a jolt through you, and a wicked idea crosses your mind. You rake your nails down his back, and he groans, his cock twitching inside you.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, his grip firm. You can't help but laugh, a smirk tugging at your lips.

"That's not playing fair," he chides.

"What, you can't handle a little teasing?"

He laughs, and shakes his head, his eyes locked onto yours. Then, he starts moving, his hips rolling into you, his cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt.

The rhythm he sets is steady, but deep. Each thrust is deliberate, calculated, and the way his cock fills you, the way he stretches and rubs against your walls, it's enough to make you forget everything but him.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes," you gasp.

"What else do you want?"

"I—"

You're not sure how to answer. You're not used to someone asking you what you want, what you like.

"Tell me," he says, and his fingers lace together with yours, pressing your hands against the bed.

The intimacy of the gesture sends a rush through your body, and your walls clench around his cock. He lets out a surprised noise, his eyes fluttering shut.

When he opens them again, his gaze is intense, a hunger burning in his eyes. He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel a thrill run through your body.

You take a deep breath, and try to focus, to collect your thoughts.

It's not easy.

He's not making it easy.

You think back to all the times the two of you have been together, all the times you've teased each other, all the moments where the tension between the two of you has threatened to boil over.

There's a question you've always wanted to ask him, a fantasy you've had ever since you first met him.

And now, it seems like the right time to ask.

"I want...I want to know what it feels like to have you come inside me."

He goes still, his cock throbbing inside you, and a shiver runs through his body.

His eyes widen, and he stares at you, his mouth slightly agape. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You hold his gaze, and your cheeks flush, the confession hanging in the air.

Finally, he lets out a strangled groan, and his head drops to your shoulder.

"That's..." He trails off, his voice rough.

"Is that not—"

"No, that's..." He groans, and his hips buck against yours, his cock pulsing.

You let out a breathless laugh.

You never would have thought Hunter could be flustered. But here he is, the man who can stare death in the face without flinching, and the mere thought of coming inside you has him practically vibrating.

"I've never done that," he confesses, and his voice is barely a whisper.

The confession is surprising, but it's not entirely unexpected. Hunter's life hasn't exactly given him a lot of opportunities to indulge in pleasure.

"Do you want to?" you ask.

"Yes." He lets out a low growl and presses a kiss to your shoulder. "But only if you're okay with it."

"I'm more than okay with it," you say, smiling. "I want to feel it."

"Maker, you're going to kill me," he murmurs.

His voice is a low rumble, and a shudder runs through you. The desire in his words is undeniable, and the thought of him giving into it, letting go, makes you dizzy with lust.

He shifts, releasing your hands, and his own move down to your hips. He pulls out of you, and you can't help but let out a disappointed whine, but before you can protest, he flips you over, pressing your chest against the mattress as he guides your knees beneath you.

He moves behind you, his hands running up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and a moan escapes your lips. Your cheek is pressed against the sheets, and the vulnerability of the position sends a shiver down your spine.

You feel his fingers part your folds, his thumb brushing over your clit. His other hand slides down your back, and then his cock is pushing back inside you, filling you completely. The position allows him to go deeper, and you feel him hit the furthest point inside you, a choked moan escaping your throat as a flood of heat washes over your body.

He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, and his hands come up to rest on either side of your head. He's practically bent over you, his hips rolling against yours, and the feeling of his weight bearing down on you, the sensation of his skin warm against yours, it's enough to drive you crazy.

You can't believe this is happening, that the two of you are finally here, after all the teasing, all the flirting, all the stolen glances and secret smiles. You feel his lips on your neck, his breath hot and ragged, and a low moan slips past your lips.

You're not sure how long you can last like this, his cock buried inside you, his body pressed against yours, his hands pinning you in place. And judging by the way his hips are thrusting, his pace growing erratic, he's not going to last much longer either.

The thought sends a jolt through your body, and you push back against him, eager to meet his thrusts. He lets out a choked sound, his fingers digging into the sheets, and his breath is hot against your neck.

"Stars, that feels good," he pants, and his voice is strained. “I’m getting close."

The words send a rush through your body, and you can't help but clench around his cock. The feeling makes him groan, and his hands leave the bed, wrapping around your body. One grips your hip, his fingers digging into your skin, while the other finds your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his thumb.

"I'm going to make a mess of you," he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough, the promise in his words sending a shiver down your spine.

The image flashes through your mind, of Hunter's cum leaking out of you, staining the sheets, and a surge of heat washes over your body, making your toes curl.

"Do it," you breathe, and he groans and pinches your clit, making you gasp.

"I will," he says, his voice a low rumble, and you feel his mouth trail up the back of your neck. His lips find your ear, and his breath is hot against your skin as he speaks. “I want to feel you come, and then I'm going to fill you up. Do you want that, cyar’ika?"

The words are practically a growl, and the raw need in his voice sends a shiver through your body. You can't take much more. Between his words and his cock, you're about to lose it, and his thrusts are becoming desperate, his movements frantic.

“Please,” you whimper, and that's all he needs to hear.

His thumb presses hard against your clit, and his hips snap forward, his cock burying itself inside you. The pleasure is intense, and a cry falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut as the orgasm tears through you.

He doesn't stop. He keeps thrusting, his rhythm fast and uneven, his breath coming in ragged gasps as your walls flutter around him. You're overwhelmed, your senses overloaded, and you can't help but buck against him, riding the waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"Fuck, that's it," he moans, and his fingers tighten on your hip.

His pace is punishing, and the pressure builds, his cock slamming into you with each thrust. He's lost himself in you, and you love it, the knowledge that you're the one bringing him this pleasure.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, and he lets out a broken moan, his hips stuttering. And then, he's coming, burying himself as deep inside you as he can get as his cock pulses. The feeling of his cum spilling inside you, the wet, warm heat of it, sends a shockwave through your body, and another wave of pleasure washes over you.

It's the most intimate, the most erotic thing you've ever felt.

Hunter shudders against you, his body shaking as he gasps, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts. His hips jerk, and his grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you still as he empties himself inside you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, neither of you speaking. The only sound is the ragged breathing coming from both of you. It takes a few minutes for the haze of pleasure to clear, and when it does, he slowly pulls out of you.

He collapses on the bed beside you, and you roll onto your back, looking up at the bottom of the bunk above you.

You're completely spent, the adrenaline and pleasure leaving your body. You glance out of the corner of your eye and smirk.

Hunter is staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his eyes wide.

"You alright, Sergeant?" you tease.

He lets out a huff and turns to look at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Give me a minute," he says, and lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

He's beautiful like this, relaxed and carefree, his hair a mess, his face flushed. It's a far cry from his usual serious demeanor, and the sight sends a wave of affection through you. You want to reach out and touch him, but you're not sure if that’s what he wants. You’ve never really done this, never had the opportunity to have someone stay afterwards.

You're not sure what the protocol is, or if there even is a protocol. Do you cuddle? Do you make small talk? What if he's expecting you to leave?

“C’mere.”

Hunter pulls you against him, his arm wrapping around you, and your worries fade away. You snuggle closer, resting your head on his chest and throwing your leg over his. His body is warm, and his heartbeat is strong and steady, a comforting rhythm against your ear.

Your eyes flutter closed, and for a long moment, the two of you simply lay there, content to enjoy each other's company. His hand trails lazily over your arm, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

A small, satisfied sigh escapes your lips.

You didn’t expect this to happen, but stars, are you glad it did.

The thought crosses your mind that maybe you should have some regrets, maybe you should have second thoughts. But you can't find it in yourself to care. There is a question on your mind, though, and it’s one you can’t help but ask.

"What does cyar’ika mean?" you ask, your hand tracing the outline of his tattoo.

Hunter tenses, his body going rigid beneath you. You immediately regret asking, and you start to pull away, but his grip tightens, holding you in place.

“Did I say that?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He's silent, his fingers absently tracing the outline of your shoulder. You're afraid he's not going to answer, but then he sighs. “It means sweetheart. Darling. Something like that."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Oh," you manage, and your cheeks flush.

"Sorry, it's...it just slipped out. I wasn't thinking." He shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you, and he looks almost nervous. “You don’t mind, do you?”

"Mind?” You blink, and shake your head. A smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a small, surprised laugh. "No, I don't mind."

His brow furrows, and he stares at you, his eyes searching yours.

“It's just...no one ever called me anything like that before,” you say, a little embarrassed.

A surprised expression crosses his face, and then his expression softens. He cups your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"They should have,” he murmurs.

It's such a simple, earnest statement, and the emotion in his voice makes your chest tighten. You look away, suddenly overwhelmed, and a shaky laugh slips past your lips.

“I’m nothing special, Hunter. Not really."

He lets out a small scoff, and the hand on your cheek guides your face back to his, his gaze locking onto yours.

“You are to me."

There's no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty. The words are spoken with a quiet conviction, and the weight of them settles around you, a warmth blooming in your chest and flushing your cheeks. Your heart flutters, and you swallow, suddenly at a loss for words.

"You're cute when you're flustered," he murmurs, his tone teasing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be shy."

"Shut up," you grumble, and his smile widens.

"No, I mean it. I love seeing this side of you." He pulls you in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. When he pulls away, his eyes are warm, his gaze filled with an affection that takes your breath away.

Your heart swells, and you can't help but smile.

It's too soon for love. You know that. But the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, it makes you feel things you've never felt before. It makes you feel like it might be possible, one day.

And that's enough.

You rest your head on his chest again, your hand reaching up to run through his hair, and he lets out a sigh, relaxing against you.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," you mumble, unable to stop the words from coming out.

"That's true." His voice is quiet, his touch gentle, and he nudges you, his chin pressing into the top of your head. "But I'd like to learn. If you'll let me."

You're not used to being asked for anything, much less given a choice. Hunter's words, and the implication behind them, leave you speechless. You stare up at him, not quite sure what to say, and his expression falters, uncertainty crossing his face.

You swallow, and nod.

A grin spreads across his face, and he looks like he's trying to suppress it, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

It's a rare sight, a genuine, unguarded smile from him, and you can't help but chuckle.

The sound is enough to break him. His expression softens, and a low, rumbling laugh escapes his chest, the sound filling the room. You lean in, and kiss him, slow and tender. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and his laughter fades, replaced by a contented sigh.

You've never felt more comfortable, more safe.

Or more at home.

As the two of you lay there, tangled together, you realize something.

You're not sure how it happened, or when, but somewhere along the way, Hunter became a part of your life. And now, it seems impossible to imagine a life without him.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of the future doesn't fill you with dread.

It fills you with hope.

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in his arms, your bodies pressed together.

You sleep better than you have in a long time.

taglist: @covert1ntrovert @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @spicy-clones @qvnthesia

@arctrooper69 @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster

@lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777 @schrodingersraven

@megmegalodondon

[cloudybarnes]

Private Encounters

Pairing: Cardan Greenbriar x reader

Summary: you were tired of Cardan constantly attacking you and your friends. one day, though, Cardan asks to speak with you privately, and no good things could come from the prince of elfhame wanting to speak with you with no one else around

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

✰  ✰  ✰

"Hurry up, you guys! We're gonna be late again!" Taryn whisper-shouted as you and Jude trailed behind her towards the courtyard.

Usually, you two went alone on your adventures, but Taryn decided she wanted to be spontaneous, too, and wanted to join along. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to have that much fun, and urged you back to class almost as soon as you got there.

"Who cares if we're late?" Jude rolled her eyes. "It's not like anyone would really care."

"Just because they don't like us, doesn't mean I want to draw their attention. Who knows what they'll do." Taryn shifted the picnic basket of food between her hands, nervously. She was always the most cautious of you three; always fearing what they would say or do to you guys.

You scoffed, "Taryn, let's be real. Even if we were there on time and minded our own business, Cardan and his little fanclub would still find some reason to bother us."

Jude chuckled, "he's so insufferable. What I wouldn't do to wipe that idiotic grin off his face."

You laughed, "I'm right there with you. It's like his greatest pleasure is being annoying."

"I don't know." Taryn slows her speed walk to match pace with Jude and I. "I feel like Cardan mostly has it out for you, now, (Y/N)."

You rolled my eyes.

"Oh yeah," Jude agreed. "Ever since we became friends, he's like diverted the hatred for us onto you."

You laughed, "Wow, thanks guys. Who knew being your friend would make a prince despise me."

Jude laughed too. "I don't think it was all our fault. You're human, so he would have hated you anyway."

"That's so reassuring, thanks for that."

Jude smirked, "anytime."

When we finally emerged onto the courtyard where class was taking place, most everyone ignored you, save for the professor.

"Ah," he said, "nice of you three to join us. Please find a seat so we can continue on with our lessons of astronomy."

Taryn bowed her head to keep from looking at anyone. You noticed Jude did not bow her head, but she would not look at the other students.

You, however, must be an idiot to not follow along with them, because your gaze falls straight to Cardan, who is staring back at you with much ferocity.

As the even bigger idiot you are, you do not avert your gaze, but simply glare back at him. To that, and small, devilish grin grows on his face. It almost seems like an invite of this little game you play. He hates you and your friends, goes out of his way to torment you three, and for that, you refuse to back down. Sometimes, you think he likes that you fight him so much.

"(Y/N)," Taryn calls, quietly as to avoid too much attention. She waves you over. Only then do you realize you've been staring at Cardan so long that Jude and Taryn have already set up the blanket and started spreading out the food.

Your cheeks heat as you walk the few feet to where they are sitting. You can hear Cardan snicker as you walk past him and Nicasia.

"What were you thinking!" Taryn scolds as you finally sit down on the blanket. Your professor continues with his lecture, but you don't even bother to pay attention to him.

You shrug, "I'm not really sure. I just can't stand him so much it makes me crazy."

Jude laughs at that. "I'm so glad we're friends, (Y/N). I think I'd go crazy if I didn't have someone else to share my hatred for Cardan with."

You giggle, "well it's a good thing I'm here, then, huh?"

"I don't think anyone is happy you're here."

Looking up from where you're sitting, you see Nicasia and Cardan looming down over you. Seems like the lesson is over as everyone else has abandoned the courtyard.

"Oh, Nicasia, always a pleasure." You rolled your eyes as you stood up. Behind you, you hear the shuffling of Jude standing and pulling Taryn up with here. "To what do we owe you coming over here and bothering us for?"

She smirked, "I have no reason for being near you filthy mortals other than to make sure you stay in your place. You don't belong here. You're frail, and worthless, and someone needs to remind you of that."

You mocked her with a laugh, "is that really all you've got?"

Taryn let out a quiet gasp.

Nicasia narrowed her eyes. "What did you say?"

You shrugged. "All I'm saying is you give the same excuse every time you come over here. 'I'm putting you in your place', 'make sure you know what a worthless mortal you are'. Blah, blah, blah. It's very redundant, Nicasia, and quite truthfully, it's just tiresome." You said condescendingly.

The fire is her eyes was hot. Her fists balled at her side as she glared at you.

Now, it's not like you were looking for trouble, or that you wanted anything bad to happen to you or your friends. You just could not stand the way she and Cardan always came over to you and caused problems.

The slap was expected. Your cheek burned as Nicasia's hand left your face. Taryn couldn't hold back the very audible gasp that left her lips. Looking back to your friends, Taryn looked utterly frightened, and Jude looked angrier than you'd ever seen her.

Right as Nicasia was about to slap you again, Cardan interrupted her.

"Nicasia," Cardan warned as he lifted his hand, "that is quite enough."

You scoffed. "Oh, and since when are you ever the peace maker?"

Cardan smirked, "Since Nicasia decided she was going to slap you. I quite like your face the way it is."

All heads turned to Cardan as he said that. Nicasia looked hurt, Taryn looked almost as confused as you felt, and Jude just looked disgusted.

You narrowed my eyes at Cardan, despite your confusion. "What games are you playing at, Greenbriar?"

His eyebrows shot up in delightful surprise. A cheeky smirk playing on his lips. "I have no games, (Y/L/N)." He spat out your last name like it disgusted but also intrigued him.

He looked between Nicasia, Jude and Taryn. "You, leave us. I have a few words for (Y/N)."

Jude and Taryn looked at each other, confused and contemplating if they should leave or not. You stood your ground though.

"I'll be fine, guys. I'll just meet you back at Madoc's, okay?" You tried to reassure them, though you weren't exactly sure what you were getting yourself into. All you knew was that you didn't want Cardan to know he frightened you.

Jude nodded her head. "We won't be far. And Cardan," she turned to him, "if you so much as touch one hair on her head, I will-"

"Oh relax, would you, Jude? Always resolving your issues with murder." Cardan rolled his eyes. "Leave us. Now."

Jude glared at Cardan before turning to you and giving you a reassuring look. Just as quickly, she turned away and pulled Taryn off with her.

"And you," Cardan said as he turned to Nicasia. "I believe I ordered you away, as well."

Nicasia looked shocked. "Me? Why would I need to be sent away? Whatever punishment you have for the way she spoke to me, I want-"

"Leave, Nicasia. I won't ask you again."

Stunned, Nicasia's mouth hung open just slightly as she looked between you and Cardan. With a 'hmph', Nicasia turned on her heel and strutted away, leaving behind just Cardan and you.

The two of you stood there in silence. You gazed up at him, trying to decipher why he could possibly want to speak with you alone. Maybe he wants to kill you. Maybe he's grown tired of this cat and mouse game you have going on.

"What do you want, Cardan?"

He smirked, and took a daring step closer to you. "I just wanted to talk with you. You're... interesting. I find you intriguing to say the least."

You raised my brow in confusion. "You find me intriguing? Now I know you're toying with me. What do you really want, Cardan?"

He scoffed. "Is it that hard for you to admit that I might find you interesting?"

"How interesting could I possibly be? I'm mortal, remember? Can't believe you would forget, not after you and your friends made it your entire personalities to constantly remind me of my mortality and how worthless you believe me to be."

Cardan's smirk only grew. "You are quite right. You're mortal. Mortals by nature are fragile, slow, susceptible to our tricks, and yet you seem to be quite the opposite."

Your eyebrows shot up, completely shocked by this sort-of compliment you just received from the Prince of Elfhame.

Cardan continued before you could even get a word out. "I dislike mortals quite a bit. I think they are weak. They have little skill that is worth anything, and they are often succumbed to the nature of our people. You, however, are quite different, (Y/N)."

He took a tender step closer to you. Your breath was caught in your throat. Cardan had never shown any type of interest in you. You thought he'd never actually shown anything other than disgust towards you, but maybe you were wrong.

Maybe all of those teasing smirks and cruel comments were him testing you, trying to figure out just how far he could push you.

"You've stood up to me. You've been given every chance to back down. I've seen how far you are willing to go to defend yourself and those little friends of yours. I find it admirable in a way."

You force out a laugh. "You find it admirable? Everything you consider so 'strong' and 'admirable' about me is what I've had to do to survive this place. You've done nothing but make living here just that much harder than it already is for mortals."

You strode closer to Cardan, persistence on your face. His eyes widened slightly, but the daring smirk never faltered from his lips.

Just as you two were chest to chest, you spoke, "answer now, Cardan, what is it you really wanted to tell me?"

"I've already told you, (Y/N). I think you're admirable. I think you're intriguing. I think there is something about you that keeps drawing me in. Something so pulling, it's frustrating how much I think of you."

No words left your mouth. How could they when your jaw laid open the way it was.

Cardan chuckled. "Now, another reason I wanted you here. I must ask: I know you mortals can lie, something we folk can not do, but how are you so good at pretending?"

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Pretending?"

Cardan's smirk only grew, "pretending you aren't in love with me, that is."

The world had stopped. It felt like your entire world had shattered. This was quite possibly the last thing you thought Cardan would get you alone for.

Anyone with eyes could see that Cardan Greenbriar was gorgeous. All of his kind were gorgeous, but he had exceptional beauty. Beside that, you couldn't find one characteristic about him that you had liked. Sure, maybe he stopped Nicasia from hurting you further than she would have. And by the way Jude recalled his cruelty before they met you, it seemed to have subsided quite a bit since you met him. That still doesn't change the fact that he is cruel, and has been for a long time.

"Cat got your tongue?"

You shook your head clear from your thoughts. "No. Just confused how you could possibly think I would be in love with you."

"You want to know how I know you're in love with me, despite what you might believe?" Cardan grinned and closed the already small space between you two. "Because I know how insufferable you find me. I know how I get under your skin, how you lay awake thinking of how much you hate me. I know this because I feel the same towards you, and despite my feelings of irritation with you, I still find myself completely infatuated by you."

"You are?" You questioned, voice so quiet you might barely have heard it, but Cardan sure did.

He grinned. "Oh, yes. I have been infatuated with you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I wasn't lying earlier when I told Nicasia I'd like her to leave your face the way it is. I think you are pretty for a mortal. You give off this glow and iridescence. You are unlike any other mortal I've come across. The way you've kept me up at night, the way I am excited to see you just to have our little spat had me confused for the longest time. Eventually, I just couldn't take it anymore and I’ve decided to act on it."

You couldn't take it anymore. Everything Cardan said resonated so deeply with you. Somehow he knew exactly how you felt. The way you hated him, the way you were angry with yourself when you thought of him so often, everything he said he felt is exactly what you were going through as well.

You decided, if Cardan was going to act on his confusing feelings, you would act on yours as well.

Already chest to chest, you reached up and gripped Cardan hair, tight enough to hurt, and kissed him with all of the pent up anger and hatred for him you had.

If Cardan was surprised, he didn't seem it. He gripped onto your waist and kissed you back with so much ferocity it made your knees weak.

It was hot, and it was unlike any kiss you've ever had before. Kissing Cardan was unleashing something so deep inside of you. All of your confused feelings for him wrapped up all into a long-awaited kiss.

Gasping for air, you and Cardan separated, though not fully. While you were no longer kissing, you had yet to pull your fingers from the tangles of his hair, and he had no plans of letting go of his hold on your waist.

"I still hate you," you said breathlessly.

Cardan smiled, he actually smiled and replied, "I think I hate you more."

[joeybsversion]

I miss yous

Joe Burrow x Reader

You and Joe work through a messy break up

“Who Dey!” Ja’Marr stuck out his hand for a high-five from Joe. “What’s wrong, bro?” He asked as Joe blinked his way back to reality.

“Good game, Ja’Marr.” He pulled the cigar from his mouth and gave a weak smile.

“You should be celebrating, Joe. That was a big game. What’s going on?” He asked taking a seat next to Joe.

“Just tired.” He lied. “Like you said, big game.” He pressed the cigar to his lips again.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Ja’Marr questioned. He took no response from Joe as a yes and patted his friends back as he walked off.

Across the city you finishing another drink, making yourself look busy so you didn’t have to watch Joe’s post game interview.

You pulled yourself from the couch and stumbled into the kitchen to pour another drink, your best friend close behind.

It had been 4 months now since you and Joe had broken up. Seeing his face all over TV didn’t make it any easier as they progressed their way through the division. The breakup was messy, Joe was away for a game and neither of you really got any closure. With work and taking care of things at home, you weren’t able to travel as much this season with him. You both had wanted to keep your relationship private but it almost became too private. Not even the two of you knew what was going on some of the time.

“You’ll be fine without him.” Your friend reassured you as she watched you down another drink.

“I know. I’ll probably even be happy.” You lied.

“So what’s the problem?” She asked, taking the now empty plastic cup from your hand and tossing it into the garbage.

You stared at his face on the screen across the room. The rest of our friends are watching his post game interview and celebrating another win. “It would have been easier,” you paused “to have been happy with him here.” You looked down. “I’m going to head home.” You pulled out your phone and ordered an Uber. “I’m tired.” You lied, much like Joe had done to Ja’Marr earlier that evening.

“Meet you at my place?” Tee stopped by Joes locker on his way out. They team always celebrated at Tee’s after the games.

“I’m pretty tired, might just head home. Next weeks a big one and I want to make sure I’m ready to go.” Joe lied, taking another long draw from his cigar.

“Ok man, I understand.” He walked towards the door “but if you change your mind you know where to find me.” He hollered as the door swung shut behind him.

Joe pulled on his hoodie and closed up his locker. “Time to get out of here.” He mumbled to himself, digging through his bag for his phone and keys. “Another night alone.” He sighed.

By the time he left the stadium, the sky was dark and it was starting to rain. As he got home, he dropped his bag at the front door, headed upstairs, and got into bed. You were still on his mind as you had been every day for the past 4 months, he so badly wanted to hear your voice. But you hadn’t reached out even one time since the breakup. He figured you had moved on and were fine without him.

Joe pulled out his phone and clicked through until he found your contact. Everything in his head was telling him not to text you. It was almost 2:30 AM now, you were asleep he thought to himself. But he didn’t care. Without another thought, Joe fired off a text “I miss you.” It read.

The rain was coming down hard now and it was pitch black outside. “I should’ve left a light on.” You mumbled as you climbed out of the Uber and made your way to the front door. “Where is my phone?” You fumbled through your bag trying to find it so you could use it as a flashlight. “There it is.” You heard it buzz and dug it out of the bottom of your bag. As you pulled it out you saw 2 new messages pop up.

yourbffsname: Let me know when you make it home!

Joey: I miss you

“I must be so drunk.” There is no way Joe texted you thought. You flipped your phone around and used the light so you could see to unlock the door.

You made your way to your room, quickly threw on an old sweatshirt Joe had left here and climbed into bed. You plugged in your phone and saw you had 2 new messages.

Joey: Alot

Joey: And I want to see you

You froze. Was this really happening? Was it some sort of prank? He should be celebrating with the guys, right?

Joe put his phone down, took a few deep breathes, and covered his face. He wanted you back so bad. He picked up his phone again, checking for a reply but nothing had come through yet. And then he did the unthinkable, he pressed the call button and placed his phone up to his ear.

“Hey.” He croaked out. “Did I wake you?” He asked.

“Hey…. No, no. I’m up.” You replied.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes waiting for each other to speak.

“How are you?” Joe asked.

“You can’t ask me that.” A tear slipped down your cheek. You tried to stay quiet so he wouldn’t know you were crying. “You can’t ask me how I’m doing…” you paused “after you tore me apart.” You managed to whisper into the phone.

“I’m sorry, baby.” His voice cracked. You thought he may be crying. You couldn’t talk without sobbing, so you sat quiet for a few minutes. “I miss you,” he whispered, “I’ve tried to tell myself I don’t. And I think I mean it too when it’s 4 PM and the crowd is going wild and we’re seconds away from winning another game. But before I know it, it’s 2 AM and I’m in bed staring at the ceiling and there’s a tiny ache in my heart that wishes you were here. I can’t close my eyes because it’s too hard to decide if I’m more scared of your absence or the possibility that I’ll always miss you.” His voice cracked again and you were almost positive he was crying now. “I miss how we use to talk. I miss our calls. I miss going to sleep knowing you were still mine the next day,” there was a long pause, “I’m missing you like shit tonight.” He croaked out. “This just sucks because I still care, I still want to fix things, and I still want you. I still want us. I still need closure.” He sighed. “I need you to say something.”

You sat in silence for a few seconds, trying to think of what to say next. “I miss you, Joey.” You whispered. “I really miss you.” Another tear rolled down your cheek. “We keep on exchanging ‘I miss you’s” you said, “but it’s sad because neither of us did anything to just see each other again.” You finished, referencing how you hadn’t seen each other since before you broke up. “I don’t think I can come to terms with how things ended,” you paused, waiting for him to say something. “You told me you loved me in the morning on your way out to the door,” you used your sweatshirt sleeve to wipe your eyes “and that night when you got to your hotel for the game, you didn’t anymore.” You cried out.

“I never stopped loving you.” He interrupted. “I’m sorry for how things ended….” There was another long pause as you both sat in silence. “I read through our old messages earlier when you use to tell me how much you loved me and I would tell you that you meant everything to me,” he continued, “those words are still true. I want to fix things. I’m sorry for hurting you.” He sniffled.

“I’m sorry too.” You cried.

“Come over, baby.” He said.

“Joey, it’s almost 3 AM. It’s late.” You reminded him.

“Please.” He whispered. “I need to see you.”

“Good night, Joey.” You whispered and ended the call.

You put your phone down, dried your tears, and rolled over. It was best to sleep this off and see how you felt in the morning. You really did miss Joe, but you were nervous to see him.

As you drifted off to sleep you heard knocking on the front door. “What time is it?” You rolled over and pulled out your phone. It was 4:27 AM. You had a message from Joe.

Joey: I can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m coming to see you and make things right.

He couldn’t actually be here you thought. You imagined the noises. It’s way too late and it would be too crazy for him to be here right now. You rolled back over.

Joe couldn’t fall back asleep after your call. The next thing he knew, he was standing outside your front door, knocking a firm sound against it. You opened the door, still half asleep, your face showing a mix of confusion and happiness.

Joe reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you onto the porch with him in the rain. He puts his lips against yours and his hands in your hair. You can feel the uncertainty behind the kiss, but you don’t stop.

When you pull back he looks at you and says “Your favorite way to be kissed is in the rain, you hate the color orange but will always wear it on game day. You love sleeping in on the weekends and vegetables disgust you.” He lets out a big breath before continuing, “You’re still on my mind and I don’t think that’s ever going to change.” With a watchful eye he looks for your reaction.

Your mouth turns up into another smile and you crash your lips together again

[devilart2199-aibi]

I know I already said this prior to you, but I adore your Stunticon designs so much and feel an absolute rush of joy when I see you post art of any of them. I yearn for more information on your AU versions of them, and what happens to them all when they get to earth.

Where does Dead End go when he helps Breakdown, where do Motormaster, Drag Strip and Wildrider go after the split up in the team and how do they all handle it? They're all connected through the gestalt bond, which makes a gestalt closer than any other cybertronians, and how do they handle Motormaster hurting Breakdown, and then losing two of their own?

Does Motormaster ever regret what he did to Breakdown?

Thank you again! Hearing your interest in my AU really does make me so happy!! 🥺💕 So feel free to ask away! I've been pretty busy recently so I haven't had any time to work on the au sadly. But let's answer some questions now! With some drawings!! >:3

Also long post warning! !

"Where does Dead End go when he helps Breakdown?"

In short, undecided atm! But this is what happened if he was planning to leave with Breakdown:

Dead End and Breakdown agreed on a meeting spot a bit outside the Stunticons base. But when Breakdown doesn't show up for a long while, Dead End figured he got cold feet and began heading back to base only to get a coms transmission from MotorMaster telling him to meet up with Dragstrip and Wild Rider who are currently in pursuit of Breakdown!

Dead End would be wayyyy behind the others and only end up catching a glimpse of Breakdown and Knockout being apprehended by the Autobots, the other Stunticons long gone.

Dead End wasn't really sure what he would do now. It seemed like the others didn't know he wanted out like Breakdown. But what if they did? Does he risk it and go back? What was he going to do if the plan had gone smoothly even?

Well... he hadn't really got that far. He just knew he was tired, and Breakdown suggested an out. But joining another group of hot-headed 'Cons? Really?? He needed something different... maybe just... roaming around earth would be fun? It definitely has to be calmer than anything he's experienced the past few Megacycles.

For Dead End, since I wasn't sure if I would have him leave with Breakdown or not, I hadn't chose a story for him yet, though i did have a few ideas in mind.

"Where do MotorMaster, Dragstrip and Wild Rider go after the split up in the team and how do they handle it?"

They probably wouldn't go far, maybe just relocate their base. The remaining team would stick together for the most part. They're still the Stunticons, just... less.

MotorMaster would become hell-bent on getting the two back one way or another... or maybe even making them pay for such treachery to their team.

"How do they handle MotorMaster hurting Breakdown, and then losing two of their own?"

They were used to MM's intimidation techniques to get them back in line, but nothing like this. Sure he'd give 'em a good toss, smack or yelling at, but this, this was something else.

For Dragstrip he'd think to himself "What did Breakdown think would happen if he told MM him off and ditched the team? What a fool" as a kind of way to make sense of the situation. He'd definitely stand a bit further from MM than before.

As for Wild Rider, he loved a good fight. Heck he didn't mind killing a few bots! But never each other. He got an uneasy feeling from the whole thing.

For Dead End, they always remember him voicing his annoyance and tiredness with everything, but they never actually thought he'd do anything about it.

"Does MotorMaster ever regret what he did to Breakdown?"

Sadly not. He probably only regrets not being able to see Breakdown's desire to leave sooner. Not that he'd know what he'd do then.

And I think that was it? Thanks again for the questions and curiosity towards my au!! :3

[frvnkcastles]

Hello love! I know you’re probably still in recovery, so feel free to table this request as long as you like (or permanently if it doesn’t vibe with you!) but it came to mind and I immediately thought of you.

I thought, maybe something happens to the reader as a consequence of Frank’s life. Maybe they’re kidnapped or tortured or otherwise hurt, and it’s really not that bad - Frank gets to you in time, and you’re not too terribly hurt. But it sets off the readers cPTSD, which they weren’t ready to share with Frank yet. And he thinks they’re haunted and traumatized by the event, and you don’t know how to tell him it’s not what he thinks. And Franks doing his whole guilt spiral but you can’t explain that it’s not his fault, that these cuts and bruises are nothing. That you’re not scared of those men. That it’s something else you’re scared of

WILL YOU STILL LOVE WHO I AM ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’re kidnapped and Frank comes to your rescue, but the ordeal triggers your CPTSD and you just want to make Frank feel less guilty.

Warnings: Knives, guns, mild torture, childhood abuse, hurt/comfort

Word count: 1.8k

Author’s note: I hope I did your idea justice!! I don’t feel like this is my best work but it’s a very heavy topic to write about and I really wanted to be respectful and careful with it. Sending you lots of love <33 (Also, I’m realizing I am NOT good at ending fics lmaooo.)

It was supposed to be a fun night out with your girlfriends. And you could have sworn you hadn’t taken your eyes off of your glass, but somewhere between laughing at your friend and reapplying your lipgloss you must have lost focus and that was when they had struck. The dancefloor was full, anyway, so you shouldn’t have been surprised that no one paid attention to a stranger dragging you away, and yet, you wished so dearly that someone would have.

That, you figured, was how you ended up in that warehouse, tied to a chair with your head heavy and groggy, just like your eyelids. You couldn’t tell how long it had been, but you were tired and scared and all you wanted was to go home.

You came to when one of your captors roughly grabbed your chin and tilted your head up. ”Smile. It’s for your boyfriend”, the man grinned in satisfaction, and as he squished your face and snapped a photo of you, you squinted at the flash. It was over quickly but the burn on your jaw remained, and it made you groan as you tried to look around you and process your surroundings.

”What do you say we make you all pretty for when he arrives?” the man spoke up in front of you, and when you turned to look at him, you saw the gleaming knife in his hands. You inhaled sharply and your whole body tensed at the implications, but with your wrists and ankles tied, there was nowhere for you to go.

He traced the knife across your stomach, not enough to draw blood but enough to remind you he could. He then fisted the material of your dress in one hand and, with his other one, drove the blade through the fabric, creating wide tears over your chest and thighs. He laughed mockingly, and as he trailed the knife past your revealed chest, tears welled up in your eyes.

”You’re going to regret this”, you mustered, but the shakiness in your voice didn’t make a very convincing case. Still, the attempt was enough to piss him off, and before you could do or say anything else, he had cut you right across your collarbone.

”Don’t talk back to me”, he warned you, and despite the tears running down your face, you stared back at him defiantly.

”You’re pathetic”, you spat at him, and within seconds, he had swung his hand across your face, making the warehouse echo with the smack. You cried out, and in an instant, you were back in your childhood home — at the hands of your parents, slapped around like you weren’t worth anything else.

You supposed that dissociating from the situation was how you got through the next hour. You were far too busy stuck in a flashback to fully process the cuts you received at the hands of your captor, but you heard every word he whispered in your ear.

You’re worthless. You deserve this. No one’s coming to save you.

It was all too familiar to you. But you had survived then, and you were determined to survive now — you knew Frank was coming to your rescue. Even if you had barely started dating, he wouldn’t let an innocent person get killed by his enemies, and that was exactly why you had faith that it was only a matter of time.

And, indeed, eventually you heard gunshots from behind the heavy door closing you alone with the man. He flinched, and when you both heard Frank roar out his name, you knew it was time. He reacted by circling behind you and holding the knife to your throat, so tight you barely dared to breathe.

Then the door opened, and Frank looked absolutely feral as he pointed the gun at the man behind you. ”Let her go”, he demanded with his gravelly voice, and the man only laughed.

”You stupid—”, he began, but Frank didn’t waste more time — he pulled the trigger, and your captor dropped dead, the knife clattering against the floor as he did.

You exhaled heavily, and immediately, Frank was rushing to your side. ”I gotchu, sweetheart. ’M here now. I’mma take you home, okay?” he rasped, using his own knife to free you from your binds. Your body slumped forward and he caught you with ease, supporting you against his chest as he gathered your limbs and heaved you up into his arms.

”I got you”, he repeated in a quiet whisper, before carrying you out to his truck and taking you home.

Soon enough, you were seated on the edge of your bathtub with an ice pack against your bruising eye and Frank’s hand ghosting over your body to assess all the damage. In hindsight, it really wasn’t as bad as it could have been — minor, shallow cuts littered your skin but they didn’t even need stitches, and the drugs were wearing off. Frank still made sure to disinfect the cuts and apply band-aids where it was necessary, but for the most part, there was nothing to do about the physical aspect.

He helped you out of your torn dress and into one of his sweaters, and the whole time, you could tell how tense he was, like he was a ticking timebomb about to go off.

”You saved me”, you voiced your thoughts out loud, after not having said a word since he had found you. Your words got his eyes to meet yours, and you gave him a weak smile. ”You found me and I’m okay”, you added, and with a wry scoff, Frank looked down at your conjoined hands as you stood in the middle of your bedroom.

”You’re not okay”, he grunted, his voice dripping with guilt and blame, all of it directed at himself. ”I never shoulda let this happen”, he continued as he let go of your hands and started pulling off his skull-adorned vest, only now finding the time to take care of himself.

”It wasn’t your fault”, you argued with a frown, and with his back turned to you, Frank shrugged.

”Wouldn’t have happened to you if you weren’t involved with me”, he pointed out, and from the fragile tone, you felt like he was on the verge of tears. It made you sick to your stomach, and in a sick twist, you started to feel guilty, for causing him distress.

You weren’t used to someone looking after you, either. And his care-taking seemed to only emphasize the voice in your head that your parents had instilled in. You didn’t deserve it. You would have been better off dead.

Swallowing, you gave Frank’s back a caress before dropping your hand. ”Let’s just get some sleep, okay?” you proposed, ready to put this night behind you, and with a small nod, Frank agreed.

It was 4 AM when you jolted awake from a nightmare. You cried out as you flinched up, and reacting to the potential danger, Frank snapped out of his slumber, ready to attack. When he saw you sitting next to him, on the edge of hyperventilating, he ran a hand across his face and reached for your arm.

”Sweetheart”, he called for you, and startled out of your haze, you turned to look at him. You let your shoulders drop and with a sigh, you buried your face in your hands, all the while Frank climbed out of bed and began pacing back and forth in the room.

”This is my fault, shit, I never should have let you go. I never should have gotten you involved in the first place”, he rambled away, ”I fucked up, I did, and now you’re sufferin’ ’cause of me.”

Shaking your head, you tried to open your mouth and tell him. You wanted to. But a part of you was nervous. You hadn’t told him about all your trauma yet, hadn’t disclosed the effects your childhood still had on you, and you didn’t know how to get the ball rolling.

”Frank”, you croaked out, but he didn’t stop pacing. ”Frank, listen to me. It’s not your fault”, you insisted, and finally, he gave you a weary look, like he was catching you in a lie. But it wasn’t a lie — your nightmare hadn’t been about the man with the knife, it hadn’t been about the cuts or the bruises, it hadn’t been about any of it. It was like any other nightmare you had on a regular basis, and if anyone was to be blamed, it was your parents.

”Look… I didn’t want to tell you like this, but it’s not the first or the worst time I’ve been hurt”, you started, and finally, Frank paused and sat on the edge of the bed to be closer to you.

”Whaddya mean?” he wondered, curiosity and concern in his voice as he looked at you intently.

”My parents”, you shrugged with an unamused chuckle. ”I guess all of this is reminding me of the way they treated me. They put me down, physically and verbally, and no one’s ever looked after me the way you do”, you explained, and instantly, something shifted in Frank’s eyes.

”Shit”, he breathed out, ”baby, I’m sorry. You realize you deserve to be looked after, right?”

You licked your lips in thought. ”I don’t know”, you answered truthfully, and that was what got Frank to snap out of his guilt. He sat closer to you and took your hands in his, peppering your knuckles with kisses.

”I mean it. I’m real sorry no one’s shown you that before. But lemme tell you, I was going outta my mind tonight. I was wonderin’ if I’d ever see ya again. And that’s a feeling I never wanna deal with again. I want you in my life, and I fuckin’ wish it wasn’t so dangerous”, he ranted, and pursing your lips together in a faint smile, you nodded.

”It really wasn’t that bad. I’m okay. You came to get me”, you assured, before adding, ”and you’re worth it.”

Chuckling, Frank ducked his head before leaning in to kiss your forehead. ”You’re worth everythin’. I adore you, y’know? There ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you”, he emphasized, holding you close to him.

”Thank you for saying that. I might need some support for the next few days. I think I can manage it for the most part but after getting triggered things suck a little extra for a while”, you spoke shyly, worried that you were putting too much pressure on him, or revealing too much of yourself. This thing with him was still so fresh, and that was why you had avoided telling him about your past before — it was too much too soon. But now, you supposed, you both had baggage and it was just a part of who you were.

”Hey, you got it. Anything else you need right now?” Frank tilted his head at you, and quickly, you nodded.

”Yes. For you to stop blaming yourself and to get in bed with me”, you decided, and with a chuckle, Frank nodded.

”Aight. I’ll try my best. C’mere, sweetheart.” And with that, he wrapped you into his embrace and helped you fall back asleep, satisfied that you were still in one piece and home with him.

[the-way-astray]

keefe has never gaslit or extorted anyone ever . manipulate MAYBE and i ONLY say that because katie knows all but i draw a line at extortion you arae wrong

hi, anon! those are some opinions you got there! obviously, it seems you've made up your mind, so my goal isn't to change your opinion, but rather to defend my side. i believe gaslighting is actually a form of manipulation, and you've already acknowledged that keefe could be manipulative, so i'm not really going to talk about that. however, it seems you feel very strongly about the extortion thing, so let's chat.

keefe's threats don't tend to come off as threats, because he's usually camouflaging them as something else, but the force (his use of empathy) is blatantly obvious. here are some examples (copy-pasting from my rant, only the stuff in the [brackets] is new):

(note: these are all out of order and i'm tired so i'm not citing shit. i may or may not change that later. point is, there is evidence in the text that proves that keefe is an extortive little shit, which is what i'm trying to prove.)

“Keefe nudged Dex’s arm, then grinned at Sophie. ‘Interesting.’ ‘What?’ Dex asked. ‘Which one’s your gift, Dex?’ Sophie interrupted. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what Keefe was going to tease Dex about.” Here we mark the start of Keefe using his empathy to learn people’s secrets without their consent. He feels not a hint of remorse for it, and instead uses it as a way to breach people’s boundaries and embarrass them. As a lot of people have already said, Keefe is the primary reason empathy should have similar restrictions on it to telepathy. [He obtained something (Dex's feelings, without permission, for no other reason than he wanted to) through force (his use of empathy).]

“He reached out and brushed Grady’s arm. ‘Whoa—that is some serious tension radiating off of you. Is it that bad?’” Again, here we see an example of Keefe breaching boundaries and using his ability to get people to tell him things they aren’t comfortable telling him. If Keefe was a Telepath, this would be breaking the law. In case you care. [Same thing as above.]

“Keefe grabbed Fitz’s wrist and pressed his fingers against the exposed skin. ‘Hate to break it to you, but I can tell you’re hiding something.’” (26) Another example of Keefe breaching personal boundaries and using his empathy to extort secrets out of people to get him to tell things they wouldn’t ordinarily tell him. This happens a lot starting in this book, and yes, I am going to point them all out. By the way, what Fitz was hiding was not at all important to their mission. It’s a secret of Sophie’s that Fitz accidentally saw and was forced to tell because of Keefe. And Keefe tries to make fun of Sophie for it, but is cut off. [Same as above.]

“Keefe spotted the crush cuffs about ten seconds after he got to Havenfield the next morning—despite the long-sleeved tunic Sophie had worn to keep them covered. And he dragged out the rest of the story with a relentless bombardment of questions.” Can Keefe keep his nose out of Sophie’s personal business for even a minute??? The “dragged” here is very telling: Sophie would not have chosen to tell Keefe all this of her own free will. He bombards her with questions, and so she tells him, not because she wants to, but because she knows that he won’t shut up until he has the full story. This is Sophie’s secret. Sophie’s business (and Dex’s). Keefe has no right to ask about the cuffs at all. The fact that he “retelentless[ly]” asked her questions until she was forced to tell him the entire story is not a good thing. It does not demonstrate trust, but quite the opposite: a breach of personal boundaries. Keefe is so toxic, I honestly find it impressive how Shannon has twisted him into a seemingly perfect-angel love interest. [He obtains something (what happened between Sophie and Dex) through force (his questions, which are specifically described using the words "dragged" and "relentless", as I stated).]

“She could feel him reaching for her glove—and yanked her hand away.” Keefe tries to breach Sophie’s boundaries. But what else is new. [Once again, he tries to extort, yes, extort, Sophie's feelings out of her. He isn't successful, but hopefully this proves that Sophie is not a willing participant here.]

“He traced his thumb over the sliver of skin between her glove and the edge of her beaded sleeve. ‘There’s something you’re not saying right now. I can feel it.’” (12) Keefe once again breaches boundaries because he can’t keep his nose out of other people’s personal feelings. He has no right to just help himself to Sophie’s emotions like that. It’s a massive breach of boundaries, and then using that to try to pry the secret out of her is nothing short of repulsive behavior. [He obtains something (Sophie's feelings, specifically the feeling of "she's not saying something", which he states) through force (his empathy).]

“Keefe snatched Fitz’s wrist. ‘I knew it!’ ‘Knew what?’ Fitz shouted, trying to wrench his arm away. Keefe tightened his grip. ‘Shhhhh, let the Empath work.’” (367) Oh, boy. Keefe really is such a manipulative asshole. He grabs Fitz’s hand to read his emotions because he wants to know why Fitz is offering to search his dad’s memories. He really can’t respect his supposed best friend’s privacy, can he? He can’t control himself; when he wants to know something he needs to have it right away. He breaches people’s trust and boundaries. Fitz tries to “wrench his arm away”, meaning that he’s uncomfortable and clearly doesn’t want this. But Keefe instead tightens his grip and forcibly extricates what he wants out of Fitz, even having the audacity to say “let the Empath work”. What an asshole. Honestly. He’s such a piece of shit. He’s a terrible person and the fact that Shannon is romanticizing this behavior is revolting. [He once again obtains something (Fitz's feelings, and from that the fact that he's trying to go after Alvar) through force (very literal here, he uses not only his empathy, but also his physical strength to keep Fitz from wrenching away).]

“‘Okay, two choices,’ Keefe told her, standing up and tilting her chin toward him. ‘You can tell me what’s wrong. Or I can put my Empath powers to work—but keep in mind, Option B will likely pick up on all kinds of other feelings.’ Sophie gave him her surliest scowl, but he didn’t back down.” First of all, here’s another example of Keefe touching Sophie’s face creepily. Secondly, Keefe just extorted Sophie’s personal feelings out of her. He just threatened to use his empathy on her if she didn’t tell him what was going on. He then said that if she didn’t tell him the thing she obviously doesn’t want to tell him, he’d not only use his power on her and figure it out, but would also probably pick up on other things she doesn’t want him knowing about. Sophie then makes it very obvious that she doesn’t want to do it, but he “didn’t back down”, by which Shannon of course means “didn’t respect Sophie’s feelings and her right to keep them to herself”. That is so. That is just. I don’t understand how Shannon somehow managed to twist this into Keefe caring about Sophie. He threatened, coerced, manipulated, and extorted her into telling him, sure, but caring about her??? Don’t make me laugh. Keefe is possibly the most toxic character in this entire series, and it is disgusting how Shannon gives the impression that this is caring behavior, or correct in any capacity at all. When someone wants to be left alone, you leave them alone. Keefe needs to go back to seventh grade health class, where they teach you that no means no. [My personal favorite example, because this is the one that most makes me think Shannon actively does not realize what a shitty character she's created in Keefe. He threatens Sophie (by telling her that if she didn't tell him, he'd forcefully take it from her, with some possible extra secrets, thrown in for funsies) into getting something he wants (her telling him what she's feeling). Yes, this is still shitty if you mask it as "caring". If Sophie doesn't want to talk, he needs to respect that, not pretend he knows her wishes better than she knows them herself. That is gaslighting. And taking away someone's agency to make their own decisions regarding their own feelings is bad and not good!]

[block limits are fun!!!]

“‘[ . . . ] forced herself to meet Keefe’s ice blue eyes. ‘I’m fine.’ When he raised one eyebrow, she added, ‘I’m just frustrated [ . . . ]’” (7) That’s right, the page numbers return. And I have physical copies of the rest of the series, so they’re here to stay. It may seem like Keefe is just trying to check on Sophie and make sure she’s okay, which is a noble cause, but when someone says they don’t want to talk about something, that means they don’t want to talk about it. That does not mean you prod and prod until they spill. So many things Sophie tells Keefe get twisted and people think she tells him because she trusts him, but more often than not she doesn’t and he just prods her or extorts them out of her. [It may not seem like Keefe "prod[s] and prod[s]", as my past self put it. But this is Flashback, so you do have to take into account the fact that Sophie has been putting up with Keefe's shitty behavior for six books, so she succumbs quicker. She knows that he will just take it from her if she doesn't give him what she wants. There is a quote later down that proves this, actually (it'll be in red).]

“‘Yup! But I can’t stop her, so I might as well let her take you down with me.’” (97) This is Keefe talking about Ro using him as a lie detector to extort Sophie’s secret out of her, by the way. Which Keefe agrees to do. Which he wouldn’t do if he really was a good friend. Just like Sophie wouldn’t have to make this deal with Ro if Keefe would just listen to good advice for once and do the smart thing. But he doesn’t care about Sophie’s mental health, and he doesn't care about Sophie’s feelings, because or else he would respect them by agreeing to stay out of the Neverseen’s way and not using his empathy to extort secrets Sophie clearly doesn't want to share out of her. And Ro. Honestly, she’s even worse than Keefe, partly because of her personality, but mostly because of the wasted potential. Keefe was always going to be the “bad boy angsty prankster with daddy issues that causes trouble” trope that we've seen a million times. But Ro could’ve been so much more. She’s the ogre princess, and the most Shannon could do with her is make her a Sokeefe fangirl. [Again, Keefe uses his empathy (force) to keep Sophie honest as Ro forces her to tell her and Keefe the secret that she desperately doesn't want to tell to the both of them (obtaining something he wants). And this is somehow spun around and sold to the audience as caring.]

“‘But do you really think you’re going to be able to leave here without telling me what happened with the Forklenator? If you do, you’re going to be sorely, sorely disappointed—and covered in biscuit crumbs.’” (351) Again, Keefe as good as admits that he’d force Sophie to spill if she didn’t tell him what happened with Mr. Forkle. His extortive ways need to stop being glorified and start being treated like the horrific manipulation it is. [This may seem like a joke, but it got Sophie to spill, so I mean. And yes, Sophie came there with the intention of telling Keefe. But that doesn't change the fact that telling someone they have to tell you something they may not want to is shitty. Especially considering how Keefe has acted for the past seven books (this is in Legacy).]

“She wasn’t sure if they were allowed to tell him—but it was so much easier than arguing.” (336) Keefe has literally annoyed Sophie so much that she doesn’t even think it’s worth the fight to keep a secret. That’s not good. It means that Sophie just succumbs to whatever he wants without a thought. That’s pretty much the highest sign of a toxic relationship. [And the reason she succumbed? Because he consistently shows her he has the power to take what he wants from her, over and over and over, and consistently has threatened/forced her, so now she doesn't even think it's worth the fight to try to keep stuff secret anymore. I don't know what else to say. This is not good. It is not caring. It is extortive and shows a clear lack of trust in Sophie and Keefe's relationship.]

and just as a comparison point, here's what keefe using his empathy in a healthy, not extortive way looks like:

so yeah, i'd say keefe consistently and constantly extorts sophie (and others) when he decides it's convenient for him.

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

Tw: mentions of past death and murder, suicidal ideation

Alabaster sighed, trying to ignore the gurgling of his stomach as he patrolled through Manhattan's desolate streets. It was empty, had been empty for one and a half years. The wreckage left from a long won war loomed over him like a phantom, the ghost city judging him with every step he took.

Abandoned buildings towered over the entire city, lifeless save for the occasional Monster Donut shop still crackling with vibrant lighting. The sweet smell was tempting, but no doubt an employee would report to Lord Kronos that he took a food break during his patrol.

Alabaster took a shaky breath, wedging his cane out of the crack on the asphalt it got stuck in.

His mother had finally gotten a throne. Nothing else mattered.

Maybe if he said it enough he'd start believing it.

The silence was deafening, with no signs of New York's infamous uproar.

He wondered whether Morpheus was pleased that he'd put down 'the city that never slept'.

Well. Almost put down.

Annabeth Chase, of all people, stood in front of him. Her hair done up under a scarf, her face scratched and scraped. Interestingly enough, she wore a Camp Half-Blood shirt. It seemed to barely hold itself together, with different coloured stitches and patches made of vastly different materials plastered on the fading fabric, but sentimentality and all, Alabaster supposed. Didn't matter it was small for her frame, not when it might as well be the only camp shirt left.

It looked more comfortable than the satin chaffing against his skin anyway.

"Torrington." She acknowledged, spinning her knife in her hand, eyes glaring daggers.

He really really didn't want a fight. Not only was he tired and hungry, but this was Annabeth. They knew eachother, once.

A traitorous part of him whispered; you knew Sherman too, didn’t stop you from driving your sword right into his heart, did it?

An acrid feeling stabbed the back of his throat.

"Are you mapping out where to stab me or just plain checking me out, Chase?" Alabaster forced out a cocky smile.

Her eyes flashed, "Why are you here? You're not welcome, General."

"Routine patrol." He shrugged. "I should ask you that question, technically."

"Not your business." Annabeth circled him, holding her dagger between them the whole time. Alabaster didn't attempt to move an inch, to draw his sword from where it hung on his back. "But someone needs to keep watch on Olympus."

Alabaster glanced to the side. Empire State Building stretched towards the skies, deader than Zeus’s chopped up pieces resting beneath the deepest part of Tartarus.

"You're wasting your time," he murmured, "you lost. Your gods abandoned you. They aren't coming back."

Annabeth growled behind him. She could very well strike and stab him in the back with their current positions, but Alabaster found he didn't really mind the possibility.

"Maybe try out the remains of Camp Half-Blood instead? I heard the weather is real nice there at this time of the year," he mused, shifting his weight onto his cane more, "I'm sure Grover will be fine. Never took you or Jackson as the gardening type, though."

It was quite hard to miss the giant tree growing out of an apartment fire escape. Even if it hadn't been an open secret that Perseus Jackson and Annabeth Chase took refugee in the former's home.

The truth was neither of them were worthy of being considered a threat by his lord anymore.

Or so Lord Kronos said and who was Alabaster to argue. Less work for him.

A whooshing sound... and a cold metal pressed against his throat while a body pressed against his own.

Annabeth hissed into his ear, "If you think you're scaring me—"

"I just hear what people say about me, that's all." It would be so easy to lean forward, to finally be able to sleep for more than four hours for once. To rest as his blood spilled all over the asphalt. The brand on his back flared up as if his Lord heard and disagreed with Alabaster from the throne he sat upon kilometres away. "Monster of Mount. Tam, was it?"

"You're no monster," Annabeth sneered, backing off and clearing her dagger with her shirt as if it touched something dirty, "You're a dog if anything. Wandered far away from your owner, did we? Lost your leash, Torrington?"

Alabaster flitted his gaze to the ground, shame curling inside his chest. Always trust Annabeth Chase to find the words that hurt the most. Hadn't changed a bit from when they were eight. "Go home, Chase. I do not want to fight you."

"You would lose," Annabeth slotted her dagger inside the hilt strapped to her belt. She declared, "I don't know you."

Fast, devoid of any attachment. Just like ripping off a bandaid.

"No," He agreed, a grim smile on his face as he pushed past her, "and for Titans's sake, don't get out of the house when my Lord knows I'm here."

"Coward," A scoff made him stop on his track yet again, "I hope you die in a ditch."

Alabaster stared at the hand he was clutching his cane's handle with. It was harder to see under the black nail polish, but the dried blood was there, sitting atop his nail beds and laughing at him. Just like the green magic staining around his veins in splotches, just like the feeling of never being able to wash away the blood on his hands. Just like the screams and pleas for mercy plaguing his nightmares.

"You and me both, Chase. You and me both."

[danisha-tdh]

A lot of things I got dragged into sploon, no matter how I enjoying Salmon run (because teamwork and fun day)

So I decided to draw the content

Here's line up agent in my design looks-

Just for the toon style looks, so here's a hcs for each agents:

(Long words)

Trapper, 22 y/o [Species: Octoling??]

Trapper is not just an octoling, he was used to be one of the Kamabo experiment no.5150. Because he was saved by her adoptive mother, Ellie, he always have to hide his identity in the event of Splatoon 1. He doesn't know much about Dj Octavio and the Octarians clan, but he seems interested until the event of Splatoon 3. He doesn't talk, but he can use sign language (it's a sign that he's mute as always and it's because his voice is very likely to human languages and has no bubble effects in it like the other octolings. He's not an only child he was raised by her own mother, he has a sister, Veronika. He doesn't trust the Kamabo or Commander Tartar. He has a strong relationship with Four, but now he miss her (since they became separated and getting worried about her). And also, he's a gardener.

Veronika, 14(splat 3) - 16(now) y/o [Inkling]

She's a little feral and always care for his older brother. Never been join Grizzco industries because her little salmon buddy is afraid of the boss himself. She's a huge fan of Pearl from the Off the Hook. She interested any type of weapons and a mechanic engineer. Being forced to washed herself, since she's smell like fishes belongs in the sea. She's also a best friend of Murch. If you mess with Trapper, you mess with her (she'll forced you to drop yourself in the sea as an threat or eats gross food).

Agent/Captain 3 [No name], 21 y/o [Inkling]

Has slowly lost their original name and gender. Became tired and depressed because of the Octo expansion event, but still smiles when think about the past what they used to. They like Naomi as a close friend. rarely talks and type of introvert person. Doesn't want to talk about Deepsea Metro (they have PTSD). They can rap since they known as DJ Sango. Get along with the Squid sisters, even they stay as their part of the family. Always support other Agents no matter what and only the mysterious agent among others.

Surume/Four, 23 y/o [Inkling]

A great agent who always very positive and an extrovert person. She always like Trapper, who are very close to her (both always think about each other since they were separated from different city). She was busy due to an extracurricular, and a roommates with Hachi and Naomi. Four really care about Trapper's feeling for her if he's not in a good mood. She loves biology to know about sea creatures and even mammals, including plants. She's shorter than other agents.

Hachi/Eight, 21 y/o [Octoling]

An agent who is only one was escaped from the Deepsea Metro with his sister, Naomi. He doesn't get recover his traumatic experience back there, but always finds a way to avoid it. Kind to anyone, likes other agents. He doesn't know about Trapper, but he interested to meet him. Confidence to find answers. He's afraid of C.Q Cumber. When he's stares at you, it can tell he looks like a little puppy. He and Naomi lives with the Off the Hook as like their parent figure. Always protect his sister.

Naomi/Eight, 19 y/o [Octoling]

She's a bit shy and a fan of the Squid sisters after the effects of the Calamari Inkatation. She likes Cap 3 about their skills and being cool. She's barely talks, but always needs a help from her brother. She kinda loves the beautiful view around the new city or places she wants to travel. She's having a fear of Blender and being lonely without her brother or someone. She likes doing art and doodles on her sketch she bought in the surface. She always sticks with her brother since she doesn't want to get separated. And a friend of Four.

Welp that's all the hcs I have for my agents. Most of them are similar the canon splatoon facts. And here's the base of the body type looks

And bonus for Trapper in agent outfit:

[hvphvw]

January and February dump

This is my most recent work of Lloyd, and my most recent work in general. I made this in the computer room at school with a painful high-sensitive mouse. We have these special course thing in our junior high, so every tuesday after class, I get to be in the computer room. For six hours... (My course is Visual Graphics Design. I'm kinda regretting it now since I've been thinking of becoming an architect... I can't change my course now since it's too late. Which is stupid.)

I'll try to draw more there! I really like drawing with a mouse cause I like the challenge. And since I'm not accustomed to a high-sensitive mouse, it'll be a bigger challenge for me!

I made these two in traditional then polished them digitally since I straight up just used a pen. I rarely use a pencil nowadays so I can learn to fix mistakes without erasing it. Usually it ends up looking like chicken scratch but I'm getting better.

My Harumi one is so bad lol.. When I was making it, my classmates around me were messing around and moving the chairs in the process, making me have to draw strokes with shaky lines. It's not that noticeable though since I made the lines thicker.

I was planning to make something for Rebooted's anniversary but I got busy... (And lazy) The PIXAL one was inspired by an animatic I saw.

If you compare the previous Arin portrait, yes, they don't look the same. I'm trying to find a look for Arin, as I do with every character, that I'll be satisfied with.

By the way, I'm kind of basing Arin's hair with my classmate's hair. Which is funny because my other classmates compared this artwork to my classmate, who looked nothing like Arin but have similar hair, commenting they're the same. (I'm not mad because I actually find this a bit humorous)

I was trying to make an animatic and this was going to be the sketch. But then again, I got busy and lazy. (Mostly lazy)

I accidentally changed their facial features a bit by accident on the second page because I forgot to reference the first page. It was tiring flipping pages every 5 seconds, ok! Also, I drew it after 2 days when I drew the first page, and I didn't have a design I liked for them yet. (...I just noticed Jay has different eye colors in both pages...)

I think I'm sticking to these looks for Lloyd. I'll try to make it accurate to this. (I think I did great with the first image of this post. Though, I made him too round for my liking.)

Discard the growing beard post redesign Lloyd has. That beard thing was supposed to be where his chin was until I realized it was too small. And it's still too small.

Child Lloyd is so cute! The eyeshadow wasn't intentional at first, but then it got me thinking, what if Lloyd had an emo phase? And now emo child Lloyd is my headcanon.

Pre redesign Lloyd kind of reminds me of TommyInnit, and I find it quite funny. Maybe it's the facial gesture, I know a lot of TommyInnit fanarts with that silly face.

For Dragons Rising Lloyd however, I want him to have long hair with his post redesign face. I'll try to make full body designs of the 4 Lloyds.

You guys probably don't care, and this is the first time you've seen me because I don't have an exact artstyle and I dont post as much, but I'm going to put descriptions now since this blog is going to be a silly little art dump! And blog posts are supposed to be descriptive. Which I should've done in the beginning and explained my works..

Anyhow

If you liked my art, thank you!

If you saw me before and told me I did well, thank you and I'm sorry!! I know my previous posts have gotten comments and I'm sorry I didn't respond.. I'm not trying to be ungrateful, I just don't know how to express my appreciation for your positive feedback! Or just reply in general... I get nervous even when I'm wearing my mask..

Please don't hate me, I'm just really anxious to show my work to people I don't know to the point where I might think people disliked my artwork when it's the opposite..

(I'll probably copy paste this in future posts now lol. But I AM thankful that some of you guys think my works are great!)

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

So anybody feeling rather nosy today?

Well I finished Kickin’s entire diary a few weeks ago, and since Hoppy never really got the chance to read the entire thing, I thought I’d share it here!

Please note, on the following dates

November 4, 1997

March 10, 1998

September 4, 1998

Kickin does write down some s*icidal thoughts, that may be triggering to some people. I’d advise you to skip past those if they are triggering for you. I’ll mark them with bold text so you know.

Diary is under the cut! Have fun snooping!

August 26, 1995

I found this notebook by one of the kids’ beds. He didn’t use it at all so I figured it was alright to take it! Not that he is here to stop me anyways. I decided to start writing stuff in here! Just whatever I’m thinking, whenever I feel like it, I guess. Whenever I feel like it. God, that is a WEIRD sentence to say. Or write. But it’s true! It’s my life now! Whenever I feel like it! No more stupid employees here! Haha, get wrecked! Losers. Oh, Hoppy’s calling me. I’m gonna go! I’ll write in you again later! I promise! Wait, why am I promising a notebook that I’ll do something?

October 2, 1995

Okay so I kinda forgot about this thing. Oops! Anyways, I’m getting bored. The soccer ball is starting to deflate and we can’t find the pump. This SUCKS dude. Like, I get the prototype is busy doing whatever, but if he’s all powerful like he says can’t he give us some entertainment around here? Like sheesh! There’s nothing to do. I’m so bored.

October 16, 1995

I’m thinking of growing my hair out. I mean, Crafty is doing it! And it’s getting annoying constantly cutting it. It grows back really fast. Maybe I’ll go for a mullet type look! Just maybe though.

October 29, 1995

DogDay’s missing. We don’t know where he went. We tried searching for him but CatNap told us not to. It’s always what CatNap says. Stupid. I’m going to keep looking anyways. I’m gonna find him.

October 30, 1995

Never mind.

January 1, 1996

Hey, new year! It kinda sucks though. We did absolutely nothing to celebrate. Also, big problem. Bobby found out about my secret crush. Oh I hope nobody ever reads this thing. Don’t tell anybody, but I think I like-like Hoppy. She’s just so cute and pretty and funny and spunky and cool and I love it when she talks about outer space it’s so interesting!!! She’s so fast too, like crazy fast! I think she’s too fast though. She beats me at literally EVERYTHING. That’s okay though! I’m gonna keep getting better until I can win! But yeah. Bobby found out. I’m terrified for my life.

January 23 1996

So we’re starting to run out of food. Catnap said to trust in the prototype and that he’s gonna save us and stuff. I call bull. We need food, not a savior! But he said the prototype has a plan, so I guess we’ll be fine. Still though, I’m getting tired of eating moldy salami.

February 6, 1996

Crafty’s starting to lose it. She started nagging me nonstop because she keeps running out of red marker. I’m gonna avoid her from now on. Her drawings are getting weird. Really weird. Like borderline creepy stuff. She’s going bonkers man, I’m telling you.

May 16, 1996

We ran out of food. Woke up this morning to Picky scoring through the rest of our god damn supply. I swear I am going to SCREAM DUDE!! So what if she’s always hungry?! She’s not the only one who needs food to survive! Unbelievable. What the hell are we going to do now?

May 17, 1996

So that was CatNap’s back up plan. Oh my god. I don’t want to even think about what I’ve done today. I recognized him. Who I ate. He was there when I first woke up. Taking notes in the corner of the room on his clipboard. I feel sick to my stomach. How long are we going to have to do this for?

June 2, 1996

Today feels special. I don’t know why. It just does. Also I’m sorry I haven’t been writing in you as much. I’m just scared of getting caught writing in this thing. What if someone reads it? What if CatNap reads it? Will he get mad at me for what I wrote a few months ago about the prototype? Maybe I should erase it. No I can’t do that, I wrote it in marker. I’m going to keep this thing hidden inside my zipper pocket for now, until I find a better spot.

July 22, 1996

There was a freaking execution today. I’m so disturbed right now. It was one of the tiny DogDays. I’m not really sure what he did, but CatNap made us all watch as he ripped the poor guy apart. He said that’s what happens if you are a heretic. That’s what happens if you speak out even the slightest against the prototype. Bubba told me that he thought one of the other minis had tattled to CatNap about what that tiny DogDay did. That’s insane. I can’t imagine any of my friends doing that to me. Would they do that to me? No, I’m being an idiot. They’d never do that. Regardless I can’t let him find this thing. I don’t want to end up like that mini.

August 8, 1996

It’s officially been a full year since the Hour of Joy. It’s weird to think about. How many full humans have I eaten by now? Maybe eight? Ten? Twelve? Twenty? I lose count. I don’t feel anything when I eat them anymore. It’s easier to imagine them without faces. I always cut off the head so I don’t have to see it. On the bright side, we finally found the pump for the soccer ball. Hoppy and I can finally start playing again. I don’t really think either of us want to though. At least not right now.

September 12, 1996

Hoppy and I had another fight today. I’m writing in this thing because Bobby made us separate. I don’t like being mad at her. I want to apologize but I’m scared to approach her right now. I miss DogDay. I don’t write about him much but I miss him. His name is kind of forbidden to even speak nowadays. Picky thinks he abandoned us. I don’t think he did. He’d never do that. But if he did I want him to come back. Everything’s falling apart without him.

January 12, 1997

I’m sorry it’s been awhile. I don’t really know what to write about today though so I’m gonna end it off here.

February 7, 1997

Sometimes I wonder if I should name this journal something. But I’m not very creative when it comes to names. Crafty is though. She’s been really different lately though. She’s gotten really cheerful for some reason. But say the wrong thing and suddenly you’re on the ground. I’m scared of her. I don’t know what’s going on with her but if she doesn’t get that fixed soon she’s going to get herself killed. Or kill someone else. Either of the two. Maybe even both.

April 25, 1997

Nothing to write about today. I’m just not going to. I don’t feel like it. My hand hurts. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.

June 2, 1997

It’s the weird day again. The one that feels like it should be special. I don’t know what that feeling is. I asked Bubba about it. He knows a lot, I thought he’d probably know that too. He didn’t though. He said he got that feeling too, sometimes. But neither of us knew why.

June 19, 1997

We ran out of food. I didn’t even know that was possible. There were so many humans working in this factory, how did we run out of them? The entire Playcare was in panic today. CatNap calmed us all down. He said not to worry, because the prototype always has a plan. Okay. If the prototype always has a plan, what is it? Because I’m tired of this whole stupid mess! I want to know what it is! Why can’t I know what it is? This is so dumb! The prototype is so dumb! It makes me want to tear all my feathers out!!!!

September 19, 1997

IM SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY I DONT KNOW WHAT TO EAT THERES NOTHING I HAVENT EATEN IN SO LONG I NEED FOOD I NEED FOOD. IM HAVING THESE SCARY THOUGHTS NOW I WANT THEM GONE! I DONT WANT TO HURT ANYONE BUT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO

September 19, 1997

I did it. I needed to eat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Picky told us how to find food. There’s plenty of it in the Playhouse. Like livestock, just waiting to be slaughtered. CatNap was so mad. But we have food now. And we all know he’s been eating them too. I feel like a monster. They were like us. But Bubba told me it was necessary. We were all going to die if we didn’t. I’m still sorry though.

November 4, 1997

Bubba got gassed. Badly. I’m so worried about him. We don’t even know why, we just walked in the room and there he was, laying on the ground with scratch marks all over him. How could CatNap have done such a thing? He’s sick. Just sick. I’ve been taking care of him now. I don’t want to leave his side. I’m worried that if I leave for a moment that something will happen to him. Hoppy’s been making me stay active. Sometimes she’s the only reason I keep going on. It’d be so easy just to end it all. She’s there for me though. I love her. God, I love her. I never want anything to happen to her. But I know something’s going to happen to her. That something’s going to happen to all of us eventually. When it happens to her though, it’s gonna happen to me next. I promise it will.

November 14, 1997

I found a boombox today. It’s really cool. I’ve been playing it for Bubba recently. He’s still asleep. I hope he wakes up soon. Did I ever mention in here that I like to dance? It’s really fun. It makes me forget about everything that happened. I lose myself in the movements. I don’t really even know how I know how to dance. I never learned it as a toy. I think I’m gonna go do it now though.

December 3, 1997

THAT JERK! THAT HORRIBLE STUPID DISGUSTING DUMB JERK! I HATE HER! I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER! HOW DARE SHE DO THAT TO BUBBA?? WHEN HAS HE EVER BEEN ANYTHING BUT NICE TO HER???? BUT NOOOOO, I GUESS KINDNESS MEANS NOTHING IN THE EYES OF PICKY PIGGY! ALL SHE CARES ABOUT IS HERSELF AND HER APPETITE! I WOULDVE RIPPED OFF SOOO MUCH MORE THAN HER EAR IF I COULD! BUT THEN HOPPY AND BOBBY HAD TO COME IN AND RESTRAIN ME! STUPID! STUPID STUPID STUPID! IM GOING TO KILL HER WHEN I GET THE CHANCE! AND ITS GOING TO BE SLOW AND BRUTAL AND ITS GOING TO HURT!

January 1, 1998

Yay. New year. Yippee.

March 4, 1998

Something bad happened today. I knew it would happen eventually. I think we all did. Crafty finally lost it on the wrong person. She attacked CatNap and then he ripped off her hands as punishment. I could hear every. Single. Agonizing second of her screams. I thought I was used to screaming by now. I guess I was just telling myself that. I hope she survives. That was a lot of blood.

March 6, 1998

What do I do. What do I do. What do I do. Hoppy’s leaving. She just told me she is. Hoppy, Bobby and Crafty are leaving Playcare in a week. They can’t leave. They can’t. CatNap’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them brutally. And even if he doesn’t, who knows what’s outside of Playcare? Plenty of toys who would be willing to hurt them for food. Hoppy told me to come with them. I can’t go with them. I don’t want to die. But I don’t want them to die. They can’t leave. I don’t want them to leave. But I can’t change Hoppy’s mind. She’s leaving with or without me. How could she do that to me? Just leave me here, all alone with Picky? Bubba’s still asleep. She’s the only one I’ll have to talk to. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m scared. I need to stop them.

March 8, 1998

what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done

March 9, 1998

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry. I messed up I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please forgive me. I keep seeing her. She talks to me in my head now, telling me she won’t ever forgive me, no matter how much I grovel and beg. Sometimes I don’t even think it’s in my head. Am I going insane? You don’t deserve to stay sane. You’re right. I don’t. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

March 10, 1998

The blood won’t come off. It stained my hands. Maybe I deserve that. You do deserve that. You’re right. You’re always right. I deserve it. I haven’t moved from my bed since it happened. I’m hungry but I don’t want to eat. I don’t deserve to eat. Bubba needs me though. At least if Picky tries eating him again there’s nobody to stop me from making her pay this time. I don’t know why I don’t just give up. I should. I made a promise that I would once Hoppy went. Maybe it’s Bubba. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. Maybe I’m just too scared. I’ve never felt so alone before. I deserve to feel alone.

March 24, 1998

I’ve been seeing her a lot lately in my dreams. Always the screaming and then the ear. And then she tells me it’s my fault. I know it’s my fault. But I still don’t understand. Am I selfish for not understanding? Yeah. Probably. But all I ever wanted to do was protect her. I don’t understand why this happened. I don’t understand. Picky’s been avoiding me. That’s fine. I don’t want to see her either.

April 12, 1998

You know what? No. I’m done. I don’t care if CatNap catches me going into the Playhouse. I need to see what’s inside. Maybe she’s inside, and that’s why we aren’t allowed in. I’m going to find her. I’m going to make things right with her. I refuse to believe she’s gone.

July 16, 1998

July. It’s already July. I took that long to recover? Seriously? That was three whole months. Well, I guess loosing an eye will do that to you. I’m still surprised that Picky took care of me while I was hurt. I tried to ask her why but she didn’t respond, so I guess that was that. That doesn’t matter though. He’s alive. He’s alive. DogDay’s alive! He’s been here this entire time, sitting right below our noses and we had no clue! If I can just figure out a way to get him out then he can save us all from this mess! I know he can! I just need to find a way.

July 20, 1998

Bubba woke up. He finally woke up! Oh my god, he finally woke up! It’s been how long, eight months? I’m so thankful. He’s really scared though. He must’ve been through hell. I know from experience the nightmares that stuff gives you aren’t pleasant. I can’t imagine going through that for a whole year. Poor guy.

July 21, 1998

Bubba’s been having trouble walking lately. His legs give out whenever he tries. I guess that makes sense. He hasn’t used his legs in a while. I wish I knew how to give him the proper treatment he needs. Actually, there’s an idea. I should check inside of the school. I’m sure there is something in there about comas.

July 22, 1998

OKAY SO THAT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA. Not only did I find absolutely NOTHING, but I almost got my head bashed in with a freaking mace! That biology teacher has gone wack. Completely wack. Then again, she’s not the only one. I still hear Hoppy. She still visits me. I’ll be in the middle of something and then I’ll just see her. I think I’m starting to hallucinate. I know that’s really bad. But I enjoy seeing her. Even if all she does is cuss me out. It gives me hope. Hope that she’s not Never mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Bury that nice and deep along with the other scary thoughts. She’s not dead. She’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead.

August 8, 1998

Third year anniversary. Or is it the fourth? I don’t feel like doing the math. Bubba can walk again now, but all he does is sit against a wall. It feels like my effort was wasted, if I’m honest. He doesn’t like eating. Or sleeping. He hates sleeping. I tried to give him some books to read that I stole from the councilors office, but he ignored them. Some days he refuses to sleep so badly to the point where I have to knock him out for him to get a little shut eye. I feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve this. If I could take his place I would in a heartbeat. Maybe if it was me instead of him I wouldn’t have messed up so horribly.

September 4, 1998

It’s one of those days where the hallucinations are bad again. Sometimes I wonder if it even is a hallucination. Am I actually seeing her? She’s looking over my shoulder right now. Watching me write. She looks so real. And the stuff she says feels so real. I want her to be real. I want to hold her in my arms. She just told me if I ever try to do that she’s going to push me off the cloud I’m on. I think she knows I wouldn’t save myself.

September 18, 1998

Bubba’s been getting better. He’s started talking again. Only sometimes though. And he never says much. It’s a start though.

November 10, 1998

I think I just saw Picky chasing Hoppy away from the councilors office. I must’ve just been hallucinating again. She was carrying something though. It looked like a computer? I’ve never seen that before. Probably just another hallucination.

[dameronscopilot]

Stay

Kayce Dutton x f!reader

Summary: When a downtrodden Kayce arrives on your doorstep at nearly midnight on New Year’s Eve and shares unexpected news, reigning in the feelings you’ve harbored for him for years becomes exceedingly difficult.

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Prompt: New Year's Eve kiss (dedicated to @villainvindicator 💖)

Content: NSFW, smut, fluff, friends to lovers, fingering, unprotected p in v (very brief mention of domestic abuse without details)

DECK THE HALLS MASTERLIST

You’re nearly on the cusp of sleep when the sound of tires crunching along your gravel driveway rouses you from where you’re curled up on the couch. Stealing a glance at the clock on the wall, and you peer out the blinds, eyes widening a fraction when you spot a familiar red and white pick up truck pulling up beside your car. 

The throw blanket pooled around your waist slips to the floor when you stand, striding across the room and opening your front door to find none other than Kayce Dutton standing there with his fist raised, on the verge of knocking. He lets his arm drop back down to his side.

“Well this is a surprise. I haven’t heard from you in months, Kayce. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask him casually as you step aside, gesturing for him to come in. 

There’s no real weight to your words—you’re well aware Kayce has his work cut out for him between his own family baggage, on top of being a husband and a father. And you’ve been friends long enough that the lapse in time doesn’t make a difference, the two of you always find your way back to each other one way or another. But you can’t help but wonder what’s brought him to your doorstep this late on New Year’s Eve, of all nights. 

He steps inside and takes off his hat, placing it on the hook beside the door, and it’s only then that you catch the downtrodden expression on his face that had been obscured by the shadows on your front porch. He reaches up, running a hand through his hair, the gesture drawing further attention to the prominent dark circles under his eyes. 

“Sorry, I probably should’ve called, huh? I wasn’t thinkin’. Was just out for a drive and thought I’d stop in, I guess. I can go if you’re busy, though…” he trails off, hands tucked away in the pockets of his jacket. 

Gesturing toward your faded t-shirt, sleep shorts, and the thick wool socks on your feet, you shake your head with a rueful smile. “If falling asleep on the couch watching a bad movie counts as busy, you’re more than welcome to interrupt.”

The corner of his mouth quirks upward ever so slightly. “No New Year’s party for you?”

You snort, reaching out to take his jacket from him before he begins to take off his boots. “Who said this isn’t a party?”

Kayce chuckles, and it’s a rich, pleasant sound that flutters down your spine, settling deep in your gut with a warmth that leaves your insides tingling. You’re well past denying the effect he has on you.

He follows you into the living room, settling down beside you on the couch as you tuck your legs up under your body. Turning down the volume on the television, you glance over at him to find a far off look in his eyes as he glances around the room. His gaze slows when it begins to sweep over the collection of framed photographs adorning your mantle.

“Did you break up with Travis?” 

You try not to look too far into the way he’d quickly picked up on the purge of any and all photographs including your boyfriend of three years, which had been strewn about the room up until two months ago. 

“Back in October.”

He furrows his brows. “You didn’t tell me. I’m sorry to hear that.”

You laugh, a disbelieving look on your face. “No you’re not. He was an asshole.”

He trails a finger over a stray thread hanging from the edge of the knitted blanket draped over the back of the back of the couch. “Yeah, I’m really not. Well what happened?”

“We got into it again over how he wanted to move to Seattle, but as you know, I’ll sell my parents’ farm over my dead body. He was drunk though, and he got a little physical…” you trail off, stomach churning at the memory. 

Kayce freezes, posture stiffening, and he growls, “Where the fuck is he?” 

You reach out, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing. “I’m fine, Kayce. I promise. It’s handled, and he’s long gone now.”

He runs a hand over his beard. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

Choosing your next words carefully, you reply, “You…had a lot going on with Monica, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Kayce parrots, dumbfounded. “You know I’d drop everything for you, especially if it meant finally having an excuse to kick his stupid ass.”

The conviction in his words makes your chest ache, because you know he means it. You shake your head, smiling weakly. “You were just counting down the days till you’d finally have a chance to do that, huh?”

He sighs, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. You know he fucking hated Travis. “Yep.”

In an attempt to change the subject, you segue, “So now that we’re caught up on my life’s current events, care to tell me why you’re really here?”

He bites his lip. “Can’t a guy just stop in and visit?”

You offer him an unimpressed look. “At almost midnight on New Year’s Eve?”

Covering his mouth with his fingers, he takes a deep breath. It’s then that you notice the ring finger on his left hand is noticeably bare, and you’re almost ashamed of the feeling that flares within you at the sight. He catches the way your gaze flicks to the spot, and he leans backward heavily.

“I can’t do this anymore with Monica. I’m so goddamn tired.”

“Are you…” you begin to ask. 

“Done? Yeah. She can’t make up her damn mind, and she keeps draggin’ me along. So I decided for her,” he sighs, fingers reaching out to twist the ring that’s no longer on his finger. “She has Tate tonight, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I hopped in my truck and kind of just ended up coming here on instinct, I guess.”

In that moment, you know you’re both thinking back to all the times you rang in the new year together as teenagers, dashing across your parents’ backyard with sparklers in your hands while you waited for the countdown on the small portable radio sitting perched on the stairs to the back porch. 

“I’m sorry. You know that you’re always welcome here,” you finally say after a few beats of silence.

“‘m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I miss you,” he laments.

“I missed you, too, Kayce.”

Kayce goes quiet again for a moment, until he eventually mumbles, “I just…don’t understand why I ain’t good enough.” He scratches the back of his head, letting out a huff of air. “I mean, I guess I know why—I’ve got too much fuckin’ baggage.”

Something in your chest clenches at the painful resignation in his voice, the undertone of self-loathing that lingers in his words. You’ve spent years biting your tongue throughout Kayce’s struggles in his marriage, but now, you can’t be bothered to hold them back. 

“You’re not the problem Kayce, you never were. You just love her too much to see that.”

A reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he echoes your sentiment. “You’ve been counting down the days till you could say that, huh?”

Counting down is a goddamn understatement.

“You have such a big heart. You deserve better,” you tell him. 

His expression softens minutely, and he considers your words, not breaking eye contact with you when he finally responds. “I think I loved the idea of her and what we had.”

The sadness in Kayce’s tone makes you want to crawl across the cushions toward him, to show him what exactly you think he deserves. But it’s certainly not the time. And it’s not your damn place, either. It never has been.

It never will be.

No matter how badly you may want it to.

Perhaps, if you’d been brave enough to tell him how you felt when you were younger, the unrequited, awkward feelings would have faded with time—something to be blamed on teenage hormones and the fleeting crushes they incite, ones that burn hard and fast, disintegrating quickly like a shooting star.

If you told him now, there’d be no turning back. No shelter to weather the irrevocable damage it would do to your friendship, the devastating chasm it would split open between the two of you.

Because the way you feel about Kayce Dutton is anything but fleeting.

Your phone screen lights up beside you, and you glance down to check the time. Standing up, you gesture for Kayce to follow you into the kitchen. You hop up onto the counter, reaching over to turn on the radio that’s mounted to the bottom of one of the cabinets and fiddling with the dial until the station you’re searching for comes in. 

“For old time’s sake,” you grin as an announcer on the radio announces that it’s three minutes to midnight. 

Kayce mirrors your expression with a genuine smile of his own, and you’re both quiet as you listen, the only other sound coming from your socked feet bumping into the cabinet below as you mindlessly swing your legs. With your gaze trained on the green digits lit up across the front of the radio, 11:59, you don’t realize that Kayce’s moved until you feel something bump into your knees. 

He stands in front of you, the blue denim of his jeans brushing against your bare knees, and you go still, heels pressed firmly against the handle of the cabinet. You can hardly hear the sound of the 10-second countdown beginning over the blood rushing in your ears when he leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek.

“For old time’s sake,” he repeats, laughing weakly and rocking back slightly on his heels as he pulls away. It’s a friendly kiss, you tell yourself, mirroring the ones from your childhood. 

5…4…3…

You stare at him, lips parted slightly, fingers tightly gripping the edges of the counter. He takes a deep breath, one hand flexing at his side. 

2…

“Kayce,” you breathe out, hardly above a whisper.

The sounds of celebration begin to erupt from the radio’s crackling speakers, and he surges forward, cupping your face in both of his hands, his lips crashing into yours. 

Kayce’s mouth moves against your own with purpose as he slots himself between your legs, one hand shifting to cup the back of your head as he strokes the curve of your jaw with the thumb of his other. The scrape of his facial hair against your skin while he kisses you is a welcome sensation, one that you’ve imagined time and time again. You reach up, running a hand through his hair, and a soft sound leaves his mouth as his hand drops down to rest against your lower back, pulling you against his solid body. 

His fingertips brush against your skin where your shirt has ridden up, and you shiver at the sensation—the contrast between the feeling of his hands, rough from years of working the farm, and the gentle way he touches you with them. You cross your ankles behind Kayce, pulling him even closer, and his hand trails along your back to firmly grip at your side. His other hand slides across the top of your thigh, and he hooks it under your knee, lifting your leg. 

You scoot closer to the edge of the counter and spread your legs wider for him, and heat spreads under your skin at the feeling of his erection straining at the front of his jeans, now pressed against your mound. 

Kayce’s lips slow down, pausing in their endeavor to further consume your mouth in the wildfire they’ve started. He presses another kiss to your bottom lip before leaning his forehead against yours, and you lay a hand against his chest, fingertips curling into the pocket at the front of his flannel shirt as his heart beats wildly beneath your palm; the erratic rhythm matches your own. 

Breathing hard, his voice is rough when he speaks, “Sorry.”

You take one of his hands into your own, lacing your fingers together, a weak laugh escaping your lips. “That’s definitely not something you need to say sorry for.”

Reaching up, you thread your fingers into the hair at the back of his head and press your body into the warmth of his again. He groans, grasping the side of your thigh. 

“Tell me what you want then,” he drawls, and fire licks in the pit of your belly as his lips ghost over yours. 

“You, Kayce. It’s always been you,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

There’s a hitch in his breath, and his hand slides up to grasp your hip, fingers skirting underneath your shirt. There’s a shift in the air between you as he huskily replies, “Wish I’d known that sooner.”

You pull away just enough to look at him, his brown eyes alight with emotion. “Well, I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He chases after your lips again, and there’s urgency in the way his mouth seeks out yours in a bruising, all-consuming kiss that finds you arching your back into his scorching touch. You tighten your legs around Kayce, a whine crawling up your throat as the seam of his jeans presses firmly against the thin material of your shorts, rubbing against your hot center. You rock your hips into him, and Kayce moans, so you do it again, but harder. 

“Fuck,” he rasps.

You can tell he’s holding himself back, his kisses growing sloppy as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Touch me, Kayce,” you plead.

He doesn’t hesitate, hands sliding up under your shirt, an appreciative sound leaving him when his palms make contact with your bare breasts. He licks his way into your mouth as he teases your pebbled nipples, relishing in the breathy noises you offer him in return. You reach down, shrugging off your shirt, and Kayce’s lips blaze a hot trail down the side of your neck. He drags his mouth down the center of your chest, palming your breasts in his hands while lavishing them with the wet heat of his mouth.

Nerves on fire, you reach out, fumbling with the buttons of his flannel, and he pauses to help you, tugging it off along with his black t-shirt underneath. Your hands skate across his chest, and he closes his eyes as you press a tender kiss to the brand seared into his skin before letting your lips trail toward his collarbone. 

Kayce’s fingers caress the inside of your legs, climbing higher toward the apex of your thighs. He slides his hand inside the loose material of your shorts, and you bite down on his skin as he runs a finger over your clothed cunt.

“What about here?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Please.”

Kayce hooks a finger in your panties, pulling them aside, and a groan rumbles in his chest when he swipes two digits through your dripping folds. He uses his other hand to tilt your chin, kissing you hard as he slips his middle finger into your soaked entrance. 

You moan into the kiss, bucking your hips toward his touch, and he sounds more than a little wrecked as he mutters, “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ wet.”

He inserts another finger and slowly begins to pump them both in and out of you while you reach out, hands quickly working their way past his belt to free his throbbing cock from the confines of his jeans. Kayce takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down as you wrap your hand around his length and stroke it, drawing a wanton cry from your mouth as he crooks his fingers inside of you in turn.

You lift your feet up, heels resting against the lip of the countertop, and Kayce takes hold of his shaft, precum leaking from the tip. He swipes the head through your slick folds, notching it at your entrance, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he slowly begins to sink into you.

His mouth hovers over yours, both of you breathing heavily as his cock is steadily engulfed within the tight, wet heat of your cunt. When he eventually bottoms out, neither of you moves for a few moments, content to revel in the feeling of the way he feels nestled deep inside of you, stretching you open. 

When Kayce finally begins to shift, your body ignites with searing pleasure at the delicious drag of his cock through your narrow channel, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as he fervently kisses your neck while one hand toys with your nipples. Tension coils tighter and tighter in your gut with every thrust, your folds squelching wetly each time his cock disappears into your body. He laps a broad stroke with his tongue just underneath the hinge of your jaw, teeth grazing your skin as your pussy clenches down on him.

The ache between your thighs spreads rapidly through your limbs, and you chase after Kayce’s lips for a needy, desperate kiss as you whine, “Kayce, I’m gonna—”

He grasps the side of your neck, his free hand drifting between your bodies, fingers seeking out the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. 

“Come for me,” he murmurs before kissing you deeply, rubbing circles into your swollen clit.

The pressure building inside of you explodes, and Kayce swallows down the strangled noises that pour out of you as you shudder, coming entirely undone with the force of your climax. He fucks you through each electric wave of pleasure, your limbs trembling as his cock continues to stroke your sensitive inner walls. 

Your fingers dig into Kayce’s back while his hips begin to stutter, and he moans your name when he plunges inside of you one last time before pulling out, stroking himself as ropes of cum spill from his cock and onto the kitchen floor below. 

As the last of his seed drips out, you reach out, tugging Kayce back into your arms, bringing your lips to his. You can feel him smile against your mouth, and he breaks the kiss, peppering more of them across the planes of your face. 

“Will you stay tonight?” you ask him quietly, your heartbeat quickening at the uncertainty of what his answer may be.

Kayce grasps the underside of your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around him again as your arms encircle his neck, and he lifts you up off of the counter. 

Nose brushing against yours affectionately, he murmurs as he makes his way toward the stairs that lead to your bedroom, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» KAYCE DUTTON MASTERLIST

[allzelemonz]

The O’Driscoll Golden Boy: Colm O’Driscoll X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader is referred to as ‘feller’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, murder, implied mutilation, references to castration Warnings: Power dynamics, power imbalance, oral sex, face fucking, deep throating, praise, abuse/unhealthy relationship, marking, possessive behavior, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, facial, humiliation, slight aftercare, hints of fluff if you really squint, homophobia, period-typical heavy homophobia Summary: Colm’s golden boy made a little mistake. The boss doesn’t like that.

Every job always goes smoothly. Every job. Not once have you ever messed up. Not like this. Riding with the O’Driscolls has always been fun so long as Colm is pleased, and Colm is always pleased with you. Pleased enough to drag you into his bed and show you what being the golden boy really means. But tonight… tonight you won’t even be making it back to camp, let alone your boss’s cabin and that big warm bed he’s had these past few weeks.

No, tonight you got caught.

Frankly you should consider yourself very lucky to be breathing.

Sheriff nearly broke your arm hog tying you though, probably shouldn’t be happy about that. He acts like he’s some god when he and his deputies get you in a cell. Something about a bounty having just been raised. Your head’s too fogged from getting hit and your arm hurts far too much to care anyway. Last poster you saw had upwards of a thousand, but that was about a big job further out West. Who knows which state you’re even in at this rate.

Then one of them says it. “Colm O’Driscoll’s golden boy!”

It’s a sneer, mocking and provoking, as they all turn to look at you. You’ve sat down on the floor of the cell, nowhere else to sit and your feet and legs are tired from running. You almost want to stand just so they’re not looking down on you, but in the end you find yourself much too tired to care.

“Should hang ‘em ourselves.” One of the deputies says. “Heard he’s done some sick shit.”

Of course you have. Colm asked you to after all. That’s your job. Whatever Colm wants.

Another deputy pulls a paper from the wall, tossing it on the table and letting it glide and spin. Your bounty poster, you assume. Terrible drawings really, they always are. It frankly surprises you anyone ever gets found.

“Wanted for murder, horse theft…”

You tune out the list of crimes, knowing all of them won’t even be listed on the little space. If they actually wrote everything out there wouldn’t be much room left to put your name and bounty, let alone a picture. It does leave out a lot of details though, important details in your opinion.

“He the one what did those robberies up along the forest, killed those families?”

Yes. You are. They had money, more than they needed. At first you asked nicely, then you didn’t. Business is business and it got you a nice reward from your boss.

“Couple damn orphans came outta that string.”

They’re fine. You even took them into town and gave them some bread and cheese. Boys wanted to shoot them too, you’re a saint in comparison.

“An’ he’s runnin’ with Colm O’Driscoll.” One of them glares at you. “Bet some a’ his charges could trickle down.”

Sure they could. You’ve helped Colm with plenty of things you’ve never seen yourself charged with. Not that you want to recall any of that or have it formally charged. You only kept your mouth shut about it all because you’re smart enough to be deadly loyal when it comes to Colm. You’d never say no to his orders or his requests. That would be stupid.

“I heard he got sodomy in the next state over too.”

Oh, that was a fun clash with the law. Colm fucking you in a back alley in some big city only for a lawman to find you, add charges for you but not Colm. Bullshit really, but it was such a good time that you recall it with fondness. You got rewarded for getting away when you got back to camp after all.

“Love ta see ‘em hang.”

If it would get them to shut up, you might opt for it. You’re starting to get a headache from all the hitting and incessant discussion of your crimes. Your guns aren’t that far away. If they just happened to drink a little more of that whiskey they pulled out to celebrate, got nice and distracted, you might be able to swipe them.

“It’s a three-thousand dollar bounty.” The sheriff snaps. “We’re takin’ ‘em ta the city.”

A trip to the city, a poorly guarded jail car, easy target. If not that, then easy lock picking. But you know the boys that got away will run back to camp with their tails between their legs, tell Colm all that happened, and seeing as Colm had said plenty of dirty things in your ear before you left, he will be a little upset that you didn’t come back like you always do. Cash in hand, happy to take the reward Colm is so desperate to give you. You used to think that’s all it was, the boss giving his best, his golden boy, a reward for doing well on a job. But Colm slips up in his facade sometimes, enough to see he doesn’t just want to fuck his golden boy.

There have been times where you’ve woken up, pretended to sleep, while Colm presses very uncharacteristically sweet kisses all over your face. There’s the occasional exchange before a shootout where he steps in front of you as if you need protecting. Little things a cruel outlaw might do when in love with his dear golden boy. Not that Colm would ever admit anything like that. No, he’ll hide it and let out his frustrations about not being able to act sweet by fucking you senseless under the guise of rewards.

And you have been well aware of this for years now. Not that you’d ever bring it up.

“Could at least let some widows an’ orphans rest a little easy…” One of the deputies says with a slur to his voice. “Hard ta shoot folk without no hands.”

A few of them laugh and you find yourself looking at your hands. You are quite attached to your hands, both in the literal and figurative sense. Though you can think of a few ways to pull a trigger without them, you’d still rather keep them.

“I’d rather castrate ‘em.”

That gets more laughter. It’s an idiotic joke in itself. Once again, you’re quite attached to your dick and would like to keep it and its friends. But, just like the shooting, there are other ways you can think of to get around the loss of an appendage. Colm hardly touches it half the time anyway. Still would rather keep it though.

“Who’s ta say he ain’t cause us some problems.” Another laughs. “Could give ‘em a good beatin’.”

At the rate they’ve gotten themselves drunk, you would like to see them try. One of the deputies stumbles past the others. They watch as he takes out the keys, snickering and giving light cheers as he glares down at you. The second that door opens it will become very easy to take his gun and shoot the drunken fools. Though it is tempting to only disarm a few, maybe pay them their own threats before finishing them off.

But then the large front door to the sheriff’s office opens and several men flood inside. All thankfully featuring green somewhere on their bodies. The drunk lawmen drop to the ground as the boys shoot out their legs. They cry and whimper until blows land on their heads and the boys tell them to shut up. The man by your cell sputters as he tries for his gun, the same one that recommended hanging you. A hole forms in his head and he falls, keys dropping to the floor. Of course it’s Colm that stands with his gun raised, an irritated look across his features.

One of the boys scrambles for the keys, unlocking the door as you stand. You walk out and stop yourself in front of Colm like the obedient dog you have become in his presence. Very slowly, he runs his hand over your chest until his fingers curl tightly into your shirt. He tugs you closer, glaring and angry in having to rescue his dear golden boy.

“Anythin’ ya wanna say, boy?”

You shake your head, knowing better than to say what needs to be said in front of the boys. Not that they don’t know, but that you’d rather hang than look as pathetic as you let yourself become in Colm’s hands.

“They treat ya nice?” He asks, his grip on your shirt loosening ever so slightly.

Your eyes trace over the men, finding the familiar faces that laughed about torture. “Sheriff’s fine, not those two.”

Colm follows your gaze. “Any recommendations?” He releases you, turning to look at the men cowing on the ground. “Boys deserve a little fun since we came all this way.”

And those men very much taste their own words. Colm doesn’t think you deserve to see such a fun little party, so he drags you outside by the collar. But the screams, they sound much better than the laughs.

“Ya wanna explain yerself, boy?” Colm seethes, throwing you roughly against the stone wall that makes up the side of the sheriff’s office.

It’s too dark to see his face. Too late for people to be out and about, even with the screaming. This town is small, surrounded by gangs, no one would be so stupid to leave their home right now.

You stumble a bit, settling yourself against the wall, knowing very well Colm wants you where he puts you. “Can’t explain it, boss. The detonator should have worked.”

His hand winds into your hair, pulling you towards him. The pain shoots through your scalp, a good half of it running down to your dick knowing Colm’s habits. In the dim light of a lantern you can now see his face with the proximity. Perhaps his habits won’t be holding up, he looks rather displeased.

“And why is that?” He asks and you can practically feel the mocking in his voice.

He knows. He must know you messed up. His golden boy made a mistake, something that’s never happened before. You’re not entirely sure how he’ll react to it. But maybe you can talk your way out.

“Seamus probably.” You say as smoothly as you can with the grimace on your face Colm’s rough tugging brings on. “He’s the one that wired things.”

Faster than you can blink, Colm shoves your head back into the wall. The impact with the stone does nothing for your headache, even makes you see stars a little. Your vision is double and shaky as Colm grips harshly onto your cheek to make you look at him, his other hand still gripping at your hair. For a few seconds you see two of his angry face, but as he speaks it settles into one.

“I ain’t a fool, boy.” He hisses. “Ya messed up, lost me a lotta money.”

You groan as his hand tightens in your hair, the stinging not bringing any more pleasure and solely burning through your scalp.

“Here I thought you was perfect.”

That almost stings more than your head. Colm’s praises always keep you going and disappointing him is not something you ever want to do again.

“‘m sorry, boss.” You rasp. “I-I…”

Colm presses his nails into your skin, deep enough to leave marks across your face. “Shut yer damn mouth, pretty boy.”

You nod slightly in his grip, only unable to keep yourself from whimpering at the fresh pain. You can feel something trickle, something wet. By the momentary smirk on Colm’s face, you guess he’s drawn blood, perhaps even done enough to leave scars. Scars embedded into your cheek, Colm’s nails forever digging into your skin.

“Get on yer knees now, boy.”

His grip releases, pain no longer focusing where his hands were and now spreading back to your head as you drop to your knees. You land rough, not wanting to make Colm any more upset, not wanting to disappoint him again. With somewhat hungry eyes, you watch as he unfastens his pants. He pushes his gunbelt up, situating things around as he pulls out his dick. Long and thin, achingly hard, everything you remember. But you’ve never been on your knees before, never had your face so close.

“Fuckin’s a reward, pretty boy.” He grunts, pressing his dick to your lips. “Ya haven’t been very good.”

You don’t dare move without his order. There have been times where he’s thrown you out of his bed for being too eager, made you sit on the floor while he dealt with himself. But that was when he was happy with you, when his dear golden boy hadn’t made any mistakes. You fear what he might do if you make even a single move of your own. So you sit on your knees, taking in the musky scent of the thing you’re supposed to put in your mouth. You wouldn’t particularly describe Colm as a clean man.

He drags his tip along your chin and up to your cheek. You’d give anything for a bit more light to see his face but you’d likely die on the spot if anyone saw you like this. For a moment it stings and you know it’s rubbing over one of Colm’s marks on your cheek, the one his thumb made by your eye. You make a note to clean yourself thoroughly after this. As much as you want to please Colm, to hear his praises, you don’t want some infection from his unwashed dick rubbing into a cut on your face. He seems to enjoy doing though, and for a moment you shutter at the thought of what he would be doing if you had something as large as a stab wound instead.

Then his hand returns to your hair, tugging roughly enough to snap you out of any thought and make your focus turn entirely on him. He tilts your head back and you provide no resistance. Every step of the way, he guides your head. Pressing softly to your lips and urging you down onto him, you open your mouth without question. As he slides through your mouth you taste every inch on him. He certainly hasn’t bathed in a while and you could guess that from his hair, but this really sells it. He tastes like sweat and dirt and dried pomade. And as he forces himself all the way in, hitting the back of your throat as tears form in your eyes, your nose is pressed against an even more foul bunch of pubic hair. It smells like the rest of him, but it’s not nearly as pleasurable as a normal musk might be with the unkempt hairs tickling your nose. For a few seconds he simply sits in your mouth, his dick fully enveloped. You struggle not to panic. You’ve always known he was long, loved it when it hits you so well deep inside where most men could never imagine fucking, but now that he’s shoved himself down your throat you’re not quite as keen.

You can hardly hear his words with how much your head pounds. “Be a good boy an’ sit still.”

Then he moves. You have air for all of a second before he rams himself back in and your throat closes slightly around his tip. It chokes you but it must be the feeling he’s chasing because he does it again and again. At this rate you feel much more like a simple dark, wet hole than a golden boy. But Colm keeps you eager with praises.

“Look at chu, pretty boy.” He mutters. “Such a good boy, always makin’ the boss feel good.”

Of course you do. Colm ordered you to after all. That’s your job. Whatever Colm wants.

“Shit, yer such a pretty thing.”

His hand still grips your hair as he forces your movements, fucking your mouth roughly. But his praises come with another hand, soft as he combs through your hair. Two sides of a coin, just like always, reward or punishment.

“Feel so damn good, boy.” He huffs, his hips starting to become erratic. “Always so good fer me, my golden boy.”

With that you can feel the tightness of your pants, but you don’t dare do a thing about it. Not without the boss’s permission, not without Colm’s smile and hungry eyes.

“Sit pretty fer me now.” He orders, pulling back.

His hands leave your hair, his dick slipping from your mouth. It takes a lot of control to stay upright, to not keel over and gasp for breath. Instead you stay as he left you, sputtering coughs and little gasps as your eyes fix on him. He works himself fast, his hand moving roughly against sensitive skin slicked by its time fucking into your throat. You close your eyes when he grunts, feeling warm streaks across your face a second later. As Colm hums to himself, you keep still. You feel the air around you shift as he kneels down in front of you. His lips press against yours, kiss slicked by his cum on your lips. He holds you still, his hand gripping that same spot in your hair with the same roughness as he kisses you deeply. Faintly, you feel something else against your skin. It rubs over your eyes and over your cheek. When Colm pulls back from his kissing you open your eyes.

He holds a rag in hand, running it over the cuts he made to keep them somewhat clean for the moment. His face holds a focus, but nothing else. No anger, no gentleness, simply focus as he wipes his cum off of some of your face. Not all, just what’s necessary, just your eyes and injuries. Then he tosses the rag to the ground, his other hand still tightly holding you in place by the hair. His eyes look over you, tracing along where you can feel the now cooling bits of him still on your skin. You take a sharp inhale as his free hand grips roughly onto your straining dick. His eyes bore into yours, anger now clear on his face.

“No more mistakes, pretty boy.” He warns. “I much prefer fuckin’ ya normal.”

You give him a small nod. “Yes, sir.”

He squeezes your dick. “My golden boy don’t make mistakes, do he?”

“No, sir.” You gasp out.

“An’ he’s gonna make that money back so I can fuck ‘em senseless, ain’t he?” His hand kneads down into your dick, giving it much needed friction.

“Fuck…” You groan. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He removes his hand, the other tugging tightly at your hair to make you focus on his face again. “Take them boys ‘n get me my money, pretty boy.”

You hold back a whimper from the lack of contact. “Yes, sir.”

He tugs again. “No cleanin’ up either, ya deserve what ya got.”

Then he releases you, standing as you fall on your hands and knees to the ground. You breathe heavily as he walks away, catching your breath and gaining your senses. You have blood drying along cuts from Colm’s nails, cum drying on your skin and likely your hair as well, no fit state to face a bunch of the boys. But of course you do. Colm told you to after all. That’s your job. Whatever Colm wants.

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞

Dean x Reader

Part 6 🐞🥰

A/N: I don't think my heart is going to make this! 🥰🙈🐞

Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Blood, Gore and Blood. 🙈

........

Here's your order, Julie said handing him, his coffee, not even smiling, he grabbed the warm cup and before heading out, Dean stole a quick glance to where your sitting, probably busy writing her new book he thought, going through the door , walking to the impala, running his hand over his face, his so damn tired, he thought to himself, eversince that day he got the note, he hasn't slept much, he wants to catch this bastard, and if he has to be honest with himself, its because his bed is empty without her, laying all tangled up, next to him.

Driving to his house with a CCR song playing on the radio, so that he can freshen up for another long night at the Sheriff's station, while humming to, bad moon rising, he's thoughts starts wandering of to the day he lost a piece of himself.

That morning, they made a breakthrough, gathering evidence over the past few months, from the victims, the biggest breakthrough came when they found beef yet again on one of the victims, cuts. Knowing there can't be to many butchers that closed down , and the predator will need a place where he can keep the victims for so long, they started doing some research on which butchers closed down, so after getting their gear together, they discussed that they will split up into three teams , he and deputy Jack (who was one of his best deputy's and a good friend) was one team that raided the one butchery on the farthest end of town.

Drawing his gun so that he'd be ready for anything but he weren't ready for what happened next, showing Jack some hand signs that'll he should go left and Dean will go right, entering through the two doors, the place has been closed for a while now, the moment he walked in, it hit him, the smell of iron hanging thick in the air, there's blood everywhere! He looks at the center of the room, a large steel table, the blood oozing off, he walks closer, a woman laying there, damnit he says, shock showing on his face. Her hand was cut of at her wrist, shaking his head in disbelief, looking around, is he still here, he wondered,

Excruciating screams filling the room, what she's alive, the sadistic bastard starts removing limbs, while their still breathing, quickly removing he's jacket, covering her wrist, trying to calm her down, hoping she can give them a description of this predator. By the time the ambulance got there, it was to damn late, she lost too much blood!

.........

Late that afternoon, he returned to the station, finding the envelope addressed to him, curious he opened it, first came the photos, then the note ... _She's nearly perfect isn't she? Sheriff, you where very close to catching me today, just know this I can come just as close to her, are you willing to risk her life?_

He couldn't help it, how the hell did he come so close, anger boiling inside of him, putting his fist through the wall, damnit shaking his fist out, seeing the blood on his red, swollen knuckles, shoving the pictures and note off the table.

By the time Sam walked through the door, finding Dean on the floor, playing with what looks like a diamond ring and a nearly finished bottle of whiskey, papers and files scattered all over the floor. What the hell man, he said looking at Dean, while locking the door behind him, closing the blinds, and walking over, taking the bottle from him, Dean just looks up at Sammy, mumbling I'm going to kill that bastard! What? Who? Sam said confusing and concern in his voice, showing Sam the photos, the note. I will never forgive myself, if something happened to her Sammy.

He sobered up, and went to her house, trying to not break in front of her, he revisits the anger, and hardened his face, banging on the door, he had to convince himself and her, that what he said was true, knowing all he really wanted to do is pull her close to him and never let her leave the safety of his arms, she opened the door, her beautiful face filled with concern, big eyed she stood there, he could smell the freshly baked pie, flour still visible on her clothes, with every word he said he could see the heartbreak on her face, he couldn't take it anymore, turned around and walked away, afraid, that if he stood there any longer his eyes would betray him, all he wanted to do is protect her, and if the killer saw that the two of you weren't together anymore, he'll back off.

Grabbing the closest shirt he could find, throwing it on him, he could smell her, the vanilla and orchid scent still strongly on his shirt, she sure did love to wear his t-shirts he thought walking to the impala. Just then he saw a truck pulling at to his driveway, its Deputy Jack he recognized the truck, hey man, Dean says, while Jack gets out, what's wrong buddy, seeing Jack looks like he's seen a ghost, Sheriff, Jack said I'm so sorry!, Sorry for what deputy? Came Dean's question, he has my sister Julie, and he said that if I... Uhm he strutters don't do this, he's going to kill her. Dean's searching, Jacks eyes, for any clue to what he means, seeing, Jack pulling out his firearm, No Jack! wait, let's figure something out together!, I'm, I'm sorry said Jack shakily.

Then came the noise, the look on Dean's face when the bullet hit him in the chest, wasn't anger, but sadness, knowing he'll never get to spent his life, growing old with the one he loves. Sit-laying next to the impala, he hears the screeching sounds of tyres driving away.

Thinking if this is his last breath, he's going to make damn sure, that its worth it, saying how much he loved her, taking his phone out, of his pocket, feeling the vibration in his hand, seeing her name on the family chat, which included all of them, he didn't remove himself from the chat, it was his way of keeping in touch with her. The message broke him in more ways than one, ...Mom, I'm in trouble, I got into a cab, but something is wrong, I can feel it, its the serial killer!

The phone fell to the ground, a stray tear rolling down his cheek, whispering her name, it all went dark, despite the moon shining so brightly...

[kylejsugarman]

anyway andrea time again. she works retail and whenever she's not scheduled, she tries to pick up shifts as a spanish to english interpreter at the local hospital. it's not ideal and she works a lot, but it works for her and brock!! she used to depend on her mom to help out with brock when she has to work late, but jesse has taken on that role and with unexpected enthusiasm. she's never dated a guy who was so eager to help her out and take care of brock: then again, she's never really dated a guy like jesse. he even agrees to watch brock while she's busy with the rush of holiday shoppers and has to stay after her shift is over to clean up and refold everything, which means she's coming home at nearly ten o'clock in a tired, miserable mood. but as she opens her front door, she's hit by the scent of pepper and garlic and momentarily forgets about how much her feet hurt. brock runs in to greet her and just as andrea's about to chastise him for still being awake past his bedtime, he starts pulling on her hand: "hurry, mama!! before it gets cold again." andrea follows him and the smell to the kitchen, where jesse is standing by the stove with the kind of almost nervous, sort of proud, blatantly hopeful smile that brock gives right before he presents her with a drawing. "im sorry for letting him stay up so late, but i thought since its friday, maybe it'd be okay. um. i made u pozole. we made u pozole, i mean. i didnt let him use the knife. it got kinda cold, but i think its still good??" andrea stands there for a second, looking at the pot on the stovetop and thinking about how nobody has ever butchered the pronunciation of "pozole" as badly as jesse just did, then crosses the kitchen to grab his face and kiss him; brock goes "ewwwwww" behind her. jesse is always trying to give her things, offering to pay the bills and getting new stuff for her place, but none of that measures up to a hot (well. warm) bowl of her favorite dish after a long day of denying expired coupons and putting shirts back on hangers. it's sweet and kind of clumsy and earnest—like a high schooler trying to ask a girl out to the prom—which is what she loves about him. she's never really dated a guy like jesse, which is a total shame for the rest of the male population because she never wants to date any other kind of guy again.

[denv2]

Okay. I'll just ramble on by myself again today. There are so many things to say, but I'm bad at English, so I can only talk to myself and use a translator to post it.... (Why doesn't Tumblr have an official translator function. I don't want to compare, but twt(x) has Google Translate, but can't Tumblr have that too. Please play my wish. If it's a global app, let's have a translator) Anyway, I want to see more of Felix's story...

As always, I'm embarrassed to talk about headcanons alone, so I'll continue below. (99% IM!felix chat)(It's long)(chapter 172~ spoiler)

I've been mentioning something consistently... I keep thinking about Felix's backstory, which I'm rereading these days... Last time I read and drew a picture of chapter 181, but... Oh my God, I should've started at 172, but I realized I started in the middle.

In 172, Felix uses a gag to defeat the enemy. I love the description of his ability to use a gag, but what's even more thrilling is his reaction afterward. He spontaneously bursts out laughing in triumph after defeating the enemy through a gag. Then he immediately frowns.

'Too close. It was too close.' < This sentence actually made me pull my hair out...

It really shows how Felix is determined to never go back to being zany again. I love the way he checks himself because he's afraid he's going to turn into a zany person after one gag. I really like that... When I first read the novel, I didn't decide on a favorite and just enjoyed the story itself, but now that I'm reading the details again for the first time in a long time while knowing the whole story, I think there are so many things I forgot. And about the relationship between Felix and zany... There were more mentions than I thought, but I didn't notice this... Yes, in fact, the labyrinth part was so long that I was a little tired when I read that part before, but I didn't remember that a lot of Felix's backstory was solved from Felix's side during the labyrinth part...

I keep getting a little obsessed with Felix's past, Felix and his zany days, but there's a reason. I did fanart until March of this year, then I got a little busy for a while, so I was binge-watching chapters of the novel, and then I read chapters 349 and 350, and I loved them so much that I really fell in love with them, so I came back to drawing Felix after a long time? Chapter 349 is the adoption meeting between Canola and Felix, and I really love this chapter. The reason Boris's adoption was rejected was because Felix was zany (+ other unreliable behaviors), and I actually sympathized with Canola. Felix is a trustworthy protector, sure, but he's not perfect, and I like him more for that... As a side note, I do like Canola (I like her as a 2D character, she's like Noelle's mom from Deltarune lol) Anyway, it was Felix's mention of his inner zany that really opened my eyes to Felix and zany. After that, I thought I should re-read about Felix's past connections from his visions in the labyrinth, and then I grabbed chapter 181 and read it and loved it so much that I started drawing Alex and Kitty... But I should have read it from 172!!! 172 also had some really important Felix and ZANY, GAG references...

And chapter 174... Awww. I'm going to paint a picture of Professor Wilson and Felix's past college relationship... As for Professor Wilson's characterization, I've been paying attention to it because of the cult references, but I've been rethinking that characterization as Felix's benefactor lately, so I'm appreciating that part anew, and it's great. I think I remember there was a side story about Felix and Professor Wilson in college in Inky Extra, but I need to read it again.

And chapter 179!! No why didn't I read chapter 179 again?! I thought I would find Felix's past part in the labyrinth part and read it again, so I clicked on the early and middle chapters of the labyrinth to find Felix and read it, but it was 181. There was 179 before 181, but I should have read it from here 😂.

But actually, it's probably a good thing I read chapter 179 now, because it's based on the Twisted Tales Felix animation. If I had read 179 when I reread chapter 181, I don't think I would have gotten as much detail as I did now, because I hadn't seen Twisted Felix yet! So I guess I found this at the right time... Anyway, I have a lot to say about chapter 179.

After realizing that Felix's former hometown is based on Twisted Tales... I can kind of imagine how he lived in the past, and I like that.

To digress for a second, I recently posted a picture of Felix as a showmanship-esque star in a tailcoat suit, and while I was drawing it, I was thinking that Felix, who is a real-life zany top-tier star, would never wear a suit like that, lol. But! I think he would have worn it at least once, but the normal show would have been a comedy show with gags, witty stand-up comedy and physical comedy, right? But I wanted to draw Felix the star in a suit, with a glow in his eyes... That zany, crazy presence! I tried to capture that in my own expression. And since Star Felix is Felix from the past, I wanted him to be a little younger than he is now... The hairstyle is also a little different from the current Felix I'm drawing now! The current Adventurer Felix has more wild hair and is a little unkempt, whereas the Star Felix I drew this time is very well-groomed for showmanship and has a slicked back hairdo.

Let's go back to 179 again. The first line that stood out to me was when Felix's friend asks, "You're not homeless again, are you?

Later on, Felix and Bendy meet up and Felix is telling Bendy about his past, and I think it's mentioned that after Alex, Felix's show fortunes started to change, and he was living an unstable life where he was doing well, and then all of a sudden he was homeless, and then he was doing well again, and then he was going back and forth like that. I think that's the fun part of the subtext, because you read the subtext first, you can see what the earlier reference is actually for.

Then there's Sheba... Actually, what I've been thinking about Sheba and what I drew with Alex and Kitty last time and what I drew after watching Twisted Tales... The character interpretations are mixed now. I drew Sheba last time, but I think I need to change the character design...! I want her to have more of a Twisted Tales feel to her. I feel like I need to do more characterization for Sheba, especially after seeing the scene where Felix's friends don't understand that he doesn't want to be zany, except for Sheba... I need to get her in line... I love Felix and Sheba's friendship in the original comic, but I need to re-read the parts where it's mentioned about their friendship in IM.

And about Candy, I'm actually really interested in Felix's past relationships with girls... Seriously, why is Felix so popular? lol I love it... I love that his past is so colorful... Candy, Nastassia... and Kitty (oh my god. I have so much to say about Kitty).

Okay, let's move on to 181. If I have something else to say about 179 later, I'll say it then. I'm going to say 181 again because it's Kitty...

One of Alex's lines to Felix is this: "Kitty was the last steady girl you had, right?" < Alex's provocation level is... Crazy... (in a positive way). I can't stop thinking about this. About Felix's stable attachment to a relationship.... He's been living alone ever since he left town... I don't think he was even interested in a relationship, because it ended so tragically.... Then one day he meets a rabbit...(Oh my god, but this isn't about Osix, so maybe later...)

I'm so curious about the end of Felix and Kitty's tragic past relationship... What the hell did Alex do? I've imagined some really horrible things, and I honestly don't think it's that bad, but what the hell made Kitty apologize to Felix and Felix turn away and avoid her? What the hell happened?"....

Awww... Felix and Kitty... I'm sure they were a great match before the tragedy... But... But now that they've been torn apart... I love this tragedy... I'm sorry Felix, but I really like ex relationships... because they're ex...

By the way, about Kitty's appearance, last time I drew her with ring earrings, I realized I should change the design to round earrings. I've got two pairs of Felix and Kitty and Oswald and Ortensia scheduled... so it's one of the things I'll definitely do. I'll probably change the earrings to be round then.

Now about Alex. There is so, so much to say about him...... I really love this dislike between Felix and Alex because it feels so good that the people they hate so much are cousins, blood relatives.

Cousins... I think this is more of a fear for Felix. If it were anyone else, he could just end the relationship cleanly. But I think the fact that they are family is more frightening... That's what I like so much. Felix hates and loathes Alex with all his heart. But Alex's attitude in the labyrinth is a little different from Felix's, isn't it? Felix is really hating him, but Alex is provoking him by raising him up... That's also very nice.

I love every single one of Alex's lines, it's so flavorful. I like villainous characters like Alex, but the reason why Alex is especially good is because it's a personalized antagonistic relationship with Felix that completely provokes Felix. He's so good at provoking...

I love the way Alex calls Kitty: 'beaut', 'kit', 'honey doll'... It's so sweet. It's so poisonous... And the things he says to Felix, it's so disturbing. He's so crazy.

'Long time no see, Feels', 'C'mon Feels, nothing to say to me? I've missed you!'(heck, this is soooo crazy.......), 'Still mad?', 'That's cute, Feels.'(noooooooo this is so insane....... alex..... love his poisoned words...), 'dear cousin?', 'cousin'

I love the way Alex says this... He's really provoking Felix with every line... I love how felix refers to alex as just 'Alex' but alex emphasizes the word 'cousin'. See why I said they have a better relationship because they're cousins? By referring to him as a cousin, he's subtly telling Felix that you're not really gone when you leave, that you're not really gone as long as you have the same blood in your veins. I think 'cousin' encompasses both mocking and taunting him for running away, but also letting him know that he's not really gone when he runs away.

But here's my question. When Alex mentions Felix's magic bag, he says it's supposed to be mine. Huh... I'm really curious about the past...

And then there's Alex's Felix costume... Seriously, I love this gimmick, it's a tradition, right? Alex mentions that it's the first time he's done it in a long time, and I wonder if there was an incident in the past where this costume caused a huge rift between Felix and the people around him. And... About Kitty... I can't get this thought out of my head. I'm sure it's because of Alex's appearance in the original Felix classic comics.... Yeah, right....... Oh, I'm thinking the worst again. I'm done here....

I find Felix's past parts so interesting and funny and I think about them a lot, but that's probably more because I like IM Felix.

I also realize that this whole past part isn't really real, it's just Labyrinth's hallucination. I think the real Alex and the real Kitty might react differently, but I honestly think Alex would be the same as Labyrinth lol. Considering the way Alex talks in the other books, yes. He really does have a mouth full of venom (which I love).

That was a really long rant... It's all running around in my head and I have nowhere to put it... I wanted to rant like this in my own personal space. I hope if anyone reads this far, they enjoyed it... Please someone talk to me about Felix🥺