#warning: suggestive themes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orangez3st · 4 days ago

Text

Coruscant's Hottest Gossip

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.10.25: Introduction | Event Masterlist

Part 1 of 5 | Next to Part 2 ↦

Summary: Meeting the galaxy's most famous actress is now labeled as ‘most inconvenient and useless interaction’ in Wolffe's book. Not to mention the predicament against her toxic ex boyfriend that eventually leads him to stick with a fake dating agenda at her behest. He can endure a tenday campaign easily, but gossip and neverending media spotlight? Not so much. Tags & Warnings: fake dating, the return of artist!wolffe, crack treated seriously treated as crack, same universe with author’s other pairing (rex/sho’cye), swearing, clone shenanigans, suggestive themes, angry kissing, wolffe boutta explode, clone shenanigans, celebrity life Pairing: Wolffe × Nic Erlonna (OFC Muse Actress) Word Count: 13.5k A/N: Soo with that word count, my clone x oc pairings in this event are plot-heavy, but they're all fresh fics you can read starting here! (I absolutely did not make them on the spot since the event's announcement) And! If you're the one who couldn't wait for this pairing, here's your treat at last. Enjoy!

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏

— False Idols - The Weeknd, Lil Baby, Suzanna Son [X]

Wolffe left 79s earlier, leaving his fellow squad members who initially registered for the weekly karaoke night. Partly because he's got other errands, and partly is… well, he's not really into singing.

Their brothers from the 212th happen to be planetside today as well – both battalions with both shore leaves lined up. Wolffe didn’t catch Cody at the bar though, leaving him to easily speculate either it's about overloaded reports or something else involving his prim and proper Jedi General who Wolffe isn't interested enough to keep up on hearing about.

It's okay, they could always meet some other time.

Speaking about reports, Sinker joked earlier about piling stuff Wolffe must have hadn't tended to – jokes on the sergeant because he had, just moments before getting dragged to the bar for a couple pints of beer, actually.

The prickly warmth of Coruscanti night air spells nothing like peace. It’s got some gritty quality Wolffe can't relay out loud, eventually leaving it with just the kriffing pollution.

That's what one gets for living on a planet with 7 trillion people in it with artificially controlled excuse of a climate, anyway. But at least they've got winter at the end of the year and the first two months of the next. Wolffe always likes snow. He likes the cold. He prefers his drinks and shower and bed sheets cold. Winter provides him an excuse to put on some warmer and thicker civvies while chilling in his own quarters all by himself.

Shame it's summer night air smacking him in the face now instead, as he strolls down the street to that little art supplies shop he frequents.

With his basic allowance on subsistence – BAS – isn't directed to top shelf drinks at 79s, they go to more flimsi sheets and various styluses. Funny how the given credits, that are totally for daily sustenance like getting better food in the commercial districts or for entertainment indulgence, goes to his hobby.

Wolffe picked up sketching when he was a cadet. Their trainers in Kamino urged most of them to pick something between poetry, painting, sketching, and literature analysis to divert the battle-hardened focus to something relaxing and to relieve the restlessness within their system. And, oh well, it works well for him.

His collection grows over the years. There are thick piles of folders and binders on the side table in his quarters, all filled with his stylus sketch pieces. An artsy endeavor involves hours of tracing and shading on the flimsi while sitting down with whatever reference he could find in the holonet. He's done some with colored styluses, too. And even some watercolors, when a break is lengthier than usual. Everything turned out great. Always satisfies him and grants him relaxation after every mission or writing reports late at night.

Mostly it's for his own indulgence, to quench that curiosity if he'd draw this in another angle, draw that in different pose. Rex’ika is always rooting him on – always been, since they were but cadets – that when they're both planetside the blond would ask how much has been added to his ever piling sketchbooks, a shy question to hang out in his bunk just like old times while catching up and admiring more drawings.

Wolffe ducks into the small humble art supplies store, acquiring whatever is on his mental checklist, exchanging small pleasantries with the nice elderly Nikto who owns it, and leaves with a paper bag in hand. With the night getting later, the eagerness to try out new styluses in different hardness on the fresh sketchbook, and an obvious home destination in mind, Wolffe trudges through the bustling sidewalk.

On one or two occasions people nudge his shoulders in passing, roughly brushing against his grey leave uniform and making him scowl in annoyance. He's not one to wear patience on his sleeves, alright. Though he understands these people's hastiness, he'd hope they'd understand physical boundaries as well. Unanticipated touches just irk him, okay?

So when suddenly a woman sidles up next to him and grasps his bicep close, Wolffe stiffens.

“Just keep walking.”

Yeah no.

Keeping his strides strong, Wolffe makes a move to yank his arm away, but she holds on tight, fingers clutching onto the fabric-covered crook of his elbow and into his skin.

The woman keeps up with his speed. “Will you help me?”

“Too late to pop the question, lady,” he scowls underneath his hat, “What the hell are you doing?”

Beneath various neon lights and a wisp of blond hair underneath the hood, within a glance, Wolffe finally takes in her anxiousness, almost fear, latching onto the olive green fractals of her eyes.

As if afraid that they're about to get caught, her gaze frantically flicks to the street across and behind them in wariness. Glaring at him now with urgency, she presses on, “Will you help me? Yes or no?”

Wolffe makes a discreet move to pull away again while putting forward the littlest bit of courtesy that hopefully conveys how uncomfortable and offensive it is to his personal space only to fail again. The harsh sigh coming out of him is totally capable of making Mace Windu himself squirm in his seat. “Lady, I'm not gonna–”

“You're not gonna help me?” she asks in disbelief, her features twisting into bafflement.

As if she's surprised a stranger's gonna help her–

Alright, okay, when she puts it that way, that ain't right, okay? That makes him, on the spot – tight spot – trying so hard to channel whatever peace of mind and all that Jedi osik his General tells him about once in a while.

“Depends on what kind of help,” he eventually answers with seriousness, a bit gentler but leaves the sharp bite somewhere in that sentence to, y'know, convey how disturbed he is ‘cause he loves his me-time especially during hard-earned leaves like this, thank you very much.

She scoffs, “That how you act when people ask for help?”

Stars, and he's been trying to be polite. Something tangible within an arm's reach is definitely about to kriffing snap if in five seconds she's offers no explana–

“Nico, hey!”

The woman stops walking, making Wolffe stop walking as well. Curiously, warily, he sees her visibly cringing, shoulders going up to her ears. Then she looks up to the sky and sighs heavily as if tossing why me? to whatever divinity that exists in the cosmos, before quickly striking a totally fake smile that Wolffe suddenly finds the talent quite impressive.

“Shon!” She had turned around and curiosity took over Wolffe even more. Despite her cheery tone, her grasp onto his uniform tightens and is wrinkling the fabric. “What are you doing here?”

A Pantoran male, silver hair and golden facial markings shimmering in neon lights, grins up at her between pants catching his breath, evidence of having to run to catch up. “Caught you from the other side of the street,” he says, jabbing a thumb backwards in general direction, “Couldn't resist to at least say hi.”

The woman lets out a flat laugh. “Okay.”

Another awkward pause of staring in silence with the Pantoran looking at her hopefully like a wet massiff in front of one's door. Wolffe makes no move.

“Now that you've said your hi, goodbye!”

Spinning on her heels, she tugs Wolffe along.

“That’s it?”

Wolffe clicks his tongue in annoyance as they stop again. Look, man, he just wants to go back to HQ and sketch late into the night…

“Yeah why?” The woman sharply turns around, a long stream of blond tress escapes her hood and sits over her shoulder. “You've done your business, which is saying hi to me, so it's time for me to be going about my own business, right?”

Wolffe can practically feel her tense body since she's stuck to him, sensing frustration bleeding off her shoulders.

“I don't just wanna say hi, Nic,” the Pantoran shakes his head sadly. He takes a step closer, hands in front of his chest aiming for a peaceful resolve. “Look, for everything that we had–”

“I don't wanna hear it, Shon.”

And with that, it clicks with Wolffe. The running into ex and latching onto strangers pretending to be the new guy to get out of the situation situation. The woman, Nic or Nico, makes it crystal clear she doesn't wanna see this Pantoran guy Shon. Quietly sighing, and ultimately deciding to play along just in case he needs to meddle in when someone's about to get hurt, Wolffe reluctantly dismisses his personal frustration for the time being.

“I said it,” the woman – Nico – continues, now seething, “I put my foot on it. It's done. For good, Shon. You get me?”

Shon groans. “C'mon, you're just playing me being like this.”

She recoils in mock shock. “Who says I'm playing?”

“Maker, I just miss you alright? Just quit playing this game, please?”

“Who says I'm quitting on playing?” Her tone rises angrily, stomping forward to make her point clear, “We're over, Shon! Fuck off! I don't wanna see you again!”

Shon, now positively fuming, clenches his fists and nears their guarded vicinity. “You know you don't mean that!”

At another step from the Pantoran, Wolffe shoves himself forward. “If the lady says she doesn't want to see you again, that means you should leave now.”

Shon stares at him aghast, as if just noticing that the sidewalk never belongs to the bickering not-couple after all. Onyx eyes bulge in shock, as if the cruel world betrayed him of many credits, and flicking back and forth between the clone and the woman behind his shoulder.

“Who's this?” Blue hand pointing slowly. Golden facial markings twist in evident disgust. “New boy toy? So fast after throwing me away?”

“Great!” Nico quips cheerily. As if accepting the assuming scenario wholeheartedly, her hand is now grabbing Wolffe's, the notion apparently is too much to his reflexes that he twitches. “Now that you're aware we're already over, go home and fuck yourself. Goodbye!”

“A clone, Nico?!” Shon yells in disbelief just as they turn around. Several passersby turn in their direction at the raise of tone. “Wow.” Fists clenching, the Pantoran scoffs and shakes his head offended. “Your standard's been free falling, huh?”

Wolffe is half-expecting Nico to march forward and smack the blue son of a droid across the face, but her blasé expression betrays his confident assumption, as if already used to this sort of altercation every single day.

“You know what,” Nico snarls, “I've been kind enough not to shove a kriffing restraining order in your face!”

“I just want you to wake up!” Shon protests, emotion blaring behind onyx eyes, “We were so good together, we were perfect! How'd you end up with a clone, out of all people?!”

Wolffe rolls his eyes. That restraining order sounds like a good idea just about now, actually. The whole ordeal is just fucking disgusting. And oh, right, the piece of kriff said something as if they're objects lacking relationship standards. Just another Taungsday.

“Well maybe because I like him! Maybe because of the fact that we're already over! You hear that?! What we were is a far cry from what you see as perfect.” Nico pants over frustration, every word spat as if toxic. “Go home, Shon. Don't make me call the police!”

Wolffe bites the inside of his lip to hold his smirk in. No he’s not humoring himself with the absurdity of the scenario, but it's just amusing to watch the former couple bickering in the middle of the sidewalk. So much fighting over disagreement, and then there's him, a war front-liner himself, fighting over another kind of disagreement.

So using that persona, Wolffe joins in on the fun and puffs out his chest, putting on his most disgusting scowl, and takes a menacing step forward to the already cowering Pantoran.

“I'm gonna ask you to leave now.”

Just this once. Then he can go back to being disgusted by the entire predicament as he's supposed to be, like usual, like how his vode describe him. Civilians are weirdos anyway.

One of few things Nico is grateful for today, next to sneaking out to her favorite Corellian buckwheat noodle joint in the lower levels without being noticed, is the clone who she randomly chose to be her escape and savior of the day is finally picking up on what's going on.

He’d been stiff and even tried to yank his arm away earlier, a quick glance to his sharp features showed he was actually ticked off that she threw herself onto him… in her defense, she needed it. Anything to avoid Shon. That blasted son of a gundark just can't suck it even after breaking up a year ago.

Now the clone stands tall, shoulders and back rigid and fists clenched loosely by his sides, an easy scare to anyone as scaredy as Shon.

“You're gonna regret this, Nic.” Shon’s onyx eyes flit in her direction, nostrils flaring. “You and your clone boyfriend.”

Nico huffs boredly. “Yeah?” She decides to call the whole thing done, so she reaches out to the clone and tugs on his sleeve. “Can't wait to see what you're gonna do, Shon.”

“I'm going to fucking destroy you!” the Pantoran shouts as they're already two buildings away.

“Yep, looking forward, bye!”

Nico counts to ten just in case Shon's still standing there gaping in all his toxic obsession, before she removes her grip on the clone and slides in front of him.

“I’m really sorry for all that,” she immediately says with a small smile that she hopes is apologetic enough, guilt overcoming her for dragging a stranger into her mess. “Can I, uh, treat you to something to make up for it?”

The clone shakes his head. “No need. Just doing what anyone would've done.”

“C'mon, I insist!” Nico urges, readily jostling her shoulder bag in instinct to brandish a payment card. “That was a jerk ex with an obsession, and you handled him like a hero.”

“Sorry, but I have to refuse,” he says firmly. Nico catches some kind of an authority inflection in his deep voice. “And I should be going back to the barracks by now.” His feet shuffle a little as if ready to ditch her on the spot and scurry back to HQ.

“Oh well.” Nico shrugs. To be honest she almost forgets that he's also a war soldier. She’s just used to seeing Corries stationed on-world. “At least, if you'd like, walk me back to my apartment? S’not so far away from here.”

He's conflicted, that Nico can see. She never gives much care towards clones, let alone see one so close without their buckets. Amber brown eyes that seem to glow golden when light hits from a certain angle, sharp facial features under the hat that comes with the leave attire, and battle experience carved onto their features in soft facial lines. This one however, got a cybernetic fit into his right eye, an accompanying vertical scar tells the misfortune of losing the real one in a close combat.

Weird thing is, he acts like he doesn't recognize her. He'd been tense when she practically hugged his side but she brushed it off assuming he was just stunned to call her out. But now, where there's no more running into ex disturbance and the likes, he's clearly annoyed by her presence, meddling in his downtime and screwing his relaxed walk in the city, but can't really bring it up and throw the harsh facts into her face without all due respect.

Curious. He doesn't know her? She's just as famous as Jabba the Hutt! Butting heads in the ranks of fame, yeah, but she wins in the entertainment section by a landslide.

Nic Erlonna the actress, galaxy's sweetheart and most famous.

And this one clone doesn't even know her, though she's sure there's a lot of pin-ups of her somewhere in the army barracks.

A big sigh comes out of him before, “Alright.”

Nico claps her hands startling him. She holds back a snort. “But, uh, one quick stop, is that okay?”

“Only if I can make the whole trip plus the trek back to headquarters before 2200.”

She promptly ignores his flat dismissing tone. “Should be enough.” As they continue down the street with her in the lead, she then asks, “Can I at least get your name?”

“Best not.” His answer is abrupt, followed by a quiet but certain, “Sorry.”

Nico chuckles awkwardly. “Ah well. Stiff rules in the army, huh?” She's met with silence. He's not even looking at her, just at the path straight ahead. But she's not known to be silent either. “To be honest I don't really know what's been going out there. Just about there's a big galactic war and that's all.”

The clone shrugs subtly. “Don't really expect people to know so much.”

Nico hums. Makes sense. Like herself, case in point. “You fight in the front lines, trooper?” she asks again, earning a curt nod and nothing else that follows. Absentmindedly reading the neon signages as they pass, she decides to let it drop and leave him be to privacy. The least she can do for dragging him out of that very privacy not ten minutes ago, anyway.

They stop at a shop absent of any colorful neon signages. Tinted windows and an ornate decoration on its entry door, the amber neon sign only displaying a name of its owner, leaving passersby curious of what may be offered inside.

Nico’s gaze flicks momentarily to her involuntary companion. “Okay, here we are. Wait out here for a bit, if you don't mind.”

He wordlessly tells her he doesn't, and dutifully so near the store windows with one hand behind his back almost in parade rest, the other clutching his own paper bag. Then, she enters the shop with the knowledge that it may or may not be a newly purchased sketchbook in the paper bag he keeps close guard of. Heh. Clones with artsy hobbies.

An art supplies store, the top shelf kind. She's seen this often during her discreet commute, especially on her way back to her apartment. Pricey equipment and high quality paints worth of credits and more incoming credits if the artist that makes art stuff with these sells it to the highest bidder.

So when Nick walks out with a bigger paper bag in hand with nearly a tooka-like grin, she pretends the clone isn't looking at her suspiciously at all.

“Okay, all good. Let's go.”

The walk ain't long, much to Wolffe's surprise.

When they marched down the sidewalk in what he realized as the most high-end residential area in the heart of Coruscant, a looming apartment building kept jutting out amongst many others, the most lavish looking out of them all. And the longer they walked, the closer that particular apartment got. It took him another moment to realize that they really were walking in that direction.

“How’s your commute back?” Nico casually asks him as they approach the lobby, warm amber light illuminating their figures.

“Walking,” mutters Wolffe.

“Wait. Seriously?” Nico exclaims, peeking into the lobby through the glass doors to see the chronometer on the wall. “Why not get a cab?”

Credits spent on that aren't worthy when a five minute walk to the nearest shuttle headed to HQ.

“I prefer walking.”

An unamused scoff escapes her lips. “I hope you're joking. We’re not having that. I'm not having that.” Suddenly she takes off running to enter the building. “I'll call a cab for you! Hang in there, alright?”

His protests fall deaf on… well, nothing. Nico is already inside leaning over the receptionist counter, vigorous movements of hands and head nods and hasty smiles to make quick of the endeavor… calling a cab home for a clone.

And Wolffe just really hates it where he's got to be polite from now on that somebody is paying for his convenience. Like he's owing them. And he can't pay back since he's got nothing on him. Indebted. It's as if the floor and the ceiling are pinning down on him. Why the hell did he even agree to walk her back if it's gonna come to him owing someone? Owing her?

“All good!” Nico runs back outside to meet him. “Cab headed to GAR will be here in another minute.”

Wolffe sighs, guilt swallowing him even deeper. “Ma'am, really, I–”

“No, no, my words are final. Don't worry about anything,” Nico interrupts him, “You get in a cab to your HQ, and with this.”

The bigger laminated paper bag he’d forgotten about is suddenly thrust into his hands, the size and the texture of the carrier itself looking comically different to the humble one he acquired from his usual art supply store. Never being so generously gifted, he can only gape, mouth slightly parting and the insides of his stomach whipping up emotions alien to him.

Kark she bought this… for me?

“Please just take it as my gratitude for standing up against Shon,” Nico says abruptly, her tone almost commanding, before words of refusal leave his tongue. “But if it's against your rules and stuff then I dare you to chuck it down the lobby.”

Judging by the look of the bag and how weighty it is, it makes him wonder what could be inside… Yeah no.

“...Thank you.”

No regulations explicitly stating on owning personal belongings anyway. The least he can do then is to accept it… and not be a dick. Those are possibly hundreds of credits in his hands. It could've been bottles of alcohol. So yeah, no chucking it down the lobby.

The cab arrives. Wolffe has never been so desperate to be home after a night out before.

“Get home safe, trooper,” Nico says after he climbs into the seats, ducking to the cab's window level so she can bid him bye.

Wolffe stares long at her, noting how the hood of her poncho had come off and spilling blond hair everywhere about her shoulders. He gives a curt nod. “You too, ma'am.”

She smirks. “Well I'm already here.”

His ride ascends to the skylane zipping along the traffic. Wolffe leans back, neck rested against the padded cushion as he mulls over what the heck just happened to him tonight… A week long extraction mission to the Mid Rim, returned, and… whatever this is.

He reaches for the paper bag. The lux one.

“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, gaping wholly to the contents inside.

Five high-grade non-smudge flimsi sketchbooks (the label says it's imported from Kashyyyk). A portable sketching kit. A dozen fine liner styluses of various widths. Three dozen high-quality graphite styluses of various hardness. A sizable organizer clutch that could definitely hold every single tool that's left cluttered inside a single shelf under his desk. A watercolor paint set of 108 shades. And all those are of high-end brands he'd only get to hear so much about, but never been able to buy.

As a humble and barely-hanging-on artist, all those are just… dreams come true.

Reaching further, Wolffe peels off a sticky flimsi note and, under the low light of the cab, examines it.

Saw your sketchbook(?) Hope you're into drawing or this is gonna be a really awkward gift –Nic

As if it's entirely made out of glass, Wolffe gently put the bag next to him on the seat. All that was definitely worth hundreds of credits… and knowing her just tossing money for someone as unworthy and insignificant as him…

Let's rewind then. He went to buy more supplies, Nico sidled up to him, Shon happened, walking her back, and that's when it got worse.

She spent hundreds of credits after apparently catching a glimpse of his little shopping endeavor and called him a cab home, all in her tab. She's stupid stinking rich.

Now here he wishes it was liquor instead so he can sober up from the overwhelming and unnecessary kindness. But to be honest, it'd be blatantly thankless and stupid of him to reject gifts…

He's a clone. He'd never been gifted abundantly by anyone ever, anyway.

“WOLFFE YOU SLICK SON OF A DROID!”

Wolffe slurps on his pureed soup. “Mornin’, Boost.”

“MUST BE A GOOD MORNING TO YOU, SIR.”

He sighs. “Look, if you don't stop screaming, m’gonna pull rank and make you run ‘round the shipyard, get it?”

Boost snickers. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He plops down on the bench across the commander. “But with all due respect, respectfully sir, would you kindly tell me all the good juice about your date last night?”

Wolffe stops halfway slurping. He swallows.

“Date?”

“Don't play dumb, sir,” Sinker guffaws next to Comet. He brings up a datapad. “Here, take a look. Should help you. It's all over the holo–”

“WHERE IS HE?!”

Heavy, stomping steps boom throughout the bustling mess hall. It's not even 0800 yet, and Wolffe sighs at that particular voice pitch, at the slight hoarse quality of it. Within a slight turn of the head in the direction of the door, is a sight of his brother in all his 212th white and orange glory, fuming as if he's been foul-played and is now begging for justice. And of kriffing course, being in possession of most excellent eyesight out of the command bunch, Cody picks the slight movement out of the crowd, definitely catching Wolffe's permascowl too, and he's grinning maniacally that his temple scar creases as he immediately makes his way over.

“WOLFFE YOU BIG UGLY SON OF A DROID!”

At that very moment, Wolffe is certain his sanity is depleting as quick as the cheap beer in 79s during collective clone trooper leaves.

“Can everybody stop yelling and just tell me?!” he snarls, making sure it reaches neighboring tables. He sharply turns to Cody and half-exclaims impatiently, “What d’ya want?”

Cody pauses a few steps away, his armored shoulders heave in deep determined breaths, expression hurt and utterly betrayed.

“YOU WENT OUT WITH NIC ERLONNA?!”

Wolffe recoils, his frustration simmering to the brim. “Who the hell is Nic Erlonna?”

“You don't know?” Comet voices his shock, sharing a baffled look with the other two. “That's the girl you went out with last night!”

“I didn't go out with anyone!” It may look like a weak ass response but whatever, as long as it's the truth. There was Nico but… can't be the same person, right? He eyes his squad members. “And what's it got to do with me? How the hell did you even find out?”

“It’s all over the holonet.” Sinker finally nudges the datapad in his Commander's direction, having been held by Cody's imposing presence. “Here,” he says, biting down on his lip to not laugh. Wolffe glares at him but he doesn't waver, amber eyes under dyed pale hair twinkling with mirth. “Seems you made headlines and hot news and everything gossip, sir.”

Wolffe's cold glare remains two seconds longer before he observes the presented article.

⚝── ⓗⓞⓣ ⓖⓐⓛ ⓒⓞⓡⓤⓢⓒⓐⓝ-ⓣⓔⓐ ──⚝

𝐍𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚: 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲?!

Surely a surprise to the whole galaxy, but a welcome one! Reported just last night in Triple Zero, Nic Erlonna was seen walking down the streets in one of the commercial districts arm in arm with– wait for it… a clone trooper! Honestly, that grey uniform is trademark downtime clone fashion already – it means they're on leave after an off-world campaign! Aside from that it could've been a romantic-patriotic motive (to which maybe some of us wouldn't complain because we understand that these boys really do have charms, okay?), is Nic making a bold move onto politics with our boys in white? Diplomatic much, Nic? But maybe MAYBE she just fancies them the way some of us do? Our zine is absolutely not pro-Shonic, and hasn't been, long before they broke up last year (good riddance!), so we're already flocking to this unexpected pairing! #clonic

Cody now definitely and intentionally is doing things to irk him further, peering over his shoulder to catch the article on the datapad making Wolffe half tempted to drive his elbow back and hit the di’kut in the crotch. Swear to kriff he can feel Cody's glare burning hot plasma holes into the back of his head.

“Can't believe I’m betrayed as kark,” Cody says, his voice trembling with childish resentment. “And I call you my brother.”

Wolffe exaggeratedly rolls his eyes as he returns the datapad. “I don't owe you anything, Cody.”

“Wrong, vod. You owe me everything.” Both of Cody's hands clap onto Wolffe's shoulders, startling the Living Force out of him. The gloved fingers slip between his armor plates and start massaging. “How’d you meet her? You two been goin’ a long time? You two kriffin’ yet?”

Wolffe roughly shrugs him off and without looking, he actually drives his elbow to hit Cody in the crotch, only to meet air, as Cody jumps out of the way and casually pops up on the other side.

“We just met,” he grumbles, turning back to his pureed soup, “Nothing more and nothing less about it.”

Boost humors him by chuckling. “Yeah, you met the dick ex Shon, right?”

He wishes it wasn't just a ‘met’. He wishes it was more than ‘met’. Like, decking the Pantoran toxic crybaby across the face, maybe. It would've been a funny story to tell at the moment.

Then of course he gets reminded by the lavish art supply gifts, still untouched on his desk and everytime he looks at it he still feels kinda guilty.

Wolffe sighs and goes to rub his eyes. Look at him. Not even 0800 yet and he's exhausted as kark, especially with Cody's irking presence. He suddenly understands Fox's rare yet loud sleep-deprived complaints when they get on holo. Though the Corrie definitely doesn't share Wolffe's current further exhaustion and frustration catalyst, but damn is the feeling similar.

“Look,” he grumbles into his hands, “Now that I'm apparently the talk of the rotation, I'm gonna clarify that there's nothing going on.” Then he turns to Cody and emphasizes every single word; “I. Don't. Even. Know. Her.”

Cody's loud dramatic gasp startles even the neighboring tables. Not even one of them knew the Marshal Commander of the 7th Sky Corps is capable of dramatics. No matter how unbelievable that is, anyway, must’ve gotten it from the general, and emphasized by the other general and Togrutan padawan.

“YOU DON'T KNOW NIC ERLONNA?!”

“Fuck’s sake–!” Wolffe swats him in the stomach. Cody is not even dodging. “Stop yelling!”

“YOU DON'T KNOW 14 TIMES OSK’ARR NOMINATED AND 5 TIMES BEST ACTRESS WINNER NIC ERLONNA?!”

Patience running thin, Wolffe swiftly turns around and starts swinging his arms.

“Get the kriff out Cod–! oof–” Cody’s knee suddenly slams into his vulnerable stomach, and Wolffe stiff-arms him again, trying his best not to hit the table behind him and spill this morning’s bowl of pureed soup onto the table. “Fuckin’ hell–”

He manages to stretch, swinging his other leg over the bench, and in a split second triumphantly thrusts his leg out into Cody's knees, all while sitting down and sending Cody reeling backwards in surrender. A victorious smirk slides into Wolffe's face, only not to last long as Cody suddenly aims for his head in blinding speed, the sudden assault he manages to block with both of his arms save for Cody's other hand that quickly slips through the defenses and successfully smacks Wolffe across the head.

Laughing while finally walking away like the little shit he is, Cody turns, going backwards in his path. “M’gonna holo Rex and scoop up more juice from the 501st,” he announces, then he cups his hands around his mouth, “Letting vod'ika know that his ori’vod is dating galaxy's famous!”

Wolffe swallows as waves of realization storm him at that moment.

Nic Erlonna… Nico… Nic… that little sticky note…

Kriff does that mean…

Hood over her head. Lavish apartment. Lavish gift. People talking.

Fuck me. That was a real kriffing celebrity.

“You look… unhappy about all this, sir.”

“It’s paps,” Boost says to Comet, “Paps are never fun. Invading your privacy and all.”

“And the fact that the whole thing wasn't going in my favor at all.” Wolffe turns and sits properly again at his firstmeal tray. The protein cubes suddenly look unappetizing. He sighs, eyes sweeping across his three squad members. “It was just a small altercation and I had to step in. Bet you know why.”

“Shon Vatore is her co-star in various holos,” Sinker resourcefully chimes in again, “His obsession with her eventually became too much and she broke up with him for good just last year, but he hadn't been taking it well, as you could see.”

“Crazy ex,” Comet shakes his head, “Couldn't leave her alone. I mean they broke up last year. Someone should've admitted him to a psych hospital or som’n.”

Sinker swallows his food. “Not issuing a restraining order against him is what I don't understand.”

Kark me they're just as bad as Cody. Just how invested are they in Nic Erlonna?

“Yeah you gotta admit the ex was creepy as kark, Wolffe.” The commander looks up from his carbs at the call of his name. Boost looks at him expectantly. “You met him. Thoughts?”

There's a royal string of curses and disrespectful names lined up already.

“Delusional. Intrusive,” Wolffe answers instead (because he's still got dignity and exemplary traits in him that he needs to exhibit to his men). He huffs. “Stupid.”

“Most of the galaxy agrees with you, don't worry,” Sinker laughs. He then nods at Wolffe with respect, and a teasing glint in his eyes. “Very heroic of you, Commander.”

“Believe me, I didn't even speak more than two lines to the di'kut when it happened.”

“No, no, that may be true, but you and your scary-looking presence are helping the media to cook exaggerated stories to gush over in the morning after,” Boost unhelpfully offers.

“It's just news,” Wolffe shakes his head dismissively, “Something that people are going to forget after four-five days. Or maybe even three.”

The trio shares a look, already knowing just how wrong their commander's statement would be. But for now, they spare him a quiet firstmeal, before more people would definitely flock to him and throw teasing questions about the alleged relationship in approximately… two hours, minimum.

Or maybe in fifteen minutes the moment they stroll down the corridor.

“How did you even end up with a clone, Nico?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Mummy, that's the tenth time people's been saying to my ears today and it's not even 0900,” she sighs, “I was in need of a way out. He walked past, then I thought a clone was a good idea.”

“Alright I understand then, honey,” Mummy speaks softly. Nico imagines her mother pouting, arms on the railing of her parent’s bedroom's balcony. “Those paps weren't going easy on you, were they?”

“Like they ever did,” Nico huffs, picking on her breakfast, “I wasn't even aware of them just across the street. According to that still’s angle in Ecumenopolitan.”

A straight amateur shot towards the altercation, but it was clear enough to catch her face even underneath her hood and his underneath his hat, with Shon was fuming as kriff. Must've been during the last moments where the clone positioned himself in front of her.

“They've got a clear shot on this clone too,” Mummy mulls again, “That huge scar over his eye, ugh.”

“Cybernetic,“ Nico supplies, “How many clones do you think in the army fitted with cybernetic eye?”

Mummy hums. “Not much, I think. What cut him so bad he lost an eye?”

Nico stands, having cleaned her plate, and heads to the kitchen. “Beats me, Mummy, but I've got Veeli to go look for this clone.”

“Okay then,” Mummy sighs dramatically, “Gotta go, honey. Your father's waiting. Remember what I taught you; people who help you when you're in trouble–”

“–are the ones we should pay back with kindness. Talk later, Mummy.”

This morning so far has been filled with her overthinking and brooding about the circulating rumors, and specifically feeling bad for the clone. The unwanted attention must be most undesirable for him. For a clone, called ‘property of the Republic’... Yeah that's definitely gonna cause more problems that haven't risen, demanding her management's attention to act in urgency. Like, summoned by the head of the government for meddling with what's theirs…

“Your ingenious move now puts you in all these delicious rumors.”

Her manager Titus strides in through the elevator, Veeli in tow. Veeli is a Mikkian, always in her hand is a datapad, being Nico's personal assistant and all, scarlet skin painted with neutral and all-business facial expression. The accompanying yellow-skinned Zabrak, however, sports an enthusiastic grin across his tattooed face as he rubs his hands together.

“Right?” Nico calls out from the couch, watching them marching in. Her tone changes to actual concern, voicing her inner turmoil. “Though I really didn't mean to. I think I'm putting the clone in too much trouble already. His identity hasn't leaked yet, right?”

Titus shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “If those clones have social media they haven't ratted him out yet.”

Veeli butts in, datapads clutched close to her chest, “Well, to answer Nic's question; no, but it's gonna be any second now if anyone would interview a single clone trooper.”

Nico holds her scoff in. “How could anyone possibly identify a single clone trooper anyway? Even within their ranks? What are the chances?”

Veeli looks hesitant for a second. She trades a look with Titus who had taken his liberty to sit on the couch across Nico. He shrugs. Veeli lets out a breath. “For starters,” she begins, “The guy last night was a Clone Commander in the army.”

In a second Nico hunches forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I'm not,” Veeli answers seriously, now tapping in her datapad, “I had a friend in the GAR medwing who was willing to look through the medical archives. Turns out not everyone lost an eye due to lightsaber wound, so the archive search was unnecessary. His number is CC-3636.”

“Um… Number?”

“Identification number. Serial number. Whatever you wanna call it.”

Nico lets out a noise at the knowledge. Right, they're dubbed as products, anyway. Born with serial numbers makes sense.

“He got a name?”

Veeli is scrolling now. “Hang on… uh, yeah. Army Clone Commander Wolffe of the 104th Battalion.”

“Either way the whole kriffing galaxy now thinks you're dating a clone,” Titus asserts, arms now splaying over the top of the couch. He subtly points at Nico. “That sends political impressions to the public, so I think you need to prepare for shit thrown at you.”

Nico rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, that's the classic Centaxday for me, Titus.”

“Nic, this is huge, okay?” the manager leans forward ardently, “Who knows someone up in the Chancellor office requests you for attendance? You were interacting with their property and now everyone's eyes are on that clone and you!”

“Yeah, and we can't forget Shon either,” Veeli butts in again.

A groan escapes Nico. Both hands scrub down her face as if able to just wipe her quiet frustration away all together. Feeling bad for the elusive clone commander by drawing attention to him, in addition to her auditions and modelling being scrammed together with daily workout sessions, and now, the audacity her ex seems to have yet again to approach her last night and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

“I think this is an opportunity.”

Titus is found grinning wickedly at her once she peeks through her fingers. Nico loves her manager alright, everything is in perfect control thanks to his excellent time management, but sometimes his ideas can be just too creative and daring to execute. See, that kind of smile, among his tattooed face and horns around copper hair smugly slicked back with a concerning amount of hair gel, is the face that manifests such ideas just exactly. But Nico always indulges him anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, hear me out.” Titus scoots to the edge of his seat enthusiastically. “You want Shon to be ridiculed for his treatment and obsession with you. You want the galaxy to hate him. And you're ‘dating’ this clone.”

Nico blinks. “Okay?”

“So show the media you're in a happy relationship with the clone.” Titus spreads his arms triumphantly as if having just pitched the most brilliant idea in the galaxy. “Drive every single love and attention to both of you, leave them gushing all over you, and Shon will be out of the picture soon enough because how good and happy you both are.”

Veeli is facepalming.

Nico shares the sentiment as she looks at the Zabrak in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”

Titus holds her gaze. “I’m as serious as I could ever be.”

“You want me to fake date a clone commander in the galactic army?”

“I want you to use the given gossip to your advantage. You can do anything, Nico. At a given opportunity. And this is it. Plainly handed to you.”

Titus may be great with time management and multitasking solely for her personal branding and public image and all, but sometimes his ideas and encouragement are just…

Nico is actually thinking about it. She can, can't she?

“Besides I think the clones don't look too bad,” Titus shrugs, “And he's a commander. He's the best one can get. We can schedule an appointment to talk to the Chancellor about this, or I don't know, wait for an attendance request from his office, whichever’s faster. Farfetched, not to mention ridiculous, but as far as I know, he's a fan, so we'll see if he could go around the rules for a bit?” He laughs gushingly into his hands. “Maker, new power couple smacking everyone in the face.”

“I can't believe you're shipping her already,” Veeli grumbles, her floating tendrils flicking the air almost in disappointment.

“Hey, not gonna lie, they look great! I dunno how friendly this guy is, but there's certainly chemistry going on already!” Titus laughs, “And that Hot Gal Coruscan-tea ship tag is genius. I know I've always liked them. They came up with hashtag ‘clonic’ for clone and Nic, but now that we know the commander's name, the fanbase better be prepared for-” he makes a whooshing noise while wiggling his fingers around “–Nicolffe.”

Collective groans from both ladies. Utter disappointment from Veeli. Flustered woozy feelings from Nico.

Oh yeah that's right. She's falling for it already. Look at her, she's blushing. Seeing how pinkish Nico's face is, Titus is feeling absolutely victorious right now. Proud of his own (very serious and strategically pitched) joke remains an understatement.

Not gonna lie. Physically speaking, they are oh so excellent. Fit physique – she's almost as tall by a few inches. Killer cheekbones that she could cut herself slapping that face. Jawline game running strong. Those wide shoulders. Exotic bronze shade of skin. Deep, rugged voice, tinged with steadiness and military harshness and wartime experience. Brown eyes that shine when light hits them in a certain angle as if the doors to the heavens above open during the golden hours.

She clears her throat. Blame it to stupid infatuations happening in under 24 hours.

“Okay I admit these copy paste faces aren't that bad,” she mutters sheepishly, voice muffled as her hands still pressed against her face.

Titus barks a laugh. “So you admit it's a good idea! And it's not like we can hire a bounty hunter to off your ex.”

“We can. She just doesn't wanna,” Veeli pitches in.

“And so social resentment is the only way,” Titus says matter-of-factly. “And you've got a galaxywide fanbase! Use it, Nico!”

Before allowing herself to think thrice about it, determination whirrs to life inside her, and Nico finds herself smirking.

“Think I could put up a smug face in the Chancellor's office?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I would!”

“REALLY?!”

“Sure! It's gonna feel like autographing holoposters, I guess. These gunships wouldn't be any different. I'd do anything to make the 104th famous and glorious as I am.”

“Ugh, I love you so much, Nic.”

“I know babes, I love you too.”

“Alright, lines done. Gonna have a hard time choosing your dress… or maybe swimsuits? Oh, uh… sorry.”

“Babes, choose whatever item of clothing you want! Just don't paint me stark naked. As much as I want the Republic to win the war I don't want the Seps to write off the cause of death in their casualty reports with ‘inappropriate body exposure.”

“HAHA! Oh stars you're so funny. Think I'll do swimsuits later.”

“As long as you get my boob size right! I'll be offended otherwise!”

“Any favorites from your Nedd Gala red carpet?”

“Hmm… Oh, that's gotta be that royal blue one with the cape and silver headpiece.”

“The off-shoulder one with a lot of tiny silver stars and thigh slit?!”

“That's the one!”

“YES! MY FAVE TOO! Stars you were an absolute goddess in that one…”

Wolffe expects every single thing to happen this morning (fellow 104th troopers flocking to him, Cody's occasional hazing, Rex's bland and sheepish holo messages, Fox's sleep deprived rants, Bly’s lovesick rants, General Koon’s paternal check-ins with the boys) but never, ever, the sole source of his week-long misery as mentioned above casually merry-making in the 104th hangar with his men as early as 1000.

Especially not about autographed gunship nose art.

Of her stupid famed holomovie gloriousness.

Nor about how his general is standing nearby, hands on hips, looking so terribly proud of the boys’ art endeavors.

As he approaches closer, helmet clipped to his belt, he spots multiple empty drink carriers stacked on top of a crate, and– Force’s sake, Warthog is slurping on a stupid pink drink with a spark of spoiled childish excitement in his eyes. Comet is munching on some snack with orange powder on top of it that makes Wolffe do a double take thinking it's a royal sprinkle of goddamn spice.

Nic Erlonna, reeking pure feminine charm and expensive perfume, is gracing the hangar with her presence; blond hair loose and done in soft curls, sunglasses perched on top of her head as if expecting a royal star fighter ride out under the sun, and some iced drink in her hand (who drinks iced drinks at 1000?). Her statuesque figure, wrapped with some monochromatic smart casual getup. Wolffe registers a certain shade of grey in her attire that looks too familiar…

Oh.

Stupid rich people and their tailored making-a-statement clothes.

Of kriffing course the grey matches his battalion’s markings with incredible accuracy.

And to be honest it goes well with her hair and her eyes–

“Hey, darling!”

Before he can register who-where-what, ohshit happens. That reeked perfume suddenly gets too close to his nostrils than moments ago as he realizes the devil lunges herself into him, affectionately touching his chestplate and pecking him in the cheek.

It all happened in under four seconds.

Then his fight or flight instinct kicks in.

“Geroff–!” He shoves her away from his beloved personal space by her shoulders, only earning a nonchalant toothy grin acting as if the hostile gesture didn't happen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“An impromptu meet and greet with your brothers. I didn't know you clones could be this fun!” Hopping up and down on her feet (those are Force-forsaken damned heels) she excitedly gestures behind her, his own men waving back at him with elated expressions on each and every one of their faces as if winning a million credits in the lottery. Wolffe scowls back (in greeting too). Kark, he's never felt this betrayed before.

“And before that, a quick meeting with your general.”

Wait, what?

Plo Koon suddenly appears next to her.

Wolffe blinks. “Ah. Uh… General, sir.” He half-assed straightens, still completely thrown off by the whole thing.

The General looks at him in utter amusement. “I’m afraid I have other business to attend to, Commander,” he says, “I trust you to accompany Miss Erlonna until she sees it fit to leave the establishment?”

Kark me.

Resisting to roll his eyes, Wolffe clears his throat. “Yes, sir,” he grits out with all due respect, “Until she leaves.”

She kriffing giggles at that part.

The General turns to the woman. “Wolffe is my confidant. You’re already in good hands, Miss Erlonna.”

“Don’t I know it, sir. If something happens, it wouldn't be the first time for him to be the hero of the day.”

Nico’s smile seems genuine as it reaches her eyes, or maybe it's the acting skills to sweeten her behavior around government (or Jedi, whatever) figures.

They bid goodbye; Nico opts for the go-to have a nice day and Wolffe with a curt nod to the Jedi, and the Kel Dor himself with a friendly wave of the hand to them before marching away.

He wonders just how much time Plo Koon has wasted surfing on the holonet.

And then Nico slurps on her drink noisily next to him, making him slowly turn to her in disbelief.

Olive green eyes lazily blinking up at him. Then, she sighs, that confident and gleeful upbringing crumbling apart as Wolffe isn't backing down from glaring at her.

“Okay.” Her shoulders slump even further. “I understa–”

“Respectfully, you don't,” Wolffe sharply interrupts. He folds his arms across his chest. “Start explaining. Now.”

“I was just about to get to it before you interrupted, darling,” Nico smirks impishly. “Now, how about you take me on a walk so I can start explaining?”

Wolffe grimaces at the idea of walking around the premises with the gossip still running hot among the clones. “No. I want it here and now. What were you doing with General Plo Koon?”

“Talk,” Nico shrugs, swirling the ice in her drink. “Something about a mandate from the Supreme Chancellor himself upon my request.”

He snorts. “The Chancellor abide by your request?”

“I suppose because of my talent and charms!”

Kark me. Stupid famous rich peop–

“–so it's not surprising he's a massive fan of my holomovies and that he keeps up with the gossip.”

Okay look, he's been living the past week like a kriffing celebrity himself. It's a whole load of nightmare. Walking down every single corridor, heck even attending a session in the war room, grants him teasing glances from his brothers. It's driving him crazy. His only escape is no longer gunning away the targets in the shooting range, but locking himself inside his quarters doing certain things with stylus and flimsi.

Wolffe really hates when unanticipated things get thrown his way. Not a single briefing and they expect him to freestyle himself out of the situation. Sure he can do that with the CC programming and all, but if the news isn't as fun as the words request and Chancellor and gossip weaved into a single sentence with the source of his weeklong misery saying all that to his face, he'd be far more grateful. At least it'll spare him another grey hair. Looking back at himself, Fox is probably having the best month of his entire life right now.

And so as he registers it, processing it again and again, he just knows the entire world hates him right now.

“What did you do?”

Nico sips on her drink again. The straw comes off her lips with a pop. “This is going to be a really lengthy and serious discussion but with me in these heels, I'd really hate it if we're not sitting down. So, you have somewhere in mind?”

Sighing heavily and resolutely groaning, Wolffe turns around and storms out of her vicinity. The click-clack of her heels resound through the durasteel flooring of the hangar as she catches up to him half running. Wolffe scoffs. In four inches? It's impressive. It's a wonder she hasn't tripped yet. He quietly hopes she'll stagger or something.

She doesn't. She follows him in stride, hurried pace matching his own albeit a few steps behind. A few passing clones gasp and call out to her in adoration, to which she answers in passing.

“Sure, hand me a permanent stylus, I'll sign your armor!

“I’ll catch up to you later babes!

“A still? In a minute, okay, babes? He's walking too fast, haha…

“Oh yeah, with this getup I do support the 104th fully. And the entire Grand Army of the Republic!

“Where am I going? Oh y'know, somewhere private.”

Holy kriff. She did not just say that.

Wolffe slams his fist into a panel to one of the assembly rooms, the door swooshing open at his proximity. Both then enter, the click-clack of her heels now is a false and horrendous symphony to his ears, tickling the big bad resentful beast down in the bottom of his gut. The noise stops, followed by a soft grunt and another noise of plopping down a cushioned seat. When Wolffe turns around, Nico is already situated, one leg over the other, eyes on him in serious anticipation.

Frustration still comes out of him in heaving breaths as he bores down to her. “You have exactly three minutes.”

“Very commanding, but I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Nico clicks her tongue dismissively. “I believe you've heard what's been circulating around the holonet?”

At that, Wolffe scowls. His arms cross over his chest. “S’not been going in my favor.”

Her grin grows even wider. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She subtly points her drink cup at him. “So the word is, the galaxy's most famous actress is dating a clone trooper of the army. How did they meet? How could she set her bar that far too low? Well, it's simple. I fell in love and swooned over your patriotism and heroism, and now the whole Grand Army of the Republic is under my patronage as well because of my kindness and compassion towards these clones.”

Wolffe laughs. Swear to Force laughs. “Have fun dreaming. You just fabricated that the moment you woke up this morning.”

Nico giggles along. “Exactly, darling. But, hm, it's last week actually. But! We're dating now, whether you like it or not. Well I, for one, like it.”

“I don't,” Wolffe grunts, the dry humor dissipating completely from his eyes.

Nico doesn't reply. With the smug smile gracing her painted lips, she sits there almost contentedly, olive green eyes seeming to assess the moment and taking every smallest movement he makes as his reaction. The drink in her hand is almost empty leaving the ice, with red lip stain on the top of the straw.

“I'm not finished yet,” she says to him, still smiling, maybe to show how nice she is (she really isn't she's a kriffing devil), with an additional ounce of seriousness, “Allow me to backtrack. The morning after that encounter with my dick ex Shon, you bet the holonet was full with pictures of you and me and the devil himself at that side of the street. People speculated, and somewhere in those twelve hours, you and me became us.”

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes.

“Now the whole purpose of this pretend relationship setting is to take Shon Vatore out of the picture. He's narcissistic, he's obsessed with me, he's disgusting, he's a dick, alright?” Nico goes on determinedly. “I want him out of my life, and you might be the only one who could help me.”

Wolffe’s eyelids crack open. He's sure he was just hearing the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his life. There are certainly other ways to do it that don't involve him.

“If you want it so bad to ‘take him out of the picture’,” he suggests darkly, “why not hire a bounty hunter instead?”

Nico is unfazed. “Both my assistant and manager have been coaxing me to do exactly that since ex and I broke up last year, believe me,” she shrugs, meeting his gaze, “But if I do that, my reputation will crumble and my good public image will cease to diabolical. My fans wouldn't hate me for that but all tracks would obviously lead to me, and I'd be helpless in the court of law.”

Wolffe shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “You big figures always have something up your sleeve if it comes to that.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, darling, that's not how I roll.” The straw plucks into the corner of her lips, and she sips noisily, eyes distant. Finishing, she inhales deeply. “I’m clean, believe it or not. Save for the tiny case of spice I use in desperate situations to numb the nerves and everything.”

“Get to the point,” Wolffe huffs impatiently.

“Hey you threw the ball,” Nico raises her hands, “So since blatant murder won't work in my favor, I've been relying on social resentment. I want people to hate him and forget him, and so I think you can help me with that.”

“I am a commander in the galactic army,” Wolffe growls, his feet carrying him forward dominantly. Nico hasn't fazed. “I fight war. I don't fight toxic former partners, and I'm not teaming up with the alleged innocent side of the story. I'm not gonna be your personal bodyguard.”

“Ah ah, there's a difference between bodyguard and boyfriend and you, my darling Commander, are the latter.”

“Tomato tomato, woman. I'm not–”

“I’ve proposed half of my annual earnings to the Grand Army of the Republic.”

She had shot up to her feet. He's still trying to register the words that came out of her when she joins him in his vicinity – too close for his own liking, her heels clicking too loudly, too close.

Nico stares him down, the impish look diminishes from her features and is replaced by intense seriousness. “That means from this year forward, I'll be financially supporting your military funds and your personal wellbeing and needs,” she says lowly, “Some or few, if not everything, will be under my name – effective immediately whenever the discussion comes around to a close in the next Senate session.”

Wolffe has been breathing noisily he hadn't realized, shoulders heaving to stow his aggravation as if contending against the worse fate of hers. No. His is much worse. He didn't ask for this.

“The length I choose to go through, Commander,” Nico continues. She takes one more step. Their chests now are barely touching. “I sacrifice my riches, a handful of my sponsors, my future projects, and probably half of my supporters throughout the galaxy turning into haters, just because I choose to strike a deal to play date with a clone.”

Before he can resist it, he averts his glare.

Nico sighs softly, “That means it says something about my political views, as I abandoned all of the above. Promises of something nice.” Her menacing tone dissipating, Wolffe hears. He focuses his eyesight on something else. “But this is nicer, even if it takes to play this game with you to get rid of my toxic ex boyfriend. And to be honest Commander, I'm not even mad about it.”

That makes him turn sharply to face her. Nico's jaws are no longer tense and nostrils no longer flaring. Mouth slightly agape as she exhales through it. For the first time that day Wolffe maps her countenance in close proximity, and finds himself baffled to the absence of the usual mirth and smugness.

Nico is pleading, though she doesn't say that out loud. Wolffe doubts she's the type to show weakness out loud. Instead, she sacrifices almost everything – all the luxurious privileges she owns. Career, profit, fame. Money, power, glory. All the winning hand, she forfeited some. Believing in another wave of luck that waits if she won't give away anything.

And now this is her set of cards – a hopeful, daring hand. If this order really comes straight from the Chancellor's office, with the official mail awaiting, he wouldn't have much choice anyways.

“All that for your ex?” Wolffe finds himself speaking. He shakes his head. “Not even worth it.”

A twitch of a smirk in her lips. “I play stocks, my credits are everywhere and limitless,” replies Nico, “And as long as I have a roof over my head and water to survive and a clear blue sky to look upon in hope, I'll live.”

Wolffe scoffs under his breath.

Nico ignores his input. “I approached the Chancellor with my proposition,” she says, smugness returning to her tone bit by bit, “Lucky he's a big fan. Big green from him. In return, by his wrinkly kindness, the old man agreed that I could borrow a certain asset of the Republic to fit my personal agenda.”

“You’re an idiot for even doing this.”

“You don't have a say in this. It's happening.”

“I’m not deaf.” With all courteousness thrown out of the airlock, he jabs a finger into her shoulder. “Just satisfied to say that to your face.”

Nico grabs his hand away and squeezes. The smugness makes its full return to her person as she smirks. “You're not my first hater, Wolffe. Whatever curse you're gonna hurl my way won't break me, and it certainly won't satisfy you.”

Kark, he hates that she's right. He's unsatisfied. Angrily, he breaks free from her grip. “I hate that we met that night,” he seethes.

“Such a whiny baby. You know what? You don't have a choice in this.”

“As if I’ve ever been presented with any.”

That gets her to shut up.

Wolffe takes a step back, relishing how the realization breaks into the countenance. This time it's his turn to smirk.

“Would you just… focus on the trade? I'll be direct about this, okay?” she shakes the confusion away, folding her arms on top of each other in weightiness. “We’re dating now, and me being in the spotlight every time I come out of my penthouse, once your name is out, you are too. I need you to follow all these social cues, the basics of it. What we natborns usually do, not bound by the code of your institution. You don't get it, you ask me, and I'll tell you what to do. Is that clear?”

He growls. “Are we always a property to you?”

Nico blinks. “It's… what's stated in the law.”

“Of course. I'm your slave now, mistress. Tell me what to do.”

“As if you're not a slave to the Republic yourself.”

“It’s different. We serve the Republic with a purpose!”

“The Republic you're serving is the same Republic whose military funds I aid very generously!” she raises her voice. “Wanna up me on that, or do we agree to disagree?”

There it is. The silence. That gets him to finally shut up and dismiss his upcoming protests.

Nico squares her shoulders and pretends to fix the buttons on her sleeve. “You’re allowed to come by to my place and spend time with me whenever you're on leave. Your general is coordinating your usual errands to be shared between your captains as we speak so everybody's prepared,” she continues, watching every twitch of reaction in his face, “So for you, no need to worry as much as you usually do about the upcoming campaigns. You still go out there, I won't hinder you, and I'll be your good little girlfriend waiting for you to come home. When you're on leave, you're allowed to be your own person.”

Nico is thankful she came to the Chancellor prepared, thanks to Titus and Veeli’s help.

The Commander still can't accept the truth. There's doubt still, she can see it. His glare is unwavering, and the way his jaw tenses and twitches in annoyance every now and then somehow spurs her on to defeat him in this useless argument.

To get him to see what more there is, she changes strategy.

“Commander,” she starts, “I did this for your men too. I pay for better rations, I pay for your men's needs starting from socks of higher quality, I pay for comfier mattress in your barracks, I financially support every single one of your brothers stationed on Coruscant. As the patron of the GAR, I'll make sure every single need is fulfilled. For the wellbeing of these men. And all you have to do?” Her arms spread, smirking. “Be my boyfriend in the fake dating scenario. And I assure you, Commander Wolffe, I'll be attending to your needs too. No matter how difficult. I'll give you anything you want.”

That gets Wolffe to not so subtly look up to meet her gaze.

“Anything I want?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just don't get any ideas about wanting the war to be over as we speak.”

It's not like he'd be left with a choice of what to do after the war is over, anyway. He's made exactly for that purpose, after all.

Wolffe is crumbling apart. Nico pushes further.

“Anything you think I have control of. Tell me, and it's yours. You just have to agree.”

He scoffs. “‘Just have to’?”

She nods up at him questioningly.

“You said it yourself,” he scowls, “It's as if I have a choice.”

“I don't either, okay?!” she yells, breathing sharply. “I wish it wouldn't be this difficult. I wish it would be just a random civilian so I wouldn't have to sacrifice my career prospects and a lot of my possessions, but the fates have been playing funny that they chose you. A clone commander of the army bound by so many rules, that I'd have to put on a forced smile and drink tea from a fancy set of cup and saucer in the Chancellor's office to practically ask for this stupid arrangement.”

Wolffe meets her gaze apathetically. “As I said,” he reiterates, turning around, “It’s been working in your favor only. Not mine.”

At the downward infection of his tone, she laughs. Laughs. She's certain Wolffe is just playing games now, and it's kriffing funny. His resolve has crumbled and he's denying shit now.

“Okay, Dramatic Closing Line. I see you've always been this horrible person.”

Silence, before a quiet, “Correct.”

“Not my first Kessel Run, I'm afraid,” she quips.

Wolffe hasn't moved further to the door, seemingly contemplating.

Nico sighs, her schedule swarming her mind. “Look, I'm tired, I still have to meet and greet more of the clones ‘cause I've promised, not to mention possibly running into another unit as we go, I've got modelling at 1500 and a dinner reservation at 2000.” Her heels click against the flooring as she nears him again. Softly, with her gaze drawn to the back of his black skirt thing, she speaks, “I just want this thing to go well in public. Put on a mask whenever we're out, you can hate me all you want behind closed doors. I just want you to act like we're the most powerful couple in the galaxy.”

Wolffe finally turns to face her again. The scowl is ever permanent on his face, still etched into the bronze tone of his skin. Nico wonders if he's been born with it and how his face isn't twitching in muscle soreness already.

It's an expectant scrutiny. Wolffe is expecting something from her.

She sighs, looking down to her heels this time, and internally goes wrecking-balling her smugness altogether.

“I'm sorry, for dragging you into this. I didn't have a choice, especially not when the media in Coruscant is this strong,” she gulps in sudden nervousness. Wolffe might be a bit… scary up close, especially with that scar. “And we have to work together… either way. So uh, why don't we start to warm up with a proper introduction first?”

Nico bats away her nervousness and cranks up her confidence again as she offers a hand.

“I'm Nic. Those close to me call me Nico, short from Nicosalis,” she says, smiling a bit and shuffling on her feet, “You can call me Nico too.”

Wolffe stares at her hand, frowning and all, as if deciding if it's toxic to the touch. With a sigh of his own, he probably decides to internally call for truce, seemingly fighting with his own morale.

He takes her hand, shaking it but firmly. “CC-3636.”

She blinks. “Huh. That's it?”

“Our given Basic names are sacred.”

“But I know your name already.”

“An adverse leak of information.”

“Don’t blame me for being famous due to butterfly kissing with a lightsaber,” she rolls her eyes. Wolffe meets her gaze, alarmed. She grins. “Being the most famous person in the galaxy even surpassing the Chancellor means having connections everywhere, my darling Commander.”

Wolffe rolls his eyes skywards, his head almost lolling back. Nico hides her snickers behind a hand.

“And since we're dating each other, Wolffe.” She goes as far as calling him by name now. “I’ll have to ask you that we need to be convincing. With occasional… public display of affection.”

Wolffe gives her no reaction.

“Is, um, is that a problem for you? You've got experience with this kinda stuff, right? You ever engaged in a relationship before?”

He sighs heavily. His voice is quiet when he admits, “Never romantic. Never long term.”

“Ah right, good ole stress release.” Nico nods genuinely in understanding. “I wish I could say I don't wanna make you uncomfortable for doing this, but I need us to look like we're completely in love. Not as sappy as children's fairytale, but I think you get it.”

Before she can register it, Wolffe suddenly drags his feet forward, boots thumping against the flooring. Their chests touch again.

“Public only,” he proposes.

“Deal,” Nico says quickly with a nod. Then, with a smirk, “Well, aren't we in public?”

Wolffe recoils slightly, a look of surprise – not disgust – on his features. “The hell? You horny or somethin’?”

“No. Maybe? Maybe not?” she finds herself giggling and arching her back to the heat suddenly and pleasurably pooling at her core, “Anyway, just saying.”

Wolffe shakes his head, his gaze serious. “You... always like this?”

“Depends on what ‘this’ means.”

“You’re considerate in one moment. You act like you care,” he contends – his words hold weight in a single moment for the first time in their entire conversation, “Then you act like you don't care next. Is using people to your benefit a hobby of yours?”

She scoffs away his accusations easily. “I’m a public figure, Wolffe. I want people and their attention to benefit me, if that isn't clear enough.”

“You’re asking for attention?” he growls, the voice coming deep from inside his chest, “That what you want right now?”

“If I say yes, would you indulge me?”

With her challenge, Nico leans in, their noses touching. The Commander isn't recoiling or moving away. Excitement blossoms inside her chest as she looks forward to the prospect of teasing the kark out of him and finally getting him to give in, to see what kind of man she's dating.

Disappointingly, Wolffe leans away. His jaw tenses.

“Not giving you that satisfaction.”

“Yeah?” Nico continues prodding him, giving him a sultry look that always works in adult zines, eyelashes batting against her cheeks. “I'll let myself know I'm dating a coward, then.”

The last thing she sees before she turns around is his shoulders heaving, long, harsh breaths coming out heavily and noisily out of his nostrils.

A hand clasps on her shoulder, roughly yanking her towards him. A blink and a second later, she gasps, eyes blown wide in shock when another hand wraps around her throat, fingers clamping down onto her pulse points, her own hand coming up to clutch the perpetrator’s wrist.

Wolffe's breath is tickling her lips, their noses rubbing. A faint, rough sound emits out of his chest with every exhale of breath. They're but separated in just another inch, with either of their favor to lean in and get lost in abrupt, careless, selfish desires.

Once the sensation seeps in – her own pulse beating urgently under his gloved fingers, the fabric scratching against the bare skin of her neck in every pulse, heat crawling up her jaws and entire face – the smallest of moans squeezes out of her throat and falls off her lips. Upon the sound, the amber in his irises constricts, blown with heat.

“Nice. You've found out I'm into choking,” she rasps, features loosening to succumb to the lust, “Buy me dinner first before this turns into hate fucking?”

He jostles her. She whimpers not expecting the movement.

So that's the man he is. Peeling his layers off, getting him riled up, sprinkle the ongoing talk with seduction, and she has him. Or is it him who has her? The man who has her is a man who outrightly acts once he spots insubordination.

It fits her just perfectly.

Her lips part, tongue coming loose and nestles just before the edge of her bottom lip. He glances down at it and draws a sharp breath.

“I did tell the clones we met in passing that we were heading somewhere private,” she murmurs, the delightful sensation of her own head swimming with blood struggling to circulate properly is hauling her up to new heights. “Might as well play the act?”

Wolffe growls. “Shut up, woman.”

“Or what?” Nico challenges, struggling to keep her eyes open and bore down into his because it just feels so good she just wants to close her eyes. It excites her to get him riled up, to challenge his place. “Just a little kiss, Commander. Doesn't have to turn into a full make out session unless you want to, of course. I like where I am now.”

His grip on her falters for a split second as he licks his lips.

Nico huffs a triumphant laugh, her breath mingling with his an inch away.

“The length you chose to go through won't get you anywhere,” he growls lowly, teeth gritting, look hazy behind half-closed lids.

“Gets me to seduce a commander of the galactic army,” she taunts him, nearing the touch of his glistening lips despite his grip. “Gets him to steal a kiss any second now.”

The tension breaks the moment Wolffe releases his grip, and with Nico falling into him, he crashes his lips into hers halfway. A pleasant groan rumbles in her throat as she tastes him on his lips, her body instantly melting into him and his armor. He grabs her by the shoulder, yet the moment he drags his hands upwards to cup the sides of her face, his lips part and openly accept her gasping mouth, catching her lips again and again, and fiercely so.

Her own breath catches in her throat. Wolffe is unstoppable. She underestimates his strength. One of his hands weaves into her hair, pulling her even closer and making her even more breathless. His grip on her is too strong to push away for a mere intake of breath. Dark grunts rumble from his chest as he sucks and nips on her bottom lips relentlessly, proving his point, standing his ground, settling on top of the food chain and reminding her who's over who.

They break away, but solely for his own need to draw more air into his lungs, before devouring her mouth again out of hunger. Not lust. Vengeful hunger.

He's angry, at her, for pushing him over the cliff of this very predicament of her own making. Nico can feel the pent up frustration bleeding out of him into every sharp bite to her lips, into every sudden nudge of the tip of his tongue.

Then, something hard presses against her thigh. Nico doesn't need to look down. A timid hand trailing down from his chestplate stops at his utility belt, reminded of the rigid crotch part of his armor she hasn't found the term of, though she's certain he couldn't be not hard.

Deciding not to do it in here, Nico fights back, pushing into and leaning away from his attacks on her mouth, brushing her own lips against his thinner ones, his stubble scratching against her skin. She playfully bites down once, but he, stronger with his carnal vengeance, harshly returns it twice as if a punishment – the fleeting thought alone and the sting from the bite strikes a new wave of heat between her thighs, her walls clenching around nothing and she moans into his mouth at the misfortune.

Big mistake. Just as her mouth opens, he remains untiring with his prodding tongue and violently shoves himself inside, harshly brushing against her own. She gasps, mindlessly starting to accept him in battle. Wolffe rocks his hard-on into her thigh, unscrewing a deep grunt out of him and into her mouth, the sound making her moan again.

Kriff, had they been in her apartment instead of one of these GAR meeting rooms…

Wolffe pulls away first, the movement abrupt and carries him two steps backwards and away from her touch, seemingly sober all of a sudden. Nico watches him take off his glove while still breathless, dragging the pad of his thumb across his swollen lips – the sight, her handiwork, making her draw a sharp breath – and wipes off a smudged carmine red stain.

Wordlessly, Nico digs into her pocket and offers him a handkerchief.

As he uses the condensation on her drink cup to scrub the stain away – with several questioning glances for her to check and equal responses of a head nod and shake and a finger pointing to where he missed – yeah, she definitely needs to retouch too before they leave the room.

Another five minutes consisting of them finally trading verbal conversation – albeit timidly – to find a close equivalent of a mirror in the room, several pat downs, and a couple swipes of lip retouching later, in the middle of the stage, Nico clears her throat awkwardly. It catches his attention as he fiddles with his glove.

“You're living a trillion trillion people's dream, Wolffe,” she says, gaze fixed into him. “Act like you're special. The entire galaxy would've done anything to be where you are right now.”

After the brief argument they traded earlier, she decides to swallow the I want you to… back and leave it unsaid. It gets her actually thinking during the lull of their cleanup, internally fussing already over just how far the treatment they've received until the slave jokes are but usual sarcasm that inflicts pain no more.

Smugly, selfishly for a bit, she thinks; maybe proposing patronage over the GAR – over the wellbeing of its clone army, to be exact – has been a good idea after all? Next to making out with her arranged commander boyfriend, that actually makes her feel great and confident about her position.

“Wanna head out now?” Nico nods towards the door, a hesitant smile gracing her lips.

Wolffe is looking a bit more tolerant than several minutes ago during their headstrong and suggestive stand down – the situation finally gets into him, or it's the kiss that's that good. And it really was good, if she'd say so herself. Judging by his shoulders and jaw no longer tense, he'd probably agree as well.

They slip out of the meeting room together, now side by side unlike the way they come in. Nico manages to pull a straight sabacc face as if they'd just having a proper verbal discussion that doesn't involve making out at all, while Wolffe is a bit struggling. Though she's sure he's one talented enough to cover his true countenance, probably it's because of the helmet because there's an unconvincing frown between his brows now.

A few troopers in passing throw them a knowing glance. It's enough for Nico’s external wall to crumble and make her cheeks fluster.

They reach the hangar. The 104th boys still in their spots, either actually washing the gunships like they're supposed to do (most of them are), or going to paint the nose of the transport vehicle (one of them is already graced with her image, wearing some silver sequin gown she thinks she had in one of the awards she attended a couple of years ago), or chilling around with the snacks she brought in.

Wolffe is taking in the sight too. He's a bit relaxed at the sight of his brothers, she notices.

She clears her throat, gathering his attention. She smiles sweetly at him. “Guess I'll see you at 2000.”

Grunting, the look he gives her is a combination of annoyance and confusion. “Care to make that clear?”

Nico looks at him in disbelief.

“You didn't catch that?” she huffs a laugh. “Dinner reservation, my darling Commander. Heard it's called a date nowadays.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @ladylucksrogue @msmeredithrose @filamentlights

37 notes · View notes

thisisxli · 8 months ago

Text

Crimson Kalon

.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・

Vocab:

Kalon - (n.) Beauty that is more skin-deep.

Rs: Ejiro Kirishima x Vamp!fem reader

Warnings:

slight stalking, biting,

blood, suggestive themes,

obsessive reader,

reader is kinda pervy,

slight ghosting, reader is

kind of a yandere

Summary: the reader who's a vampire in the quirk world, strangely has an obsession with a red spiky-haired man. Maybe it was in her blood to desire him for claiming the colour red or the way his antics had her heart blooming. What do you do when you take a few sips of his blood? Will it ruin your image and friendship?

Wc: 3.4k

ʚ ɞ

One-shot/drabble.

ʚ ɞ

You didn't know when it started. You didn't know how you ended up following him when school ended. Even when dorms were created, you found yourself drawn to his room. The time everyone was competing what room was best, you savored your sweet time wandering the small space. His room was rather eccentric.

Hagakure had caught you sniffing one of his belongings but that became a sworn secret between you two.

You remember seeing him for the very first time. Red was all you saw and maybe that's just what made you tingle inside, to form some kind of spark. No mortal made you feel this way, not unless you were drinking their blood of course. You swear you're not a bad guy but then again, it doesn't hurt to drink from somebody time to time. That's also what has you drawn, because he was so so nice.

"Heyy- (Y/N), right?"

Usually, nobody goes up to you first which was odd to you when he first spoke. It was like your name rolled off his tongue like a song was being sung and you loved every single part of it. Maybe it was your vampirism that was causing all this.

or maybe just the way his skin glistens when he's sweaty, rock hard abs flexing when he stretches.

You fawned over the boy every chance you got to your friends and honestly, they were kind of sick of it but you didn't care. Sometimes you've wondered

what did his blood taste like? Dark and metallic? Or thick as his ego? Oddly, your thoughts were drifting into... other thoughts. But that can hold another time when you both have the time and equally ready. At least you hoped.

When Aizawa is just lecturing his ass away in class, you can't help but stare at Kirishima across from class, biting your lip. Gosh, was he fine. You would stare at his neck the whole class time all while sinking a fang into your own lip, drawing blood. You were aware that some of your other classmates could see your little expressions but honestly, did you care what they think? That'll just show them how you want Kirishima, and maybe for him to be yours alone. The thought about sinking your fangs into his neck had you rolling your eyes back. To feel the sweet hot relief of his blood on your tongue.

Your stomach nearly jumps every time his vibrant eyes stare into yours, making you fiddle with your hands, wiggling your toes, or just biting your lip.

When you're training, he's just SOO...

You didn't even have the words.

Your fangs were unbreakable as were his body. It was almost like you were made for each other, you think.

One time when you felt bold, you scooped some blood from his finger when he got a paper cut, putting it in your mouth all while purposely trying to seem innocent.

"Sorry, Kiri! Couldn't help myself."

He blushed in return when he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, it's- it's fine.."

His voice had you in shambles.

Right now, you were both training with each other. You were helping with his durability and endurance. And it just so happened that no one was around. Good for you.

You grunt when you swing a pillar at him, his arms making an 'X' to block from the attack. He was incredibly strong. That was also what you had admired about him and adore. You swing the pillar at him again, accidentally hitting the side of his neck. You gasp and quickly drop the pillar to the side, rushing to his side when he groans in pain and clutch in between his neck and shoulder.

"Kirishima! I'm- shit..! I'm so sorry-"

You hover over him, flailing your arms around. You did NOT mean to do that. Fucking shit, you were an idiot.

You watch him retreat from his hardened form before cracking his neck side to side. "Eh.. I'm fine I guess.. I didn't expect you to go that hard. And it wasn't really expected. I should've seen it coming, am I right?"

You swallow thickly when you see a cut on his cheek and on his neck. You honestly didn't mean to actually hurt him but damn.. Maybe it was worthwhile? "Can.. Can I see your wound?"

Kirishima looked up at you confused for a second before gently padding his neck. "O-oh! Yeah, sure, go right on ahead."

He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. You kneel down close in front of him. Your gaze fixates on his lips before his neck. "Kirishima.." He looks up at you again, a small lop-sided smile on his face. You gently wrap your hands around his head an shoulder, leaning your head down to his neck before you started drinking his blood. Kirishima, who was caught by surprise didn't know how to react. Should he pull you away? Probably. Yes. But it kind of felt nice. He doesn't know why it does but it just does.

He nearly couldn't suppress a whimper when he felt your tongue swirling around the small cut. Gently, he pushed you away from him. You let him do so, staring at him. Reality hit you like a brick. You feel embarrassment and shame grow inside every single one of your insides. Yet, Kirishima was in his own world, staring back at you. Your lips were covered in his blood. Butterflies danced around his lungs.

But before he could even stop you, you run away, wiping the remaining blood on your lips. Watching you run away kind of had him feeling bad. His hand reached out for you but he didn't get up to go chase after you. He'll talk to you tomorrow. Definitely. When everything in his head is sort out.

You lay in bed encased in your thoughts, reminiscing of the past events that just occurred. Gosh, that was fucking embarrassing. Who randomly latches themselves onto a classmate to drink their blood? Where was your filter? Self-control went out of the room.

Embarrassment ate away at your gut and you honestly wanted to bang your head against a metal wall.

The other side of you though, liked it. It was all your vampirism to blame. His blood was thick and savory on your tongue, skin so smooth and hard under your teeth, and the way his blood's metallic scent came seeping into your nose. The taste of his sweat. All of that got you excited. You rub your thighs together, one of your hands trailing up from your pelvis to your neck. You bite your bottom lip. Kirishima had this much of a effect on you which was beyond crazy. The thought of him excited you and you were here for it.

But honestly, your dignity was nearly gone after the embarrassment that occurred today so you had no idea how you were gonna face him the next few days.

The next two school days, you were avoiding him and you made sure you did it at all costs. He was confused and he felt like he personally hit home for you, he wanted to apologize but every time he approached you, you would immediately walk away. He was kind of butt-hurt, his ego busted when he had Tsu ask you what was going on and you said you just didn't want to talk to him.

He obviously wasn't going to give up that easily but jeez. He sighed, crossing his arms and rests his chin on top.

"Everything good?"

He shifts his head to the left, spotting his pink-haired friend. He sighed again, slightly pouting. "Yeah.. But (Y/N) won't talk to me after we trained alone together..

I feel like it's kind of my fault- but I mean, I know it isn't. But I kind of just feel bad, y'know?"

Mina nods in understanding, her hazel irises lingering on Kirishima for a moment. She sighs along with him, pondering for a moment. She wasn't best friends with you but you were both definitely close. She pinches her chins in between her fingers, looking up in the ceiling before looking back at Kirishima again, smirking. "Kirishima! I thought you were smart!"

He flinches in surprise, confusion written on all over his face. "Wha?- what are you talking about?"

"Context clues, idiot! It's so obvious!" She clenches both of her hands into a fist, waiting for Kirishima to get the hint. When two minutes pass, he still didn't get it. He was thinking long and hard. What could it have been?

Mina groans before leaning in and whispering in his ear, "she likes you, dumbass!" Kirishima's cheeks blaze up, matching his hair. "No way! You- you're joking!" Mina shakes her head at him, taking in his reaction.

"I'm not manly enough for her!" He looks away dramatically with closed eyes, one hand in a fist to his heart and the other stretched away towards Mina. "Oh get over it, Dorito Hair."

You, from the distance, hanging out with Tsu, Uraraka, and Hagakure, watched their whole interaction. You were across the room so you didn't really get to hear them, but seeing her so close to Kirishima had you fuming. "(Y/N).. hey.. Are you okay?" Uraraka looks at you with concern, nervously fiddling with her fingers when a sweat bead dribbles down her temple. "Yeah, you have this deadly scary look on your face, it's not cute!" You hear Hagakure chime in.

You hear the girls bicker about Hagakure's blunt comment but you could honestly care less. You grit your teeth when you see them lean in again, faces closer than ever. You scowl, moving your way past the girls. "(Y/N)! Hey wait!- are you oka-"

"I'm going to the bathroom!" You cut off Uraraka. You didn't mean to boast at her but honestly, seeing Kirishima and Mina's interaction had you beyond ticked off.

"So basically... When me and her were training, I got caught off guard for a little bit when I relaxed. My body wasn't completely hardened so when she striked at me, she gave me a crazy bruise and a few cuts. When she went ahead to check for the minor injuries.... She kinda just.. latched onto me and started drinking my blood."

"WHAAT??!"

Kirishima winces, piping his hand down, suggesting her to lower her volume. "Quiet down, will ya? I don't want anyone else to know this.. I know she's probably embarrassed by this, man.."

Mina shuts her mouth completely but is absolutely bewildered. She knew you had a fat crush on Kirishima but for you to be this crazy about him?!

"She must likes you tons!" Mina triumphantly stuck her thumb up, imaginative steam flaring out of her nostrils. Kirishima's cheeks heat up, scratching the back of his head. "I guess so.. I think I like her too. It was subtle before but that was just because we're doing hero stuff, y'know? But now I'm coming face-to-face with it. I don't know what to do, Mina- help me-" Kirishima whines, bowing his head down at her, clasping his hands in a prayer.

You came back in the room, ears hot as ever. What enraged you even more was when he was still close to her, but close at her boobs! That should be you! You felt embarrassment creeping up inside of you as your heart shrivels. Honestly, you didn't blame either of the two if they liked each other or if they were together. They went to the same middle school together and all. But you can't help but feel jealous; do you even have the right? You watch them talk more and more before seeing them glance back at you which they immediately look away, quickly to resort to whispering in each other's ears. Are you talking about you? Talking shit maybe? Shit, maybe he was talking shit about you, talking about the nasty encounter you guys had at training.

"Hey."

You turn, unknowingly teary-eyed, meeting Bakugou's red eyes. His brows weren't crinkled together and he held an unusual calm expression. "You like shitty-hair, don't you?" Your sullen expression quickly turning into a surprised one, your cheeks turning pink. "Wh-what?"

"I see the way you look at Shitty-hair. It's obvious you like him." When the fuck did Bakugou notice anything about you? When did he start to give a fuck?

"Don't get them wrong," he nods off past you, towards Mina and Kirishima who were still whispering to each other. "Kirishima likes you too. He probably doesn't know it yet, but he does. Whatever one of you idiots did that made you guys stop talking needs to step up. It's annoying having to watch this." Bakugou looks away when he shoves his hands in his pockets, a small scowl on his face. You were surprised. Was he giving you advice or a heads-up? Either way, this was.. a shocker, especially coming from him. A vein irked in his temple, gritting his teeth together. Andd.. There was his wrinkle. "At least say something you damn idiot!"

A week had gone by and before you knew it, it was New Years Eve.

There was a festival that was held out in the middle of Mutsufasu, about everyone in your class attended, including others from the other classes. The night had set in, leaving the stars to shine down above the light of the festival. Lanterns were being lit, booths and concessions were being held, and a lot of people were wearing yukatas and kimonos.

You were wearing a kimono with the color base being black, your haneri, obiage, and obijime being a scarlet red. Your obi was black with light ash brown coloured lines etched across with red detailed flowers adorning at the bottom of your kimono and sleeves. Your hair was up and done nicely with fake red and black flowers above your ear, some small pieces displayed on the other parts of your hair. You walked the streets with Uraraka, Midoriya, Lida, and Tsu, buying food and all sorts of things off the booths. You held a lantern in your left hand, light illuminating faces that passed by you.

Something red in the corner of your eye had you turn your head, meeting a pair of familiar crimson eyes. Your cheeks turned red deeply before quickly turning back to your friends.

Kirishima gazed at you softly, a small lop-sided smile on his face. He wore a deep red haori with a black himo, his hakama also being a pair of black. Honestly if you noticed his traditional clothes when you saw him, you would've thought you two were matching. He feels the back of his head being smacked, looking back at the perpetrator. "Stop ogling and keep moving, shitty hair."

Bakugou scoffs, crossing his arms across his yukata. "Sorry, man," Kirishima awkwardly laughs heartedly, rubbing his nape. They both continue walking before having more of their other friends join in with them; Mina, Denki, and Sero.

In the corner of your eye again, you see the pink and red figure oddly close. Your heart tugs at itself. It almost felt like hands were grabbing at it and stretching its' meaty flesh. You looked at them for a second, seeing him win a stuffed animal, giving it to her. He awkwardly rubs his neck before she jumps on him, hugging him tightly around the neck. It seems that you were wrong for thinking he even felt something for you. The subtle glances and the smiles directed towards you seemed to just be friendly. What part of you could've thought that anyway?

"I'm.. gonna go look around, okay? I'll meet with you guys later," you let your friends know, some of them shooting you a worried look before letting you go off in the crowd. Tears threaten to leave your eyes as you make your way past the crowd, fists clenching in hurt and anger. You shut your eyes, letting tears fall. Hopefully, no one saw. You didn't want to receive any weird or awkward looks from bystanders. You feel someone grab your wrist which you instinctively snatch back, looking back at who grabbed you. It was Bakugou, who had a sour expression on his face. You looked away in shame, rubbing your arms. "What did I tell you, dumbass? You should tell him. Stop bein' so insecure and stand up."

You frown warily, nodding, still avoiding his gaze. When he leaves your vision, you look back up. You notice that people were going into a more open space of the city, signaturing that the fireworks were gonna start. You huff before making your way to find your friends.

You see a kimono's sleeve waving up in the air before realizing it was Hagakure. You walk up to your friends, smiling and laughing on the way to an open field to see the fireworks. It started in fifteen minutes.

You were laughing with your friends, throwing your head back before feeling a warm hand on your shoulder. You wipe the joyful tears in your eyes as you turn your head, surprised when you see the same particular crimson eyes. "Kirishi-"

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

You pause, remorse flickering across your features before turning to your friends which they nod in return. You sigh, standing up to your feet, following him as he leads you. You guys enter a building, which honestly had you nervous because were you even allowed to be in there?

You both stood in the elevator in silence before you guys exit, reaching a stair case. You guys step up before exiting through a door, a chilly breeze hitting your face. You guys were on top of a building.

"I wanted to talk to you.. about..." His breath hitches. You notice.

"About what happened back at training-"

"I'm sorry that I did that! I didn't- it was on impulse, I didn't mean to-"

He grabs your shoulders, forcing you to face him. "(Y/N)," he breathed, looking at you so tenderly. "I don't care.. that you did it. I just.. want things to be normal again." He inches his body closer to yours, his thumbs caressing your shoulders reassuringly. "I want to be close to you again."

His words were like hot fire melting the ice in your heart. Your lips quiver, eyes watering. How could something so small cause something so big and heartfelt for you? Was Kirishima important to you? What did he mean by 'close?' When you don't respond, still staring up into his eyes with teary ones, he continues, "I miss you. I..."

He pauses, his cheeks and ears turning red as time passes. "I want to be with you. You can drink my blood for as much as you want, I just- I don't know.."

"But-" your voice is shaky, you don't even care anymore because tears are pouring from your eyes. "What about Mina? Aren't you with her?" He looks at you confused for a moment before realization dawns on him, a sad expression fading into his face. "No. I'm not with her. She's one of my closest friends, she was just there when I needed somebody to go to... about you."

Blood rushes to your cheeks, Kirishima's hand going up to cup your cheeks, wiping your tear with his calloused thumb. "It's always been you."

"It's.. always been you too, Ki-"

"Eijiro."

You stare at him for a few seconds before nodding, "Eijiro." His name rolls off your tongue so foreignly but it felt so nice. His other hand gently makes his way around your waist, the hand on your cheek moving towards the back of your head. Your breath becomes heavy when you notice how close he was to you. "Eijiro..."

"Can I kiss you?" Kirishima blushes deeply, looking in your eyes with half-lidded ones.

You nod, feeling the radiation from his body. You feel his lips press against yours so gently, it makes you wraps your arms around his neck tightly. Fireworks went off when you both move your lips against each other's, your heart pounding against your chest as loud as the fireworks. This was so intimate for you, to share a kiss with someone you hold dear under the star sky, showered with fireworks.

You both seperate, letting out silent breaths you were holding in. He stared into your eyes so fondly, leaning in again, but not to kiss you. He just holds you there, face against his, lips just barely touching.

You swear you heard a 'I love you' push past his lips.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

A/N: I'm kinda glad how this turned out. Kirishima is one of my favs and deserves all the attention he gets. He can be dense a little bit sometimes but he gives off golden retriever boyfriend energy.

Bakugou was playing a little love matchmaker even though he dislikes love stuff. But he cares about his friends a lot

Writing this was fun and nice, it was kinda cute. I'm glad that its done tho, hope you enjoyed it. <3

73 notes · View notes

violetmuses · 2 months ago

Text

Come get me. NOW! 😩

@expert-texpert @episodes-ff 🏷

#i miss my man #roman reigns #wwe #🖤🖤🖤#🩸🩸🩸#🐾#the bloodline #the og bloodline #joe anoa'i #ro #I'm sick of waiting!#suggestive themes #flash warning #sir?!#i want him so bad

30 notes · View notes

christinadrag0n · 4 months ago

Text

Based of the book “Indian Horse” by Richard Wagamese.

This was all painted by me in acrylic paint, this was for an assignment. There was a bunch of things that I wanted to fix but I had a time limit.

The two characters in the middle are both Saul Indian Horse, the younger and older version.

I painted this all the way back in January.

#There’s a movie too but I suggest reading the book #although I must warn you that it tackles themes like Residental Schools #Indian Horse #richard wagamese #First Nations #Indigenous #indigenous art #First Nations art #artists on tumblr #indigenous artist #art #artwork #illustration #painting #acrylic #acrylic painting #my art

16 notes · View notes

shaggyskull · 22 days ago

Text

Sweet as Candy

Underswap Sans x OC

Here’s a little snippet from the world of my fic where Blue wakes up to find MC in the kitchen.

~ 1385 words

(Skip the first few paragraphs if you want to avoid the angsty bits)

It had been one of those nights. The kind of night where every time she tried to welcome the black nothingness of sleep, her mind wandered far beyond this plane of existence and into that of her lost world, to the faces she thought about only in private moments when she knew she could lose herself for a bit. The faces this night had haunted her, twisting as their fingers snatched at her clothes and pulled her hair with the want, the loss, the responsibility, the shame they had for her; or rather, the want, the loss, the responsibility, and the shame she had for herself in regards to them. Em was haunted by the happiness she felt here, away from them. She knew she was a hypocrite for telling Pyre that she carried their dirt with her as if it was an admirable thing. A positive thing. A powerful thing. Though… she supposed it remained a powerful thing no matter which way one looked at it. Dirt has a lot of weight, especially when it’s suffocating you, and it had been one of those nights where the dirt was burying her alive.

Really it annoyed her more than anything.

It was beyond frustrating that she was still feeling these things. She was grieving. She got it. It sucked. It would be with her for the rest of her life and she knew that. But why? Why did it have to jump up on her like this when all she wanted to do was be rested enough to face the insanity of each day? Why did it hurt so much every time it did? Fine. Whatever. If it needed to be dealt with now, she’d deal with it… by doing something else. She obviously wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so why not be productive?

The thought of actually being productive had exhausted her further, so she had decided the next best thing would be to make candy. At least Rus and Pappy could benefit from her sleepless night.

Movement to her left drew her attention from the bubbling pot she was stirring in front of her.

“Good morning!” Blue tilted his skull, his sparkling eyelights sweeping across the cluttered counters in the kitchen to where the labors of her night rested.

“You’re up earl—” Em paused her music with one hand as she continued to stir, making a face when she noted the time.

His eyelights flicked back to her. “Another one of those nights?” Em gave a short hum in response. “Anything I can do to help?”

“You could take over stirring for a bit,” Em said with her own tilt of her head and a slight smile as she removed the headphones around her neck, somehow finding a spot for them on the counter. “I’m pretty sure my hand is going to fall off if I don’t take a break soon.”

“You got it!” he beamed, moving behind her to wash his hands and switch out his gloves for clean ones. Once finished, he sidled up next to her and gently took the spoon. “What are we making?”

Em smiled at the “we.” Everything they did together was a team effort; they were partners in almost every sense. She slid behind him so that he could be directly in front of the pot and she could rest her arms on his broad shoulders, placing her head to the right of his so that she could watch his motions and earning her a slight lean of Blue’s skull into hers. “We’re making candy. Caramel specifically, and it’s finicky at this stage so don’t stop stirring.”

“You can count on me, Starlight!” he chirped. He could tell just how exhausted she was by the way she was leaning almost her full weight into him, and he was basking in the sensation, aware of every point of contact; her temple against his skull, the way her hands and fingers rested against the back of his cervical vertebrae — some of them were slipping close to his junctions and he was grateful he hadn’t gotten dressed yet and donned his bandana — and how her arms sunk into his clavicle, the way her chest melted into his spine…

“I know.” Em smiled, closing her eyes. “How was your night?”

“Great!” It would have been better if we had spent it together. AMAZING. INCREDIBLE. PERFECT. I’m sure I could have taken your mind off of everything at the very least. “I’m ready and eager for another GREAT day!”

Em let out another hum, this one amused. “Remind me what we have on the docket for our great day?”

Blue appreciated the slight rumble that radiated from her chest. “Nothing that we can’t postpone.”

“I’d rather get it over with.” Em blinked her eyes open, thinking about how she’d have to wear a cool pack on her face to combat any visible side effects of yet another sleepless night. It wouldn’t do to have someone like her convey exhaustion when they were supposed to be selling bliss. Her heavy eyes drifted to the bowl of ice and water next to the stove. “Let’s check if it’s ready, drop a bit in that bowl over there?

He did as she asked and diligently returned to stirring. Em lamented the idea of moving with a huff before begrudgingly releasing the arm she was resting her chin on to drift a hand over to the bowl and form a small ball out of the caramel. It felt about ready. She allowed the excess water to drip from it before bringing it close.“Wanna taste?

STARS yes. Blue replied by parting his teeth, allowing Em to pop the caramel into his mouth, his pseudo-lips closing around her fingers for a moment before she withdrew them. He hummed at their absence, making a face.

“Not good?” Em cocked her head.

“I’m not sure… I think I might need another taste.” A slight grin slowly started to spread.

Another huff left her as her face mirrored his. “If you’re willing to try it again despite it being straight sugar, I think that means it’s great.” She eased herself away from him to wipe her hands and turn off the burner, missing the way Blue’s eyelights trailed her as she retrieved yet another dish to fill.

“I WOULD ask if you were planning on opening a candy shop, but that would be an IMPOSSIBLE feat if you’re planning on starting it in the same house as Rus and my brother.”

“Oh, that would make for a fun series, wouldn’t it?” Em’s smile became lopsided. “‘Blue and Em Bake While Trying to Fend Off a Baked Guy and His Not-Baked Accomplice’?” Her eyes narrowed. “Hm. No… that’s too wordy...”

“I KNOW!” Blue beamed in good humor. “How about, ‘Making Treats With Monsters, But the Taste-Testers are Testing Our Last Nerves!’?”

“I’d click on it.” Em chuckled with a shake of her head that ended in a grimace. Here comes the headache.

Blue rested his free hand on her arm with a gentle squeeze. “Let’s hurry and finish this up so we can go rest for a bit.”

Em shot a pointed look at the nightwear he was still wearing — a cerulean long-sleeve top that pulled tight over his shoulders and thick arms in the same way that all his shirts did, paired with starry pajama bottoms. “You just got up. Don’t you want to work out before our great day really starts?”

“Sometimes the most important part of a workout is giving yourself a rest so you don’t hurt yourself.” The back of his phalanges grazed her jaw before he tapped her nose with a “Boop!” in an effort to break his own tension and retrieved his hand to put on his hip. “Besides!” His eyelights flicked from the pot back to her. “The workout you just gave me was plenty! Almost as rigorous as one of Pyre’s drills!” He winked.

Em sighed in defeat, knowing that if Blue was around, there was a chance she might actually fall asleep. Her head drifted back to his shoulder as his arm wrapped around her middle, eyes falling shut once again. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Blue’s skull turned to nuzzle her temple. “I’m the lucky one.”

5 notes · View notes

mars-ipan · 4 months ago

Text

heyyy folks after putting suggestions through my rigorous filtering process (<- control freak) the priest au playlist has officially hit the 1 hour mark which means it's Postable now :3

have fun :) i will continue to add to it and take song suggestions and eventually i will probably have made smth that can serve as a playlist cover for it. yaaaay

#marzi speaks #if a song you recommended didn't make it in: don't worry please i am simply . when i make playlists i have a very SPECIFIC vibe in mind #and i only use songs that match it near perfectly. bc i need it to be Perfect #i may also eventually change my mind on songs that i kept out for now. who knows! sometimes they need a moment to grow on me #i greatly enjoyed all the song recs tho i listened to Every One Of Them. captured the midwestern rot vibes perfectly #this guy is so sadddd..... and a victim of incredible amounts of emotional abuse weeeee #oh yeah warning. this playlist contains songs with some heavy themes. be careful okay <3 #shoutout to the anon who suggested animal impulses btw. haven't listened to that song since middle school but BACK in the rotation it goes #Spotify

7 notes · View notes

originalqueenhottub · 5 months ago

Text

I haven't drawn anything I have felt passionate about in YEARS I feel... and the first time since I can keep track of; that cycle has been BROKEN this year!! 🥳🥳 why is it smutt related?!?! *In my best Pee-Wee Herman voice* I DON'T KNOW! Buuuuuuuut... I will take it!

I have been feverly working on a Pegasus × OC fanfic for over a month now! And I'm finally in that stage of editing where I feel comfortable any day now to start uploading chapters...

😅 By no means am I a professional writer, but this story has been living in my head "rent free" on and off for YEARS now! Ever since I fell in love with the world of Yu-Gi-Oh! And more accurately the Anime's first major antagonist from the Duelist Kingdom Arc Pegasus J Crawford (Maximillion Pegasus)

I have done STUPID amounts of research on this non-existant man; that it definitely puts me in the "crazed fangirl" category I bet. My roommates and significant others are probably tired of my rants on the show, manga and now the card game. I wish I could STFU but this appears to be my recent autism hyperfixation that noone is safe from!

So without further ado! Here are some rough sketches of Pegasus and my OC before I make final edits 🤦‍♀️ I may apologize... But I WONT STOP!

7 notes · View notes

statesidesnake · 5 months ago

Text

literally watching some TMNT video, scroll down to the coments, pause scroll up:

these are not targeted adds...these are not targeted adds...these are not targeted adds...THESE ARE NOT TARGETED ADDS!

#what the hell #i mean im- knowlegeable about the thing its just that #i mean i did watch some essay videos about #and i guess i have some mutuals who know about-#im just making it worse. it makes perfect sense this is an add for me #trigger warning... suggestive themes(?)#yeah #suggestive #just in case.#why is it in spanish... my computer is in english what the hell #wait...WHY IS THERE A SPANISH TEST ABOUT OMEGAVERSE WHAT #since when does mexican people know about the omegaverse?#help #text post #-sss #im already regretting posting this

5 notes · View notes

unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years ago

Text

fr is he, you know.............................................repeatedly described as being Impersonable and Lacking Charm and Pedantic and confused / bothered by things he supposedly shouldn't be while inspiring confusion / botherment in others in ways he supposedly shouldn't and like 99.9% of the grief he's given is over All That while he's just sitting or standing there rather than the like intimidatingly efficient hitman georg thing he has going on. which is in fact The Skill That Makes Him Useful Despite It All and also perhaps the least foothold in interactions because [worried he can & may kill you] affords power when otherwise just being the weird guy nobody likes(tm)

bonus mordecai balling

#lackadaisy #not exactly Necessarily intentional but like oh you don't say #something something liking patterns & order; though that overlaps w/the like fastidiousness that's just tied to backstory #but that even when picking up that particular trait he was apparently always Peculiar in the deemed Not Personable Way #like oh you don't say #can't really even truly hone in on 9000 murders/day when like. everyone's blowing people away out here. ya gotta #or certainly other people are doing it too lol. mordecai's Mostly differentiated from anyone else's hitmanning by demeanor/affect #and that demeanor/affect has everyone going sicko mode antagonizing him while he's decidedly just sitting there #like oh you don't say....epic mood re: the [how would mordecai approach being tasked with infant childcare] joke #held a baby once maybe twice and both times an exercise in simply like ah christ don't drop this thing countdown to passing it along #great minicomic lmao found in the uhh. gallery under....mini comics; penultimate one w/the baby cat jimmy carter as pictured as thumbnail #supporting his mystery contributions too....gotta be for real abt mitzi not shooting anyone but sure he may have noscoped atlas #though maybe also he did not; but we know they have some secret concerning atlas; even probably involving his death....#vaguely wondering if atlas got whatever warning about [mystery thorn in marigold's side] as asa sweet mentions over that brunch #and perhaps would have chosen to back out of the business but mitzi was not about that & would arrange a Murder to inherit lackadaisy....#but mordecai would have to have some reason to go along with that. Maybe as an out for working for atlas forever; but now he's at marigold #not exactly that different yet [themes re: The Other Paths Are Closed To You Forever for everyone out here]#while it might also be true that he left for marigold to try to figure out what's going on over there from the inside; as suggested....#and whatever he's got going on he's Very Motivated about it as per the most recent comic pages. bold moves #anyways another accidentally autistic cat out here. for april. always a classic lol fr everyone leave him alone or else shoot at him yknow #i do support the mordecai & the savoys dream team there. reiterating i think nicodeme espesh could/should be the like surprise bestie & etc

88 notes · View notes

samasmith23 · 2 years ago

Text

The dualistic rivalry between Wolverine & Mystique, as portrayed by Jason Aaron

While the majority of X-Men fans have listed Sabretooth (aka, Victor Creed) as the perfect rival for Wolverine (aka, Logan), I've personally always considered Mystique (aka, Raven Darkhölme) to be a far superior dualistic foil to the fan-favorite Canadian berserker-rage mutant.

My fondness for the rivalry between Logan and the blue-skinned shape-shifter can be primarily attributed to the 2008 storyline Wolverine: Get Mystique by writer Jason Aaron & artist Ron Garney, published across Wolverine (2003) #62-65. In this arc, Wolverine is, determined to get revenge on Mystique after she betrayed the X-Men to Mr. Sinister during the Messiah CompleX crossover event (Mystique had briefly become a member of the X-Men before betraying them), tracking Raven down to the Middle East where the two engage in a deadly game of cat-&-mouse pursuit.

What elevates Get Mystique beyond a standard chase story is that Aaron uses the premise to intricately explore parallels between the two characters that had not yet been explored by previous writers. Throughout the 1980s-2000s, it was heavily implied that Logan & Raven had known each other for a long time and might have even been romantically involved at one point, which does make sense since the two are both over 100 years old. This past connection between the two characters is discussed in an interview with Aaron from Marvel Spotlight: Wolverine, in which the author stated that he "played off of what had been hinted at or mentioned before that... [giving] them a real love/hate relationship."

Subsequently, Aaron frames the present-day chase & rivalry between Logan & Raven throughout Get Mystique in juxtaposition to a series of flashbacks showcasing the two characters' first encounter with each other back in the 1920s. Specifically, it is revealed that Logan & Raven seemingly met each other by sheer coincidence when they were both scheduled to be executed by a firing squad in Mexico. The two escaped execution, however, with Raven offering Logan to join her gang of two-bit grifters up in Kansas City where he would serve as their muscle and protection.

During these flashbacks, Aaron repeatedly emphasizes Logan's reluctance towards the idea of settling down, rejecting Raven's offer of the prospect of a found-family through her criminal gang. Similar to Raven, Logan's mistrust is derived from his status as both a mutant and a societal outcast, believing that trusting other people inevitably results in death and betrayal. The uneven partnership between Logan & Raven soon comes to a head when the latter's gang attempts to rob a high-security Federal Reserve bank, with Raven suddenly fleeing during the middle of the heist due to having allegedly sold out her gang to the police, who subsequently gun them all down. When the police surround Logan, however, it is revealed in a dramatic that he was actually the one who sold out the gang instead of Raven. Essentially, Logan concluded that Raven had been lying to and manipulating him the whole time, even though his only evidence to support this was the fact that Raven wasn't bribing the cops like she originally told him.

Although it's heavily implied that Raven was planning to eventually discard Logan after successfully manipulating him for her own ends, Aaron leaves the question of whether or not she was deliberately ambiguous as to be left to the reader's interpretation. This ambiguity effectively serves to establish a common ground between Wolverine & Mystique as rivals, demonstrating how the two characters are eerie reflections of each other from a morality perspective.

The flashbacks to Logan & Raven’s first encounter during the 1920s are juxtaposed against the two’ present-day chase in the Middle East, wherein Wolverine has taken Mystique’s most recent betrayal of the X-Men on a personal level since he views the team as both a family and a chance to atone for his past sins. As Wolverine & Mystique engage in their deadly game of cat-&-mouse, Aaron further establishes the dualistic relationship between the two. Both characters are mutants who have lived longer life spans due to their healing factors and have learned not to trust others through their experiences, often ending in betrayal or death. Despite these parallels, however, Aaron simultaneously emphasizes how Wolverine & Mystique are also very different from each other. While Logan acknowledges that he is flawed, he attempts to retreat from his inner demons, finding sanctuary with superhero teams like the X-Men since he feels that their cause allows him to become something better than himself. Conversely, Raven does not deny and even openly embraces her sinister nature, utilizing her shapeshifting abilities to manipulate, deceive, and murder others to survive and fulfill her own agendas.

The parallels between the two characters are made further apparent when Wolverine accuses Mystique of cowardice due to her repeatedly hiding behind & sacrificing the lives of innocent civilians simply to avoid a confrontation. These words deeply anger Mystique since she views Wolverine as a hypocrite who is too afraid to admit and come to terms with his past sins. This results in the chase culminating with Mystique stealing a U.S. military truck and deciding to fight Wolverine to the death in the Syrian Desert, completely naked (albeit appropriately shadowed).

On a surface level, Mystique stripping off her classic costume via shape-shifting leans into both fan service and duplicitous femme fatale tropes, as well as emulates the character's then-recent portrayal by supermodel & actress Rebecca Romijn in the live-action X-Men film trilogy. From a characterization and thematic perspective, however, Raven's decision to fight naked conveys the mutant terrorist's unashamed resolve & confidence. Despite being a shape-shifter who utilizes her powers to deceive others, Mystique is ironically honest & straightforward in her actions. She finds a sense of liberating power through her refusal to hide who and what she is, effectively accepting her status as the villain. This conviction is evident in Mystique’s words as she disrobes, stating to herself that Logan “doesn’t have the guts to face up to who he really is,” whereas she’s “not ashamed of anything [she’s] ever done. And [she’s] certainly got nothing to hide.”

Additionally, Raven's characterization in the Get Mystique arc heavily draws inspiration from her aforementioned live-action film counterpart. Essentially, Rebbeca Romjin's portrayal of Mystique as being in a constant state of undress highlights the mutant terrorist's unashamed pride in her identity & actions. This idea of Romjin's Mystique finding power through her sexually provocative appearance is supported by Nimona and She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) creator N.D. Stevenson. During a 2015 interview with The Hub as part of their One Thing Leads to Another series, Stevenson discussed how as a trans-man assigned female at birth he admired Mystique’s confidence & fluidity growing up, emphasizing that “she couldn’t be trapped in a single form… she was so confident she didn’t even wear any clothes and I was transfixed… shapeshifters became a shorthand for the kind of power I wanted… to switch between any number of bodies in the blink of an eye while keeping my real self safe.”

While the queer-coding of Mystique's villainous behavior has the potential to lean into harmful stereotypes, this characterization has simultaneously resonated with individuals like Stevenson who view Mystique's status as an ostrascized yet unashamed antagonist to be transformative & liberating. to be Furthermore, Stevenson's words about Romjin's Mystique "keeping her real self safe" are reinforced by the films themselves. Most notably, during the scene from X2: X-Men United wherein Mystique responds to Nightcrawler’s question of why she refuses to use her power to disguise her true appearance with the answer, “Because we shouldn’t have to.”

In essence, the climatic & bloody showdown of Aaron's Get Mystique storyline effectively draws influence from Rebecca Romjin's live-action portrayal of the titular character. Mystique utilizes her naked body as a means of communicating her audacious refusal to disguise her true self, taking pride in her villainous deeds instead of denying them while simultaneously criticizing what she perceives as hypocrisy from Wolverine due to his similar past. When Raven questions Logan's motivation of simply wanting revenge for her betraying the X-Men multiple times over, arguing that Logan's anger over her most recent betrayal is instead derived from his desire to understand Raven's refusal to seek redemption through the team. This results in Raven ruthlessly tearing apart Logan's very identity as an X-Man since he too has berayed & killed for the sake of his own self-preservation. She boldly declares to Logan:

"I've used the X-Men whenever I've needed to, but they’ve never been my family. Much as you want it to be true, they’re not your family either. People like us don’t get to put down roots and play nice. I betray the X-Men because it’s in my nature, and someday, Logan, whether you want to admit it or not, you’ll do the same damn thing. You’ll turn your back on them because that’s who you are. Oh, don't act so offended, honey. After all, we both know you've done it before."

In addition to Mystique's words alluding to the 1921 Bank Heist wherein Logan sold both her and the rest of her gang out, this scene ultimately forces Logan to confront the come to terms with that he is ultimately no better than Mystique and is, therefore, just as undeserving of developing familial bonds.

While Mystique's aforementioned statements of "people like us" not having a family or "putting down roots" can be perceived as contradicting the previously established relationships with both her wife Destiny (aka, Irene Adler) and adopted daughter Rogue (Anna Marie LeBeau), they effectively underscore the inherent nihilism surrounding Raven's embracing of her villainous behavior. In addition to Destiny having been killed in battle several years prior (Destiny would not be resurrected until the modern Krakoa Era), during the Messiah CompleX event, Mystique deliberately shoots Rogue to subdue her when she outed herself as a traitor to the team. Rogue was already dying from the mysterious Strain 88 virus, which caused her mutant powers to go haywire and made skin-to-skin contact with other people instantly fatal. Adhering to the prophecies inscribed in the late Destiny's personal diaries, Mystique believed that both Mister Sinister’s resources and the infant Hope Summers (the first mutant baby since M-Day) were capable of curing Rogue. Mystique not only murdered Sinister by pressing his face against Rogue’s but also risked the baby’s life in the exact same manner in an attempt to heal her foster daughter. While Hope fortunately survived, Rogue was still deeply angered by Mystique's endangerment of the infant and effectively disowned her foster mother by attempting to kill Mystique with her touch (though she only renders Raven unconscious due to Hope's touch curing Rogue of Strain 88).

With both Mystique's wife dead and her foster daughter now wanting nothing to do with her, Aaron's Get Mystique storyline effectively builds upon the foundations of the self-destructive nature of Raven's actions by having her actively dismiss and demoralize Wolverine's familial bond with the X-Men. Aaron underscores how, despite Raven's audacious confidence her success is undermined by the belief that she is unworthy of both redemption & companionship. Subsequently, Raven's hatred of Wolverine is primarily derived from her envy towards the rest of world viewing Logan as a hero despite him having committed similar crimes to herself. While these motivating factors are subtextually inferred within the text of Get Mystique, they are made explicit in both Mike Carey & Michael Ryan's Kill or Cure backup story from the X-Men: Manifest Destiny miniseries, where Raven laments to Iceman in over Logan's words that "she'd die alone because she's lived alone, never [letting] anyone get close to her," as well as by Aaron himself along with artist Aaron Kuder in the pages of Avengers Forever (2023) #13, where an alternate-future version of Raven tells Logan that "somehow the world always serves [him] lemonade while [she's] left holding the lemons."

The portrayal of Mystique as a contradictory chameleon who is simultaneously honest & brazen in her duplicitous nature, as well as embittered about her status as an outcast even among fellow mutants, is what ultimately makes her such a well-rounded & nuanced character. Furthermore, it is these inherent contradictions in Mystique's ideology that Aaron uses as the basis for what ultimately distinguishes her from Wolverine: the hope and willingness to change. A sentiment that is best reflected through Logan's acknowledgment of his past sins after defeating Raven in the desert. In a deliberate parallel to Raven's earlier psychoanalysis of Logan's motivations during their fight, Aaron has Logan counter her denouncements against his character by stating:

"I'm not like you, Raven. I want you to die knowing that. I've made mistakes. Sure. God knows that I've made more than my fair share. And a lot of those involved somebody dying who shouldn't have. But I spend every moment of every day now trying to make up for those mistakes. You've just kept on making the same damn ones."

Although the Get Mystique arc concludes with Logan stating his desire to make amends for the sins of his past, Aaron still emphasizes Logan's present-day failings, which consequently negatively impact Logan's character throughout the rest of Aaron's run on Wolverine. Specifically, after Raven is mortally wounded during her battle with Logan, the latter leaves her to die alone in the desert with nothing but a pistol (in case she decides to take her own life), telling her to reflect on her life decisions while stressing that he now has a family in the form of the X-Men, whereas she's all alone due to the decisions she's made. This ending continues to be controversial with both readers & critics, who argued that Aaron's refusal to kill Mystique was emblematic of Marvel's inability to commit to permanently kill off its characters, as well as made Logan look hypocritical & unlikable for denying Raven the mercy blow.

Within the larger context of Aaron's Wolverine run as a collective whole, however, the author frames the controversial ending of Get Mystique as ultimately serving as the foundation his Logan's undoing. In addition to later issues revealing that Mystique somehow managed to survive her injuries, during the Wolverine Goes to Hell arc in particular Raven aligns herself with an organization known as the Red-Right Hand (a cult comprised of various individuals whose loved ones died by Logan’s hand) to get her revenge on Logan. This results in Raven luring Logan into a trap where the Red Right Hand banishes his soul to Hell, while his physical body is possessed by the demon known as "Hellverine." Immediately after assisting the Red Right Hand though, Raven ends up betraying the group when they inform her of their true plans for Logan's soul to eventually climb his way out of Hell and reclaim his body before attempting to get revenge on them, only to have him slaughter several of the organization's elite assassins who were secretly children that Logan had unknowingly fathered over the past century.

The group's plans turn out to be too horrible even by Mystique's standards. While Raven openly admits that she's not sorry for helping banish Logan’s soul to Hell, once again stating that "[he's] no better than [herself]," she still tries to warn him about the Red-Right Hand's true agenda out of respect for Logan's friendship with her then-deceased son Nightcrawler (who was briefly killed off during the X-Men: Second Coming event). In essence, Aaron demonstrates that despite Mystique being a remorseless & self-centered murderer, she's not a heartless monster who's completely lacking in empathy. Unfortunately, however, Logan ultimately ignores Raven's warnings & fatally cuts her down (Mystique was resurrected by The Hand ninja cult a few issues later in Aaron's run), resulting in Logan fulfilling the Red Right Hand's plan unknowingly killing his own kin in a futile effort for revenge, nearly breaking Logan's spirit in the process.

This brutal plot twist with the Red Right Hand further illustrates how, under Aaron's pen, Mystique functions as a multifaceted & nuanced individual. Despite leaning into her overtly villainous persona, Mystique sometimes possesses greater knowledge & wisdom than her heroic rival, Wolverine, specifically because she refuses to hide from her true self. Conversely, Aaron highlights how despite Logan's legitimate resolve to make amends for all of his his past sins, he still needs to gradually come to terms with and accept himself in order to truly change. It is this revelation that subsequently leads to Logan forming the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning in Aaron's Wolverine and the X-Men series, wherein Logan becomes a teacher dedicated to educating future generations of young mutants, as well as preventing them from suffering the same pain or making the same mistakes as him.

Overall, Jason Aaron's Wolverine: Get Mystique and subsequent storylines effectively forge a dualistic rivalry between Logan & Raven's Darkhölme that frames them as similar yet contrasting mirrors to each other. In a sense, one could argue that if Destiny is the person whom Mystique loves the most, then Wolverine is the person whom Mystique hates the most.

Honestly, the writing & storytelling of Jason Aaron is what helped elevate Mystique into becoming my favorite comic book supervillain of all-time! By portraying Logan & Raven as very similar yet different foils to each other, Aaron crafts a fierce & compelling rivalry that further informs both characters. From my perspective, Mystique serves as a far more interesting & nuanced arch-nemesis for Wolverine than even Sabretooth!

64 notes · View notes