#women clutches & evening bags new arrivals

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter IX

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including tags for blood and descriptions of gore. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: Hopefully we can wrap all this up soon... god willing... but hey this piece finally has somewhat of a direction (?) now.

An Uchiha warrior with a fatal wound should give his life in a suicide attack, but not Izuna. No, the brother of Madara would not die a warrior’s death on the battlefield. Instead, the Uchiha retreated from their path to the northern shoulder, surrendering the territory to the Senju in a victory their rivals would call “The Conquering of King’s Neck.”

The Uchiha returned suddenly, earlier than they should have, and having lost great numbers. Madara did not use the village gates but shot right over the sharpened walls like a deranged comet falling from the sky. He carried Izuna’s body in his arms, holding his brother close to his chest. Both were covered in blood and heavy wounds. They had been the first to arrive, heralding in the news of their defeat without a single word of it uttered.

Madara shouted for medical assistance loud enough to startle the entire settlement, and in a blur of confusion, agony, and chaos, Izuna was brought to a doctor, and the two brothers were sealed inside a private room as quickly as the commotion had started.

The entire village stirred to life with urgency. People emerged from their cottages and herded their children out of the street as the rest of the battalion emerged from the forest and trudged toward the front gates.

The men who had stayed behind rushed the injured to the hospital and hurried around the newly returned soldiers to assist in treating their wounds. Women gathered water from the well, ready to help receive the weary soldiers. 

Most injured warriors were gathered in one large room and treated on cots side by side, but not Izuna. Even in the sunlight, gathered citizens could see Madara’s hulking form pace back and forth from inside their private room.

No one else was allowed in except for the best physician in the village, who was currently facing the brunt of Madara’s furious rage. You could hear the clattering of furniture and thrown items hitting the mat floor from down the road. 

You clutched your medicine pack, shouting and shoving through the crowd as you approached the triage.

“Make way for the apothecary!” 

You came running as soon as you received word. The medics who went to the scene before you had their own medical packs with prepared remedies within them, but if the medics were to perform treatments on such a large group of men, they would need all the medicines they could get. 

Madara had, after all, forbidden you from creating more heavy-duty remedies in anticipation of a victory for the Uchiha. He told you that fast-acting cures would be all that would be needed and did not discriminate when it came to potency. The high ground belonged to the Uchiha, and Madara himself formulated their strategy for the ambush. But Madara was left with little more than the taste of defeat and bloodied hands after the battle. 

You hurried across the dirt path, the dry pebbles and earth making hurried scratching noises below the soles of your sandals. You clutched your oversized medicinal bag. The material wasn’t strong enough to carry the number of remedies you had shoved haphazardly inside. Your eyes were set on the treatment center where the soldiers were being taken. The little time you had was crucial for saving as many lives as you could.

Time seemed to slow as you ran past the paper door leading to Izuna’s private room, and you failed to notice the large hand that shot out from inside until it had grasped the back of your robes and pulled you in. 

You were thrown onto the woven matt floor with barely enough time to break your fall, let alone catch your compilation of medicines. You skidded against the hard surface, ripping the cloth on your shoulder as the fabric folded under you with the motion. Your arms wrapped against your oversized pack, and the glass bottles rattled against one another as you held them close to your chest.

Madara stood over you: hulking, broad, impeding, and crazed, but still as he slowly slid the paper door shut. His palm splayed out in the middle of the door, leaving a streak of crimson across the delicate white material. The air dried the red color into a muddy rust.

An unmoving, pale hand appeared in your peripheral. You scrambled to your knees, grip still clutching your medicinal bag. You hardly recognized Izuna as he lay in front of you.

All color had drained from his cheeks, but you could hardly pay attention to the grayness of his skin in the face of the massive open wound across his stomach. Izuna bled all colors of red, his gash like a gruesome flower clawing out of his torso and streaking across the room. His chest heaved up and down at an inhumanly slow pace, pumping a wheezing sound out of his throat with every strangled breath. Everything smelled of blood, and what used to be an entirely white room was marred with ghastly streaks of gore. 

The doctor worked frantically over him, but even looking at Izuna for a second told you all that you needed to know. His wound was already decorated with herbal remedies, the leaves and ground flower buds a stark, soft contrast to the wet, oozing gash that churned just below. The colors illuminated with an effervescent glow under the light of the doctor’s healing jutsu. 

Izuna’s head fell to the side toward you, your name dripping from his lips in a voice hardly above a whisper. You scrambled to his side, shedding your bag, and scooping his hand up in yours without a thought. 

“Izuna—!” 

Your heart sank into the pits of your stomach, and your face felt numb. Tears flooded your waterline as your pulse started to drum in your ears. One of your hands, now sporting a few streaks of blood that you didn’t notice, came over your mouth in mortified shock.

But even so, Izuna gazed at you fondly. His eyes were lidded, pain written across his face, but he did his best to grasp onto you weakly. You stared widely down at his giant wound, almost hypnotized by the terrible sight of it, before returning to Izuna’s face. Your hand dropped back down to your lap and joined the other in morphing over his palm. 

Your lips parted, but no sound left them. They wavered in the bitter-smelling air as an ugly sound stalled in your throat. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that it all would be okay. He wouldn’t have believed you anyway.

“I do not know what to say…” Your voice came out in a breathless hiss, your lips crinkling upwards as your brows creased together into two wavy lines. 

“I apologize…” Izuna was barely audible, and his words held an incoherent rasp. “The words I spoke to you last were most regretful… and most dishonorable…”

“Izuna, do not speak like this!” Your scolding was less than a whisper.

You looked at the doctor, whose eyes were already on you. Wordlessly, he confirmed your fearful thoughts.

Izuna wasn’t going to—

“How does he appear?” Madara implored. “I demand you tell me. Tell me that you deem him treatable with your remedies!”

Izuna gave your hand a light squeeze. When you looked down at him, two tears fell right onto his blood-stained clothing.

His other hand slowly rose, shaking as he brought it to his face. It stopped, trembling over his neck as Izuna raised his pointer finger. He brought it over his lips. 

The sound of your name boomed across the paper room.

“Why do you fall silent? You are able to revive him, are you not?” Madara thundered frantically. “You told me! You told me of your chakra remedies!” Madara’s hand shot out from behind you but missed your shoulder as his fingers grasped about wildly. You could feel the force of his motion in the air as the slight breeze of his movement rattled the hair behind your ear.

He made another grab for you, and you turned to grasp him by the shoulders as if you were taking a bull by its horns, dropping Izuna’s hand in the process. The metal of Madara’s armor was dirty and solid, pinching your fingers as you tried to keep him at bay as he lunged. He ranted something incoherent, nearly knocking you back into Izuna. Your core tensed, trying to keep yourself from falling back onto Izuna’s open torso as you tried to fight Madara away. 

“Madara, this is madness!” you shouted directly into his face. Your arms were beginning to shake under the weight of him, the locking of your joints being the only thing keeping Madara from pinning you down in his deranged rampage. But the fear and confusion in your gaze immediately widened as you met his gray irises. “Madara! Your eyes!”

“Clan Head, that is enough!” The doctor had since stood, stepping over Izuna’s body to ram into Madara with his shoulder. Your limbs were granted relief as the two of them stumbled back, nearly punching a hole in the paper wall. 

The doctor was not as large of a man as Madara, but he held his own against Madara’s unrestrained rage. His shoulder dug into the right side of Madara’s chest, and the doctor used all his weight to keep him from charging. But he was ultimately not enough to keep Madara restrained. 

Madara shoved him back with a violent push to the doctor’s chest.

“Who are you to cease treatment on my brother?! Who are you to attack your Clan Head— I’ll have you banished for your indiscretion—!”

“Madara, that is enough!” You shot to your feet, placing yourself between the two men. One of your palms splayed across Madara’s chest plate. He continued to scream over your head, gesturing pointedly somewhere behind you. Tears streamed down his face as his skin scrunched up in rage. — “Madara!”

— “You dare to impede me? My younger brother lies dying before my very eyes, and I cannot even see his face! And you dare stand against me when Izuna’s chakra weakens! You are traitors! You are traitors to the Uchiha; I will have you banished and then hunt you down myself— why do you refuse to help my brother? —”

— “Madara, please, I implore you to listen—”

Madara’s hand whipped across your face with enough force to make your ears ring. You fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the power of Madara’s strike making you almost spin as you went down. Your hand shot to your nose, which had begun to bleed. Your blood mixed with Izuna’s.

“Madara, that is enough…” Izuna began to sit up somewhere behind you. He groaned in pain, almost collapsing as he propped himself on one elbow. The doctor was already beside him, urging him to lie back down. But the sound of Izuna’s voice appeared to be enough to sate Madara’s mounting rage. He visibly melted, perking up as he tried to pinpoint where Izuna’s voice came from with a rapid gesture of his head. 

You were lost, hypnotized by the red that dripped from your nose and onto your hand. The droplets were thick and hot, only diluted by the tears of disbelief that seemed to fall in sheets from your eyes. You struggled to gather yourself as Madara knelt by Izuna’s side. 

“We will find a way,” Madara insisted with certainty. He nodded several times, taking up the straps of your medicine pack in his hand. He rooted around in it, searching for powder. “There is an ointment crafted for deep wounds—!”

“It is too late, Madara.” Izuna collapsed back onto his cot. A sharp hiss of pain tore from his throat. Izuna grabbed at his brother’s sleeve, willing him to come closer with his little remaining strength. The hold he had on Madara’s clothes was a death grip. “You must listen to me.”

Madara bowed like a child in prayer, lending his ear to Izuna’s lips. He crouched on his knees, hair cascading over his brother’s pale face as he blindly clung onto any part of Izuna he could reach. Izuna’s voice, perhaps meant only for Madara, faded in and out.

“For the good and future of the clan, you must not fall victim to Hashirama Senju’s trickery… promise me, I…” You could barely hear him. You hovered just behind Madara, sitting with your knees tucked under you and the fabric that made up the skirt of your robes balled in your fists. You tucked your chin to your chest. Hot tears continued to dribble down your face.

Your head spun, unable to listen to Izuna’s words even if you tried. You became lost in yourself, only resurfacing to reality when the sound of your name rang across the room. It was the doctor.

One moment, Izuna was speaking to Madara, and then the next—

“We will be performing an ocular transplant,” the doctor said. “Are you able to assist?” His grave gaze bore into you.

Your mouth gaped. You shook your head in disbelief. You turned toward Madara, who couldn't see you.

“You are taking his eyes?” you asked accusingly. Your tone held a harsh snap. “Are you so obsessed with battle that you dare take the sharingan of your own brother—?”

“Enough.” Izuna’s voice somehow found its way out of his throat. Just barely. His tired eyes met yours. “I forfeit them willingly… for the sake of the clan.” Izuna’s lids fluttered closed, even as you continued to stare. A new wave of tears welled in your vision. You were growing sick of weeping.

“For the sake of the clan…” you repeated, a part of you hoping that if you spoke the words, they would make better sense to you. You didn’t have to yield advanced jutsu to understand the implications of Madara obtaining Izuna’s eyes. With the Senju closing in, you knew there were few other choices.

Madara, the leader of the Uchiha, had exhausted his mangekyo sharingan. Izuna, the second strongest fighter in the clan, was fading quickly as he lay before you. And while the Uchiha had more than formidable soldiers, too many had been defeated in the ambush, and the rest had been injured during their retreat. It was truly up to Madara to protect you now.

Izuna spoke your name again. It would be the final time he would do so.

“I implore you… please, do not deprive me of my final wish,” he said weakly, the frailty of his words a stark contrast to the unfair burden he bestowed upon you. You glanced back toward the doctor. “I need you by my side.”

“I— I just make the medicine, although I— I…” You closed your eyes to shed more tears, but none fell. You tried to blink again, only to find your waterline dry. “I can administer some remedies.”

“The extra set of hands is more than plenty,” the doctor affirmed. “But we must make haste.”

Izuna’s hand found yours. His touch was cold. He gave your hand a weak squeeze.

*** 

It wasn’t enough to hang onto every moment you could. You tried to take him in during every second of the procedure, focusing so hard on being with Izuna for the dwindling amount of time you had left. You could feel the minutes slipping through your fingers. Your eyes searched every inch of him, trying to hang onto the patches of snowy white skin between the dirt and red stains. Izuna was here now, and you pulled a single moment into a thousand.

And when it was done, and Izuna was dead, you sat back on your calves. Madara lay to your left, his face bandaged with wrappings adorned with healing herbs. And Izuna rested to your right.

He had passed just moments before, long before the doctor had left the room. A thin sheet rested over his head, extending down to his blood-stained boots. But even as he lay such a short distance away, all presence of him had been vanquished from the room. The form under the cloth was an object, a thing taking a shape that certainly wasn’t Izuna. 

Your skin was taut from all your weeping. The tears still came in bursts, but the muscles in your face felt fatigued by it all. Any noise from the outside sounded muffled. Even Madara’s heavy breathing didn’t make it to your ears. 

You could see the light from the sun behind the paper walls. You stared blankly at the random swipes and spatters of red that dotted the room, staining the light eggshell color of all the fixtures. 

You lay down between them, letting your body go limp for the first time that morning. Some medics had since taken your bag of extra medication to use outside. The commotion in the village seemed to have dwindled some. You let your eyes fall closed. Exhaustion had grown so great in your head that your lack of energy made you wired. Your thoughts ran across your brain on their own, and you could do little to stop them.

You could sense that Madara was about to speak even before he parted his lips. He breathed in, taking a familiar pause before his voice dared to break through the silence in the room. 

“Your resentment radiates off of you like fire.”

In one of his final acts of life, Izuna had sated Madara’s rage, leaving his brother in this world quiet and pensive. Madara had been eerily silent. 

You let your eyes open lazily. They traced the outline of Izuna’s face beneath the cotton sheet.

“Now is hardly the time, Madara,” you muttered. 

“But it is true.”

You didn’t answer. You shepherded the silence back into the air, hoping that your ignorance of him would be enough. You couldn’t handle his talk in the face of your bubbling and agitated emotions. 

“It is true—"

“Silence, Madara,” you snapped, your words lashing across the silent atmosphere you tried to curate. You held your arms close to your chest, nuzzling your cheek into the side of one of your hands. You curled farther in on yourself, only isolating Madara more. “Izuna just...”

“He is passed,” Madara rumbled solemnly with all the clarity of the world. You cast your gaze to the light just outside the paper doors. It looked warm. “And you believe it should have been me in his place.”

“I said no such thing.” Your face was tired and puffy.

“You would be right.”

“Cease with your grandstanding—” You sat up, propping yourself on your palm as you faced Izuna’s body. You could barely keep yourself from collapsing from the mental exhaustion alone. — “It is inappropriate at a time like this.” You could feel the sting of tears shocking the nerves behind your nose, yet your eyes remained dry. “Why must you make these things so difficult?”

“I am making the death of my own brother difficult?” He sat up somewhere behind you.

“Do not twist my words. Timing has never been your strong suit, Madara.” You also rose to sit up straight, now sitting cross-legged near Izuna’s knees.  

“You believe that I am not in grief?” He held a thundering bite to his words, although even the slightest increase in volume sounded like a storm within the context of the hauntingly quiet room. “Do you believe that I do not feel deep despair over one who I have loved so dearly?” 

“You were not the only one who cherished Izuna!” You snapped around, knees hitting the opposite side of the mat floor. “Of all the times where you must be a fool, Madara! Why must it be now? Why must it have been this past visit to my apothecary? Why must it have been on the battlefield where you could have saved him a hundred times over, and yet you condemn yourself to play the fool!”

You weren’t used to seeing Madara’s face bandaged. He looked like a ghost, sitting upright where he was with his legs outstretched before him. Even blinded, you could almost feel his gaze boring into yours.

When he spoke, his voice was low.

“I am well aware,” he growled, trailing a tense silence in his wake. Madara sat up farther, and it wasn’t until the faint shadow of his large form eclipsed half of your face that you realized how quickly he bridged the gap between the two of you. “I am not blind enough to reflect on my hubris, nor am I blind enough to recognize my own twisted nature in my jealousy.”

You found yourself once again face to face with bandaged eyes, hypnotized by the infinity of cloth strips layered over each other. You took in every fold, watching where blood slowly seeped through the fibers. And perhaps if it had been a more tender moment and if you had loved Madara more, you might have tenderly taken hold of his jaw. But instead, you sat, slowly sobering up to the reality of what just occurred a few moments prior as your face was contorted by a demon of despair. 

Your resolve imploded.

“A mere reflection is hardly recompense,” you hissed, your voice coming out as barely a whisper. “How must it feel to have sacrificed your only living blood and continue to prove yourself so fruitless in your rivalry with Hashirama Senju? You have no excuse for your arrogance!” You steadily grew in volume, suddenly finding yourself standing. “So lost in your fruitless rivalry with him, you have indeed been left blind, with your flesh newly broken and easily swayed heart—no, you do not view clearly enough the hubris in your ways! You are a soft man, Madara!”

The tears came back all at once. You shed them like a waterfall as the wind caught in your throat. You gasped for air, hiccupping and choking all at once as the words tumbled from your lips. 

“Izuna—" You could hardly get his name out between gasps. “He—! Izuna, he thought—!” 

And perhaps if Madara had loved you more, he would have done something other than take the brunt of your broken rambling in silence. To him, that was gesture enough. To you, it was an indulgence in self-pity.

He let you leave, and no one stopped to question you as you quickly pushed through the crowd of people back to the apothecary. Although things seemed to have settled compared to the roaring chaos that captivated the late morning, people still milled around, collecting food and fluttering around the loved ones who were fortunate enough to make it home. 

You needed more time to analyze things. You honed in on the apothecary doors, barreling through them without regard for the medics coming in and out. 

You said little aside from your curt and adamant wish not to be disturbed before retreating into your loft at the far end of the apothecary. You curled in on yourself for what would feel like days, wrapping your cotton sheets around you as you buried yourself further from the world. 

The tears seemed to flow without you completely now, soaking the fabric of your pillow to create a wet circle just below your ear. Your thoughts ran on without you, and your heart ached from what felt like a hole sliced clean through it. The grief rested over you like a blanket, coating you from head to foot in numbing density. You would stay like that for what felt like days, unaware of what was happening outside. 

And the world would turn upside down, disrupting the mundanity you were trying so desperately to cultivate. 

When you weren’t lying in bed, you spent your hours lazily picking at things in your garden. In the rare moments of mustered energy, you would bathe and tend to your hair— more out of a necessity for maintenance than anything else. 

You didn’t even know that Madara had left until he returned. And when he returned to the village, he did not seek you out. Instead, a member of Madara’s council visited you at the apothecary. 

A young man with a severe face around Izuna’s age, he stood with his back erect on the porch behind the apothecary. You sat in your herb garden, absentmindedly fiddling with a particularly large flower blossom as a small collection of random herbs sat in a basket at your hip. He had called out to you in that militant voice that soldiers tended to use. You had hummed in response.

“There is a truce,” he said. “The Uchiha and the Senju have agreed to unite.” 

***

There were so many questions that the village hall overflowed with people. Members of the Uchiha even stood outside, hoping to catch an explanation. 

Madara and what was left of his council sat before the crowd, still adorned in their light wrappings from the Conquering of King’s Neck and the second face-off Madara had apparently had with Hashirama Senju. The room chirped, filling with murmurs and speculation. But when Madara began to speak, all fell silent. 

“The time has come…”

You watched from just barely inside one of the wide doorframes. Madara stared straight ahead, his voice confident, stern, and sure. 

He held himself like a clan head.

“The time has come for wartime to end,” he announced, surveying the gathered crowd. “It is time to put a stop to a violence started long ago, one that has forced our children to pay the price for a conflict started by the fathers of our father’s fathers. For I challenge you to find me a soul in this room that has not been exhausted from war and the act of burial.”

The room remained eerily quiet. You stood on your toes, trying to catch a better view over a man’s shoulder.

“Let me do away with your primary concern; The Uchiha stand on the same ground as the Senju, as equals, and in collaboration with one another. Our combined power has the potential to create a village where all people shall live without fear of violence, and small hands may never know the handle of a kunai nor the weight of the metal. This is a thing that Hashirama and I agree upon, and as the leader of the Senju clan, he has agreed to honor our terms.” 

The room erupted in a low clamor, everyone wanting nothing more than for Madara’s words to be true. They held their questions high, finally breaking their collective silence at the mere mention of Hashirama Senju. 

The sound of his name struck your heart no differently, and before you could even think, you were a distance away from the meeting hall. Your spot by the door had filled in swiftly. You had one place to retreat, one sanctuary, and you hid yourself in the loft.

***

“I need you by my side.”

You thought it was cruel for Madara to use Izuna’s last words in such a way, but you doubted that Madara even remembered his brother’s last words to you. 

The meeting had adjourned late into the night. The people had many questions, at least, that’s what Madara would tell you later. You hadn’t needed him to tell you to believe it.

It startled you when lantern light from the street flooded through the open door of the apothecary. You sat up in your bed, already halfway between wakefulness and mental exhaustion that kept you from falling into a meaningful slumber. Madara always swung the door open wider than he needed, and aside from that, you could place his hulking form anywhere.

He waited wordlessly as you descended from your tower. You did so lazily.

“Are you ill?” you asked at the bottom of your set of steps that wasn’t quite a ladder or a proper set of stairs. “A physician would have an easier time tending to you than I. At the meeting, I do believe I saw—”

Madara pulled you close in an instant. Your sleep-addled mind had little time to process the action as you stumbled over your feet. Your face hit Madara’s chest. He had a strong scent to him, which, while not unpleasant, was as overpowering as the man. 

A sliver of light trickled in from where the door sat ajar. It cast a faint highlight around Madara’s figure. Your tired eyes traced the shadows that the faint glow created on the fabric of his sleeve. 

It felt out of place being in his arms like this. You weren’t used to him not wearing armor. You could feel it in the tension of your muscles and the awkwardness of not knowing how to touch him in return. You let him hold you, and yet, for how none of it felt right, there was an odd, fragile comfort that had never belonged to Madara before. 

Madara, who imposed himself in every space he ever stood and could never be found wearing not even a piece of armor, felt soft. 

“I need you by my side,” he had told you. You felt his cheek against your hair. “I need confidence that I am making the right decision.”

“Madara,” you spoke softly, pulling back to meet his gaze in the dimness. “How do you expect me to give guidance on these things? I am not—”

You stopped yourself right there, feeling foolish in less than an instant. Nothing but the chirp of insects outside disrupted the silence of the apothecary. It felt as if so much of your time with Madara was filled with silence. But Madara’s eyes held no judgment. 

“Izuna watches over us from the heavens, and I have thought little more than the day he passed and the terrible way I behaved toward you,” he said with a slow nod. His voice held the rich timber that it typically had. Madara brought a hand gingerly to the side of your face. His skin was rough and scarred. He spoke lowly, surprising you with more softness. “I would feel confident with you by my side. You need not labor yourself, nor would you have to speak a word… For you just to be would be enough.”

“What do you speak of, Madara?” 

Madara cast his gaze off to the side, his jaw tensing slightly. 

“Perhaps Izuna would think it weak of me to bring a woman to such prestigious negotiations…” He pulled back, taking his warmth with him. Madara turned with one hand on his hip and the other clasped over his face. 

“Of what do you speak?” You nearly choked on air. 

— “But what if said woman was close family? 

When Madara whipped back around, he did so in the middle of a thought he did not bother to share with you. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes flutter closed as you tried to gather your thoughts, and to your dismay, Madara didn’t speak a word in your silence. You stared at him for answers, prompting him to elaborate.

“Izuna should be by my side,” he finally said, perhaps a bit louder than he needed to have been. When he continued, he did so with a lowered tone. “Our parents passed when we were young. Izuna was my one and only brother, and he is now gone… And so, I implore you…”

Madara took in a sharp breath, not daring to speak the rest.

“Is that what we are now?” you asked. “You consider me family?”

A familiar silence once again took hold of the space between you.

“Is a wife not considered family?”

It was only due to a moment of shock that you let the question sit in the air.

You turned on your heel, your hands coming to your face as you shook your head with fatigue.

“Madara, must I remind you how terrible you are with time? —” 

Your name shot from his lips, as did a hand to your shoulder. 

— “Perhaps you should see a physician—”

“You are the closest thing I have!” Madara’s desperate cry halted all words on your tongue. He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises, forcefully spinning you around as he moved forward, caging you against a nearby counter. His face was so close to yours, and when you looked deep into his eyes, you saw Izuna. 

“You and I have known each other for as long as I can remember,” he said with faintness. “Has it not always been you and I? Have you not always thought it was destiny how we have always been brought together like this?”

You couldn’t say why tears began prickling at your eyes. It felt as if anything could make you cry nowadays. Madara brought a hand back up to your face, skimming the wetness from your cheek. 

“Please—” It was the first time you heard Madara use such a word. — “I can assure you that things will improve, that I shall improve. Be with me by my side. I do not ask you to marry me tomorrow, but perhaps if you may see— perhaps you may come to see things as I see them.”

“You have always been one to set your expectations far too high.”

“Can you deny that we are as close as family? We have only each other.” Madara’s hand traveled down your arm to grasp your fingers in his. “I do not ask for your commitment. I ask only for the openness of your mind.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you breathed out a deep breath. Unconsciously, you leaned into him. Nothing made you feel right now.

“With your track record of anger and empty promises? What have we ever agreed upon?” Your words came out weakly as you met Madara’s gaze in the dimness again.

You wanted so desperately to stop staring into his eyes.

But… Izuna…

“You would have protested such things not too long ago. It all seems quite ridiculous, does it not?” You found yourself laughing, and Madara cracked a smile for the first time in a long while. 

It was thin-lipped and, indeed, did resemble a crack. The wrinkles that ripped across his face made him look young, a lot younger than he had been looking as of late. A small chuckle shook his chest and hardly made a sound in his throat. You let out a light laugh. What you said hasn’t been funny, nor was it meant to be. 

A handful of memories from when you were a teenager sat at the back of your mind, and perhaps if you tried not to think about them, they wouldn’t hold any importance. 

***

That had been a foolish thought in and of itself, and in the days following, you wondered why you had let Madara persuade you. You decided that he had beaten you down with sentiment and nostalgia, knowing that considering any other reason would only disturb what little peace of mind you had. 

It would have been wiser to give it all some thought. It would have been wiser to have turned Madara away in the first place rather than humoring his charged words, and yet, a part of you wanted to move forward. Even on your way to the neutral meeting ground, you wanted to be a part of the new dawn, spurred on by a nagging curiosity and a morbid sense of fate. 

Foolish. Foolish, with little sense to it at all!

You caught a glimpse of white, and you purposefully averted your eyes. Madara stood next to you, sporting his best robes as members of the Senju unfurled two banners to be hung. The amount of Uchiha who came in support of the agreement surprised you. Most of your settlement gathered somewhat behind you, still unsure what to make of the crowd of unarmed Senju directly ahead.

The two groups remained segregated for the most part, standing around awkwardly even as the banners featuring the Uchiha and Senju crests were hung side by side. You glanced to your left toward Madara, feeling the stuffiness and tension yourself. But Madara remained stoic and upright, hardly regarding you even as Hashirama approached.

“Today is a day for celebration! Why must everyone be so serious?”

And from the tales you had been told of Hashirama, he had not been what you expected him to be. He instantly spotted the two of you as he emerged from the crowd. His round, kind eyes seemed to glitter, along with the perfectly white teeth he bared with his smile. 

“Madara! My friend!” Hashirama, an already tall man, held his arms up. He only needed to take a few long strides before he was upon Madara, wrapping him up in a hug great enough to cause Madara to take a half step back. (You almost took a step back with him.) Just as quickly as Hashirama embraced him, he pulled back, planting his hands firmly on Madara’s shoulders. And Madara let him. “It is good to see you!”

Hashirama turned to you and positioned himself directly before you, eyes remaining as wide as his smile. 

“Madara, how could you not send notice that you would be bringing a goddess to smile upon the union of our clans?” He fell quickly into a deep bow as you gaped. You instinctually turned to look at Madara, a girlish grin of your own contorting your lips. Madara rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh. Hashirama returned to his full height. “You may call me Hashirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you hummed, offering your name in return. “I hope you do not consider primary names informal as we have just met.”

Hashirama let out a boisterous laugh.

“Are you not all Uchiha as we are all Senju?” Hashirama chuckled, eyes drifting to the crowd of Senju for a moment before he did a double take. “Ah!” He turned back to you and Madara, gesturing to his right. “Speaking of Senju, might I present my brother, Tobirama.”

“Everything is prepared, brother, the people are waiting on you—” 

Tobirama’s gaze latched onto yours like a magnet, causing him to stop short just to Hashirama’s right as his mouth snapped shut instantly. Your jaw dropped, and you quickly clasped your lip closed to not bring attention to your light gasp. You prayed that neither Hashirama nor Madara, who stood between the two of you, noticed your out-of-place surprise. Hashirama seemed to breeze past the micro-interaction entirely as he spoke your name.

“This is my brother, Tobirama. Tobirama, this is…” You didn’t take your eyes off Tobirama’s red irises for a second, lost in the pounding that threatened to burst open your chest. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving. Your foot slid back, positioning you just behind Madara’s shoulder. Your hand tightly grasped the back of his sleeve.

Your movement didn’t escape Hashirama. When you looked back at him, you found his gaze anchored directly to the grip you held on Madara’s arm. You watched as his face seemed to droop, his broad smile wavering for a moment as an expression of what you could only describe as genuine sorrow swept over Hashirama’s face. It was a contortion so sincere that you almost felt bad for how your body reacted. But Hashirama recovered quickly as he faced Madara once again with a friendly smile. 

“... your wife, Madara?” 

You hadn’t realized that Hashirama was still talking. 

You and Madara gazed at each other simultaneously, expecting the other to answer, but instead, you found yourselves engaged in a silent, second-long debate.

“This is, uh,” Madara started, now as thrown off as you were. His forehead twitched as he glanced back toward you instinctually. 

“I am an…” You made the mistake of accidentally making eye contact with Tobirama once again. He stood stoically by Hashirama’s side, quietly awaiting an answer. Your panicked gaze once again darted between Hashirama and Madara, who didn’t appear to be in a rush to come to your aid. — “advisor.” You nodded with pseudo-certainty. “I am an advisor on the Uchiha council.”

Hashirama wasn’t allowed time to comment. 

“Pardon us.” Two members of the Senju tentatively approached your group. Hashirama pivoted a foot to acknowledge them.

“Yes, what is it?”

“All has been prepared for us to begin. We wait only on the two of you.” 

Hashirama turned to spare a half-glance over his shoulder.

“Ah, that is what you were here to notify me of, was it not? Telling me to quit my chatter, eh, Tobirama? Why did you not speak sooner?” Hashirama laughed. “Let us make haste and not leave the people waiting longer than they have already. I am certain that everyone would rather be at the banquet than listen to my dry speech!”

With Hashirama having decided to begin, you retreated to the Uchiha side of the crowd and Tobirama to the Senju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hahaha would you believe that I forgot that healing jutsu existed for, perhaps, this entire fic?? I certainly wrote other things with healing jutsu. Hell, I’ve written whole stories centered on it, but this?? WHOOPS.

I thought to myself that I might add another section to this chapter but I saw that 6.8k and went hahahahaha nope!

My grammar checker no longer works on the document that this was originally written on, so I took the chapter and isolated it to do edits... resulting in weird indentation issues. Ah so goes the world...

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Edit: I think I’ll drop the next chapter when this one reaches 100 notes.

[missmarveledsblog]

Bet on it ( Bradley bradshaw x reader ) part two

summary : the reality of what he had done starts to set in especially when he tries to get start and she calls security on him , then he slowly but surely get to the first phase of his plan in getting her to be his friend and then some learning somethings that makes him start to think the whole thing is a bad idea maybe does one redeeming thing of helping her out when she needs it. jakes hoping his odd way of playing cupid doesn't backfire.

summary enemies to friends to lovers , fluffy , goofy and angsty all ,

part one

Maybe it was fact he was sober or  he wasn’t around jakes presence  he fully takes in the gravity of it all . he lets sink into his brain and he realizes fully what is at stake . seem to learn both jake and alcohol bring out a stupid not fully thinking shit through side of rooster and combined well he does something like make a bet that makes the mission he’s been on a walk in the park . he could do the right thing tell her the bet  , beg and pray she goes alone with it , hell even pay her for it . “ nope that … i might aswell hand bagman the keys now “ he grumbled staring down at the now soggy cereal . maybe it was delusion or a share need and new lease on life where he proves to hangman wrong and he could do it , do the impossible because jake seresin was not getting his hands on that bronco . 

She often wonder what it would be like if things were different , often thinking maybe coming san diego was a mistake but  the friends and her father disproved that thought completely . it was the nativity of thinking bradley bradshaw could change , that coming would somehow the two could be somehow friends again which in retrospect she wanted to laugh at her past self  and herself two year ago because it was clear the moment she was in his eyeline to pure hatred in his eye to even couple weeks prior the pure venom to his words . She needed to get past the fact they were never going to be anything.  Work helped of course it did it was something she grew up wanting to do helping one of the most vulnerable  people kids . she wanted to be the doctor that even though it was a hard time she was somehow able to make it easier  , make it less daunting and scary from tonsil being taken out or severe form of sickness .  she got along with her co workers and her superiors respected her which was never easy giving she was youngest of rest of her peers .  one of those genius kids growing up  more for fact all she could do was read really traveling for pillar to post til her mom had a enough and settled down  which happened  to get closer to bradley a mistake she never made again  or so she told herself til she came to san diego hoping to put the past behind her.  In five months it wouldn’t be a problem cause then she won’t have to think of see the hawaiian shirt stupidly handsome asshole that was rooster . 

Oh my little sweetpea “ the calls and cooing of the delightful beth . an older southern woman who y/n thinks forgets shes a resident . 

“ yes miss beth the wonderful and most divine what can i do for you “  she smiled brightly. 

“ ok one i need to addressed as that all time and my dear there is a tall piece of man in uniform standing in the waiting room for you or should i say lunch is waiting in the waiting room cause that is one delicious man “ she could almost see the woman floating. 

“ probably jake i’ll take my lunch now” she chuckled heading out grabbing her bag knowing it was definitely overdue  til she stood looking at well not jake seresin , 

“ hey y/n “ the big brown eyes and nervous smile .  

“ call security  please and next time he comes in , he doesn’t  have child “ she turned barely even sparing a glance of the satisfaction in watching him being escorted out . 

“She called security on you man is so good … bad so bad” javy burst out laughing . 

“ women clutched their kids like i  arrived in a white van “ he mumbled sitting around his friend sensing a downhill in his luck. 

“ yeah i asked her to get me the footage … she cant but hell i wish i could see that go down “ jake fell back  booming laugh . 

“ what possessed you to show up at her job “ nat asked . 

“ wanted to say sorry  i was completely out of line that night and well i’m sick of fight aren’t you “ he had to clap later for this performance as much as he loved nat she would snitch thinking it was stupid which is was he wasn’t oblivious to that fact but logic had no place in all this when he was proving a point or more so one beating hangman at something and making the rest look wrong. 

“ wow i mean stupid way to go about it but proud of you for being mature bradshaw” she patted his back . 

“ honestly i think Mav is afraid of her not coming back and well i don’t want to be one of the reasons for that happening so  i think beginning mature and wanting to start new leaf is best part here” he added  . “ i am a genius” he thought as the rest of them rolled their eyes . 

“ hey everyone” she appeared standing in her scrubs and tired smile that fell moment her eyes landed on him . “ and rooster … hey could you do me a favor send me a picture the staff were thinking of using it as like a warning poster for the security team” she smirked making her way over. 

“Breathe and smile “ was all he repeated in his mind .  “ sure i mean hell i could even send gym selfie give em a show you know “ he batted his lashes a forced chuckle.

“ anyways i can stay for one drink , maybe two max i need to go find a dress and date before friday since hangman is leaving for the weekend “ she playfully glared at the texan . 

“ you know if i knew i’d see you all dressed up i wouldn’t have booked it plus my mama is sad you ain’t joining darling” he winked . 

“ hey and hear me out why not take bradshaw he’s alright looking and well maturing out he was actually coming to  be mature for once “ nat offered . 

“ yeah bring the guy i called security on and that hates my guts … bobby how many g’s she hitting “. 

“ she right nat i mean look can we talk in private” he asked pleading eyes similar to a baby deer or calf .  that look that told her be strong and hold her ground . 

“ i mean you’ve no problem telling me how you feel hell got a nickname myself yeah elsa “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ no one calls you elsa .. do they?”  

“ yeah jake almost put harvard and yales head in the base wall today “ fanboy nodded along . 

“ come one i waiting for it .. let it go or some corny shit “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ honestly i just wanna talk” he said  . “ stay strong y/n “ she thought then that stupid baby cow eyes . 

“ fine five minutes “ she stood . “ jake be a doll and get me food please” she called back. 

“ ordered before you got here darling” he chuckled . 

Now this was different this was something she didn’t peg on being on the cards for the night was rooster following her like a puppy dog out of the hard deck  it felt could not that she would say it  or admit out loud . 

“ look i’m not going to cut corners and prolong it because we both know you’ll pull me on it but i’ll say it honestly to the point  i am so sorry i mean it i shouldn’t have yelled at you like that called you a cold hearted bitch . jump to conclusion and well to be honest everything else the last two years , look you don’t have to believe me straight away  i know i wouldn’t but if you give me a chance i’m more than willing to make it up to you anyway i can  all i’m asking for is a chance to make it right , least then our friends don’t feel need to be referee’s “ he smiled weakly trying to figure her out and  hell if the doctor thing didn’t work out she could be a professional poker player. 

“ did my dad set this up cause honestly rooster i’d rather you tell him we made up then you pretend you care or what he being hard on you and you think sweeting me up is gonna stop it?” . 

“ no actually surprised he hasn’t kicked my ass” .

“ so you really want to be friends again “ she asked arching her brow .

“ i really wanna be friend again i’ve been doing this whole  new leaf thing and you leaving in five months why spend that at each others throats  and  back and forth  that get either of us no where   so what you say elsa wanna let it go and give me a chance… too soon that was too soon “ he nodded but what he didn’t expect was the laughter to spill from her lips . 

“ fine  i’ll give you a chance i mean i think i might be overtired and not thinking straight but would be nice to not be fighting for once” she nodded . 

“ good and thank you i promise  by time you leave were going to besties “ he smiled . 

“ wouldn’t go that far but ok “she snorted . “now lets go in i’m hungry and i might change my mind if i don’t get food into me ASAP” she mused walking a head . 

“ i’m going to hell “ he gulped as he followed after. 

It wasn’t overnight boom sleepovers and braiding each others hair , she was still on guard still watching  and matching sure it wasn’t some cruel joke then few more days that feeling turned to guilt and how she could think such as thing  accuse so easily .  she also put it down to the stress of the gala hoping it went well so they could get much needed funding as well impress more people connection always helped in the world of medicine it got the help need or great recommendation letters.  Jake since he couldn’t come to the gala and nat was stuck in training helped her with finding the perfect dress which honestly  was a surprise how good of an eye he had . 

“ i have five sister sweetheart bound to learn some things “ was his defense . people often wondered why they so close , why they never went further but after so long it would feel so wrong . granted when she came first he was all over her like a shiny new toy til she cut him to size and well it better now .  why was jake doing the bet well it was easy he seen it that spark between the two even when they would be at each other throats like wolves something  else was there maybe he was wrong and this bet was a bigger gamble then he thought but hell he may not been on search for love but he knew it when he seen it . 

“ you find a date yet “ he asked as the two walked down the street dress in hand as she was in search for something to eat giving she skipped breakfast so she could sleep a little more. 

“ yeah nope fanboy has some game night , payback anniversary and bob and nat are helping cyclone out with something and my dad well he said he had plans with penny “ she sighed . “ maybe i could  ask yale or something” she suggested . 

“ no hell no take bradshaw since your friends now “ . 

“Nah too much too soon it’s ok i’ll be fine going myself “ she shrugged bounding ahead seeing a hole in the wall diner styled . 

“ ok i’ll ask bradshaw” he shook his head running after her .

He smiled did the whole small talk til he brought him up again , never in his life did he think he would be the one to big the man up but here he way first time in jakes life content with losing if meant his friends were happy  and yet he didn’t know it was going end like it did and looking back to the day of them in that diner he would of done things differently. 

“ so how is that friendship going with rooster “ he asked softly shooting the waitress a wink as she floated off.  

“ looks like your getting extra “ she rolled her eyes . “ i mean it’s strange but it’s nice ,  i mean one stress gone from my life i sleep a little bit better  now not worrying if i should meet up with you guys if me being there is going to be a problem or the guilt of ruining the night being a burden “ she answered honestly. 

“Darling you never do any of that most of time yeah it gets a bit much but hell we love you and never think your a burden that’s for sure , you make my nights better “ he smiled widely. 

“ i think that’s more the woman you go home with but ok boomer” she snorted . 

“ nah all you  like one of best friend girl best friend before javy sense a disturbance in his aura some shit “ he chuckled. 

“ well i love you too … platonically “ she added as the waitress face was faltering last thing she needed was a jake obsessed woman messing with her food .. again .  

They sat waiting thursday  by far they best  when Mav brought lunch for them  , it was the day of the week the dagger squad look most forward to once they saw that big box coming in  . the smell of homemade version of their favorite dish wafting through the air as their mouth collectively watered waiting impatiently and getting the food like savages from poor pete mitchells hands . rooster love it most some  how penny benjamin was able to give him a piece of life with his mom something felt more special about it for him . part of the past in his present , the first time it ever happen he excuse himself and cried like a baby before returning to his friends .  it wasn’t like something extravagant it was simple bowls of mac and cheese with  shredded chicken and bacon mixed but something added that made him feel like a kid sitting at table with his late mother carole bradshaw telling her about tales of school and simple life .  full belly and happy memories filling his mind he sat back on the chair big grin on his face like always . 

“ penny outdone herself this time “ he pat his belly for added affect. 

“ yeah but it wasn’t penny… OWWW “ fanboy yelled . 

“ what you mean it not penny “ he asked confused. 

“ dude y/n been making this food since she came … OWW stop kicking me their friends now” he yelped rubbing his shin . 

“ sorry habit” bob winced. 

“ y/n  why didn’t anyone say before” he asked. 

“ because you wouldn’t have ate so we let you think it was penny  which come on man you wouldn’t have” nat confessed. 

“ i’ve been tipping penny extra every week for it “ his brows scrunched up mind blown to  the revelation . 

“ yeah she tried to give it to y/n who wouldn’t take it so she puts it in a jar under the bar and donates it to the hospital every month we all chip in too since y/n wont take it “ Mav spoke up . “ i’m so happy you two are finally friends proud of you kid “ he added as they rest began cleaning up.

“ just saying if you wanna make it up to her she needs a date for that gala tomorrow” nat hinted carrying the trash off as other where putting chairs away  . 

“ really it was y/n ?” he asked  once he stood still reeling in  the brand new information and the nagging feeling of guilt starting to kick in .

Tonight, the night  of the gala , the night of mingling and telling people she was flying solo . she could already feel the looks of pity and the sympathy coming her way. The sad little spinster drinking while couple danced or even worse the dances with the older peers who felt sorry for her. But hey the bottle of wine that she would come home to would ease the pain . kicking herself for not given an excuse not to go . checking over her dress and make up least she looked good she could play it off like be jake but nah she knew jake would never be short of offers for dates . 

 “ let do this” she breathed out grabbing her keys and heading out  her door what she didn’t expect rooster standing there flowers in his hand and dressed up . 

“ what are you doing here” her head tilted and yet the word failed to come to his mouth when he fully took her in . 

“ beautiful  you are … wow erm i wanted to escort you to this gala thing and apparently a yoda expression “ he brows furrowed as he wondered what the hell was wrong with him  . 

“ ace impression show it to fanboy but thanks i don’t need a sympathy date rooster really i’m totally able to look like a loser with out making it worse but thanks again “ she went to walk off only for him to grab her hand . 

“ mac and cheese my mom mac and cheese you’ve been making it all this time and you’ve given me something i can’t ever pay back but least let me do this please “ those damn eyes  that had her walls crumbling that wall she built so high  . 

“ fine once a mac and cheese thank you and not a pity date i suppose you can be my date” she nodded . 

“ here these are for you “ he almost shoved  the flowers in her face excitedly . 

“ erm thank.. How you know these were my favorite” she asked her voice filled with awe and shock. 

“ i remember  when mav , captain pete  , your dad of course  you know who he is … anyways i remember when he would send them when you passed tests  and when you graduated med school “ shit was she always this beautiful why was he having such hard time getting words out of his mouth . 

“ thank you rooster “ she smiled softly as they two walked to his bronco , they very one he spent the day cleaning to make sure it was ready  . he rushed past her  , throwing a quick “sorry” when he bumped into her to open the passenger door . “ you ready to rock this gala “ he asked once he was sat in his own seat . 

“ ready as i’ll ever be” she winced . 

part three

taglist : @peachmartini @shanimallina87 @kawaiiskeletondragonbanana @paisleebubbles @djs8891

A.N: Oh roo what are you doing 😬😬

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| What Took him so Long?

Summary: For a long time I’ve wanted a comfort fic dealing with Bucky’s arrival in camp and the assumption that once he got there, found his men and was relatively safe, he had a big adrenaline crash and needed a ton of loving care. So I wrote it into this world.

Note: I wrote so many of the boys for the first time this time and, well, it was fun but have mercy I’m new here

Continuity: This segment follows the events of First Night

Thanks: I owe dear @hogans-heroes a lot for helping me sort my screams about multiple different aspects of this fic and for how much depth they’ve added to my own love of these guys. Also to @ab4eva @blurredcolour and @crazymadpassionatelove

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+,additional graphic recounting of past violence and rape, descriptions of injuries from the same, angsty conversations and misplaced blame, the boys trying to give all six foot two inches of dead weight Egan a bath

“It’s Ida,” Brady’s nimble hand was deceptively strong when clutching Gale’s bicep and shaking him to wakefulness early in the morning, “she won’t fuckin’ respond but she’s bowin’ up ‘till I think her neck might snap.”

Well that got Gale tumbling out of his bunk, out from Maureen’s hold on his face, swollen thumb on his tongue. The hell had he been thinking last night? The raucous noise of his landing to his feet woke the others, Crank instantly startled at their hovering over Ida.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dunno,” Gale replied, staring down at Ida Brady who was suddenly quite still again, “when’d the jerks start?”

“About an hour ago. She didn’t move before that.” John reported and Gale was sure it was an accurate report as Brady’s eye bags suggested he’d not even slept a wink. “She’s cold but she kept seizing so I stopped holding her.”

Gale bit his lip and tried to recall how pale was deathly pale, or just, pale. He bent over her and placed his fingers against her pulse, relieved to find a strong heartbeat in her neck. Maybe too strong, but he wasn’t about to start picking apart mercies. He was trying to measure it to his watch’s third hand when she started again, neck truly so bowed beneath his fingers he understood the impression of it close to breaking. He took his hand away discomfited and by this time Crank had joined them to stare down at her but those eyelids didn’t even flutter.

“We shoulda called a doctor last night.” Crank fretted, “She wasn’t just tired, not after what she’s been through.”

What she had been through was not something that had been discussed really, and so, it had been happily tabled as a past occurrence when she came in last night and toppled into the bunk straight after showers. Now their silence on the topic seemed like the sort of lethal discretion that kills amongst “polite” societies.

“Well, let’s get one now.” Gale snapped, “Crank -find the one who sewed my cut. Vega, I think, Vargas, something like that. He’s here, in the south compound.”

“You got it major.”

As Ida quieted again, Gale tried his hand at her pulse once more. A few moments later she was writhing in her sleep again.

“Since she seizes everytime you touch her, how about ya stop touching her?” Demarco’s word of wisdom filtered in from his bunk.

Chastised, and with shared looks of alarm at their foolishness, Gale and Johnny retracted their hands to clasp behind their backs and waited in that mock parade rest until the doctor came in, dark expression on his face and a very deflated medical bag at his side.

“It’s one of the women?” he asked, shouldering between the two men.

“Yeah, our colonel.” Gale supplied before relaying in brief terms the timeline of her stay here, her symptoms, her rather obvious injuries.

“We might be dealing with a concussion,” the Doc warned upon inspecting her face, “how’d she get these?” he asked about the swollen cheek and torn temple.

Gale turned to Maureen who still sat in her bunk, quiet, oddly quiet. “I saw her get punched once, I think it was on that side. But it wasn’t so bad, the rest happened when they took her away from us.”

Doc Vega was inspecting the rest of her as he pulled the covers down, her shirt flaps up, bruises and more bruises visible and -“She’s bleeding through her pants. Is this a cycle or-?” He turned to Kendeigh expectantly and she only shook her head, making Brady turn away with a wounded noise and walk a convict’s lap around the table, breath shuttering out in rough huffs, fists shoved into his pockets. Maureen wasn’t sure how anyone expected to get on top of such emotions, much less a bother. She was sure as soon as she had energy for it, she’d start making some Germans pay, it didn’t matter which, someone needed to pay.

“With assault this severe-“ Doc Vega’s face was more than eloquent regarding his horrified assessment. “-she should be in hospital. You know that right? That’s what this is, sexual battery, and like the word suggests, it's damaging, very damaging. Not to mention infection, fever- she belongs in hospital.”

The silence was heavy except for Brady and his off kilter laps.

“If they take her, I don’t trust them to guarantee her Combatant status.” Gale’s jaw worked overtime as he stared down at the body of his friend, “German hospital might be the best thing to ever happen to her or the worst when they discharge her. She’d not want me to let them take her out of here. Not after she fought so hard to get in.”

“Then by god,” the doctor exclaimed, “take her to the camp doctor, there must be some supplies. Antibiotics at the least, aspirin perhaps. Something for the swelling, inside and out. Camp doctor has supplies, how many times do I gotta tell you guys -I don’t! Take her to him.”

“No!” John Brady spoke up urgently only to immediately appear chagrined at his slip as Gale Cleven turned a very suspicious eye on him, “I mean, sir, if we take her, the German doctor will just transfer her to hospital. He can’t see how bad she is.”

That was a valid point, Cleven had to give it to him, although he noticed Hambone’s own suspicious, cud chewing, background shuffling observation of his pilot. Every time that doctor was brought up, Brady mildly suggested that they not go to him, without fail. His mentions regarding the guy being German and illusions to his methods being foreign were wearing thin. There was a miasma of myth about the doctor that no one could actually credit for a single source and Cleven hadn’t expected Brady, sensible, steady, laconic and measured Brady, to be the one to start spinning folklore in a place like this. He had next to no patience for it.

“Brady,” he decided to have at it, “you gonna tell me why everytime I bring up medical care in this camp you act like I’m suggesting suicide?”

“Sir,” Johnny’s gentle eyes grew wide and ever more guileless, “I told you, that man isn't much good.”

“Even a trash physician who has supplies is better than a good one without.” Doc Vega pointed out as he prepared to take his leave, “I’ve done everything with what I have. There simply isn’t anything at my disposal. Packages got held up and didn’t have everything accounted for.”

“He probably takes the stuff.” Brady muttured.

“So he’s the one to go to.” Gale snapped.

“He’s not touching her.” Ida’s brother replied.

Gale pinched his nose as he watched Vega leave them, the guy’s useless little bag of nothing swinging by his side, “By not being good - do you mean a poor physician? Be clear, Damnit.”

As if sensing a penultimate conflict, the room soon cleared of everyone save Maureen who was too invested by curiosity and a healthy dose of her own suspicion.

“Sir I’ve told you, he -he operates outside his purview.”

“Son? I can’t even pretend to understand what that means.” Gale’s patience grew more lethal as it rubbed thin, “That could mean he uses leeches or he abuses his patients.”

Brady’s eyes darted back and forth from Cleven’s face to the plain beamed ceiling as if he could find his answer there. Manic and with an odd glitter easily mistaken for tears. The kid probably needed to sleep, or maybe he needed to fess up about the doctor. Either way, Gale found the whole thing more and more unsettling but also, aggravating.

“Now are you gonna tell me which is it? Or are you alright with me withholding help from dying men because Captain Brady’s too intent on staying vague?”

“He’s just odd, sir.” Brady gave a defeated huff, eyes still watery, “It’s nothing bad, I-I never said not to send them, sir. He just can’t see Ida. He can’t.”

Gale was intently watching Brady swallow hard and wrack his brain for another respectful appeal when Crack came barreling back in, the eagerness in his step reserved for only one thing these dismal days: “They’re here! There’s a new batch, bringing them in the front now, quick, there’s not a long line!”

Brady was up and darting out the room before Gale could blink, uncharacteristically excusing himself before his superior had dismissed him and leaving Ida behind, still motionless in her bunk.

“Bucky could be with them!” Brady explained as he dashed out, same old hope repeated for over a month now and Gale wondered when the guy was going to crack from one too many hits to the morale.

“Brady!” Gale called after him a beat too late, wondering who was going to stay with Ida, but after catching Maureen’s quizzical eye, Gale too bolted and left the woman in his lover’s charge, tearing out of the combine to have a word with his young Captain, fleece and cover on for a little added dignity the camp pallor had no doubt stripped him of.

The scars, too.

Brady was at the fence by the time Gale caught up, his wiry frame slipping between the surging mass of POWs come to greet and heckle the newcomers. Gale had long ago found it a dismal scene and wasn’t fond of watching after it, but Crank and Brady were too intent, and some heartsick need drove Gale to find such excuses for why he, too, always managed to be at the scene when a new batch trudged in.

And what the cat brought in today made Gale forget about everything, everything else but that tall, shuffling, bloodied mess of a man he knew was his friend. And, characterically, despite appearing half dead, Egan was asking after Cleven, like the crackers after the cheese, damn the association risks.

“John Egan! Your two o’clock!”

Like a sunbeam splintering a thundercloud, Bucky’s battered face split open in a beaming smile the second he’d registered Cleven’s own. Gale couldn’t help the effusion of bittersweet gratification at the immediate resumption of the old ways, the old sweetness between them, the nearness of a good man to help brave this hell.

“What took you so long?” he jabbed, but his friend’s face told a story Buck wasn’t sure anyone left in Stalag Luft III had the stamina to hear.

And just like that, Egan was shuffled past and into processing and it would be ages before he saw him again. When Gale turned his back and worked his way through the crowd, Brady was lingering in one of the clearings, hands clasped and a rote twirl of thumbs matching the catatonically grateful prayers on his imperceptibly moving lips. Or Gale sure hoped they were prayers, it was that or Johnny having finally cracked.

“You were right.” He gave the kid a pat on the shoulder, smiling gently at him as he seemed to come out of his relieved fog, eyes too big in that lean face and dark circles making reflective ponds below, “You were right, you said he’d make it.”

“I hoped he would.” Johnny didn’t sound like he was expecting to cash in those prayers so soon.

“I’m going to that doctor.” Gale informed him, leveling him a strong look, “I think we should get a little list for the other girls. Play it off, could be for anyone. Penicillin, sulfa, that sorta thing. Does that sorta thing cure…their sorta thing?” Cleven admittedly obfuscated towards the end, not really expecting John Brady to know what cured venereal diseases but more hoping for an opinion of solidarity, like one does when ordering a risky plate off the menu.

Major Cleven never learned whether Captain Brady thought penicillin would work or not, there was a commotion outside the main center compound’s administrative building, and then the sudden appearance of guards dragging between them a slumped figure.

A dragged body was bad in most situations, at the prison camp it was cause for more than a little ire and panic. When Gale recognized the stature of their burden, the familiar span of the shoulders, the dark mop of curls hung low, his own brisk walk turned into a full on sprint across the muddy yard, Brady at his heels full of the same enlightenment.

“The hell did you do to him?” Cleven bellowed at the reasonably perturbed guards who were already mounting a defense of their blamelessness for Egan’s unconscious state.

“Nothing!” the more fluent of the two protested, “He vas being processed, yes? And he falls over, like zat. Nothing. Did nothing. Check him, he is—“ the guard made a motion to his face signifying the battlement Gale had already noticed as Egan trudged in. Back when Egan was awake and on his own two feet. “We? Nothing!”

Gale took Egan from them like a mother being handed their child, full frontal weight of his large friend propped against him and he succeeded at little more than keeping them both from hitting the mud. He was already weaker than when he first got there and the proof was here in the staggering weight of a man he used to hold his own against. Crank and Johnny and Demarco were beside him before he can even look for assistance, expressions of compassion and anger at Egan’s plight all melding into a series of disbelieving grunts as they heaved him up between them, carrying his dead weight like a feedsack. Gale and Brady take under his arms, Crank and Benny his legs. Gale studied the completely bashed face of his friend, a seething deduction brewing as to how he came to be in such a state.

“The showers.” he directed his men as they stalled midway in the yard after having got the weight of him hoisted.

They created a stir as they went, the dire oddity of the scene drawing attention as they shuffled through camp.

“Holy moley, is that Egan?” Talullah Smith came to a sudden halt in their path.

“Move!” Gale told her. “Or get the door.”

“He even alive?” Murphy was with her, no doubt obeying Cleven’s order for no woman to be unattended around camp, and he scrambled alongside to help as they mounted the steps and passed through the door Smith held until they were in the dank and echoing, poorly tiled room. There were a few other men in here, washing clothes and dabbing at their underarms. The showers themselves were not on today, hadn’t been for days, and Gale knew the large trough sinks down the middle of the room were their best bet for a triage and an initial wash.

“Somebody get his boots off, come on.”

It was horrible, grunting, grappling work trying to keep Egan’s dead weight up as they tugged off encrusted articles of clothing one after another, cringing at the bruises each grip and pull necessarily aggravated.

“Sorry Bucky.” Demarco apologized repeatedly to the insensible man as he adjusted his grip on his ribs for Brady to pull the slate gray button up off him.

“Smith, you can go.” Cleven noticed her lingering by the door, consternation written all over her face at Egan’s state, Murphy shadowing her. It wasn’t suitable for a woman to remain for the rest of it, whatever skill she had at setting fingers was a little below the pay grade of John Egan’s injuries. “You and Murph, can go get Doc Vega. Again.”

He sent Brady a look but the boy was too busy to notice, helping pull a very discolored arm out of a Bucky’s standard issue, fleece-less jacket. “What’d the looney do with his sheepskin?” he asked.

“Gave it to, Kidd.” Brady grunted, “Right before Munster. Said you didn’t like it.”

I’ll be damned: no lucky deuce and no lucky jacket and no fighter escorts, how were they supposed to manage to stay in the sky with recklessness like that? “You sentimental sunnuvabitch,” he hissed mournfully at his friend’s flopping head as they got him stripped and the full extent of his bruises came in view, “-supposed to be the last ones up.”

If anyone else understood what he meant in his mournful rage, they didn’t heed it, and if they didn’t understand they also did not press him for his meaning.

“Let’s get him up.”

Collectively they grabbed a limb apiece again and hoisted Bucky, groaning themselves under the bare weight of him.

“What did his mother feed him?” Benny protested as they staggered, and dumped him onto the longest of the troughs, getting a weak moan of protest from their specimen at the cold and hard surface.

“Major?” Crank begged hopefully of his closed eyes as Gale worked at the pump on the faucet, the gurgle of chilled water preceding the blast.

“I’m gonna use this, lad.” Brady was informing one of the armpit washing boys down the way, swiping their washcloth with kind presumption and returning to squeeze it out under Cleven’s growing steam.

Gently as he had his sister’s scalp, Brady began to use the wet cloth to scrub and wipe at the blood dried in an ominous swirl around Bucky’s eye as Gale continued to pump.

“He’s gonna catch chill.” Demarco warned.

“Haul some buckets?” Gale asked if they were willing, the kitchen combine was not so far away with fires and tin pails.

“We’ll be back.” Benny agreed.

“Brady, go with him.” Cleven unceremoniously pried the washcloth from the boy’s hand; silent weeping was an art Gale had perfected as a child but he’d not seen it in a grown man until today, “Go.”

While they were gone Gale did his best to keep the chilled water somewhat diverted, with Crank’s help he even managed to roll Bucky on his side and probe at his blackened ribs. As is, Bucky began to shiver and when Doc Vega got there; he was none too gentle in his hurried and angry assessment.

“Fractured ribs.” he rubbed the washcloth across his face like he was sanding the deck back home, “Possible fractured orbit. Eye socket, Cleven, looks busted. Just keep him propped, hope his eye doesn’t fall back into his skull.” Gale stared back at him unblinking, there was only ever one question these days and after a beat Doc Vega answered it, “And no, don’t have anything for it.”

Brady and DeMarco had returned with their now tepid water in time to hear this. “Should we wash him?” Benny gestured hopelessly.

“Yeah, he’ll probably sleep it off. If we’re lucky. Get him clean, get him warm.”

Gale began to pump anew and Brady gently tipped his warm bucket over Egan’s clotted curls, running his fingers through to disentangle the crusted snarls. Unfortunately their irrepressible patient took the kindness for a waterboarding and began to thrash, sending a shower of cold droplets over his caregivers.

“Buck?” a wrecked voice, punctuated by chattering teeth, stalled them all. “I saw Buck, where’s Buck, I found Buck, wh-“

“Yeah, yeah Bucky, it’s me.” Gale dropped his task and crouched over him, shivering himself as the sink ledge dampened the front of his own clothes.

“Buck!” Egan begged again, arms reaching out until Gale found himself all but tipped into the sink himself, arms wound around Egan’s pale shoulders with their blooming blue mottle, “M’so goddamn cold, Buck.”

“I know, I know, I’ve got ya. I swear, I’ve got ya.” Gale squeezed him tighter, “Almost over. Gettin’ you freshened up. We’ve got ladies here now.” he joked.

John’s head rolled listlessly on Gale’s forearm and his sharp blue eyes flitted across the washroom ceiling until he caught sight of someone else dear hovering over him with another pail, “Brady, what’re you cryin’ for?” he croaked.

“You.” the kid didn’t miss a beat. “So sorry Bucky, I’m so sorry.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice strengthened with vehemence, “s’not your fault. None of it.”

“Yeah,” Gale agreed, gently peeling a flake of blood off his ear, “that plane was going down anyway without your lucky jacket.”

Bucky somehow had the stamina and the facial expertise to look sheepish at that despite his disfigurement. “Why'd you guys put me in the sink? Animals! Get me out, too goddamn cold, get me out. Gale! Get me out.”

“Ok, ok, shh, ok.”

There was a compassionate scramble to help Bucky sit up and swing his legs over the side, the groaning and swaying of the Major a hardly promising sign for the excursion he seemed intent to make. Suddenly they were helping to prop him on his feet again, and while he was no longer the dead, unconscious weight of before, he was now six feet something of bare, slippery flesh vibrating between them all in a terrible chill. Murphy and Smith had brought blankets along with the Doc, and gratifyingly someone from their combine had proffered a t-shirt and fresh skivvies.

Crank and Brady swayed dangerously with his weight on their shoulders as Gale knelt down and made his shaking legs step into them. Bucky’s own hand arrested him standing up by placing a clumsy hand on his cheek.

“Where’d you get these?” he was thumbing at those scars Gale hadn’t managed to live down.

“Flack.” Gale maintaIned as he rose to his feet, “What the hell happened to you?“

Bucky gave him his old lopsided grin, “War, Buck.”

“Too much of this kind of war lately.” Crank pointed out unamused, wounds were one thing but what was with the abuse? It didn’t seem to stay away, even from the strongest or most esteemed of their number.

Bucky’s brow ticked in curiosity at the allusion to others but he was too drained to keep his thoughts ordered, “Marched us through a town, RAF had just paid a call. Townspeople didn’t exactly come out with flowers.”

“Holy shit.” Benny sucked his teeth in a grimace, noticing how the other men down the way paused their chores to listen in.

“They attacked you?” Cleven’s tone left little room for questioning.

Bucky gave them a wincing little smile, tilting his head in a shrug, “Yeah, guards just let them at us. I’m the only one who made it.”

“What?” Came up in a chorus, his doleful audience suddenly animated, “You mean they killed the rest?”

“One got knifed,” Bucky stared down at Brady’s work on lacing his boots, skivvies and boots, now he looked like all the other clowns here, “the others - guess they beat them, too. I heard shots. Woke up in a cart on the way to a nice, quiet little spot in the woods.”

“Jesus Christ:” Crank uttered, “Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll be ok.” Bucky muttered, scuffing his boots to see how heavy they felt, his limbs wouldn’t stop shivering and he had a sick feeling it wasn’t from cold alone.

“Yeah, you will.” Cleven’s pained eyes ordered him sternly and to swipe away that horrid crease between his brows, Egan would do anything.

“Yeah.” he agreed.

“Let’s get you a bunk.” Brady prodded, slipping back under one of his armpits, wiry shoulders having more strength in them than Bucky credited, “We’ve got a nice little sick ward going.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah; and no medical supplies.”

“Great.”

“Yeah, it’s a real well oiled machine they got here.” Benny snarked as the lot of them kept pace with Egan’s limps across to their combine -it wasn’t under discussion where he’d bunk, he would be in with them.

“What’d you name the place?” Egan asked dismally at the threshold of their combine.

“We didn’t.” Gale admitted his unimaginative oversight for the second time in twenty four hours on these same steps.

“No?” Egan slapped at the boring raw lumber and sniffed, “You let Maureen in billet in here?” he asked suddenly.

“Y-yeah.” Gale was wary and his defense at the ready, “All the women who’ve arrived so far are in this one, so we can help guard them. Yes, Maureen’s in with us.”

It was better just to say it, to head off the teasing and the suggestions and the disorder right away. Cleven smiled back at Bucky confidently, waiting for this friend to get a move on over the threshold.

“Huh, ok,” Egan made a funny little face; “then I christen you,” he went on addressing the combine itself, clearing his throat loudly to collect before spitting on the doorframe above Benny’s disgusted head, “Love Shack Number Nine.”

“Just -get your ass inside.” Gale shoved at him between his shoulders and Bucky -with Brady still tucked dutifully under a wing- entered his new home.

Gale gave him a preliminary roster of inmates in each barrack, “We’re down near the end.” and by the time they got to their own room Crank had to help support Bucky’s other side, the brief surge of energy the cold water and friendly faces had given him waning fast.

“Just so goddamn hard to breathe.” He tried to explain, wincing at the pull of his arms as they clumsily shouldered into their room.

It was empty except for Ida in her bunk and Maureen beside her who stood up fast as a lightning bolt at the sight of Egan. “Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened to you?” She rushed him but pulled back before her usual greeting of hugs to survey the damage, suspecting a squeeze might be too cruel even by Egan’s standards.

“I’m ok, Candy.” he assured, smooth as butter as he reached for her and ran busted knuckles over the curl of her hair, “God you’re a sight for sore eyes after all these ugly bastards.”

“Really though, what happened?” she shied away from his pacifying touches, glaring at the others to start spilling the beans.

“They tried to lynch him.” Gale saw there was nothing for, she’d wheedle it out at some point and after what she’d seemingly endured, what exactly was he shielding her from? “Killed everyone else with him.”

Maureen’s worried eyes dulled sadly at this and she proceeded to hug herself, hands carefully tucked into her armpits, “Gosh, Bucky.” she mumbled.

“Hey, said I’m alright, didn’t I?” Bucky coaxed, swaying towards Maureen and laying a heavy hand on her small shoulder. It tipped him too far forward and he had to clutch at and brace himself on the bunk slat behind her head. Suddenly he was peering over her shoulder and instead of empty sheets as he expected in the lowest bunk, he found the bruised face of a superior he didn’t know had even been shot down. “What the hell happened to her?”

At the silence that followed this very simple question, Bucky swung his head round to stare the men down. It made the world rock, window blurring into the room in a nauseating sheet of white and Buck had too many eyes and all of them sad and Crank hadn’t even a face but a blob and his vision was shot to shit with spots but as no one said a word, he repeated his question in a yell that surprised even himself, “What happened to her?”

“The Gestapo kept taking them from the Dulag.” Brady’s voice was soft and thin in his ringing ears, like a child explaining the fate of a broken toy, “They even took them to a camp. A women’s prison camp.”

“Am I missing the part where any of that promises a face like that?” Bucky demanded, trying to get the goddamn window to stop whiting out his vision.

Gale’s voice was on his other side, the side without the window, he wanted to look at him but he was afraid to move his head again and for the spots to get large and everything go black one more time. “Long time before they’d recognize them as combatants, Bucky,” Gale laid a preemptively calming hand on Egan’s arm, “SS knocked them around bad.”

That’s all Gale really knew of it. Most of it had been gotten out of Smith who seemed most fit and most angry over it all. The others were skittish or tired.

“Knocked them around.” Bucky repeated bitterly, disbelieving Cleven’s moderate retelling, “Who’s them? Who else?”

“We’ve got a little over a dozen of the girls here.” Gale replied, “Brought them in a group, some downed weeks before others. Held them while figuring out what to do before they brought them here.”

“What to do?” Bucky knew he was back to yelling and the spots were getting excited from it, “Treat them like officers being a little too much to ask?”

“Like they treated you?” Demarco weighed in, if only to take the heat off his co-pilot, “Like they treated Buck?” -or maybe not.

“The fuck did they do to him?” Bucky really did try to turn his head this time and he was blindly groping for Cleven’s soft cheeks even as the spots took over his vision and his knees began to buckle. Gale grabbed him on the way down with Candy’s help, but Egan heard her exclamation of pain from it.

Steadied, with his hands back on the bunk slat, Bucky willed away the spots and stared down at Kendeigh’s supportive hands on his waist -or what shoulda been hands. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen an uglier set of paws.

“Were you with her?” he asked, gravelly and not to be ignored.

“Most of the time.” Maureen whispered back and if Gale could have cleared the room for her he would’ve.

“Then what the hell happened to her?” Bucky summoned the last bit of himself and stared down the auburn beauty of his erstwhile drinking buddy, “No really Kendeigh, answer me. I’m your superior, you don’t have recourse, you answer to me. What’re you gonna do, huh? Ask your fairy godmother colonel if you can ignore me? Huh? ‘Hey ida got a sec, Ida?’ No? Looks like her office is closed. Fucking talk to me, Candy. Start with those hands. What happened?”

“Someone stood on them.” -if Gale had to hear Maureen repeat it one more time in that monotone way he was going to start chewing through his cheek.

“Why?” Bucky always had such simple questions, it was one of his wisdoms and Maureen hated it right now, her eyes flashing and her face reddening as she ducked away from the stare of friends.

“So I’d stop fighting him.” The statement was hardly legible, her voice had gone so wispy.

“He, this ‘he’ -he knew you were an Officer?” Gale hadn’t thought to ask that, and he’d thought of so many things to ask that never made it out his throat, but Bucky did. “An army Air Force combatant?”

Maureen swallowed hard before throwing her head back, neck taut and nose flaring -Gale didn’t think he’d ever seen her more magnificent. “He knocked my cap off before it.” she answered at last, a cold hard meeting of blue eyes and Bucky stared her down, “And he laughed at the engraving on my belt buckle when he undid my pants.” There was dead silence for a beat before she went on, “They tore the wing patches off Ida’s shirt, you can see the holes there, see? Johnny’s not fixed them yet.”

Bucky slumped to a seat on Ida’s bunk, a shaky hand extending to push down the blanket and expose her shoulder, and there was a jagged tear in the standard issue, sure enough. “What’s Johnny been fixing?” he asked, voice hollow as he thumbed at Ida’s mottled skin, she was white as a ghost beneath the blue discoloration. Bucky wondered if he looked half as rough.

Johnny was then in a squat beside him, rummaging under the bunk before pulling out a pair of trousers. He tossed them into Bucky’s lap, wordlessly. Drab olive, Brady’s tidy repairs obvious due to the clashing thread, and also blood -so much goddamn blood down the inseams, meticulously scrubbed out but stained all the same and woven together by the white stitches. “You bastards let him do this?” Bucky asked the men incredulously, rage beginning to boil over and it didn’t have a single source and it certainly had no rightful outlet, “None of you can handle a fuckin’ needle? No? No, go on then, let a brother sew up this shit, let him get to think long and hard about what each fuckin’ rip means for his sister! You goddamn cowards -you haven’t even asked them! You haven’t talked about it with the girls, have you?”

“Bucky, Bucky come on now,” Gale tried reasoning with him, “they just got in. So did you. Let’s, let’s take it easy, save our mad for the ones who deserve it.”

“Oh, oh you don’t think that’s us then, Major Cleven?” Egan scoffed, “Because we didn’t do it, isn’t our fault at all?”

“It’s not!” Crank insisted behind Gale’s back, “Gonna blame Buck for your ribs, too?”

That defeated him. Bucky’s fury visibly dimmed in his eyes and Gale would have almost preferred the insulting rage over the dead helplessness that followed, it was too reminiscent of his own. “They’re safe, you’re safe.” he summarized gruffly, “Doc says sleep for both you and her.”

“Sleep.” Bucky mumbled as he looked back to Ida, trying to imagine with masochistic singleness of mind the sort of men who’d enjoy picking a strong woman like her apart -he could bring them to mind too easily. “Sure, just…sleep it off.”

“I don’t want her going to the doctor.” John Brady insisted once more like this had never been argued before in this very room.

“He no good?” was all Bucky asked.

“No sir.” Brady was emphatic and relieved to be taken at vaguest value.

“Brady’s the only one to say that,” Cleven butted in, “and he won’t specify.” Gale may have shot a glare at Ida’s brother, Bucky’s own predicament causing a double issue. “You need one, she needs one, too.”

“I-I trust my little Fox.” Bucky disagreed, although it was less impressive by both the use of a nickname and the slurring stumble that occurred right after as he attempted to get up from the bunk and pat Brady’s cheek. This small movement caused such disturbance in his fragile equilibrium that he would have nearly toppled if Cleven and Kendeigh hadn’t been at his side to catch him. “Goddamn! Goddamn, I’m dizzy as hell.” he repeated, “And cold. I don’t want a doctor, I want a blanket. And a nap.”

“Just what the doctor ordered.” Gale repeated dryly with a ghost of a grin that would have normally riled Bucky into smushing it between his fingers. He was too far away for that and Bucky was too dizzy to reach.

“M’gonna sleep for a week.” He announced.

“They’ll be in here for roll if you don’t show.” Gale begged.

“Good luck to them, moving me.” Bucky grumbled and shook a boot across the room before Brady knelt and helped with the other one. How many times had the sweet kid been shoeing him today? He should start calling him mom.

“They’ll come for her too, if she misses again.” Gale pushed, “A guard came and checked to make sure she was alive this morning.”

“They’ll just take her to the doctor.” Brady repeated hopelessly.

“No they won’t.” Bucky assured him, already fully convinced of two things Gale very much held in suspicion, and he’d been here under half an hour, “They won’t.” he repeated and, before anyone could fully credit their eyes, he appeared to use his last gasp of strength and dexterity to roll Ida Brady, none too gently, further in her bunk toward the wall before climbing in after her and sagging into the meager bedding.

“John!” Cleven had too many objections to itemize at present and all of them were tidily conveyed by use of his Christian name.

“They can’t take her from us like this, Buck.” Bucky was slurring worse than ever, now obstructed by a pillowcase and Ida’s torn head.

“She doesn’t wanna be touched.” Gale hissed urgently, side eyeing Demarco who seemed beyond caution and was now viewing this as analytically as a laboratory experiment.

“S’ok.” Bucky mumbled, “Ida always knows me.”

Gale and Johnny exchanged helpless looks, with Gale choosing to flavor his own with no small amount of accusation towards the younger man. But then, both occupants of the bunk became -and stayed- still, and no seizing episodes followed the heavy burden of Bucky’s arm over Ida’s ribs. So, with shrugs and outstretched hands of mere mortal impotency, they resigned themselves to life with Bucky in Love Shack Number Nine.

“I forgot how loud he could get.” Crank’s mutter broke the silence.

“We should get some salve at least.” Demarco observed with a nod to Bukcy’s face and Kendeigh, who had been oddly quiet and sat with legs swinging on her bunk, echoed in agreement.

“I thought maybe penicillin, too.” Gale asked the room at large.

“Why not ask for the keys to the front gate while we’re at it?” Crank snarked, “That krout sawbones never gave me shit for Murphy’s cuts, hasn’t even tended Hambone since he got out of hospital.”

“Hambone hasn’t gone to him because Brady has scared him off.” Cleven retorted, “Any of you have a better idea?”

“I could try.” Maureen spoke up, “He might -respond?- if a woman asked.”

“No.” Cleven shut that down with a sharp cut of his hand through the air, “No way in hell.”

“I’ll go sir.“ Brady’s soft assurance broke the tenseness, Gale watched the boy stoically as he rose from his place by Ida’s -and now Egan’s- bunk, and grabbed his pipe off the table, “Salve and penicillin?” he confirmed, face cocked shyly back at Cleven once more from the doorway.

“Salve and penicillin.” Cleven affirmed, “And Brady-“ he halted the boy, “-you sure about this?”

“He knows me.” Brady’s eyebrows drew together, a sudden strong expression on his face, nonplussed in a way that made Cleven feel like he was the one slow in the head, “Fixed the shoulder.” he reminded, gesticulating to the joint that had been dislocated by a poor parachute landing, no doubt caused by arguing too long and close to the ground in a spiraling plane with Major Egan. “I’ll get you the stuff, sir.”

Brady shoved his pipe in his mouth and dug his hands into his coat pockets as he walked down the drafty hallway. Conversations from the various rooms drifted to his ear, odd still to hear the high tones of female chatter amongst them. He found himself rolling his last bit of tobacco round and round in his pocket as he neared the door, he’d been saving it for a real doozy of a day; for some catastrophe that needed nicotine to wash it down, or else a holiday that deserved the special exception. Ramming his once hurt shoulder into the door to open it, Brady decided today would have to be significant enough.

The day he got salve and penicillin.

“You just chew on that thing instead of smoke it now?” The laconic humor of his bombardier startled him mid shiver, it wasn’t even that cold outside he just felt poorly and everything was getting real cold and awful as he stood rooted to their steps and eyeing the main compound.

“No, I was gettin’ ready to pack it.” He answered Hamilton, leveling him a scrutinizing look over the pipe in question, “How’ve you been keepin’ occupied?”

“This and that.” Hambone shrugged, gold teeth still glinting as he assessed Brady. “Where you headed?”

“Who says I’m headed anyplace?”

“Word is Egan’s here and half dead.” Hambone scratched at his scar, the rough sutures too late in being taken out and now causing irritation, Brady almost felt guilty for that. “And now you're out here eyeing the Pill Hut. I’d say you’re going to that doctor.”

Hambone never really got enough credit for his smarts, and Brady wished he’d stop using them only when it concerned things Johnny was already having enough trouble psyching himself up for -like radioing the tower to admit they were lost or visiting this freak in a white coat.

“They need some stuff.” He conceded.

“Gonna waste good baccy on it?” Hambone scoffed again, “Come on, I feel like a walk. Haven’t seen inside the place anyway, all your ghost stories were too spooky.” Hambone was mocking him, but he was also beginning to walk towards the hut with the plain expectation of accompanying Brady.

“Hambone-“

“With all due respect, just shut it, Captain.” Hambone gave him a look, and it was the first one today that made Brady feel seen without feeling all of two inches tall, “If I have to rub these stitches on those rough pillows one more night I’m gonna claw my face back open.”

Brady didn’t doubt he would, so in a spooked and complacent mood, pilot followed grinning bombardier down the muddy lanes to the doctor’s shack.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[dedeinthewild]

oliver bearman x reader, special encounters

-"she was so much better than a creamy croissant"

The drivers loved grabbing their bikes and pedaling toward Italy from Monaco, with the sea on their right and the endless blue sky stretching out like an infinite expanse of happiness.

Ollie had a thing for good training sessions with his friends, always thinking about a creamy croissant to end the morning and the weekend trip ahead, where he’d visit his family. Ever since his Formula One commitments had packed his schedule, he’d made it a habit to spend time with his dad. Saying he missed his mom and Thomas was an understatement. Still, he was proud his little brother had begun his own rise with a British F4 contract, and he knew his mom kept busy with work and her new passion for sourdough baking.

“Why can’t I get ice cream now?” Ollie asked, while Kimi pedaled a bit faster to catch up with him after a stretch of road where they’d had to ride single file.

“We’ve been awake just half an hour, Ollie,” the Italian laughed, reaching him and letting go of the handlebars to grab his water bottle for a sip.

The threatening clouds they’d seen hovering over the principality began to break up as they passed Menton, nearing the Italian border.

“Can we stop?” asked the Brit in Italian, spotting a sweets stand just as they entered Ventimiglia, where they’d planned a quick break before heading back to Monaco for an evening of PlayStation.

“Cut it out!” joked the younger of the two, earning an exaggerated glare from Ollie, who turned around with raised eyebrows and an Oscar-worthy pout.

“I’ll kill myself.”

Moments later, a small rock caught under his tire, and Ollie found himself sprawled on the pavement, sitting against a signpost, clutching his scratched leg.

“I didn’t think you meant literally,” Kimi quipped, crouching beside him, noticing the grimace on his face and hoping it wasn’t a broken leg—they’d be in serious trouble if it were.

“Shut up,” Ollie replied weakly, smiling at his friend’s joke while inspecting his calf to gauge the damage, turning it to look from different angles.

“I should call Andrea.”

“No!” Ollie quickly said, grabbing a handkerchief from his cycling jacket and wetting it with water from his bottle to clean the wound of asphalt dirt.

“You can’t stay there like roadkill!”

The Haas reserve driver shook his head, settling against the post and noticing that no one had stopped to help them.

“Maybe the emergency services?”

“Who the hell made me do this?” sighed the young Italian, unlocking his phone and leaning against one of the railings overlooking the port.

Before long, just enough time to argue over whether or not to inform Andrea—one of their managers and friends—about the fall, an ambulance arrived and parked nearby.

“What do we have here?” said one of the paramedics as he approached the drivers with a kind smile, noticing they were calm and the injured one seemed more embarrassed than anything.

“We were talking, and I didn’t see the rock,” Oliver explained, setting his helmet on the ground and fully revealing his flushed face, while behind the paramedic came another woman with a stretcher and one carrying a first-aid bag.

“You’re lucky you didn’t fall into a pothole,” the two women chuckled as the man prepared for transport, and they worked to assess the situation.

“This is definitely sprained, if not broken,” said one of them, making both drivers groan. If Ollie could have buried himself, he would have done so then and there, knowing this meant his trip to see his family was canceled, and Andrea wouldn’t be thrilled. His ankle looked terrible and was already starting to swell and bruise.

“Do you usually put much weight on it?” They likely needed to know how carefully to handle it for a smoother and quicker recovery.

“We’re racing drivers,” Oliver answered with a heavy British accent.

The two paramedics glanced at the third, who was preparing the stretcher and hadn’t initially noticed who they were sitting on the sidewalk. Now she recognized them but maintained her professionalism, waiting for the others to give the all-clear for transport.

“I feel so stupid,” the driver said, staring at his ankle as they moved toward the nearest hospital.

“This happens more often than you’d think,” she smiled, sitting beside him. “I’ve mastered immobilization thanks to reckless cyclists.”

The boy chuckled softly, despite his semi-reclined stretcher feeling so comfortable it tempted him to move—though he knew that would only make things worse. Kimi stayed in Ventimiglia, sitting glumly by the roadside with both bikes nearby, dreading calling Andrea, who would undoubtedly have words with René once he heard what had happened.

“At the hospital, they’ll give you something to ease the pain.”

“But I don’t feel any.”

“You will,” she replied, taking out a form.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Ollie shook his head, grabbing his phone to check for notifications from his teammate while she filled out the hospital protocol form.

Soon they arrived at the hospital, and the three paramedics transported him to the ER. They handed him over to a doctor, who, before taking him beyond the doors to determine whether it was a fracture, noticed Ollie’s adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was kicking in. To help, they administered something, and they started walking toward the exit.

As the doctor injected the substance, Ollie felt a strange lightness and happiness, like he was in one of those cheesy teen movies that try to soften the blow of summer ending.

“Hey, yo!” he yelled, spotting a guy leaning against a column, holding a pink jacket, likely waiting for a relative.

“My paramedic’s hella cute, yo!”

The paramedics turned, eyebrows raised and amused, toward the source of the outburst.

“It’s the driver,” chuckled one of them, nodding toward the young man wildly gesturing from his stretcher as the doctor looked on, baffled at such a reaction to something far from anesthesia.

The two women smiled, and the one who had sat with him during the ride blushed slightly, knowing her colleagues would tease her endlessly about this.

Ollie was on cloud nine, smiling sweetly with dilated pupils, fist-bumping the bystander, who had put down his phone and jacket to chat with him freely. Normally, Ollie was shy, reserved, and polite, but now? He was entirely different.

“She’s hella cute! You should’ve seen her,” he said, flopping back onto the stretcher and resting his arms behind his head, gazing at the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked the stranger.

“I’m Andrea,” came the reply in Italian.

“My best friend’s called Andrea! He’s so funny; you’d definitely get along,” he said confidently, shaking his head as if making an unshakable proclamation worthy of a bet.

Meanwhile, the paramedic girl was amused, much like the doctor who, half-annoyed, wanted to kick Ollie out for disrupting the whole ER. The young Brit, with his Ferrari cycling jersey and dirt-smeared shorts, had his brown hair disheveled and his fair skin slightly flushed with its distinctive freckles and moles. He was a sight.

“I’m Ollie,” he fist-bumped like they were lifelong friends.

“You know, that jacket’s smooth. Give me the name of the shop.”

The stranger burst into laughter, turning away slightly not to laugh directly in his face.

“She was so much better than a creamy croissant,” Ollie added, sprawled out in contented delirium.

The paramedics shook their heads, patting the blushing girl on the back before leaving the ER for their next call.

Ollie disappeared with the doctors and nurses, while the ambulance crew resumed their morning shift.

Back in Ventimiglia, Kimi had finally called Andrea and René, taking the scolding meant for both him and Ollie. Still, with the next Formula 2 race in Qatar nearly two months away, Ollie had time to recover and get back in shape. Kimi stored their bikes at a café he knew, asking for a favor, then took a taxi to the hospital.

Walking into the ER still in his cycling shoes, he asked for Oliver, noting the nurse at the desk chuckled upon hearing the name but didn’t question it. He made his way to the casting room, where they had taken Ollie after confirming via X-ray that the bone was indeed broken.

“How are you?” he asked, sitting beside him.

“Good. Did you bring me the croissant?” Ollie replied with a grin.

“We gave him a painkiller, but he’s out of his mind,” the doctor laughed, raising Kimi’s eyebrows.

Rarely had Kimi seen his teammate act so unhinged—so unlike the reserved Brit he knew. He hadn’t seen this side of him since their laughing-filled night in Singapore when Ollie’s Italian had nearly become fluent.

A week later, as they sat in the apartment Prema provided them in Monaco, Ollie showed Kimi a video.

“This is a prank,” Kimi declared.

“I swear, I wanna kill myself after this,” Ollie groaned, utterly embarrassed.

“Should I remind you what happened the last time you said that?” Kimi teased, glancing at Ollie’s casted leg propped on the coffee table. The past two days had been an adjustment—navigating the apartment, dealing with itchiness, and Ollie’s outbursts as Kimi laughed at his struggles on one leg.

“Do me a favor,” the Haas reserve driver asked, watching as Kimi prepared lunch.

Kimi sighed, crossing his arms. “What is it?”

“Go to the paramedics and apologize for me.”

“I hate you,” the Italian grumbled, plating the omelet he’d just made. They ate together before Kimi reluctantly set off for the Italian Red Cross station where the ambulance that had picked them up was based.

Once there, he asked to see the three paramedics from that day. Only one was on duty.

“Ollie wanted me to apologize for the other day,” Kimi explained. “He couldn’t really control himself.”

“Don’t worry. He actually brightened up our day,” she replied with a smile, leaning against the wall. “Wait here a second.”

Kimi watched her disappear through a door behind her. He glanced around the station until she returned holding a paper bag.

“Maybe I’m being silly, but he kept going on about a cornetto alla crema, so I wanted to give him one.”

“But you didn’t know where we were,” Kimi said, amused.

“Exactly,” she replied with a small laugh.

The driver smiled, thanking her, knowing Ollie would definitely appreciate the gesture. And maybe Ollie had been right—under the influence of painkillers, he’d called her cute. With her soft features, honey-colored eyes, and hair tied back in a braid, Kimi could see what he meant.

“You met her?” The British driver was in shock as his teammate hung his jacket on the apartment’s coat rack. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Kimi laughed, tossing the paper bag with the cornetto inside to him.

If he could have, Oliver would’ve broken the other ankle just for a chance to see her again.

Meanwhile, at the paramedics’ station, she was sitting on a stool, preparing cookies for that evening’s meeting, a soft smile on her face and the image of the driver etched in her mind.

@charlieblacks-world and I had this idea, and we really hope you like our drugged Ollie!

not proofread, there might be a few errors :)

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Imagine.

It's December. You and your new husband were currently in America.

The worst country in the damn world according to Grindelwald's opinion.

Rude, lazy, unhealthy and ungroomed. Especially the men.

The handsome former Dark Wizard raised a silver brow. Maybe you never fell in love or slept with anyone before him not because of your young age but you had bad or no options. He would have pitied you if he didn't love you. But, he inwardly smiled.

The memory when he first fucked you last year before he kidnapped you was his favorite life memory yet. He thought his childhood memories when his mother was alive was his best. You replaced them.

He didn't care about your chastity. But, when he saw the blood evidence. He was not smug but actually happy that he had the honor of pleasuring you the first time. You tried to ignore the ecstasy because a man you never seen in your life rape you.

He came back and then kidnapped you and eventually apologized and begged for your forgiveness and hand in marriage.

Here you were. In your homeland after almost two long years.

Christmas shopping in America.

Grindelwald was the wealthiest man alive so far. But, he was annoyed that storekeepers hoarded their best items in one time.

He hated fuckin' crowds.

But, he damaged you and you sacrificed a lot for him. So, he should not whine like a pussy and man up. And sacrifice for his love for you.

He held your hand and peeked to the side of his small wrinkled eyes to see young men half his age ogling at you and burning him with glares.

He smirked at them by their obvious jealousy and he clutched your hand tighter as he walked around the mall.

There was a lingerie store you walked into. Gellert obviously didn't want to go. He was a faithful man to you and he didn't want the wrong attention from other women. So, he kissed your forehead before he separated from you.

He saw a jewelry department and went inside. The items were simple bland and boring. He rolled his eyes. No taste or color. But there was one item that was perhaps ancient European jewelry.

Gellert raised a brow. He pointed at that necklace

"Sir. This item was never sold since 18 years. This is the most expensive jewelry here."

Gellert turned to the man so he can see his silk suit and leather loafers

The employee apologized.

He met you when you came out.

He kissed you hard Infront of the other shoppers when he met you again. Earning more yearning looks from the men.

Perhaps even minor boys. They wish they had that kind of life with their girlfriends or crush. Ideal couple.

"Did you bought a present for your friends?" You smiled at him.

Gellert nodded as he carried your bags. He would give envelope of cash to Dumbledore. Better than giving him a useless gift.

"Even his brother?"

Tch. Gellert knew his best friend's brother hated him and his son Credence.

"It's Christmas scrooge." Your soft warm fingers traced his handsome jawline.

He caught your hand and pressed it to his lips before he settled you to sit in the passenger seat of the expensive car he rented when you two arrived here.

"Bah Humbug."

At least he is away from that American mall. That stupid song of all I want for Christmas is you was eating him alive.

Gellert was doing some gym work out at the place which was not far from his office.

Since he made you move in with him before marrying you. He became much more active in gym. Like he became young and energetic. He did more heavy weight lifting and even cardio.

His employers complimented his muscle gains.

It was because he loved the lustful stares you gave him when he was naked. You didn't want to thirst over your kidnapper and rapist. But, it was impossible to resist.

His ego soared and it happened. Grindelwald researched to improve his eight packs and biceps. Those were your favorites.

You of course loved his legs and chest but they're not your number one.

Ironic. Grindelwald loved doing leg training and chest building presses best.

Oh, well. Gellert would do anything to make you attracted to him. It was more than fair. You were confused and scared why a random guy barged into your house and fucked the shit out of you then kidnapped you months later.

He owes you that much for almost ruining your life and traumatizing you. It was his way of making it up and apologizing to you.

While he was doing extreme crunches. He heard a notification on his cell phone. He would silence all calls and text when doing gym. He put your messages a priority. It was from you. He didn't feel annoyed if you interrupted him.

He was excited.

His eyes widened to see you laying down and wearing a scantly clad outfit.

Americans always sexualized everything.

He put on a shirt over his bare upper body and quickly left the gym without even bothering to dress up not caring for the stares outside.

You have been on the naughty list for being a teasing little minx.

Daddy will have to put you in your place by taming your spoiled attitude.

[eva-knits12]

Steve's Birthday Proposal.

Trigger warning: fluff

Summary: Steve throws a birthday party for you, and you get a shiny new penny!

You're sitting in the backseat of the car, with Happy driving. You're on your way to a local Italian restaurant and you can't wait for tonight. Steve would make this much sweeter, but he's at the restaurant with the rest of the Avengers.

The servers are done setting up the gift table, and they've set up a table with appetizers. The soup and salad course will be next, then the main course. The dessert table and cake will be last.

Steve is busy talking to Natasha, and he has his drink in his hand. Natasha has never been to a birthday party, not even as a child. So, this is a huge thing for her. Natasha and Steve are talking, then Bruce joins in.

Tony is busy talking to Pepper, and Thor and Hawkeye are busy talking. Thor is busy eating every appetizer. His favorite? Thor loves the Caprese salad kebabs.

Steve is busy fiddling with the engagement ring in his pocket. The gift table is full of large gifts and smaller ones.

"Okay, there, Capsicle?" asks Tony.

"I'm fine, Tony," says Steve.

"I'm not the one standing here, getting ready to ask the biggest question of his life, Are you sure (Y/N) is fine with marrying someone old enough to be a pensioner?" asks Tony.

"Okay, Tony, Let's get some appetizers in you," says Pepper.

Pepper leads Tony to the appetizer table. Tony grabs a few appetizers, and has his scotch on his table.

Steve is now talking with Hawkeye. Laura is talking with Nick Fury.

Happy arrives, and he lets you out of the car. He leads you to the room. You're wearing your favorite purple dress with black high heels and black panty hose. You have a purple clutch.

Steve comes over and greets you.

"Hi, doll. Happy birthday. I love you so much," says Steve.

"Thanks, Steve," you say, kissing him lovingly.

"Hi, (Y/N). Happy birthday," says Natasha.

You go to talk and grab a drink and some appetizers. You're starving. You haven't eaten anything since lunch, and that was at 11:30 a.m. this morning. You wanted to get back to your and Steve's shared apartment early in order to get ready for tonight. You wanted to take a bubble bath, and then get dressed and put on your makeup.

Steve had come home before you. He showered, and had his military dress suit laid out, and he had his hair combed. He looked good, He even had on his dress shoes.

Eventually, everyone sits down, and the soup and salad course is served. You and Steve grab a little of each, and it's the Italian wedding soup, and a nice, simple side salad. You cover it in Italian dressing.

Then you guys have the main course, which is pasta bolognese. Steve sneaks a kiss.

Then, the cake is served, and the wait staff comes out with a cake for you. It has several candles, and you blow out each one after everyone has sung "Happy birthday".

You then eat your slice of cake. You have vanilla ice cream on the side. Steve is looking at you lovingly.

Tony can't wait until this is over.

"Why did Steve get to throw this?" asks Tony.

"Maybe because he wanted to make (Y/N)'s birthday special. (Y/N) does so much for others, it's time that we do something for her," says Pepper.

Natasha starts to give you your gifts. Hawkeye got you a really cool knitting needle set. Natasha got you an original edition of To Kill A Mockingbird. Tony and Pepper got you a Kate Spade purse that you had your eye on. You knew you couldn't afford it, so Tony and Pepper got it for you. Bucky and Sam got you a simple gold chain.

Everyone said something nice about you.

Now, it was Steve's turn.

Steve reaches into his pocket, pulling out the small, black velvet box.

"(Y/N), you're so strong, and beautiful. Every day with you has been filled with nothing but love and adventure. From that first day when I came out of the ice, you were there, trying to keep those papers in order. I was navigating a new world in a new place in a new century. I stopped to help you. You were ever so grateful. I fell in love with you that day, and I haven't stopped. (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me? Will you do me the honor of being my wife?" asks Steve.

"YES! I love you so much, Steve. You are a beautiful soul, a gentlemen, and I love you. Yes, I will love to be your wife!" you answer.

Steve slides the ring on the third finger of your left hand. It's a beautiful, vintage ring that you knew was Steve's mother's engagement ring. He was going to donate it to the Smithsonian, but he just couldn't do that. He kept it instead. It sat in his underwear drawer, waiting for the right time.

You and Steve exchange a loving kiss.

Tony and Pepper start to load up your gifts in Tony's BMW. Pepper was in the passengers seat, trying to fight another wave of nausea. She hadn't eaten much, and you were concerned. But, tonight wasn't the time to make the announcement.

Tony helps bring your gifts to your and Steve's shared apartment. Pepper rushed to her and Tony's apartment. She just wanted to tell Tony and the Avengers her good news.

"Steve, I love you. I love you so much," you say.

"(Y/N), I love you so much, doll," says Steve.

You and Steve slow dance a bit for a while, then you two get ready for bed. You both collapse on the bed, because you're both exhausted.

The next morning, you wake up in Steve's arms, your shiny new engagement ring sparkling in the early morning sunlight. You two decide to go out for pancakes that morning, and you're both in your sweats. Tony gives you the day off, and you and Steve decide to snuggle in bed for the entire day.

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter Two: When Blue Met Brown

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire arrives at Camp Toccoa, where her fate will be decided.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I am back from my unexpected hiatus. I'm very excited about this chapter, and I hope you all are, too. As always, feel free to like, comment, and reblog! I hope everyone enjoys it!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior, crude behavior towards Claire

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

June 6, 1942 Camp Toccoa, Georgia 5 p.m. Eastern Time ---

“Okay, I can do this," Claire muttered to herself.

Claire stood outside the entrance, in front of the sign that read Camp Toccoa, Georgia, searching for the confidence to go in. The young woman clutched her luggage handle with sweaty palms, her stomach twisting with nervous energy.

She fidgeted with her blouse and skirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and adjusting her luggage for the hundredth time. Her heart raced as she thought about the rigorous training that awaited her in the army. Claire knew she had to push past her nerves and doubts if she wanted to succeed as a combat medic. As she stood alone, lost in her thoughts, she was suddenly jolted back to reality by footsteps approaching from behind.

“Oh shit,” Claire thought anxiously, “This better not be an MP.”

“Staying or going?” the voice next to her asked.

As she turned towards the voice, her eyes landed on a man who seemed to be her age. He stood tall, with a slim build and a clean-shaven face. The late afternoon sun glinted off his dark hair, highlighting his twinkling brown eyes. Like her, he clutched onto his belongings tightly and had one bag sitting on the ground beside him. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he wasn't an MP like she feared.

“Staying.” Claire finally replied, “At least I think so.”

"I'm James," he introduced himself with a friendly smile, extending his hand. Claire took a deep breath and shook it firmly, feeling a sense of warmth in his touch. "James Alley."

"Claire O'Connor," she replied, matching his smile with one of her own.

“Are you a nurse here?” He asked.

Combat medic,” she replied with a slight edge to her voice, not looking away from the entrance.

James shifted awkwardly. “Oh, my mistake...So, what company are you in?” he asked nervously, trying to recover.

"Easy Company," Claire answered confidently, finally meeting his gaze again.

The young man's face lit up with a warm smile."So am I. You're the first person I've met from Easy." He laughed, a hint of dryness in his voice. "Should've gotten here earlier."

He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "How long have you been standing here?" 

Claire glanced around before answering, "'Bout ten minutes.

James picked up his bags. “Well, you might as well walk with me.” He then nodded towards the entrance. “C’mon.”

Claire picked up her luggage and followed her new friend through the gates, past a row of wooden buildings, and into a bustling camp.

As they walked into Camp Toccoa, Claire's senses were immediately bombarded with the sights and sounds of soldiers moving about. The barracks were lined up in neat rows, flags fluttered in the breeze, and there was a constant stream of voices calling out to one another. Claire couldn't help but feel small and out of place amid the hustle and bustle. Alley looked just as overwhelmed.

“What do we do now?” Alley asked.

Claire shrugged, "I'm guessing we need to find where we're supposed to check in?"

"Yeah, wherever that may be," Alley muttered

Claire gestured to the left. "I don't know...let's try going this way." 

The two of them started walking in the direction Claire had pointed out. As they continued through the camp, Claire became aware of how immense Toccoa was and felt small, as if she were wandering alone in a dense, shadowy forest. Walking behind Alley, she noticed a large group of soldiers—seven, to be exact. Even from a distance, their boisterous behavior and loud voices were enough to make her uneasy. 

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

“What’s the matter?” Alley asked her.

She shook her head. “Nothing, let's keep going.” She quickened her pace, wanting to avoid any potential trouble that might come from being near them.

Claire kept her eyes fixed on the ground, counting each step she took. She could feel the curious glances of the other recruits burning into her skin, but she knew she couldn't let their stares get to her. If she were to make it, she had to prove herself capable and strong. As a young woman in a camp full of grown men, she had reasons to be apprehensive. Therefore, she didn’t want to engage with the group unless necessary.

Unfortunately, as she walked by, everything began.

Someone whistled at her. One yelled, “Hey, look, it’s a broad!” Another yelled something along the lines of, “Oh, yeah!” or, “Hell yeah!” Claire really couldn’t tell with all the commotion. Someone else yelled, “Hey there, beautiful!” Another just cackled at the other four, which only provoked them more. However, when she glanced back, two of the men were simply watching and didn't engage in the crude behavior.

If she rolled her eyes anymore, they would go to the back of her skull. She had two options: walk away or confront them. She would have likely walked away if it were just some unknown boys on the street. But, these were individuals she needed to interact with in the future and could potentially save their lives, so she squared her shoulders and prepared to confront them.

With her head held high and a confident sway to her hips, she marched over to the group, leaving Alley in her wake. As she approached, she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes, projecting an intimidating aura that dared anyone to challenge her.

Among the group, there was a red-haired man with dimples, a shorter man biting his lip to hold back laughter, a man with dark hair who seemed disinterested, a lanky one with thick, dark hair, another with sharp features that suggested he could throw a punch, a young-looking boy who kept winking at her, and finally a tall boy with piercing blue eyes. Her intense gaze locked onto his, but he couldn't meet it for long. He quickly averted his eyes and stared at the ground, feeling a flush of embarrassment spread across his cheeks.

“Well, this is some group,” she thought to herself as she observed the seven before her, “A real bunch of jokers is what they are.”

She shifted her weight to one leg and took a deep breath, the sound of frustration escaping her lips. “There something you need to say to me?” 

The first five, Claire dubbed the ‘rowdy ones,’ stared at the ground, trying to contain their laughter. The other two avoided eye contact with her and exchanged glances.

She leaned in closer. “What is it?” You don’t know what to say when a girl has bigger balls than you, doesn’t take your shit, and stands up for herself?”

They were silent now.

“Thought so,” With a satisfied smirk, she confidently strutted off with Alley at her heels. Claire felt a sense of satisfaction with what she had accomplished in the mere ten minutes she had been here.

The red-headed man chuckled, “Well, I'll be damned,” he exclaimed.

“Wasn’t expecting all that,” the shorter one laughed, gesturing towards Claire.

“Hey! Hey! Buddy, come here!” the skinny one called out to Alley.

Alley sighed and begrudgingly walked back toward the group, “Yeah?”

“So, tell us, what’s the deal with girly?” the tough-looking one asked.

As Alley shrugged his shoulders and began explaining how they had just arrived at Camp Toccoa together, the blue-eyed boy found himself lost in thought. He wondered what it would be like to have a conversation with this girl, to discover more about her beyond her fiery attitude and unwavering confidence. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him, this curiosity that was slowly growing within.

“Hey, watcha lookin’ at, Grant?” one asked, nudging him in the side.

“Nothing.” he snapped back.

“Uh-huh, sure,” the youngest of the group replied sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at his friend's obvious interest in Claire.

Grant's cheeks flushed red, and he quickly averted his gaze from his friends. He couldn't deny that there was something about Claire that had captivated him, but he didn't want to admit it either. He was always known as the level-headed one, the guy who didn't let distractions get in the way of his focus. But there was an indisputable spark within him that had been ignited the moment he locked eyes with her.

As soon as he gained a sense of boldness, Grant found himself chasing after her. He couldn't let her go without at least trying to make things right.

Claire quickened her stride, relieved to be away from the group. Yet she couldn’t help but feel guilty that the group had summoned Alley back.

“Excuse me, miss?” She heard someone call out as they ran up to her.

She stopped in her tracks, “Jesus Christ,” she murmured as she rolled her eyes and turned on her heel. She anticipated encountering one of the other boys, but to her surprise, it was the quiet one.

Claire cocked her head to the side, piercing him with a sharp gaze. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, and her voice carried a steely edge, "Yes?"

Grant shuffled nervously, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He glanced up at her, trying to compose himself before speaking.

“Hi, there. I...uh... just wanted to apologize on behalf of my friends. They’re a bunch of idiots and shouldn’t have acted that way,” he said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced over at his rowdy friends, who were still causing a scene.

Claire wasn’t impressed, “So, why aren’t they apologizing?

“Um, well,” he stammered, meeting her eyes with a mixture of apology and nervousness. "I thought it would be more sincere if I apologized instead."

"Well, it's not your fault they're idiots," she replied, her voice softening slightly.

He nodded, relieved by her response. "Still, I should have stepped in and stopped them from harassing you."

She quirked an eyebrow, her expression guarded “Mm.”

“My name’s Grant. Charles Grant,” he introduced himself, extending a hand towards her. 

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she returned the gesture, “Claire O’Connor.”

Claire studied Grant closely, taking in his tall stature and young features. Despite his attempts to remain calm and composed, she could see the way he was shaking slightly, the way his cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment.

It was clear to her that Grant was a man who was not accustomed to being rattled, but there was something about her that had thrown him off balance. In a way, it was oddly refreshing to know that even the strong and confident could be knocked off their feet sometimes.

She had to admit that Grant was undeniably handsome, the way his golden brown hair was neatly side-parted, not a strand out of place. Her gaze was drawn to his mesmerizing eyes, which resembled the clear blue sky on this warm Georgia afternoon. And she found herself unable to look away from him.

"Oh no, Claire, this is not why you're here. We are not doing this again. Remember what happened last time," she scolded herself.

“I’m guessing you’re here to be a nurse or a medic?” Grant inquired.

“Combat medic, yes,” she confirmed. “I know some French from high school, so I’m hoping they might make me a translator, as well."

Grant nodded, impressed by her intelligence and multitasking abilities. "That's impressive."

Claire glanced around the camp, "You wouldn't happen to know where the check-in is?"

“Yeah, I do. I’ll show you if you’d like,” Grant offered.

She graciously accepted and led the way with Grant close behind. Of course, the group of boys behind them caught sight of this and started pushing and shoving each other, their voices rising in excited hollers.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?” he inquired politely.

"Detroit, Michigan. How about you?" she responded.

"Southern California," he answered with a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"Is that so?" she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "I've always been fond of California. I vacationed there once."

Grant smiled. "Looks like we're both city kids.”

“I suppose we are," she nodded.

As they rounded the corner, a quaint wooden building came into view. "Here we are," Grant announced.

After expressing her gratitude for his assistance, she turned towards the building. She paused for a moment to glance back at him before entering. He stayed outside, waiting patiently. Feeling a bit awkward, he tried to distract himself by taking in his surroundings.

The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a cramped room with peeling paint and a musty smell. She noticed a person she presumed to be an officer lounging in a chair behind a desk.

She nervously cleared her throat. “Uh, excuse me, sir?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m here to check in, sir.”

“Name?” the man asked.

“Claire Renée O’Connor. I’m here to be a medic.”

Not expecting to see her, the man nearly fell out of his seat when he heard this. To which Claire, of course, had to look out the window next to her to stop herself from laughing at his reaction.

After composing himself, he cleared his throat. “Just a moment, please.”

The man turned and walked back to another room behind him. “Hey, Dick, she’s here.”

Returning to the office, he introduced himself as Lieutenant Lewis Nixon. He extended his hand to Claire, who shook it firmly while trying to hide her nerves.

Another man walked into the office. He was tall with red hair. He offered his hand and introduced himself as Lieutenant Richard Winters.

“You must be Miss Claire O’Connor?”

“Yes, sir, I am,” she nodded and shook his hand too.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He handed her a thick stack of papers and a pen. “Please review these documents, verify everything is correct, and sign.”

"Certainly," Claire quickly scanned the pages, her eyes darting back and forth as she checked each line for any errors. After a few minutes, she confidently signed her name at the bottom of the last page.

“You’ll be assigned to Second Platoon, Private.”

She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Here’s your gear: Dress uniform, PT gear, combat uniform, helmet, utility belt, dog tags, and boots,” Winters explained as he handed her each thing. The pile was so tall that she couldn't see over it.

“Welcome to the Airborne, Private,” Winters said, his voice booming and filled with pride.

“Thank you, sir," Claire saluted.

Claire left the building with her stack of gear, stepping out into the humid air. Grant was still standing there, waiting for her, but was now rolling up his sleeves to gain relief from the heat. He turned to see Claire carrying her vast stack of newly acquired gear.

"Here, let me help you with that," he offered as he walked towards her. 

A flicker of appreciation danced across Claire's eyes. "I appreciate that," she admitted, "but I can handle myself just fine."

Grant's lips curled up into a small smile. "I believe that," he said, "But, what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't offer my help?"

Claire hesitated for a moment, considering Grant's offer. She wanted to be more independent, to not rely on anyone else for help; she had done that for too long in her life. But there was something about Grant's genuine kindness that made her reconsider.

Claire sighed, "He is really sweet," she said to herself, "Maybe I should give him a chance."

"Alright, fine," she gave in as she handed him the stack and continued carrying her luggage.

Grant's smile widened at Claire's acceptance of his offer. He carefully took the stack of gear from her, making sure not to drop anything. 

"Thank you, Claire said softly, "I do really appreciate it. I didn't mean to sound cold."

Grant shook his head, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. "No worries, I understand the need for independence. So, what platoon are you in?" he asked.

"Second," she replied.

"So am I. I'll show you where the barracks are." Grant said, genuinely pleased by the coincidence.

Grant walked alongside Claire, each step in sync with the other. As they made their way through the bustling camp, Claire tried to keep her gaze ahead, focusing on the dirt path in front of her. But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes kept drifting toward him. His stride was confident, his posture strong, and there was a subtle grace to the way he carried himself. She wondered what stories lay behind those kind eyes, what experiences shaped him into the man he is today.

"You know, you didn't have to wait for me back there. I could've made it around on my own," Claire said, her voice laced with curiosity.

Grant shrugged, "I wanted to. You know, I was in your shoes just this morning when I first arrived." 

Claire raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Grant's admission. "You were lost too?" she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Grant chuckled, nodding as they continued walking. "Oh, definitely. I must have taken every wrong turn possible before finally finding my way around this place. I'm still not exactly sure we're going in the right direction."

Claire laughed for the first time since she left home, the sound echoing through the camp, drawing the attention of nearby soldiers. Grant's face lit up with joy at the sound of Claire's laughter. It was contagious, filling him with a newfound sense of ease. He found himself yearning to hear it again and again, to be the one responsible for that joyful sound.

"I appreciate your kindness," Claire replied sincerely. "Most of the guys my age I've encountered haven't been nearly this nice."

Grant smiled warmly at her. "Well, they don't know what they're missing out on then," he said. "You seem like a force to be reckoned with." 

Never in a million years would Grant have pictured himself running after a girl, especially one he hadn't even spoken to, and being so open with her. Having never felt this way around someone was a strange feeling for him. But, here he was, now befriending her.

Claire nodded, though a part of her couldn't fully trust Grant's words. She couldn't let his words fill her head with false hope, especially when the odds were stacked against her.

As they neared the busier parts of the camp, many of the soldiers they walked past shot Claire curious yet dirty looks, sizing her up with judgment and skepticism. She could feel their eyes on her, questioning her presence amongst them, and some began whistling at her.

"Aren't you afraid they'll tease you for helping me?" 

"Afraid? Not at all," Grant replied, his voice steady and confident, as he shot dirty looks right back at them. He stood up straighter and walked with a swagger. "Let them try," he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for Claire to hear.

Claire spoke up, "So, who was the group of guys you were with? Like, what're their names, I mean?"

"The one with red hair, that's Malarkey. The one who didn't say anything, that's Toye. The skinny one with the thick dark hair, that's Liebgott. The shorter one, that's Luz. The tough-looking one is Guarnere. And the young-looking one standing next to me, that's Talbert." Grant explained.

As Grant listed off the names, Claire made mental notes, trying to match the faces with the names, "I see."

"They're good guys. I mean, I haven't known them for more than a few hours, but they seem like good people," he reassured her.

They reached the barracks, a large wooden structure with peeling paint and worn-out steps. 

"Well, here we are," Grant sighed, "You can pick any bed that isn't taken."

He held the door open for Claire, allowing her to enter first. The first thing that caught her attention was the overpowering smell of sweat and dirt, mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes.

Inside, the room was filled with bunk beds lined up against the walls, clothing, and gear strewn about haphazardly. A few soldiers were playing cards at a small table in the corner, their laughter filling the air. Claire noticed that some of them turned to look at her as they entered, their eyes filled with curiosity.

Grant led her to the last empty bed near the corner, between two occupied ones. He carefully set down her stack of gear and moved to stand beside her. He motioned towards the bed on Claire's left, "This one's mine, and on your other side is Roe. He's also here to be a medic. I think you two will get along just fine!"

"Thank you again," Claire smiled at Grant, "I really appreciate your help. I know at first I was a bit resistant, but having a kind and trustworthy person like you by my side makes everything a lot easier."

Grant beamed at the compliment, feeling a warm glow in his chest. "I don't mind at all. It's my pleasure to help you," Grant responded, his words genuine and warm. 

For once, Claire didn't feel like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. For once, she had someone who cared about her, someone who would look out for her, and someone who was willing to be her friend.

With a final nod, Grant turned to leave, but not before catching Claire's eye and giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you around," Claire replied, watching with a heavy heart as Grant walked towards the door and out of the barracks.

As Grant disappeared into the camp, Claire wondered if this newfound friendship would last or if they would just be fleeting acquaintances in a world that seemed determined to tear her apart.

---

[shelfwar]

Sorry

Slider X Reader !Period¡

Warnings: TW BLOOD, MENTIONS OF WOMENS AREA, PERIOD PADS, PERIODS IN GENERAL! SUGGESTIVE WORDS!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Rolling over to your side you felt the sudden whoosh of liquid exit your girl area.

Great, aunt flow decided to make an appearance at your boyfriend Sliders house! And it so happened to be the first night that you two stayed together. So with a groan you slowly crept out of the bed and started searching for your bag that had your period necessitates.

While stumbling around in the dark room your big toe collided with something hard that left a little "fuck!" from you. "Mmm, Maverick your an ass." You whipped your head towards Slider as he rolled over and grabbed his pillow and sighed. Thank God he's a heavy sleeper.

After stubbing your toe you finally found your bag and belined to the bathroom. Quietly you closed the door and turned on the light whilst locking the door.

Instantly you peeled off your sleep shorts and looked to see if there was any blood, and thankfully there wasn't. Next you went over to the toilet and took off your underwear where you saw a big splotch in the middle of it.

So you rummaged through your little bag of toiletries until you found a pad and a old pair of underwear. You then sat down on the cold porcelain throne and threw your ruined underwear away as you pulled out a new pair.

"The hell?" You heard a mumble from outside the door. "Just a minute!" "I gotta go.....bad" "Well I'm-" You saw the bathroom door slowly open and there stood a sleepy Slider. "I thought I locked it." You pouted. "Well you didn't." He let out a chuckle.

You squeezed your legs trying to hide the fact you started your period. "Can you get up I gotta pee?" "I uh-uh can." "Come on I gotta go!" He whined like a child. "Why?" "Um, um I'm bleeding down there."

He knitted his eyebrows together until he realized what was happening. "Oh, I'm sorry hun. I'll just wait out here." He awkwardly walked backwards until he was able to close the door.

You put on the new pair of underwear along with a panty liner before flushing and putting back on your shorts. Once done you got up and washed your hands before walking out to see Slider sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry it took so long" you let out a little chuckle. "Its fine hun, really." He stood up and wrapped his arms around your middle as you raked your hands up and down his back.

"But really I have to take a piss." "Not-" "I will be your personal heating pad. Deal, deal." He quickly pecked the top of your head before heading to the bathroom.

While he was in the bathroom you settled back down in bed clutching your waist as a mild cramp erupted. "That fast?" You looked up and him staring at you. "What?" Slider playfully rolled his eyes before getting back into bed as his hands replaced yours where your cramps are.

"Ahhh, much better." You groaned as Slider looked down at you. "What?" "Good night hun, I love you." "I love you I'm sorry my period arrived." "Don't be, it means I get to spoil my girl even more." He chuckled sleepily as he kissed your cheek once again before laying back down pulling you close to his back.

Hello all sorry for not updating much, my life had been very hectic! I hope you enjoy this blurb? I guess.

[vespersposts]

Reap what you sow

I update after a while, I am a bit lazy even with the blog I apologize but it's busy weeks. I will also resume the mini stories of 'Lame game' soon, for now I leave you with a new chapter in this series.

Here you and Daiki lay the foundation for your fake story, hoping no one pays too much attention to how mismatched you are. I hope you enjoy it. See you soon!

Vesper

After a three-course dinner and four hours of trying not to fall off those stilts Kyoko calls shoes, you deserve to throw yourself into bed and sleep like a baby.

Instead, you have to work overtime.

"Apartment 199, please " you tell the worried concierge, who quickly phones the athlete to inform him of your visit.

He offers to show you around, accompanies you to the lift, chooses the right floor for you, and turns his attention away from your legs, which are covered by thin tights, only when you start to cough heavily.

Things you are used to, but will never really get used to.

You check your mobile phone and smile at your boss's enthusiastic reaction to Kyoko's feedback. 

You love working with women; they are so loving, generous, never vulgar. They spoil you in a gentle way, making you feel special, dressing you up like their favourite doll and taking you to their art gallery opening to show everyone how perfect you are.

They give you shoes just like theirs, which butcher your feet and threaten to make you fall off, but they're so happy with the red thread that binds you, that it doesn't matter if you have blisters for two weeks.

You smile, clutching the small bright purse between your fingers, and drag your legs to the end of the corridor, where an ajar door awaits. At least, a woman would have been waiting at the lift. But he is not even a customer, let alone a done and dusted man. You knock on the door and announce yourself, looking at where you can leave your shoes, smiling at the imaginary relief you will feel when you take them off.

You hear his voice shout something, then quick footsteps approach and there he is, Daiki Aomine in his stylish outfit of grey joggers and a simple white t-shirt.

"Who are you?" he asks, handing you an envelope with a pair of guest slippers. He pauses to watch, curious and amused, as you try to sit down on the front step, despite the fact that your dress is too short and tight to do so without revealing all your virtue.

" If you're done with the humour, could you lend me your arm?" you ask him testily, and immediately receive his forearm on which to lean, and finally manage to put on your slippers.

"Do you always dress like that when you go into strangers' houses?” he asks you, looking at you with a long stare, but there is no malice in his intention, if anything, irony.

"I was at work " you replied hastily, and followed him into the living room, where you noticed that he had already arranged some snacks on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

" You should not accept being invited home, especially if it's a man and it's getting late" he comments, opening a bag of crisps and spilling them into a metal bowl.

You look up, you must have arrived at a preacher's house.

" I don't know much about you, but I know you don't like me. I asked Momoi if you were a psycho and she vouched for you. I trust Satsuki completely, so yeah, I didn't have too many qualms about coming here tonight " you explain, sitting on the edge of the sofa so that your dress doesn't embarrass you.

"She’s no liar, for sure" he nods and goes to the fridge "What can I get you to drink? I've only got sports drinks, water and maybe some coffee, but it has been there since this morning! " he finishes, standing with his back to you, as he checks the contents of the fridge in the design kitchen.

" Water will be fine, thanks" you reply, letting your eyes wander around the room.

You certainly hadn't imagined a boy's apartment to be this clean and tidy, let alone his. There is little furniture, which makes everything seem airy, comfortable and soft. The lights are hidden at the edge of the wall and are warm, enveloping. There is only one large abstract painting on the walls, which breaks up the neutral tone of the room by contrasting with the light parquet floor. On the long, dark cupboard beneath there are a glass tumbler, his residence card and a set of three silver-framed photographs that you approach.

They are, of course, an ode to her.

Every other woman who enters this house must know to whom his heart belongs.

You smile and bring the middle photo closer to your face, feeling him behind you, his tall frame inches from you, a breath of air carrying his scent.

"You must think it's lame" he comments, taking out of your hands the picture of him, shirtless and happy, with Satsuki on his shoulders at some kind of summer festival .

"Not at all" you turn to look at his face "I find it very meaningful instead" you smile, moving away to resume your position on the couch.

"You are a rather mysterious person, you know that?" he comments, sliding in next to you and looking at you as if waiting for some revelation.

" I know Kuri has told you everything she thinks she knows about me, but I'm not going to explain how I run my private life " you inform him, taking a sip from your glass as he stretches out flat on the pillows.

"She has a terrible opinion of you, but who cares! " he mentions without much ado "Satsuki would never have let you get this close to me if she didn't have complete faith in you, so your 'friend' must be wrong" he concludes, gesturing with his hand to pass the chips around. 

You comply and remain silent for a moment, before sharing your pressing thought.

"You always come first for Satsuki, do you see that? " you ask, making him stop and look at you with a quizzical expression.

"I'll explain it simply: no girl would care as much about a childhood friend, much less one who has a soulmate boyfriend to think about. Then why do you think Momoi cares so much about you?" you urge him, turning to him, who gives you an alarmed look and a few  unintelligible half-words.Then he looks away to pull himself up, pulls a pillow out from behind his back and tosses it between you, sighing and returning to his original position.

" What's this for? Are you stupid or something?" you ask him piquantly, but as you lower your eyes to your bare legs, you realise that maybe you are the stupid one. 

You stand up and spread your dress over your knees, clenching your hands as your image crumbles, now that your cheeks are burning and you are close to bursting into tears. 

You inhale and exhale a couple of times, press your lips against each other, but nothing seems to work, perhaps because you are too tired and uncomfortable.

It gets even worse when you hear his voice.

" There's no need to get so upset. It's not like you showed me your panties begging me to fuck you, and besides, yours aren't the first pair of thighs I've seen" he informs you, thinking he's being helpful "So… Don't worry at all. I've already cleaned it all up. All gone, memory resetted, wiped ! " he assures you as he gets up from the couch and stands in front of you, his hands on your shoulders and a look so serious on his face, that you can't help but pop out that question. "What kind of girl, in her right mind, would be showing you her panties in a begging bowl? Are you that simple even in porn, champ?" you conclude under his astonished gaze.

You barely had time to blink before you heard him laugh, thunderously, his hands still resting on your shoulders, making you tremble a little. 

“What a freak !" he points out between the chuckles.

"Say you, the filthiest guy of them all!” you reply, smiling a little at his beaming face.

"Say you, the most annoying girl around!” his voice echoes, making you tighten your lips in a grimace.

“At least I don't spend all my spare time wasting tissues in front of a screen!" you set your winning slam. 

He nods, raising his hands to admit  defeat.

"It's gonna be a hot mess, right?” he smirks “ An yet… Why not? Go on, show me life beyond the screen, you genius!"  trying to read your puzzled expression.

"Are you in? We're doing the faking thing?" you think out loud. He nods, letting you go and clenching his hand into a fist, expecting you to do the same to seal the deal.

"After all I know... There’s no way I’m gonna bump you! " you protest, giving him a wry look before hearing him bursting into laughter again.

You are so mismatched, so out of sync, so unfit for each other, it's almost funny. You are like those endless jigsaw puzzles you do as a child, bored out of your mind. The ones where you force the pieces together just to finish the game quickly, not caring if the picture isn't the one in the box. It's all so pointless, grotesque, embarrassing, that it's sure it’s gonna be a mess.

Yet here you are, shrugging your shoulders, eating crisps and asking for a blanket so you can sit on the couch without making a further spectacle of yourself.

The tiredness is gone, the embarrassment too, replaced by lame jokes and childish remarks.

Yet here you are, doing everything you can to escape your loneliness again.

[lambilegs]

does it happen in a season? (part one: FALL)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

next chapter (WINTER)

soundtrack: lapit - yeng constantiono; thinking about you - radiohead; whisper - piggy (specifically the subway scene); knuckle velvet - ethel cain; reflecting light - sam phillips; fade into you - mazzy star

(contains: college!au lee harker, set in the nineties, slowburn as FUCK cannot even exaggerate, 10.3K of y'all literally just achieving acquaintanceship, lots of pining. content warning for: brief mention of blood (can be interpreted as period blood or otherwise), weed, religion jokes, brief conversation about serial killers + motivations, anxiety)

----

AUTUMN. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

lee isn’t looking forward to this month. it’s her last year of university, so she knows she ought to be feeling a little more optimistic. but, truly, all she’s feeling is the dread of having to meet and adapt to a new roommate – a process which can span from a few weeks to an entire semester, depending on the person. back when she was a freshman, she was convinced that by the time she reached senior year, she’d have gotten used to this. but, no, it feels just as daunting and uncomfortable as usual. maybe even worse. when she was a freshman, her only experience of a housemate had been her mom. now, four years later, her experiences with roommates had spanned from mediocre to downright unbearable. so, maybe that’s what has soured her expectations.

when she meets you, she’s in the middle of assembling her desk, on her knees and lip bitten in concentration. you had arrived a week earlier than her, and had already set up most of your things. on the phone, you told her that all you needed was to finally bring in your clothes, and, well, yourself. 

she doesn’t really know what to think of you. you greet her, introduce yourself and smile when she gives you her name. after asking her if she needs help with her desk, you waddle on your feet for a bit, clutching onto your bag, an awkward silence flooding into the room. she ignores it, focusing on the task at hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. she’s already feeling the tension of the silence seeping into her, and she doesn’t really want let it expand through silently staring at each other.

after a few seconds, she hears the soft thumps of your footsteps as you walk away, and lets out a breath of relief. at least the first meeting is done with, and now, you two can live in what will hopefully be in amicable quiet.

–

you shut the door, back braced against it. god, your roommate is hot. you’re not exactly sure what to do with this information. surely, even if you manage to discover whether or not she’s into women, you can’t do anything about it. you’re certain there's some sort of unspoken rule to not romantically pursue your roommate – not that a lot of people follow that. or maybe you just move in some really weird circles.

you pad over to your bed, the distance barely anything with how small your bedroom is. flopping onto the mattress, you stare up at the ceiling. class starts in a matter of days, and while part of you eagerly welcomes in the comforting cycle of the school year, you can’t help but itch and yearn for the summer days. nothing but familiarity wrapping around you, it was a time where you didn’t have to worry about what’s new, what’s to come, anything like that. now, autumn is creeping in and already, you’re overwhelmed and unsettled by all that’s new. this itchy bedsheet, the new pattern of your comforter, the thin and white walls… your new roommate. 

reaching for your walkman, you plug in your headphones, lying back on the bed. stomach heaving, you suck in a long, deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. the muscle rises and falls, and you try to sink into a world of daydreams. daydreams of good things – acing your assignments, making friends, hell, maybe even getting a girlfriend. 

maybe.

—

lee isn’t used to it. the domestic intimacy that comes with having a roommate, despite being total strangers. sometimes, she nearly forgets the intimacy of sharing a home until she has no choice but to face it head on. like, when she’s eating breakfast in the morning, and you come out in your PJs. yesterday, you were someone whose name she only heard for the first time. and now, she knows exactly what cartoon you grew up on because of the print on your soft, fuzzy pants. yesterday, she only just saw your face for the first time, and today, your toothbrushes are sitting together in the same holder, your skincare products are crowded together next to the sink, and your colourful mugs are sitting next to her plain white ones in the cupboard.

it’s been less than twenty-four hours, and already, she knows what you look like when tired in the morning. you’re standing near her, yawning, wiping at your bleary, wet eyes, as she glances between you and her reading, sipping tentatively on her coffee.

“good morning,” you mumble, making your way to the fridge and getting out some eggs.

she hums a small “mm” in response, right hand carefully making annotations. a moment later, she swallows hard, a memory flashing through her head. her second year roommate joking about her unfriendliness in front of five of their friends who lee didn't know. lee doesn’t mean to be, she really doesn’t. she simply isn’t inclined to converse with strangers, and undergo all the social rituals of that. but, still, she doesn’t want to come off as rude, especially since you seem fairly okay as of now. “morning.”

you nod at the papers in front of her, lips curling up. “already getting started?”

she nods. “yeah, might as well.”

“what’s your major?”

she sucks in a tiny breath. okay, so it seems like work will be taking a momentary pause. she sets her pen down. “criminology.”

“oh,” you coo, cracking two eggs into the pan. “and what are you hoping to do with that?”

her eyebrows furrow. do you mean her plan for pursuing the major, or what she intends to do post-graduation? “after university?”

at your nod, she pauses. she’s been asked this hundreds of times. virtually any peer of hers who she encounters and speaks to for the first time asks her as such -- it seems to be an innate part of small talk between students. but, still, she can’t help but hesitate every time. her goal seems like such a faraway dream, and one that not a lot of people associate her with. she’s always been the quiet person, the one who everyone finds either unassuming or off-putting. the image of her that people have doesn’t seem to bode well with a job as chivalrous or active as someone in law enforcement. but, she’s not in it to socialize or be perceived as brave. her reasoning is a lot more literal to the job. perhaps that makes it less interesting of an approach, but it's the truth.

quietly, she answers. “work in law enforcement. maybe in the FBI, as a special agent.”

you tilt your head at her, eyes wide, but not holding judgement. “wow, that’s pretty cool. what made you interested in that line of work?”

she blinks at your, well, pretty neutral response. she was half-expecting some snarky comment, or disinterested wave-off, so she feels her shoulders momentarily loosen at your cool, friendly response. “um…” she tries stilling her thoughts, going back to your question. eyes zoned in on her work, for the idea of answering so honestly while staring at you is too uncomfortable for her liking, she finally speaks. “I was tired of seeing and hearing about horrible things, and having no way to help. I want to help give people closure and answers.” she thought of her mother. the kind of people who sometimes visited their home and lurked around, knowing there was no man there to protect them. the fear that’d darken her mother’s eyes when she heard a car drive up their curb at night. the way lee's mother would clutch onto her, her own daughter, so many nights, almost as though at nine, she was brave enough to defend her. she didn’t want such fear to exist in other homes, not if she can help it.

but, she doesn’t tell you this. you’re nice, yeah, but she isn’t nearly at enough ease with you to confide in something so deeply webbed into her subconscious. even with her closest companions, she often isn’t sure how to go about it. 

“that’s very noble,” you say, with a kind, earnest smile. at least, it looks earnest to her. “that’s really admirable, lee.”

her eyes are downcast, and she gives a firm nod. she doesn’t think her desire for the job is particularly noble. it’s just her way of using her skills to try and do something helpful. that’s all. so, she doesn’t know what to say in response to your words.

thankfully, you turn back around and continue cooking, so she doesn’t need to figure it out.

–

lee, you’ve learned, is meticulous. and very neat. your first few days in your shared apartment are spent (by both of you) in an array of sweatpants, t-shirts and hoodies. but, as soon as school starts, you really see her in her element. it’s all sharp collars, muted tones, solid colours and smart shoes. the first time you return home from your 8:00AM class, she’s just finished getting ready, and you feel yourself blush, of all damn things, over the sight of her. maybe she notices, but you can’t tell for the life of you, for all you receive from her is a small nod of acknowledgement and a quiet departure. as you watch her leave, her backpack devoid of any pins or patches, you sigh, sagging against the wall. does she even like you? is she as curious of you as you are about her?

it’s not just attraction that’s causing this itch to know her. it’s the way she acts. sometimes, she just zones out, her inquisitive eyebrows drawn in and eyes almost faded and lost. lost in what, you can’t tell. she sometimes sits on your guys’ couch, staring blankly ahead, clearly not focused on whatever channel she’s randomly landed on. it’s like her mind is filled with thoughts, and she’s just victim to the all-consuming hold they have on her. or maybe she likes it. maybe she’s one of those people who could feel sufficiently entertained by her own thoughts for hours. maybe that’s why she likes her time alone.

sometimes, you see her on campus, walking through the humanities buildings. she’s usually with the same two friends, and it’s almost odd to see her so at ease. with them, she’s actually smiling, teeth shining. the first time you see it, you nearly have to gulp at the blinding light of it. lee transforms when she smiles. that face, so soft and doe-like at the eyes, but so hard-edged at the tense jaw, turns into some blissful beam of light when she smiles. she has laugh lines – god, you’ve lived with her for three weeks now and didn’t even know that. they deepen and dimple at the corners of her mouth when she smiles, and her cheeks lift, and her teeth feel almost foreign to look at with how clamped up her mouth usually is. you have to shake yourself from the silent gazing, suddenly feeling embarrassed and creepy.

you also feel rather embarrassed at the distance between the two of you. you’re not ignorant to the dynamics of roommates – you know the two of you aren’t required to be best friends or attached at the hip. but, you two barely ever talk. you’d like to, but she just doesn’t seem interested. and you also feel bad to intervene on her alone time. when she’s sitting on the couch during her occasional and spaced out appearances from her bedroom, usually doing some work or watching the 10:00PM showing of Murder She Wrote, she tenses up when you rest on the arm of the couch, drinking a soda. when you enter the kitchen and she’s munching on a granola bar (she’s awful at eating regularly), her eyes skitter from you to the counter, never able to hold eye contact. do you just force your presence onto her? it seems a bit inconsiderate. do you keep your space and let her come to you? it seems if you do that, she’ll be content to never speak to you.

does she hate you? you can't tell even if you let your mind explore such a bleak possibility.

—

lee hates the subway. the crowds, the relentless shoving and pushing, the buzz of loud conversation, which is always intercepted by a random shout or curse. whenever she makes her way down the steps, and sees a swarm of people already poised for its arrival, she usually lingers at the top, waiting for them to board the train that arrives before making her way down, content to wait for the succeeding one. even if it means she comes late to class, she engages in this little ritual everyday. anything to avoid the chest-tightening discomfort of being pushed into a tight wedge of bodies.

so, she lingers at the top of the steps, leaning on the wall, peering down at the crowd. from this view, her eyes scan all the faces blurring together. she wonders if she can make somewhat accurate guesses as to where each of them are heading to. she’s caught with the onslaught of awareness that they probably have a life to return to that’s just as complicated as hers. one that they might be dreading, or celebrating, to return to once they exit the the numbing whirl of the train. she wonders if they can tell where she’s headed to. does she look unassuming?

a bump to her shoulder jolts her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find you standing there, smiling at her. she blinks, suddenly losing her ability to formulate whatever morsels of conversation she usually distributes to you. it’s a bit surreal to see you outside of your guys’ shared dorm -- it’s probably the first time she has. you seem, she can't tell, glad to see her? at least that’s how it seems based on your smile. or perhaps you’re just polite.

“hi,” you greet, a breathless laugh flowing from your lips. “I ran to catch up with you. you walk like you’re on a mission or something.”

she opens her mouth before closing it. after a long pause hanging between you two, your expectant eyes making her clear her throat, she says, “you could’ve just called after me.”

“I was just worried you wouldn’t hear.” you peer down the steps. “are you heading to the apartment right now?”

the apartment. it was almost assuring, to know you also hadn’t found it to be a home just yet. she still feels unsettled in the place, the shattered routine of her time in oregon during summer break still having its impacts on her. “yeah.” 

“me too.” you cock your head at her. “shall we?”

she eyes the platform, filled to the brink. she doesn’t want to go, not at all. but, she also doesn’t want to undergo the vulnerability of confessing to you why she doesn’t want to go. so, she nods, hoping this goes by painlessly. 

when you two enter the packed platform, bodies beginning to softly thud against her, she immediately starts feeling it. the twist in her stomach, the tension bracing her shoulders. her hands roll into fists, and her nostrils flare as she sucks in a deep breath. it’s hot, god, so hot in this space, and the itch it causes on her neck makes her blink hard, the sensation only adding to her growing discomfort. as more people are filing in, the crowd growing larger due to a delay in the subway, she feels herself getting stifled more. pushed in, entrapped, ceaselessly and endlessly surrounded, just as she was in her mother’s home. she continues to take sharp, deep inhales, trying to soothe herself.

“are you okay?”

her head sharply snaps in your direction, having nearly forgotten of your presence. she nods, not wanting to speak. but, then, she feels your fingers brushing against her wrist, right above the first watch she ever bought for herself two years ago. and your tone is soft. “you sure?”

she leans away from your touch. it’s not doing anything to ease the tension in her body right now. she doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t like it. at least not from someone she barely knows. 

you seem to recognize this, pulling away. “do you wanna head back up?”

she shakes her head, ears catching onto the familiar ringing of the train approaching. “I’m okay.” her voice is hard, firm, but you both know it’s a lie.

the train flashes into sight, a mix of grey and yellow as it whirls past her eyes, slowing down until it's halted to a full stop and the doors slide open. immediately, she feels the weight of bodies against her backpack, pushing her towards the door. her heaving breaths become faster, and her body feeling rigid, almost like a child who has lost their parent in the monotonous aisles of the grocery store.

you’re a pace ahead of her, and you turn back, eyebrows furrowed. you look like you want to say something, and she stares at your shoulder, which is dusted with freckles and pimples, waiting. her gaze lowers when you stretch out your hand, fingers curled towards her. your eyes are wide, and you loudly speak over the crowd. “only if you want.”

in the heat of the moment, the crowd pushing in on her even more, beginning to take you away from her, she doesn’t even think twice before grabbing onto your hand. it’s warm, a bit damp, and she clutches onto it like a lifeline. 

you lead her through the crowd, your grip tight and secure. at one point, too many people curl into your guys’ little bubble and you get pulled away from her, your interlocked hands and straining arms the only connection keeping you two intact. people shove into you, urging you to move forward, an act that would require you to let go of her. but, you don’t. your latch onto her hand and freeze, keeping your stance on the ground until she’s able to weave her way to you. someone curses as they walk past you, irritated at you for holding up the rolling wave of people, and she sees you you glare sharply at them, remaining still. 

when lee finally manages to slide through between two people, you continue holding on, tugging her into and through the narrow space of the train. her breathing is shaky, and she’s certain you can feel the insistent thrumming and tapping of her fingers on the back of your hand. she tenses up further when you continue guiding her through the crowd. god, why couldn’t you guys have just remained in one spot?

you continue dragging her along like a limp doll, and she forgets what it’s like to feel at ease in her own body. 

you slow down, and she realizes it’s because you found a cart that’s a bit looser, a bit emptier than the ones you two had walked through prior. you continue cradling her hand in yours, raising your entwined fingers to a pole and slowly letting go, coaxing her to hold onto it, patting her hand gently when she does. she gulps down at the kind gesture, gripping onto the pole. for the first time since you two moved in together, she feels gratitude for you.

she doesn’t know what to say. you took care of her in these few minutes, and she doesn’t know how to deal with that. it was rare for someone so estranged from her to show her such consideration, even in such a subtle way. years ago, she had reconciled with the idea that she was one of those people who had to be known intimately to be cared for. she wasn’t used to this… distanced type of caring. 

you raise your arm up, reaching to hold onto the handle dangling above. she catches a glance of the thick fuzz of your armpit hair and immediately turns away, feeling her face heat up. how stupid. she’s pulled your hair out of the drain before, she’s seen the stain of your blood on the toilet bowl, she’s smelled your morning breath. and she’s over here getting flustered from your armpit hair? she forces her eyes to scan the map plastered on the wall, rereading the same stops she’s already committed to memory in her three years commuting.

and then, the other thing she’s memorized rings in her ears.

“apologies to commuters – we are experiencing a delay due to some trouble on the tracks.”

and the train slowly screeches to a halt, the rumbling ceasing.

she sighs. of course.

– 

you two find a corner by the window to slide into. she steps back, letting you go first, and your lip quirks up at her politeness, shifting into the window seat. she gingerly sits next to you, legs pressed together, her hands twisting in her lap. when the silence starts wrapping you two, she begins inspecting her nails, lips lining together in a tight line. your mouth curls into a smile, eyes skipping to her hands. her fingers are long, knuckles curved and bumpy. her nails, just like every other part of her, are neat -- finely trimmed. you swallow. is she a lesbian? god, you wanna know. you know it’s not the type of question that’s appropriate to ask, so you hold your tongue. maybe you can investigate further when you guys are closer. if you guys ever get closer.

you pat your lips together, the silence starting to feel embarrassing with all the people conversing around you guys. you look at her, and you can see her gaze flick to you from the corner of her eye. “what class did you have today?

she blinks at the seat in front of both of you. “women in crime. it’s a class on female serial killers.”

you bark out a laugh. she says it so matter-of-factly, her tone flat and impassive. when she blinks at you in question, your laughter dies out, a stab of guilt piercing your chest. jesus, she finally shared something and you just had to laugh. “sorry, I just… you state it very plainly.”

her eyes momentarily skip away before returning to you. “was I supposed to embellish?”

the urge to laugh itches at your throat, feeling that she might be joking with you now. “yes, where is your sense of flourish?”

her mouth twitches. not exactly a smile, but enough to ignite an ember of pride in your chest. 

you lean into your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. it seems you two would be here for a while – might as well get comfortable. “so, what are you enjoying about the class?”

she gulps, as though the question were a vulnerable one to answer. she was so intriguing – what did she have to be worried about with such a casual inquiry? “there are a lot of theories about the expectations on women causing the rage involved in such violence. I found that an interesting take.”

“do you agree with it?”

her eyebrow twitches, and she stares at a stain on the seat in front of you two. “I think the ability to do something like that depends on a lot of factors. I don’t think it’s possible to only pinpoint and stick to one.”

you nod. it’s a practical, logical answer – very fitting to lee. “but, still, do you?” you press, curiosity burning through you.

her shoulders lift momentarily as a shaky breath runs through her nostrils. “yeah. I do. I’ve seen what fear and resentment can lead to. it might be far-fetched, but I could see it leading to worse. not just in women, but anyone.”

your eyes drink her in. god, what had she been through to arrive at such a conclusion, one that clearly contained so much of her own private contemplation? a pang of sympathy knocked on your heart. maybe she looked so lost sometimes because there was something that kept pulling her back. “I get that.”

after silence sizzles and grows between you two, the suffocating smoke of it making you shift in discomfort, she speaks, her voice making you jerk in surprise. “and you? what class… did you have?”

she says the question slowly, as though it strains her to speak it, and you wonder again – does she like you? tolerate you? 

you answer, anyways. it feels embarrassing to admit, even to yourself, but even if she’s just forcing herself to speak to you out of pure circumstance and manners, you still want to seize the opportunity to talk to her, dig into her mind. “I had a mythology course.”

her head tilts in your direction, and you know you’ve caught her attention. “professor khan’s class?”

your eyebrows furrow. “yeah. are you in it?”

she shakes her head. “no. my friend is. I couldn’t fit it into my schedule, so she lets me look at her notes sometimes.”

you giggle. “what, so you can mark them?”

she blinks at your joking remark. “no. I just find the content interesting.”

a smile cracks on your face. she really is a little nerd, isn’t she? you know she’s taking a full course load, and still, she was going out of her way to read content that wasn’t necessary. as you absorb her words, an idea struck you, and suddenly, you feel like you never left high school. “you can borrow my notes too, you know?”

her lips press together, the corners pinching up as she gives you a small nod. “thanks.” one of her hands massaged the other, and she peers at you from the corner of your eye. “so, what was this week’s class on?”

“different myths on the origins of the world.”

she seems to digest your words before speaking. “did you… do you believe in any of them?”

you laughed softly. “no, not really. I do think they’re fascinating, though. they’re all so different. and I think it says something about us as humans.”

her head leans in your direction, and something flutters in your stomach at her curiosity. “what does it say?”

“I don’t know, that we all want an explanation for why we’re here? we all want something to believe in, something to rely on to make sense of the world.”

she takes a few moments to reply. “we’re all just curious for answers at the end of the day, aren’t we? or desperate.”

“desperate?”

she nods. “it’s hard to be fully apathetic. everything we research, delve into, continue pursuing no matter how much information already exists on it… isn’t it because we’re either genuinely curious or because we need some, I don’t know, reassurance? so we feel less lost.”

“do you feel lost?”

the question is out before you can even process the implications, or impacts, of it. but, you don’t even have it in you to take it back. once it’s out, you crave her answer.

her shoulders tense up, eyes shifting to your knee, blinking hard. her jaw clenches, and after a long minute of silence, she says, “yeah. all the time.”

–

the next time lee sees you, it’s at a place worse than the subway station. it’s a party. her friends have dragged her along, and it was also an excuse she could latch onto to justify not visiting her mom – one of many, really. she couldn’t help but have felt guilty when she called her mom on the landline the day before, saying she wouldn’t spend the fall break with her, attributing the decision to both her studies and social events, like this one. it helped that ruth encouraged her to socialize more, something that made her feel both relieved and infinitely guilty in her excuses.

you two run into each other at the drinks’ table, hands both outstretched for some soda. when you look up and catch sight of her, you scoff in disbelief, and she feels a sense of embarrassment wash over. you knew she was going out tonight, she had told you as much, but she’s certain this was the last place you had expected to see her.

when you voice as much, she shrugs, grabbing a Sprite. your shock isn’t unwarranted. she spends most nights in, and when she does notify you about going out with her friends, she’ll usually mention the cafes or quiet bars they frequent. not to mention, you’ve brought up, and on three occasions, have invited her to, these kinds of things, but she has always politely rejected. as she clicks open the can, her mind lingers on the possibility of you being offended at seeing her here after her rejection of your invites. it’s not personal, she was just tired of her friends wailing for her to at least try a party, so she gave in. but, she wonders if you’ll take it the wrong way.

it doesn’t seem so, for you’re grabbing a soda and easily smiling at her, as usual. but, she wonders if your smile is genuine, her eyes studying your face. when you turn to her again, she looks away, the corner of her mouth twitching in discomfort. god, she needs to be more subtle. 

“are you here alone, or…?” 

she shakes her head, glancing into the living room. “my friends are in there, dancing.”

your lip quips up into a smirk. “why don’t you join them?”

a small huff leaves from her nose. “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world that can convince me to do that.” the mere idea of dancing in public feels mortifying to her. god, she can’t even dance in private, it feels that awkward and foreign to her.

you nod at her soda. “not that it seems like you’re even having much.”

she takes a sip from it. “yeah, well, I don’t drink.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh? why not?”

it’s not the first time she’s received such a reaction. she knows it isn’t the most common thing to be her age, a university student, and never drink. but, she has her reasons. she pauses, deliberating if she wants to share them with you. ever since your guys’ encounter on the subway, she’s felt as though you guys have crossed a sort of threshold. perhaps it was because you saw cracks in her reservations for once. but, whatever it was, something in her felt a bit looser with you now. 

she relents, sighing. “I was raised religious, so that stuff was never in the house, and, well, I don’t like the feeling of being out of control.”

you nod. “catholic?”

she immediately feels the tightness balling at her shoulders. it’s just a question, she knows that. but, the mention of it, and all it means to her, all the weight it still forces her to carry on her shoulders, is sometimes akin to a tidal wave that tips her over. “uh, yeah.”

you hum in response. a moment later, you say, your tone light, “never wanted to see what kind of drunk you are?”

the implication causes her mouth to widen with the itch to smile. it’s not often that such an urge surges through her, but she lets it slowly spread, hiding it behind a sip of the soda can. will you think her smile is weird due to its infrequency? 

“just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I’ve never tried it.”

you chortle in delight, smacking her arm, which sends her tensing. “okay, so, what kind of drunk are you? emotional, clingy, horny…”

she can’t help it. a muscle in her jaw pulses at your successful guess, and she blinks in surprise when you seem to register her change in expression, your eyes widening and pointer finger jabbing in her direction with a gasp.

“oh my god, you’re a horny drunk, aren’t you?”

she sighs, looking away and continuing to sip on her drink. you were correct, of course. but, she didn’t need to let you know that. just because she was a smidge more comfortable with you doesn’t mean she needs to reveal every secret up her sleeve. besides, the last thing she needs is her roommate discovering just how high her sex drive is when intoxicated.

without warning, the last thought springs forward a litany of lewd images that has her nearly shaking her head to try to rid herself of them.

thankfully, your relentless curiosity gives her a modicum of distraction. “oh, c’mon, tell me.”

she rolls her eyes, muttering, “why do you care?”

you shrug innocently. “no reason… though, I guess it would pan out. repressed christian and all.”

at your slightly joking words, she blinks at her drink, amusement bubbling in her. you have a point. while her mother and her rarely broached the topic during her adolescence, there were the occasional conversations that have remained drilled into her head since. she had known since she hit puberty that sex was meant to exist in the sanctity, the apparent purity, of marriage. well, it isn’t something she knows now – she was sure something had to be a fact in order for her to truly consider it a piece of knowledge she can absorb. but, regardless, that, and her own personal social awkwardness, had made her spend years empty of intimacy, the anxiety of sinning weighing heavily upon her mind. when she had her first kiss with a girl in high school, she had spent days feeling a deep sense of shame, like there was an invisible force frowning upon her. she couldn’t even face her mom for the rest of the day. it was only when she started university, and escaped her small, grey town in oregon, did something finally spark back in her.

she clears her throat, crawling back out of her thoughts. something hangs on the tip of her tongue, and she itches to say it. she doesn’t know why exactly, but part of her wants you to know. “repressed lesbianism does that too.”

your head darts to her, and she nearly winces. was that too direct? she knows you won’t judge. you have a rainbow flag patch ironed onto your backpack, and she knows you’re a part of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance organization on campus. but, perhaps it was too much of herself to reveal to you. maybe you weren’t interested, maybe you didn’t really want to know her.

“you’re a lesbian?”

her mouth twists, suddenly uncomfortable with the focus on her. “yes.” she turns to you, eyes wide. “and you’re gay too, aren’t you?” she knows, at least based on what her friends have said, that it’s impolite to ask such a question, but she assumes it’s okay given how open you are on campus.

you nod, the lines near your eyes crinkling. “yeah. you know, I wondered about you. I’m glad to know my assumptions were right.”

her curiosity is piqued. “what made you think so?”

you smirk. “you have a KD Lang tape.”

her mouth quivers, and for the first time, she laughs.

–

and it’s a glorious thing. white, sharp teeth, usually tucked under her thin lips, finally revealing themselves. her laugh lines, fluttering around the corners of her mouth like wings, are curved and dipping deep into her skin. you can’t tame the beam that spills onto your face from the sight of her laughing. the noise of it is husky, pure velvet trimmed with the faintest rasp, and it makes something warm swim in your abdomen.

a few moments later, you fidget with your pocket, looking at her with a wry, hesitant smile. “listen, I know you want to go into law enforcement, so will you kill me if I smoke a joint?”

she blinks at you blankly. “no.” when you release a relieved laugh at her blunt answer, she adds, “only if you’re up for sharing.”

 and that’s how you wind up sitting together on a porch, sharing a joint. the first time you pass it to her, you feel like a dog, nearly fucking panting at the sight of her lips closing softly over the tip, breathing it in. does she feel the wetness of your saliva on it? does she feel anything at the idea of putting her lips on something yours just touched? the musky scent wraps around both of you, the heat of the joint comforting in the chilled autumn night. crunchy, peach-coloured leaves skip along the street in the breeze, the only noise in the quiet neighbourhood of the hosts, five people who you sure as hell don’t know, and doubt lee does either. 

“I love this song,” you say, turning to the front door, where only the screen door is closed, music flowing through the mesh, streaming into the secluded space of the porch. 

her voice is quiet in the midst of the soft crickets. “what song is it?”

“it’s called Thinking About You by Radiohead.”

“what’s it about?”

you smile gently, touched by her curiosity. you suppose it’s not so unexpected. maybe it’s because she’s so quiet by nature, but you got the sense that she was always listening and soaking in the information surrounding her. like a sort of sponge. “some people say it’s about masturbation.” your eyes flick to her, a wisp of a grin on your face when she swallows hard. “but, I don’t think so. I think it’s about missing someone in a really… aching kind of way. someone who maybe left you, or just happened upon, fame or something better in life. but, really, it’s all fake. or maybe the person just wants it to be fake, because that’s a more comforting idea than admitting maybe someone left you and got something better.”

she doesn’t reply, and the lack of acknowledgement (not even a hum) makes you falter, wondering if she even listened to you. but, then, you see it. her eyebrows are furrowed in focus, and she’s leaning her head in the direction of the door. almost as though she’s straining to listen. it locks into place. she’s trying to listen to the lyrics – for you. the gesture is enough to get you beaming like an idiot, turning your head away from her as you take another drag. 

“it sounds like the person gave up a lot for them.” she watches the lawn, which is littered with a few beer cans and broken bottles. “it’s… sad, isn’t it?”

“yeah, it is.” you frown, the sadness of the song seeping into your mind. it isn’t just sad, it’s devastating. the entire concept of pouring so much into someone, or even having them devote their lives and efforts to you, then all of that crumbling, releases an anxious feeling through your stomach. so much heartache. 

“have you ever been through anything like that?” her voice is so quiet that it’s just teetering on the edge of being a mutter. 

you nearly flinch at the personal question, shock shooting through you. it’s the first time she’s asked you something so invasive. when you dare to look at her, you have to force yourself to keep eye contact with the way her gaze is piercing you. you almost feel that with a singular look, she can open you up and read you with ease.

“well…” you fumble for a few seconds, trying to swim away from the surprise so you can answer. “I suppose with some friends, yeah.”

“what happened?”

you gulp. “well, just situations where we fell out of touch, or something specific happened to end the friendship, and afterwards, just kind of watching their lives from afar, a bit envious. envious that they moved on, curious if their new friends are better than me.”

she’s silent for a few minutes, the air feeling thicker after your confession. by the time you’ve started to tense up, she says, “you seem… like a good friend. even if they find people who they’re happy with, I don’t think it means you were any less of a friend.”

it’s the first compliment she’s ever truly given you, and you wish it was tangible so you could maybe lock it in a box and one day look back on it - the exact moment, word for word, every graze of the breeze present. “thank you.”

she nods.

“and you? have you been through it?” you reach your hand out, loose fingers hugging the joint. 

she gently takes it from you, her careful fingers seeming to avoid touching you. you wish she would. as she breathes it in deeply, lips parting to release a stream of smoke, she mutters, “yeah.”

you give her a questioning stare, waiting for her to continue.

she looks away with a soft inhale. “when I was in high school, I kind of dated this girl. we were seventeen, both realizing we were gay – all of that. the anxiety became too much, and I ended it.” her voice quiets, as though she’s still ashamed – but, it seems to be for something else. “in our senior year, she dated someone else. and I still, you know…” she pauses, briefly meeting your eyes, “liked her. so, I just watched from the side, feeling betrayed that she didn’t wait for me. I felt… hurt.” it seems like she strains to admit to the possession of such a vulnerable emotion, and a part of you aches in gratitude that she shared it with you. “I knew it wasn’t fair. she couldn’t wait forever – and back then, the space between seventeen and going to university felt like forever. but, I was really bitter for a while. and I often wondered how her and her girlfriend were faring.”

a stab of sympathy wrenches in your stomach. breaking up was never easy, but to experience it at seventeen? and it being one’s first gay relationship? you can’t imagine the amount of pain she felt, especially considering the religious upbringing she’s alluded to. “I’m really sorry you went through that. I mean, it makes sense. it was your first relationship, and you have so many hopes for that. it’s all the harder when you’re not out, too.”

she tightly nods. “yeah.” her voice sounds slightly like a forced-out gasp. 

“thank you… for telling me.”

the ghost of a smile appears on her face. “well, you did share your joint. figured I owed you something.”

“oh, I see,” you chuckle. “joint for traumatic story – seems like a fair trade. if only therapy could pick up on that practice.”

she glances at you. “you know, if you’re ever lost after graduation, consulting might work out.”

you laugh, and her eyes dart back to the ground.

a half hour later, you yawn, groggily mumbling, “I kind of want to head home now.” you smile apologetically. “sorry. long week.” the weed has taken its effects on you, leaving your body boneless and relaxed, and all you want to do is curl into bed. but, deep inside you, a part of you wails and protests, wishing to sit on this step with her forever, as though it’s become a sacred place.

 she shakes her head at your apology. “I feel like going too. we can walk together.” she stands up, taking one last hit. you gulp down at the sight. jesus, she looks attractive doing that. her button-up is untucked, and she’s wearing a baggy, dark windbreaker that falls at her wrists. smoking has seemed to relax her in a way you’re not used to, her movements less stiff and flowing more naturally from one into the other. she’s a sight to behold in this state – levelled as always, but free in a way. and watching her long fingers tucked against the joint does something to you – something that only pulses even more when she actually wraps her lips around it.

she hands over the remainder of it. “here, you have it. I’m going to tell my friends we’re leaving.”

we’re leaving. it makes you feel delirious, to be a we with her. you giggle, your sober inhibitions completely removed, and she smiles faintly at your fit. “sounds great.”

she’s still gently smiling, looking down on you. “what’s so funny?”

“no, um, nothing.” you clear your throat, trying to reign in some seriousness, before another giddy laugh erupts from you. “nothing.”

her head shakes gently. her usually light brown hair has darkened under the night sky, and strands of it tickle her cheek from the wind. “you’re crazy.” she wordlessly heads in, quietly muttering, “I'll be back.”

you page your friend, fingers trembling from the moment with lee. she’s probably still making out with her boyfriend, so you write out 7, your guys’ code for “Leaving” because of how the number upside down resembles an L, ending the message with 143. before you had beelined to lee, she had sent you a coy look, playfully patting your arm and saying, “let me know if you get laid.”

but, all you lee and do is walk and take the subway, and it’s more than enough. because you at least get to see her smile, her eyes lazy and half-lidded as she listens to you talk about your least favourite professor.

and that’s enough.

–

the next morning, lee pads into the kitchen to find open packs of Cheetos and Cheerios, limp and spilling, on the counter. as she cleans the mess, she can’t help but feel reminiscent of the night before. you were so giggly when high, constantly leaning on her and finding every motion of hers practically hysterical. she got to feel more at ease with you than she had since you both moved in, and it almost gives her a sense of relief to know you have now seen her in that state. you now know what she’s like when the reservations have crumbled, and that makes her steps towards it feel a bit less daunting.

when you come out of the bathroom, hair wet from your shower, eyes bright with the morning, she swallows at the onslaught of excitement she feels at your presence. without having even fully realized it, she had been tapping her hand on the counter. waiting on you to finish and come out.

“good morning,” you drawl out, your tone mischievous as though the two of you had done something last night. she racks her brain thinking of something that could explain your address of her. you guys didn’t do anything illegal, despite your hypothetical musings of walking along the train tracks. you both also didn’t have sex. her nostrils flare at the idea. yeah, she definitely would’ve remembered that. 

she was empty of ideas. “why do you sound like that?”

you smirk, leaning over the counter, and she finds herself reeling back at the proximity. the scent of your shampoo wafts her nose, and she becomes suddenly aware of just how small your shared kitchen is. “well, I’m just impressed with myself for having gotten to see lee harker high as a kite.”

she snorts at your answer, turning to switch the kettle on. sometimes, she forgot the legality of smoking since her and her friends did it so often. 

your voice fills the quiet of the bubbling water. “it was nice, though. we should do it again sometime.”

she pauses, using her task of grabbing mugs and making coffee as an excuse to remain silent for a few moments, needing time to process your words. no matter how old she becomes, she seems to always feel like she’s dangling at the precipice of finally understanding and accepting the process of knowing and being known. she has friends, yes, but it constantly feels like inside, she’s still the same little girl who felt discarded to the outskirts during recess, and who perhaps adapted to isolation and solitude not out of a true enjoyment of it, but as a survival instinct. even in her last year of university, she still cannot seem to absorb the idea that someone may truly want to spend time with her. 

“yeah, that’d be good,” she quietly responds, her back still turned to you. she hopes you can’t detect the tension in her shoulders. ever since you successfully guessed at the type of drunk she is based on her reaction, she’s taken note of your observational skills.

when she turns to you, she finds a part of herself feeling shy as she slides over a mug to you. it’s one of yours, bright flowers splattered all over it, and it’s filled to the brim with the coffee she usually only makes for herself.

you brighten at the offer. “oh, thank you.”

she nods, sipping on hers silently. she wonders if she’s a bad, or at the very least, questionable, roommate. after all, it’s been a month, and this is her very first time even making you coffee. even if she has been a bad roommate, how would she go about that? apologizing? the mere idea of it sends a wave of anxiety through her.

she’s so caught up in her swarm of musings that she doesn’t even realize how long the silence between you two has hung until you start fiddling with the handle of your mug. her eyes flick between your hand and your face, trying to consciously remain on the latter. “do you… have plans today?”

you start at the sound of her voice, and her lips nearly crack into a grin. she can’t blame you. most of your guys’ shared mornings have consisted of you two quietly moving around each other, and when conversation has occurred, it’s been at your gentle prompting. but, even then, it’d last for a few minutes before you leave. you never push her. the realization makes her lips twist. 

“no, no, some kid was begging to take my shift so he could take his girlfriend out, and I had worked a lot of hours last week, anyways, so I gave it to him.”

“high school kid?”

you grin, the bob of your head confirming.

she shrugs lightly. “that pans out.”

“ah, come on, it’s young love. people get desperate when they’re in love.”

she feels the corner of her lip twitching with the urge to smile. how have you been making her smile so much lately? she admits, you definitely wound up being a lot easier to talk to than she had initially suspected. not that you had done anything to instigate doubt from her. she supposes she's generally spent her life suspecting everyone of being difficult to talk to, but it wasn’t because of them. she had spent enough years carefully observing those who seamlessly stitch themselves into conversation to know that she was the common denominator. she struggles, and she knows it forces the flow of conversations to a halt in a way she wishes didn’t happen. and doesn’t she wish for it. for as much as she enjoys her time away from the world, tucked into a safe corner, and as much as she usually dislikes the practice of socializing, especially with people it doesn't feel necessary to do so with, she can’t help but sometimes, just sometimes, itch for the string of connection only a genuine bond can bring. it’s why your offer to smoke again continues to linger in her mind, minutes after you’ve said it. 

“and you?” you prod. “do you have work today?”

“no. the library closes early on saturday, so they usually don’t take in a lot of workers.”

between you two, an unspoken offer crackles. lee can feel it, and she can sense you do too, your eyes skittering around as though you feel awkward looking at her. she wonders briefly if that’s how she looks to you, but quickly moves on to ponder on the question of if she wants to hang out. she wouldn’t mind letting the question go unspoken. she’s certainly let that happen enough times as is, even though her friends tell her it’s apparently rude to do so. what takes her aback, though, is her desire to remain with you for the day. for some reason, despite having spent so many days like it already, the idea of you two being free, enclosed in the same space, and not spending time together now feels off to her. it feels wrong. and not because of obligation, but rather just because it's something that’s so clearly against her wants that she can’t even force it to seem right. the sentiment is foreign regarding you, but she supposes it makes sense, what with the recent conversations you two have had.

now, all there is is to actually approach the idea. she clears her throat softly, suddenly feeling on edge when you look up at her. jesus, why did she make this decision again? she sucks in an unsteady breath. “um… we… do you want to, I don’t know, hang out?”

relief flushes through her when you beam and grab her keys from the counter, tossing them at her. “I’ll get my video card for the store.”

– 

the video rental store is only a ten minute walk away, but with lee’s unwavering pacing, you two make it there in seven. you have to resist dragging her by the sleeve to slow her down, wanting to relish in the brisk autumn morning. yellow and orange leaves drift along the quiet street, and the sky is dim and grey, wrapping the entire world up in a cozy sanctuary. when you two enter the store, you nearly have to blink to adjust to the bright, yellow lights of it.

immediately, you beeline to the horror section, only stalling when lee lingers at the front, her eyes curiously taking in the latest hits.

“lee,” you call out, and when you catch her attention, shattering her quiet observing, you wave her over.

“what is it?”

you look back longingly to the horror section. “come on, halloween is approaching, we should be watching something scary.”

as you practically skip over to the row of dark, gory and borderline traumatic-looking tape covers, she follows you, quietly saying, “I didn’t realize there was an official rulebook.”

you glare at her. “you know what I mean. it’s part of the season’s festivities.”

she randomly slides out one tape, eyebrows scrunched together as she scans over the image attentively. you nearly giggle. even now, when merely selecting a tape, she’s so focused. she sets it back into its exact place with a sigh. “choose whatever you want.”

you frown, feeling rather petulant at her disinterest. “we’re supposed to choose together. do you not like horror?”

“not really.” her tone is flat, the blunt answer drained of hesitation, and you nearly laugh. “mystery and thrillers I like – anything I can put my mind to solving. but, horrors are usually too surface-level. just trying to get a rise out of the audience.”

you roll your eyes at her. “whoever’s been showing you horror films has been doing you a disgrace, then.”

something rumbles in her chest, and it takes you a moment to realize it’s a chuckle. her mouth curls up, and she says, “actually, I chose to watch those.”

“so, you didn’t even consult a horror movie connoisseur before choosing to hate on them? such a rookie.”

a small smile appears on her lips. “well, I wasn’t aware there was such a strict regime.”

“thank god for me.”

a quiet snort puffs from her nose. “okay, so, you choose then.” she purses her lips together in concentration, eyes roving over the rest of the store. “and I’ll choose something from the thriller section.”

you nod eagerly. “sounds good.” when she walks away, you turn excitedly back to the rows of films, skin nearly thrumming. you cannot wait to show her a movie of your picking, and even more, have her show you a movie that she likes. you want to have a look, even just a peak, into her mind and what she likes, what she finds interesting.

twenty minutes later, you practically shove the cover of The Shining in her face. “please, you haven’t seen it, right?”

she cocks her head, observing it. “no, I haven’t.”

you nearly squeal in delight. “great. what did you choose?”

cradling it as though it’s a long-lost relic, she shows you the copy of The Silence of the Lambs.

you immediately chortle, skimming your fingers over the cover, something in you stirring at the site of your hand so close to hers, which are dry at the knuckle from the cold, faint, brown hairs at the base of her wrist. you’ve seen the film – of course you have. the idea of a woman in the FBI was thrilling to you when you first discovered the premise, and you and some friends all went and saw it together. the idea that lee likes a movie that you’re fond of makes you all the more curious.

“why the laugh?”

your cheeks nearly ache as you grin widely. “you’re such a damn criminology major.”

a scoff slips from her mouth. “you knew what you were getting into when you asked me to choose.”

you like this side of her. she’s mischievous, but in a quiet, soft way. you feel that there’s more under the current, and you can’t help but look forward to it. 

as the cashier rings up the films, you lean on the counter, handing over your card. “so, do you like movies?”

she contemplates your words for a bit before answering. “not really. I was more of a film buff as a kid.” she pauses, clearly mulling over her next words, her voice tender, vulnerable and almost childlike when she speaks next. “I used to want to be an actress.”

“ahem.” 

you both turn, the cashier watching you both with bored, flat eyes, his hand holding up a flimsy plastic bag with your two tapes.

“yeah, so going back to that,” you continue as you step out, smiling like an idiot when she holds the door open for you, “you used to want to be an actress?”

“yeah, I did.”

you fumble over your words, not really knowing what to say. she so does not seem like the actress type. you saw her at that party last night – she’s more than content to spend her hours slinking into the background, almost melting into the wall. you can’t imagine her desiring to be the center of attention, hundreds of eyes on her. “I wouldn’t have expected that, to be honest. no offense,” you rush to clear up, your words muddled and clumsy. “I just mean… you don’t seem like you’d enjoy being under so many eyes.”

she toys with the handles of the plastic bag. “I don’t. I think back then, I just thought that being an actress meant I could live and escape in the movies I liked. like, I could maybe be part of the adventure.”

you nod. you understand the urge. you, too, had spent one too many moments, even now, in what’s technically adulthood, rummaging through serieses of daydreams, almost as though you’re flipping through a photobook, finding a new one to comfort you and lose yourself in everyday. “what kind of movies did you want to lose yourself in?”

the corners of her lips tip up, and it’s the warmest thing in this chilly, dreary fall morning. “anything with adventure. I liked fantasy – magic, mermaids, pirates, you know…”

“very adventurous.”

“yeah…” her words falter. “though, I don’t think I really had it in me to be expressive enough for that.”

you momentarily debate feigning ignorance as to what she’s referring to, worried you’ll offend her by agreeing, but then decide against it. you don’t think she’d appreciate dishonesty when it came to her own experiences. “you’re not that expressive, huh?”

she shakes her head. “no. I didn’t realize it was… unusual to not show expression until I got older.”

your eyes flick over her face. you’re also unaccustomed to seeing someone as straight-faced as lee. in a way, it was refreshing to see someone who didn’t force themselves to give off certain impressions. “I mean, it’s nice that your parents never gave you a hard time. it’s just different, not unusual.”

she stiffly nods, lips clamping tight together. her eyes uneasily shift over the sidewalk. “actually, I meant to tell you… I’m going to be away this weekend.” at your eyebrow curving up, she adds, “I’m visiting my mom.”

“oh, is everything okay?” you can’t help but let the concern bleed into your voice. it’s a strange decision, to say the least. you didn’t know any peers who went out of their way to actually go back home on halloween weekend.

“yeah, everything’s okay.” when you don’t respond, she awkwardly glances to you. “she lives alone. I visit on halloween weekend just to make sure she’s okay.” she opens her mouth, almost as though she wants to say something else, but then, one, two, three, seconds pass and she remains silent.

you stare at her in awe, feeling as though your heart is expanding. she really was so good, wasn’t she?

–

when lee reaches her childhood home, shoulders heavy and heart already throbbing in pre-existing guilt and shame, she immediately sets out to search for her mother. might as well get this over with.

she gently walks through the wretched hole her mother has made of what was once their home, body twisting and writhing to avoid brushing against anything that might have gone unclean for too long. already, she can feel the dread wrapping around her, hugging around her torso, like a friend simply returning after time away, squeezing, unforgiving, unable to let go.

her mother is nowhere to be found. the television is softly blaring in the living room, and it keeps her company from the quiet of their isolated home. lee purses her lips, concern starting to grip her chest. she tempers her breathing, which is getting heavy and weighed with anxiety. her fingers are twisting and pressing together -- anything to make her feel more linked to earth. 

it turns out to be nothing. in a matter of ten minutes, her mother returns home and lee suddenly feels like a child who thought she had woken up alone at home and is now suppressing the urge to bury her face in her mother’s familiar scent. 

it’s a thought she suddenly feels she’d like you to know. it’s a thought she suddenly feels you’d receive with kindness and comfort. 

she eyes the phone as her mother leads her to the kitchen, pointing out her childhood drawings as she always did. lee can sense that her mother lives in a perpetual state of nostalgia and reminiscence, and lee sometimes wonders if her mother liked her better as a child, and if her adulthood was the low point of her journey as mother. 

lee continues to watch the phone. she wants to tell you these things.

[kilo1118]

American Airlines 35E. There was no way to spin it, "E" I would mean being squeeezed into a dreaded middle seat on my impending flight from Albany International to Charlotte NC. It would be a two hour and six minute flight, a two hour layover, and then on to New Orleans. The woman's voice could be heard clearly over the speaker. "Can Passenger Joshua Krushenick please come to gate B10?" My guilty concience searched the recesess of my mind. "They found something in my luggage that shouldn't be there." No, that didn't add up, I hadn't even checked a bag. They would have stopped me at the security checkpoint if that had been the case. Anyway, I'm a 59 year old white guy; short of a kilo of cocain or severed head in my luggage, I wasn't being detained. Maybe a family crises. One of my kids, my 93 year old mother? I nervously approched the desk at B10. "would you be willing to sit in an emergency exit row?" asked the attendant. "yes, yes, absolutely," I replied. I then went on, explaining my dread of the middle seat and of being detained for contraband. I left out the reference to the severed head. As I finished my enthusiastic rant I realized that I sounded too much like the Progressive Insurance comercial, the one about preventing you from becoming your parents. This women didn't need the details of my anxiety, just as simple "yes," would sufice. I was still in a middle seat but I had an absurdly generous amount of leg room. Why had they chosen me, I wondered. Maybe, my strapping masculenity? My relative youth? My fit physique? This all seemed as unlikely as being detained for having a human body part in my carryon bag. The flight attendant began her speach, informing we travelers of the safety rules. I paid close attention. I was in an exit row after all, the entire passenger log was depending on me for their survival. I have heard these safty tip numerous times, as I am a frequent flyer. My seat cusion could be used as a floataion device in the unlikely accurance of a water landing. the attendant then placed a the yellow lifevest over her head and mimicked pulling the strap and then blowing into the nozzle to inflate said life vest. I'm a hands on learner. I have never been good with written or verbal instruction. Here I was, sitting in an exit row, in a 200 ton flying vessal, with hundreds of good souls counting on my valor and expertise to save them. I wanted to suggest that maybe we should practice. Drop the air masks from overhead. let me secure mine before helping others. Drop the slide, and let me navigate the 40 pound exit door. Have me ride the slide onto the runway while clutching my seat cusion. This was all too much responsibility for one man without the benefit of a practice run. I have short legs anyway. I would have been fine in a non exit row seat. I arrived in New Orleans at 5:52 CST. I deboarded and chose the onsite taxi over requesting an Uber. Upon arrival I expertly navigated the entrance of my Faubourg Marigny Airbnb, as it was the same one I had rented last January. I'll spend two weeks here in Nola, rather than the three I spent in 2023. I fulfilled my public service duty on my flight. Now it is time for two weeks of hedonistic self indulgance. I set up my toiletries in the bathroom. I placed my cloths neatly in the dresser. I hung my shirts in the closet and I placed the severed head in the freezer.

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[sukirichi]

reckless [01.]

With a lackadaisical playboy as your boss, being reckless wasn’t an option. But on the one time you let loose and made mistakes, your life is shattered, and now you’re playing house with your insufferable boss who is the father of your baby.

✘ cw. explicit smut, accidental pregnancy, playboy! gojo, slight angst

✘ note. dedicated to wifey @7tsumurai​ who also made the banner and always supports me and showers me with love aaaa i love you baby <3 also this fic is mostly romance and fluff so i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it! thank you to @chosonore​ for pr-ing UWU. and we get like...10-15 chapters of this?!

one  ✘  two  ✘  three

You shouldn’t be doing this.

The night was young; streaks of gold flashing with the shimmering jewellery collared on your neck, the romantic humming of the violins pairing perfectly with the champagne that fizzed in your hand. It was supposed to be another day at work where you accompanied your boss to one of his events, considering the Casanova refused to bring his girlfriends in fear they might get the wrong idea he liked them outside the bed. It should be just another day at work; you’ve accompanied him hundreds of times before. Today wasn’t any different.

And yet it was.

You blamed it on the alcohol. On the slow dancing. On the fact he hadn’t stopped complimenting you all night and you’d been so stressed, the amount of planning and sleepless nights sacrificed in exchange of preparing for this event made you grab for three more flutes, the touch of your undeniable attractive boss permanent on your waist.

Satoru was equally aggravated. You’d worked him long enough to recognize even the smallest of cues, and the fact you’d spend nearly every hour of the day working with him for weeks straight in the office let you know he needed to let off some steam.

And what better way to relieve both of your tensions if not to give in to the cloud of lust?

The sultry gazes, the clashing perfumes between rose and musk, and the alcohol – the fucking alcohol – that gave way to you succumbing to your desire just this once.

There were no more thoughts – or if there were, they were muddled – as you kissed him back just as passionately, forgetting the fact his stylist spent an hour gelling his hair back to perfection as your eager fingers traced over his scalp. How you ended up in the back of limousine was beyond you, and neither was it your biggest concern when Satoru insisted you kept your heels on; his large hands caressing all the way from the ankle pressed beside his waist up to your waist.

You felt his daft fingers move the lacy thong you wore especially for tonight (not because you expected something, but the boost in confidence felt necessary) before he slides inside almost too easily.

Both your gasps and moans are swallowed in the stuffy compartment, windows fogged saved for the handprint you’d left when he hit a sensitive spot. He was moaning in your neck, skin slippery and sweaty as you slid from one another, seemingly never staying from one place as your hands treaded through his hair down to rake your nails on his back; his touch angry on your hips before his thumb found home in your clit.

As much as you hated him, hated his reputation, you couldn’t deny he really earned his title for being an absolute god in sex. You were no virgin, but you’d never felt this good, never felt this alive as bruises began to form in your skin and his lips hungrily sought out yours.

“S-Sir...”

“Satoru,” he corrected through your lips, the kiss barely even one when you were too busy moaning left and right. Satoru hitched your leg up to fold it right beside your waist, allowing him to explore deeper territories that not even you could mark.

His stare on you is perverted; openly wanton as he lets his empyrean gaze snake down to where your bodies connected. It was embarrassing to be this spread wide open for him, though it didn’t matter much, not when you clutched onto his bicep for dear life and panted breathlessly. He was kissing you everywhere – smearing your lipstick all over your lips and his, a stain of red on his hard, white collar and love bites marked deep into your collarbones and under your breasts. You tightened around him once he changed his rhythm into a more sensual one; the quick pace replaced with him pulling out slowly – inch by delicious inch until you felt empty with each growing second – before slamming back inside with fervidity that he never quite possessed behind his desk.

He groaned at your walls clenching down on him, his hips stuttering in the process. “Call me Satoru.”

“Satoru,” you moaned out, and his next sounds were pained. Pained because you sounded too gorgeous, felt too good, and with you following his hips thrust by thrust, neither of you would last any longer. Not even as you shake your head, lips swollen as you remind him, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We shouldn’t,” he agreed with a curled lip, sweat beading from the streaks of his white hair. “But I want you – god, you’re so beautiful tonight. Need to fuck you good—”

Gojo Satoru, one of the most eligible bachelors in the entire South East Asia and ranked as the second richest man in his early twenties, was a man of his word despite his reputation. Just as he was praised and fawned over for his beauty, charisma, and power, he was equally hated for breaking the hearts of women and treating his past ‘lovers’ like they were objects. The news were so confident of it; that he fooled them, played around with them, but behind the scenes, you knew Satoru wouldn’t do such a thing – from the first time he laid his eyes on someone, he made it extremely clear they were not to be attached. Everything with him was physical and sensual – anything beyond that would simply be out of character.

You weren’t surprised that he really did keep his word and fuck you good, because you couldn’t feel your legs the next morning and even though it had been hours, you still very much felt the shape of him carve through you.

The bastard wouldn’t stop laughing, of course, snickering under his breath every now and then each time he saw you grimace from doing simple things such as standing up and giving him the files he asked for. Perhaps it was because your dislike for him was apparent that Satoru quickly went back to fooling around, pretending you didn’t exist and only approaching you when need be. There were still moments you had to clean his mess up for him; taking his drunken phone calls at 3am because he got wasted in a bar, or doing the same for his current sex buddy who he didn’t want to stay in his home.

He was terrible, terribly awful that you despised this part of him.

You were only grateful enough that neither of you brought that night up ever again, for no matter how immensely hellish of an experience it had been, it was also something you’d really rather not be reminded of.

But now, there was no more running away from it. The truth stared at you blatantly in the form of two white lines that had appeared four times already from previous tests.

You were pregnant.

The world had never been that heavy on you. You had a rough upbringing, but it was a household filled with love and patience that it was innate in your nature to keep strong, be levelled, continue moving forward even during the times it felt like everyone and everything was going against you. You’d been through so much worse and you can do this, but you still couldn’t stop the tears that pushed from your eyes, your heart shattering the same time you dropped the stick.

“No, we won’t cry, it’s okay. I can handle this – I’m strong,” you repeated to yourself like a mantra, taking deep breaths to stabilize yourself. Clearly, this was unexpected, but you wanted to do your best, had to do your best. You didn’t have time to lose your composure, so you quickly fished your phone out your purse to dial the person you trusted the most.

“Rei...?”

Your best friend picked up on the second dial. “Sweetheart, where have you been?! I’ve been calling you for like hours now and you’re not picking up, I heard you called in sick for work and you never do that even when you’re about to pass out!” Some shuffling could be heard from the background before she spoke again, her tone a lot more gentle in response to your muted sniffles. “Is there something going on? Do you need me to drop by there right now? Tell me what you need; I’ll be there right away.”

“No, no, Rei, it’s fine, I just...”

“Sweetie,” she sighed, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see it. Rei had been there for you in everything, starting from when you newly arrived in the city; fresh-eyed and hopeful for new opportunities. She’d been there when you first complained your boss was a creepy flirt, all the way until you’d made peace with said boss and remained firm in your boundaries. But those boundaries had clearly been crossed – no, rather, you erased those boundaries. You were drunk enough to give in to the need to be touched, but sober enough to consent to everything that happened. You couldn’t place this all on him.

“I’m pregnant,” you said eventually, voice barely above a whisper as you added, “And Satoru’s the father.”

Rei stopped munching on her – you assume – bagel.

“Satoru? Gojo Satoru, your boss, bonafide casanova, the face on billboards and one of the most “eligible” bachelors in the country, billionaire Gojo Satoru?” she let out in one breath, the image of her flipping her hand out in the air in disbelief as clear as day. “Am I really hearing this right? I’m not going crazy, am I?”

You sighed.

“We were drunk. I slept with him.”

“Did that bastard force himself on you?”

“No, gosh, never,” you defended with widened eyes, sitting back down on the toilet with the lid now closed. You couldn’t look at the tests even if you dared yourself to, the plastic bag concealed in the garbage or else you’d feel sick all over again. “I-I wanted it too...we just got carried away and the night was just...I don’t know. I don’t know what came over me and why I did that, but there’s no point in fretting about it because I’m carrying his baby now.”

“Well,” she started unsurely, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m keeping it. There’s no way I would even consider abortion.”

“But what about him?”

The back of your head throbbed in pain. Just thinking about his stupidly handsome face made you want to throw up once more. “I don’t really want to tell him, but he has a right to know that he’s going to be a father.”

“Will he even take responsibility for it?”

You swallowed nervously, nibbling on your thumbnails before snatching your hand away. Composure was something you didn’t struggle with; you were the more reliable one in the duo of you and Satoru, but you had a bad habit of picking on your nails whenever you were anxious. Had it not been for Satoru flicking your nails away from your mouth each time you dazed out a little bit, you would’ve never gotten rid of the habit, but it all came crashing back down on you in an instant.

A heavy knot formed in your belly.

“Most likely not, I know how he’s like. He loves his single life so much that he’d never allow to be tied down like this. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he tells me he doesn’t want it.”

“What an asshole!”

“Yeah, he is, but I don’t need him in my life,” you reinstated, finally feeling more confident the longer you talked to Rei. She was your instant hype machine in more ways than one; her presence itself gave you the reassurance you could handle everything your way. With hope blooming in your chest, you picked yourself of the toilet and wiped away your tears. You could do this – you can handle this. Not just for you, but this baby growing in you as well.

“In our life. I’m more than capable of taking care of the baby myself,” you told her, gaze hard and determined as your sunken reflection stared back at you in the mirror. Sighing, you shook your head and pictured Satoru’s face, already picturing a thousand ways this could go wrong. Only one way to find out.

“I have to go now. He needs to hear about this and then I’ll resign. Probably move back home – anywhere that’s away from him.”

“Doesn’t the baby deserve to meet their dad?”

“Their dad doesn’t even want to be one,” you muttered bitterly and threw your sweater back on, refusing to kick yourself around any harder. Now wasn’t the time to be illogical; you were now a mother and had to be responsible now more than ever. But first, you needed some well-deserved rest after endless agonizing of missing your period, along with the baby drop that until now, had shook you to your core. “I’ll call you back, Rei. I’m very tired.”

“You let me know if you need anything, okay?” Humming in response, you ended the call and crawled back to bed.

It wasn’t that you felt lonely, but you didn’t feel particularly belonging anywhere. You were far from home in a city that felt like the future, and each day you come home, it was mostly just a place to rest before you went back to work the next day. It was a dull, empty routine that you’d gotten used to, but never had it sunk deep into you that you did felt completely hollow.

But not anymore.

You were with your baby now, and as much as it scared you shitless to be a mother with zero preparation and knowledge, you were confident things were going to be okay.

Wrapping an arm around your belly, you had the best sleep you’d had in years.

You’d just have to worry about tomorrow. Hopefully, and you quite prayed harder than you ever did before, Satoru would let you go and keep things less complicated than it already was.

“No,” Satoru shook his head, his words dropping like a heavy boulder in the middle of nowhere. You stood in front of him shock still, hands wrung solid beneath your belly. Satoru merely shook his head, brushing back his gelled hair with a dry laugh. “No, what are you even thinking? You’re not resigning.”

You pursed your lips. “I wasn’t really asking for permission, Sir.”

Truth be told, you expected this sort of reaction from him. It may be true that you and Satoru never got along in personal levels since he was too crass and you much stiff, but it couldn’t be denied you worked well together. You balanced each other’s flaws and brought out the best in one another. If someone had asked you years ago prior to you being employed by the heir if you could even tame the renowned free spirited man, you would’ve said probably not, but after sharing struggles and quite literally forcing one another to do better, you both reached highs neither expected to achieve.

It was an experience and a whole lot lessons learned working with him.

Unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and you had to leave even if Satoru negated to it.

“We’ve been working together for years. Do you know how many people I fired and have resigned all because they’re not equipped for the job?” he plopped down atop his desk, loosening his tie out of frustration. The simple gesture made you swallow and look away – it felt impossible to look at him any other way than a boss now that you had his baby inside you. Thankfully, Satoru was mouthy as usual that he pulled you back from your train of thoughts as he gestured between the both of you. “You and I are perfectly compatible – I can’t let you go like that. I’m sorry, but I need you. There’s no one else I can work with this functionally. No one else is as willing to tolerate my bullshit except you and...I need you to stay.”

You clenched your teeth at the desperation in his voice.

Satoru admitting he needed people was one thing. But him asking others to stay? It may have just been for your value as the only person who had put up with him in both his best and worst times that made him feel that way, but you had to keep your foot down on the ground.

You wouldn’t let him sway you like this.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and willed all your energy to spring forth. “Sir...I’m more than thankful for all the opportunities, it truly was a pleasure working with you but—”

“Is this because we slept together?” he cut you off, your shoulders tensing. Upon your silence, Satoru heaved himself away from the desk and took cautious step towards you, stopping a foot away when you stepped back defensively.

You almost wished you didn’t know him so well. His eyes shone with a flicker of hurt before he masked it just as quick as it had came – for Gojo Satoru was a master of many things, and a great actor was one of them. Cautious, you had to be cautious, and you clenched your fists behind your pencil skirt as you tore your gaze away from his pleading ones. “It is, isn’t it?” he affirmed with a clear of his throat, looking just as lost as you did. Satoru stuttered for a minute before he eventually composed himself, but even then, he didn’t sound half as sure as he wanted to be.

“Listen, whatever happened that night, we can forget about it if you want. We’re both adults and professionals – we can put this aside us and just go back to normal. You don’t have feelings for me, right? So then it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Satoru...it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, aggravated. Satoru began to round his desk and pulling out little white envelopes, stacking them before you in a haste. “Do you want a pay raise? A new car so you could get to work easily? O-or perhaps a bigger house where you can work more comfortably, somewhere nearer to the office? All you have to do is tell me and I’ll give you what you want. There’s no need for you to resign, this company has given you everything and we’ve got so much offer just as you could still be great—”

“I’m pregnant.”

Satoru’s slender fingers halted around the pen hovering over a cheque slip. “What?”

“I said I’m pregnant,” you exhaled, biting down on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from quivering. A quick sweep from your face to gather sincerity trailed down to your belly, staring at you hard enough as if he had the ability to look through your soul. “And you’re the father.”

“Is that true? Is...is it really mine?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded, “I’m not telling you this because I expect that you’ll be responsible for it. No offense, sir, but I’d really rather raise the baby alone. Plus, I understand that you’ll never settle down or suddenly abandon your old ways just to—”

“Stop right there,” he raised a palm, “You mean to tell me you’re resigning because you thought I wouldn’t take responsibility for it? For you?”

The hurt in his voice and expressions were evident, lip curled in disgust; not for you, but rather of himself. Satoru was the type of man that couldn’t be withered down even with the harshest of rumours; you’d never seen him be affected before by tabloids and nasty ex-girlfriends who only slept with him for money or fame, only to talk smack about him afterwards. But now, he was crumbling before you, and you didn’t know quite what to say or feel over the vulnerability present in his cerulean eyes. It almost pained you know that you caused this – for the comforting, blue sky to be tainted with a thunderstorm that hinted of anger, of disappointment, of betrayal.

But could he blame you for not thinking the best of him?

“I’ve worked with you for years, sir, I know you.”

“Clearly not well enough,” he chuckled sarcastically, “Admittedly, I’m surprised, but not upset. The only thing that I’m upset about is that you actually believed it would be better to raise the baby – our baby – alone like I don’t even have a right to be in their life. Sure, it was an accident, but we made that. That’s our child and I’m going to take care of you and be a great father, even if you don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Sir, I didn’t mean—”

“That’s the first time you said something stupid. That’s our baby. We’re a family now,” Satoru’s hesitance had vanished into thin air as he was on you the next instant, hands shaky before they landed on your shoulders. It was meant to be a comforting gesture; a reassuring one, yet you couldn’t help but flinch and falter under his gaze. As if getting the message, he quickly retracted his hands and shoved them deep inside his pockets with a sigh. “You don’t need to resign or worry about anything else. I promise I’ll give you both the life you deserve, just...just please don’t go. Now that I know we have a baby, there’s just no way I can let go of this and pretend I never heard of this at all.”

You swallowed, rubbing your sweaty palms on your skirt.

Out of all the different scenarios you stayed up late at night to turning your head in one by one, none of them included this. Undeniably, he was an asshole to most, but maybe he was right.

He hadn’t done anything wrong to you and he was still the father of your baby; he deserved a chance. Satoru had the right to be the father he was willing to be. You could already tell this might completely turn into one big mess, but his eyes were so hopeful, his smile so nervous yet expectant that you couldn’t help but say –

“Okay,” you relented.

His reaction was instantaneous. Satoru beamed and lounged at you, arms wide open for an embrace before realizing at the last second you could stab him with a pen and not regret it. One warning glare sent his way and he was retracing his arm behind his head, pretending to stretch with an off-tune whistle.

The sudden switch between pained and enthusiastic gave you whiplash, but you really shouldn’t be surprised. This was Gojo Satoru in the first place – he was as unpredictable as nothing was permanent and lasting to him.

It could be both a blessing and a curse.

For the sake of your baby, you genuinely hoped it was the former.

Not wanting him to get too ahead of himself since you still didn’t trust him enough, you raised a finger to poke him in the chest. Right now, you were no longer his secretary that openly despised him but added six sugar cubes in his coffee just as he liked anyway, but rather a woman who shared this mess with him, and as the mother of his child. You had to be strong. Being with Satoru felt like playing with fire, and you had far too much at stake – both of you did – but you weren’t privileged and fortunate like Satoru. One bad thing thrown his way could be brushed off, but for you? Everything you worked hard for could disappear just like that.

If you really chose now to play with fire, you had to be careful not to be the gasoline that ignited things to burn down into ashes.

“Satoru,” you stressed with your lips pressed into a thin line, “The only thing I expect from you is to be is a good father to our child. I know that it would be difficult for you to be a new person in a day and that your old habits won’t die right away, so please do what you can to be a good parent, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise you don’t have to worry about me getting in the way of your life as well.”

His smile slowly vanished.

“Is that how low you really think of me?” he echoed rather sadly, “That I would still sleep around knowing I’ve got a family now?”

“We’re not a family, Sir. I have no intentions of marrying you nor would I ever want it. I’m just staying for the baby.”

“Fine. For the baby, let’s both do our best,” he crossed his arms on his chest, pumping out the hard muscles from how tight his shirt was. You were stuck between wanting to slap him or be closer to him; the hormones too much of a mess that you had to grip your thigh for restraint. “But tomorrow, you’re moving in with me. I’m going to take care of you from now on – I’ll get you whatever you need so whatever it is, just tell me. My credit card is yours to use as well.”

Move in with him? You wanted to laugh. That was the last thing you would want to happen.

“Sir, it’s fine, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but I want to take care of you both,” he reiterated, growing slightly annoyed from your rigidness. You professed that you were being difficult right now, but it was much better than being easy around someone like him.

“We don’t have to be friends or lovers, alright? I know you don’t see me that way and I’m probably repulsive in your eyes – which is understandable since you always clean my mess up for me – but as a father, at least, let me do my job. There doesn’t have to be anything between us other than a mutual want to be good parents. Is that alright with you?”

You mulled the thought over in your head. So he was capable of being sensible sometimes, and after a few moments of silence, you narrowed your eyes at him.

Still suspicious and your guard was most definitely still up, but he was right. You both had a mutual want to be good parents and that was the most important thing right now. Everything else that complicated matters would be handled afterwards.

“I’m okay with that, but I would have to set down lots of boundaries if I’m living with you.”

“So you’ll really stay with me then?” You regretted nodding in response because Satoru was now fishing his phone out, a goofy smile on his face.

He took the news...surprisingly well, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

“Perfect! I’ll have your room prepared!” You tried to grab his arm to stop him from going overboard; knowing full well Satoru always had rushes in which he impulsively overdoes things. He might turn your room into some sort of grand suite that you wouldn’t really like, but he was far too excited and lost in his own thoughts that your words went from one ear and out the other. “Fuck,” he laughed to himself, “I’m going to be a dad.”

Whether it was relief or anxiety that bubbled through you, you had no idea.

It was definitely anxiety.

Satoru felt like a hyper child to be around, and as much as you were grateful that he was happy about this, you also wished he would calm down. You didn’t even have enough chance to settle in before he’s shoving you inside room by room, announcing that what was his was also yours and he would have a baby room set up next week.

You followed him around like a puppy as he marched into the kitchen, mumbling incoherently to himself about baby proofing furniture.

“Sir,” you called out, “Sir, listen to me. We need to talk about boundaries.”

Satoru blinked owlishly at your tired eyes, sheepishly smiling at you. It must’ve dawned on him that his speed tour of his penthouse felt a lot more overwhelming than welcoming, and he sat you down on the island stools before drumming his fingers impatiently on the cool marble. “Sorry, you were saying? I kind of got carried away.”

Carried away was far an understatement.

“I said, we need to talk about boundaries.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” he paused with a furrow in his brow. “Also can you just call me Satoru? We’re going to be parents anyway and it’s awkward if you keep uh, calling me Sir.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to argue with him right now. You had to keep intact with him while you still had his full attention. Taking out a little notepad you prepared the night before, you slid it over Satoru who tilted his head to the side rather cutely to read it. “So here are my boundaries. One, I don’t want this pregnancy to be announced in the media unless I’m ready. I understand that we can’t keep this a secret forever but I need time to process this. Two, just because we’re living in the same roof together doesn’t mean that I get to go anywhere and everywhere with you. I’m going to work by myself—”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I said no,” he repeated more firmly this time. “You’re pregnant and I want to make sure you’re safe at all times. I’m driving you to work.”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said? I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“You’re my secretary. People see us together all the time.”

“But you never drove me to work! I live far from the office and I most definitely don’t drive an Audi.”

“Things change, that’s your life now,” Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, stealing the pen you twirled in your hands. The sudden contact sent jolts of electricity from your knuckles, one that had you recanting your hands back to yourself. Satoru didn’t seem to notice as he crosses out the second rule, “Sorry not sorry but I don’t want to let you go places like that. Fine by me if you don’t want me to drive you, but at least have one of the chauffeurs take you somewhere if you really don’t wanna be seen with me.”

“Fine,” you gritted your teeth. Compromise, compromise, meet in the middle – you repeated to yourself to keep your sanity. “Rule number three: I don’t want you changing your attitude around me. We may have a baby on the way, but you’re still my boss and I want to keep our relationship professional.”

“You’re saying I’m not allowed to fall in love with you?”

You flicked his forehead, effectively erasing the teasing grin he wore. “That’s not going to happen,” you interjected irritably, although your heart skip a beat. That was a massive red flag already; you could never be too comfortable with him. For Satoru, his little comments here and there may come naturally and probably meant nothing to him, but there was a chance you could receive it with different interpretations. Shaking your head at him, you ignored his grumblings on how ‘mean’ you were. “We’re never going to be a couple. We’re just raising a child together. I don’t want you acting weird or too comfortable with me.”

Satoru scratched the side of his head as he mulled about it, “Are we allowed to be friends, at least? I understand the professional part, but I can’t imagine the both of us getting along for nine months and more when we act like boss and employee even alone at home,” before you could say anything, Satoru raised his hands in surrender. “I promise I won’t do anything weird to you. No offense, but you’re not really my type, so same as you, I view you platonically.”

Right. The heart surely was stupid and confusing.

You didn’t want him getting any ideas that this could lead to something more, but at the same time, it hurt a little to know you weren’t his type.

Hiding that pang of hurt behind a tight lipped smile, you forced yourself to agree with him. “I view you professionally, Sir.”

“Satoru.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled. “Rule number four: don’t bring home any of your fuck buddies or flavour of the night. I really don’t care if you sleep around, but respect my privacy and my standing as the mother of your childIf you’re really desperate to get your dick wet, go fuck them somewhere else.”

“You’ve never been this vulgar with me.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Despite countless of times that he tried being friendly with you to ease your stiffness in the office, you always shot him down.

You came to the city to work and provide for your family, not to be friends with your annoyingly hot boss who enjoyed his life way too much. Unlike him, you were more work than play, and eventually Satoru respected the fact you would never speak or treat him casually.

Until now.

“Try being in my shoes and see if you’d still have the patience of a saint,” you mumbled under your breath, sighing when Satoru’s smile got more awkward. “Listen, Satoru, I don’t mean to be difficult, okay? It’s just...this is a lot. This isn’t just us about anymore – we’re going to be parents and that’s a huge responsibility. It’s not only our lives changing here, a child will be relying on us in the future and I simply want to be a good mother, but I also don’t trust you very well to be comfortable enough to act like we’re suddenly friends.”

“I understand that.”

“Good.”

“Do you have rule number five?”

“No, not really, but I can add more as we go.”

“I have a rule number five,” he piped in, flipping the notepad his way as he scribbled something down. “And it’s that if you need help – and I mean with anything – you would let me help you. I’ve worked with you for a long time and I’m not dumb enough to not notice you like to do things by yourself. Like you said, things are different now, and especially with this pregnancy, you’re not alone in this. You need to let me take over the wheel sometimes. I can’t be just a passenger in the car – you and I are both in this together.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself.”

“That’s easy,” he chirped, and there was that uncomfortable knot in your chest again. However, it didn’t sink in too deep because Satoru was blatantly staring at your belly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So do we have a name for them already?”

“Satoru, I’ve only been a few weeks pregnant, I don’t—”

Conflicting his previous statement that he’d keep his hands to himself, Satoru suddenly dropped to his knees. You watched with wide eyes, too flabbergasted to move as he places his ear on your belly.

“Hi there, little one,” he spoke in a soft tone, large hands caressing the tiny bump beginning to form. You couldn’t move; hell, you could barely breathe from how comforting his touch seemed in contrast to your mind ringing warning bells above. His voice quickly pulled you back to reality as he flattened his palm, white lashes fluttering against the cotton of your shirt. “I’m your daddy; I can’t wait to meet you. Daddy promises to take good care of you and make you the happiest kid ever, alright? You don’t have to worry about anything as long as I’m here.”

“D-don’t spoil them too much, Satoru.”

“I’ll try not to,” he chuckled. Satisfied with that small moment he had, he straightened up and trudged over the dining table that was far too big for a man who lived alone. In that moment, an image flashed in your mind – that someday that table would no longer look empty as you and your child shared meals with him. You could already imagine how heavenly the sun would shine on the glass windows behind it, the flowers gathered in the middle of the table blooming to life.

Out of nowhere, it struck you.

Could it be that this was why he loved this baby so much after only knowing about it for a few days? Could it be that Satoru really was alone?

“Okay, we should probably have a welcoming dinner! The chefs left me something tonight. I forgot what it’s called but I think you’ll like it. Grab some wine on the cellar for me?”

“Satoru, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, right! My bad,” he clapped his hands together before pulling out ceramics and a cold pitcher, “Just water for mommy then,” Satoru said absentmindedly, completely oblivious to how your mind short-circuited a few feet away from him. He went about his way ignorant to it all and gently tugged you to sit with him, eagerly digging into the heated meals as you realized both of you hadn’t eaten.

For a guy who talked a lot, dinner with him was surprisingly quiet. Other than the occasional clinking of utensils against the plate, you enjoyed the silence with him.

You wouldn’t have believed it to be possible since Satoru made it his daily business to always fill in the gaps. Peace and comfort stretched before you the whole time, however, that for a moment, just a short moment, you found yourself letting your guard down. Even when you both caught each other’s in the middle of a bite, you found no tension or awkwardness in it. Perhaps it was the familiarity of being beside each other for years now that this should feel natural, or maybe it was because you both mutually agreed on wanting the best for your baby. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to overcomplicate it right now.

“You know, I’m really excited about this. I can’t believe I’m actually going to be a father,” he mused through a bite, swirling his red wine through his glass. Satoru gazed at his reflection almost dreamily, seemingly too deep in thought that he felt far from reach.

Or maybe you were the one who was detached, the one who kept pushing him away, because you could offer him nothing but a lame nod. “I’m glad to hear that...”

“What about you? You don’t look too happy.”

Your eyes widened at his worry. “No, I-I’m happy, of course. It’s just...it’s unplanned, and I’ve had my whole life planned out that I’m not really sure how this will all fall into place together.”

“Hey,” he laced his fingers with yours, squeezing warmth back into your skin that you hadn’t noticed turned cold from the nerves. Unlike his usual self with eyes brimming with glee, you could only see tenderness in him now, some sort of silent vow through a private smile shared only between the two of you in that moment in the solace of his home. Your home. “I promise I’ll be there for you and the baby every step of the way. I know that I haven’t had the best reputation and I have zero idea on parenting, but you’re not alone in this. You can trust me on this one, just like how we always trusted each other during work. Being a parent and running a business are both responsibilities right?”

“Yeah...”

“Well then you already know we work well together. We’re great partners!” he cheered, patting your shoulder way too bro-like. You resisted the urge to cringe. “We’ll be great parents, Y/N. I’m sure of that.”

Unsure of what else to do, you squeezed his hand back. He was right, you would be great parents as long as both of you never gave up. The thought of eating meals with him again with another addition to the table made you smile, and you hadn’t noticed you were spacing out, thumb running over his knuckles that were smooth for a man who never knew a day of hard labour. It wasn’t until you felt something prodding at you metaphorically, and you chuckled nervously as you saw Satoru smiling mysteriously at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” he grinned, “I’ve just never seen you this close before; not so much that I paid attention anyway. But this is nice – having you here, I mean. It gets lonely here sometimes.”

“Don’t you bring your girlfriends around?”

“I never make them stay,” was all he said, and just like that, whatever thread that was beginning to form snapped. Satoru released his hold on you and gestured to your plate, carrying the dishes in his hand before leaving you alone on the table. Like always – a whiplash. “I’ll clean up, you can rest in your room now. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

“Do you even know how to do them?”

“Yeah, my mother forced me to wash dishes because she didn’t want me to rely on the house help too much,” he informed, the new information shocking you right to the core as he put on dishwashing gloves and started scrubbing. From this angle, he sure looked damn nice and domestic in just a white shirt, hair ruffled down to bangs.  “I’ll be right there with you,” Satoru announces casually, spinning on his heel with red cheeks once he realized what he said. “For just a goodnight, I mean! We’re not sharing rooms!”

“Yeah, no,” you coughed out, “We’re definitely not.”

It felt…surreal, to wake up in a room much grandiose than yours yet felt like home even for the first night. Satoru handled your moving in rather happily; you found him singing to himself this morning as he brewed his own coffee before realizing you were right behind him, sleepy as you lazily made waffles for the both of you. Everything flowed nicely and normally, like this had always been a normal thing that for a moment, you questioned once more what would happen next.

You were now getting ready for work, hands tugging at his tie because he was such a man-child who couldn’t even properly knot his own tie. His suit was custom tailored and he looked effortlessly gorgeous – beauty ripped straight from magazines he was constantly a front page of, but his tie was skewered and loose that it irritated you.

“You’re such a mess without me.”

Satoru bent down to wiggle his brows at you, thought you didn’t notice because he wouldn’t stay still for you to fix his tie fast enough. “Isn’t this sweet; you fixing my tie for me as we both get ready for work?” he teased, “We’re like a married couple already.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m kicking you in the nuts.”

“Then how can I give you more babies?” picking up the newspaper on the coffee table beside you, you rolled it and started whacking him, a string of profanities colorfully painting his otherwise monochrome and sleek walls. Satoru’s laughter boomed all over the room even as he wiggled away from you, clutching his bicep that had been the victim of your abuse. “Ow, ow, I was joking! Jeez, woman, you are strong. Fight men a lot like this?”

“I work with you. My fighting instincts are always activated.”

His laugh really was annoying. But it did help ease your nerves – though you’d never tell him that – as you sat beside him in his car, the expensive leather seats no longer strange to you. It would’ve felt like any other day where you accompanied him somewhere, except the reason was different now, and it came crashing down on you of your current situation that things were undeniably different from now on.

You immediately stepped away from him the moment you got out of the car, clutching your clipboard to your tummy when Satoru bumped his shoulder with yours. “Come closer, it’s fine. No one will suspect a thing,” he points to the crowded building with people bumping and walking past each other, everyone too occupied in their own heads to even notice you.

It wasn’t much, but hearing his voice and reassurances relaxed you, even for just a little bit. Maybe your first day at work after the baby news wouldn’t be so bad, after all, but it seemed you had spoken too early.

Satoru heavily insisted that you worked inside his office from now on.

Your desk was located right outside his office, the phone line always within reach in case you needed to pass calls to him or if he needed you to come. Satoru preferred the privacy of his own space – or so he said; he actually just didn’t want you to witness him slacking around and experience your wrath – but now he was dragging you inside his office, pushing your shoulders down until you were ‘settled in.’

You didn’t even want to ask where he got a new desk from, or why it had to be right across from him. His desk remained elevated on a few levels, the welcoming lobby of the room filled with couches and stacks of coffee with a rich amount of sugar cubes.

Safe to say, most of the morning was spent (or rather, wasted) on you telling Satoru off. The man was too persistent, coming in on the office at random times of the hour with either snacks or heaps of biscuits on his arms. He always greeted you with a wide grin on his face, only to be kicked out of his own office because you had his hellish schedule and events to deal with. That was around three hours ago when you’d asked him to shut up and go bother someone else. You were halfway around finishing your workload for today when the door swung open, a tuft of white hair and mischievous eyes peeking through.

“Hey! Just checking in on mommy—”

“Satoru!”

“What? It’s just you and I,” he defended with a shrug, welcoming himself inside. Surprisingly, he was empty handed, though the pout on his lips told you it was against his will. “Seriously though, do you need anything? Do you want snacks? Tea? Do you need help going to the bathroom? You haven’t moved in your desk for an hour now.”

“Satoru, I’m pregnant, not disabled,” you ignored him for a while, resuming to working back on his schedule for the month. There were a bunch of e-mails you still had to respond to, which normally wouldn’t be such a daunting task if Satoru wasn’t shifting his weight from one foot to another, the sounds of his shoes hitting the tiles in an annoying click-clack rhythm getting to you. “Will you stop fidgeting! Your anxiety gives me anxiety, stop that!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I just feel like there’s something I should be doing.”

“Shutting up and letting me work in peace would be great, thank you.”

“You really don’t need anything?” Sending him a warning glare, Satoru sucked in his cheeks and ran back to his desk where he hid behind the safety of his large monitor. “Nope, yeah, I got the message: leave you alone. Good luck with that then, I’ll need those archives to pull up for our meeting with the directors later at five.”

Muttering a sarcastic finally under your breath, you resumed working.

The routine was per usual – answer the calls professionally with a welcoming and sweet voice, a pen always in one hand to jot down notes in reminders, adjust his schedules, work out his plans, go to him whenever he needed to sign something before responding back to e-mails. You were focused as you always were, but someone wasn’t, and it was getting harder and harder to keep being placated.

It didn’t help that he made no effort to hide the fact he was slacking off, the tip-taps of him randomly pressing keys on the keyboard similar to a fork dragging down a plate.

“I can feel you burning holes at the back of my head,” you twittered, “What do you need?”

“Nothing at all. I’m just realizing how beautiful you are right now.”

You paused. Unable to deny your curiosity over how serious he sounded, you spun around in your swivel chair. Satoru had his chin on his hands as he stared right back at you, his face devoid of expression that you couldn’t pick up on a single clue. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You rolled your eyes at him. Of course the bastard would be teasing you, his loud chuckles a painful reminder of that. It was best to ignore him, so you went back to reading e-mails and forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. “We’re at work. Please stop distracting me; I can’t focus when you’re staring at me like a creep.”

“Sorry, babe, I’ll try to be less distracting next time, though I can’t control my charisma, you know!”

You jotted your thumb to your desk outside, “I can walk back to my desk where you can’t see me. That’d be a great for both of us.”

“Stay right there, I was joking!”

“Do you promise to be quiet and actually do your job if I stay?”

“With you disciplining and ordering me around like that, why not?” Mouth open for another heated retort, Satoru stopped you before you could say anything, his aura more serious this time. He was always like this; fooling around and maturing the next second, only for the cycle to repeat and test your patience. “I’m just teasing you, Y/N, I’ll shut up now. You’re free to end work as soon as you’re tired though; the driver is waiting in the parking lot whenever you want to go home.”

“I’ll go home with you.” Home. It felt weird to say that, but also…natural.

“You’ll stay with me at work today?” He sounded genuinely surprised, and you responded with a one-shoulder shrug. That seemed to be enough for him, however, and it wasn’t long before Satoru found the oh so rare and fleeting motivation to work hard.

Once he was settled, sleeves rolled up to expose his veiny forearms and brows furrowed as he centered all his attention on the pile of paperwork before him, there was no stopping him.

Roles reversed and positions switched, you were now the one unable to take your eyes off him.

In this light, in this moment, Gojo Satoru had never looked more beautiful. He was much the same as you in the manner you never really noticed each other this way before; not romantically, but even just person to person. In your eyes, he was nothing but your irritating boss whose boisterous self always crowded over your peace, and in his eyes, you were nothing but his secretary who he knew always silently hoped would leave you alone.

But things were different now. You were different now.

Boundaries there may be, you couldn’t help that fluttering forming in your stomach. Contentment, happiness, relief, nervousness – all of them jumbled into one big mess. Out of them all, however, there was most definitely adoration, either out of respect for his unexpected kindness, or simply because it felt nice to feel for once.

Turning away from him until your back was the only thing he could see, you hid your smile as you secretly held your belly.

You’d never been reckless before, but what was to be a good story when there wasn’t a mistake or two made?

[neon-junkie]

Five-oh-Thirst

Summary: The 501st boys have finally reached their breaking point; they just HAVE to have you, and Jesse makes it his mission to recruit you into their shenanigans. After a night out at 79's, you're spoilt by a handful of Troopers, and a Captain who's late to the party.

Pairing: Female Jedi Reader x Rex, Jesse, Fives, Kix, Hardcase, Dogma & Tup

Word count: 12k

Tags: Shameless smut, Gangbang, Drinking, Double penetration, Praise kink, Voyeurism, Military names, Aftercare, Morning after pill.

Notes: this is so fucking slutty and i loved writing every second of it >:) sorry if some of the boys are a little OOC, im still new to writing these hotties. Tumblrs formatting is shite, so i’d suggest reading this on AO3 (under the same username.)

To say that you're 'close' with the 501st is an understatement. Close isn't quite the word you could use to describe the bond you have with this boisterous bunch of clones. You may be their Commander, but you're also a friend, and soon to be a lover. You've had your fair share of drunken nights out with the lot, getting rowdy in 79's, dragging each other's asses home, falling asleep in cuddle piles in their barracks. Yes, you shouldn't be mingling like this with your squad, but it's hard to not get so attached.

Anakin has warned you over and over about both your attachment and feelings, but you've seen the way he talks to them, Rex specifically. Anakin has let his emotions lead him whenever his men are hurt or in danger, and maybe that's why he always gives you a wink during his lectures. He knows what it's like, and he's only attempting to follow the Jedi code, teaching you in the process.

Speaking of Jedi codes, apparently rocking up to the Jedi cruiser bridge with a cup of caf in hand is something to be frowned upon. What? you're tired, and it's not like Anakin has asked his men to get him a cup of caf before. Obi-wan has done this exact same thing also! So, because you're a Padawan, you're not allowed to do it? Sheesh. The hypocrisy.

Despite Anakins disproving glare, the briefing continues flawlessly, as does the mission. Luck must have been on your side, or the force, depending on what you believe in. The Separatists crawled away with their tails between their legs, leaving the planet Naboo alone once more.

A course is set for Coruscant, and the Jedi cruiser launches into hyperspace, taking roughly seven hours to return home. That time is yours to do as you please, and you decide that a nap is in order.

Walking to your quarters takes a good ten minutes, seeing as how large this cruiser is. You travel down an array of corridors, having Troopers stop and salute you as you pass. It's a touching gesture, but sometimes you hate being the centre of attention. You understand that, to the clones, it's a sign of respect, one that they hold dearest in their hearts; you tried to get them to stop once, and only insulted them in the process, so you swiftly gave up and let them continue.

One Trooper in particular calls out your name from behind, and you rotate to see ARC Trooper Jesse approaching, his helmet tucked under his arm, and his other hand salutes you as he approaches. "Commander, do you have a minute?"

"For you, Jesse? Always," you say with a smile.

That smile is mirrored right back at you, and Jesse gestures for you to step down a quiet corridor to talk in private. He doesn't speak up at first, scratching the back of his neck nervously, but you allow him to take his time. Whatever's on the tip of his tongue must be really important.

"Commander, this is a... strange request to make," Jesse begins, and looks for your approval before continuing.

"Go on."

"Well, the boys and I were talking... and uh, you know how we like to de-stress by going to 79's?" Jesse mutters, keeping his voice quiet.

"Yes?" you question, nodding at the same time.

"And by de-stress, we like to... you know, pick up women there," Jesse shrugs, avoiding eye contact as he speaks.

Something in your gut informs you that you know what's coming next, and it explains why Jesse is stalling his request so much. You continue nodding as he speaks, squinting your eyes ever so slightly, suspicious of where this is heading.

"We've been uh, wanting to invite... you along, but we're not sure if that follows your erm, codes?" Jesse pulls the most panicked expression as he finally spits the words out. You think you know what he's asking, but you'll need to dig a little deeper, just to be certain.

"Going to 79's in the first place is against my Code... I think?" you reply, uncertain on what the Jedi code says about nightclubs and getting drunk with clones. "I thought you would know by now that I bend the rules in my favour, without others knowing, of course."

"Oh, that's a relief," Jesse sighs, and removes his hand from his neck. "I mean, you shouldn't, but we all break some rules here and there, don't we?"

"Yeah," you say with a shrug. "What exactly are you asking from me, Jesse? Be clear with your words, Trooper," you order in a teasing manner, noticing how the tip of Jesse's ears turn pink at your words.

"How about... the next time we all go out for drinks, we... take you back instead of some random woman?"

Oh.

There's a heated knot in your stomach, twisting and turning at the thought of sleeping not only with Jesse, but a handful of men. They're all attractive in their own unique ways, and you applaud them for how they create their individuality, through hairstyles, facial hair, and tattoo's. Not only does it make them easier to identity, but it really helps express their personality, and how they may act on the battlefield.

And the thought of having a bunch of these handsome men taking care of you? Who would say no to that?

"Who do you mean by 'we'?" you question out of curiosity.

"Uh, well, it depends on who comes out with us. I mean, all the boys have spoken about it, and all of them are down," Jesse shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck once more.

They've spoken about this? All of them? You must be quite the catch.

"Why? Is there someone you want to avoid?" Jesse then questions, and you instantly shake your head in response.

"No, I'm just curious. I... didn't know you all felt that way towards me," you sheepishly reply, and Jesse flashes you a concerned expression.

"You're kidding me, right? Have you noticed the way we all speak to you? The way we are around you? Even General Skywalker has told us multiple times to cool it," Jesse nervously laughs, clutching his helmet tighter.

You laugh with him, your mind replaying many incidents where the boys have let it slip. Kix has made multiple inappropriate jokes as he's been patching you up. Hardcase is always offering his lap as a seat whenever you're at 79's, and that's an offer that you may need to finally take up. Dogma will attempt to follow the code, but you've caught him staring at your ass more than once. Fives is Fives, and that's all that needs to be said. And Tup is too shy to make any bold moves, but you can tell he has a soft spot for you, as his face turns bright red whenever you're within ten feet of him.

As for Rex and Jesse, they flirt when it's appropriate, meaning when they're not in earshot of General Skywalker.

"Now that you mention it..." your words trailing off, thinking about all those moments.

"See," Jesse points. "So, are you in?" he questions, scrunching his face up in fear of rejection.

"As long as you boys can share," you instruct, knowing what they're like. "I'm in."

Jesse fist pumps the air as he lets out a "yesss!" but swiftly attempts to cool it, trying to not let his excitement burst. "I'll let the men know. We were planning on heading out tonight?" Jesse offers.

"I'll be there," you smile. "Make sure you and your men look good for me, Trooper," you playfully order.

"Of course, Commander," Jesse nods, and allows you to end the conversation there. If you're going out later, then you definitely need that nap right now. Jesse lands a cheeky slap on your bum as you turn to walk off, and you flash him a smile over your shoulder, heading down the corridor to your quarters.

----------

Could this be considered a date? or just an arranged hookup with a bunch of men? Either way, you're using the night as an excuse to dress up, not that you need an excuse to begin with.

That nap does wonders for you, although it could be considered more of a sleep, since as you woke up, you were arriving back on Coruscant. It's mid-afternoon, giving you plenty of time to get ready for tonight. Upon arrival, you take a trip downtown to purchase something to wear for tonight, and you have just the right outfit in mind.

The dress is ever-so-slightly out of your price range, but you know it'll be worth it. The 501st take pride in their colour, blue, and you know their jaws will drop when they see you in their colour. The dress fits the way you like it, bold and flashy, enough to turn more than your legion's heads. You pair the dress with some white heels and a bag, Trooper colours all around; you're really milking it, but Maker, don't you look good!

Hours later and you're ready for tonight, checking yourself out in your apartment mirror. You're fortunate to have your own place outside of the Jedi temple; it's tiny and run down, but enough to get you away whenever you need it. Sadly, it's far too small to fit a handful of clones in, so the barracks will have to do.

One taxi later, and you're outside 79's, queueing up to enter the busy club. Happy hour has just begun as you enter, and you remove the comlink from your bag, pressing a button to inform your men that you've arrived.

Nervously, you gaze around the club, ignoring the random sets of eyes on you. You're only after one group of men, and thankfully, one of them approaches you.

"Commander?" Kix calls out. As you turn to look at him, his face lights up, gesturing to the outfit you're wearing. "Oh, Commander!" Kix sighs, gawking over the sight of you in his legions colours.

"Not too much?" you question, gesturing to the outfit.

"No, it's just right," Kix sighs yet again. "And I like the white heels and bag, nice touch!"

Of course Kix has noticed those minor details.

"Where are the others?" you question, and Kix offers you his arm in response. You take it, following Kix through the club, eventually coming across a cosy booth, full to the brim with your boys.

Kix's reaction to your outfit was sweet and wholesome, something you'd expect from him. Fives on the other hand is hollering like a dog as you approach, checking you out with a whistle, doing everything he can to hype you up. "Commander," he purrs, and wraps an arm around your waist. "Here for me?" he jokingly questions, making you laugh at his forwardness.

"She came here for all of us!" Dogma butts in, swatting at Fives's hand around your waist.

"Oh, so you are joining in, Dogma? I didn't think you were one to break the rules," Fives bites back, and gestures for you to take a seat as he talks.

"This is different, Fives," Dogma mutters. You zone out to their bickering as you shuffle around the booth, finding a seat between Hardcase and Tup.

Tup, like the sweetheart he is, quietly tells you "you look beautiful," with flushed cheeks. Only for Hardcase to add "yeah, you look hot!"

It's hard to believe that these men are all clones. Their reactions are so vast, but they all express the same thing - you look good, and no doubt, they're going to be all over you tonight. They look just as good as you do, maybe even better; they've dressed up for tonight, sporting fine button-up shirts, all of them looking clean and tidy, for once, not covered in dirt from the battlefield.

Jesse offers to buy your first round, and insists that you stay at the booth with the others. He probably fears that another batch of clones will latch onto you the second you stand up. Are the men in here aware that you're a Jedi? Or do they assume you're some poor, unfortunate soul, who's been sucked into spending the night with this bunch? You're hoping for the second assumption, as the last thing you want is some tattle-tale clone recognizing you and ratting you out to the Jedi order.

Jesse returns with your drink and a round of shots, and so, the night begins. The shot is surprisingly nice, as is your drink, but the next set of shots? Eh, not so much. It seems that the more you drink, the worst the shots taste, and you have to turn down the fourth one. You're not going to be standing if you continue chugging drinks at this rate; how your men can drink like this is beyond you.

Dogma and Tup have relaxed in their own way, joining in the conversation every so often, although Dogma is still being teased for 'breaking so many rules.' Hardcase and Fives are as loud as each other, and are currently attempting to impress you through a series of arm wrestling matches. Jesse seems content, on a nice, tipsy level, and has had his eyes on you all night. Kix is simply vibing, not visibly drunk, but bubblier than usual.

You continue peering around, questioning who's missing, and then it suddenly dawns on you.

"Wait a minute! Where's Rex?" you yelp, noticing the lack of a certain blonde clone.

"You've got all of us here, and the only man on your mind is the Captain?" Fives tuts, breaking his concentration from the arm wrestling match. Hardcase takes up the opportunity to take victory, slamming Fives's hand down onto the table.

"Yet again, I am victorious!" Hardcase states, and Fives sputters at his remark.

"That's not fair! Our Commander was asking us a question," Fives argues, and the pair begin bickering between themselves.

You decide to intervene, turning to Hardcase and asking "so, what would you like as your prize?"

Your question is met with a sea of "oooh!"'s and "pick something good, Hardcase!" His face alone is priceless, his emotions switching between shocked, flustered, and cheeky. Hardcase then trails into thought, and after barely any thinking time, he settles on his prize. "For you to finally take up my offer and sit on my lap, sweetheart," he replies, patting his thighs as he talks.

A smirk escapes your lips as you stand, shuffling over to sit on the tattooed clones lap. Hands find their way to your waist, and you're almost certain that Hardcase is purring as he cuddles up to you.

"How is she?" Kix questions, as if you're not sitting in earshot of his question.

"Comfiest ass in the galaxy," Hardcase hums, pulling you higher onto his lap as he speaks. He settles his chin on your shoulder, fine stubble pressed against your skin, and from the expressions of those around you, you can tell that they're all jealous. They'll have their time with you eventually, whether it's here, or at the barracks later. The night is still young.

"My turn," Dogma announces out of nowhere, shuffling out of the booth. None of you have any idea what he's on about, until he turns to you and asks "what are you drinking, Commander?"

You tell him your order, followed up with "and stop calling me Commander! We're not at work, you don't need to call me that."

Dogma apologizes with a soft laugh before making his way over to the bar, followed by Jesse and Kix.

"Is it bad that I kinda like calling you it?" Fives questions, and you know exactly what he's implying.

"The only places you should be calling me Commander is on the battlefield, and in the bedroom," you purr, and you're met with a fawning, lustful expression from Fives, who is more than satisfied at your answer.

"Yes, Ma'am," he purrs back, and you take a mental note for later.

"You know, none of you answered my question," you begin, and the rest of the clones look at you in confusion. "Where is Rex?"

"He said he's busy with a meeting, and that he'll meet us at the barracks later," Fives explains, softly shrugging as he speaks. In Fives' eyes, that means one there's one less clone for you to give your attention to, meaning more for him.

"That's a shame," you sigh. The thought of Rex being here right now is a curious topic on your mind; would he attempt to maintain his high-ranking status, remaining professional despite knowing what's going to happen later? Or would he throw all of that out of the window, taking the first opportunity to straddle you onto his hips and remind his men who's in charge?

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll take good care of you whilst the Captain's gone," Hardcase smugly comments, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he eyes you up.

Hardcase stays true to his word, as do the rest of your men. Dogma, Jesse, and Kix return shortly after with the next round of drinks, and lo-and-behold, more shots. You have entered the stage of tipsy, sitting on the drunken fence by the time you finish your drink. Hardcase offers to buy the next round, but you brush him off, insisting that it's your turn. "Since you're all taking care of me, the least I can do is return the favour," you explain, and a few of the men chuckle at your reasoning.

Tup, the sweetheart that he is, helps you up and over to the bar. You're able to walk, even in these heels, but you know that Tup's presence is actually a way of telling others clones that you're already taken for. To your surprise, his hand settles around your waist as you prop yourself up against the bar top, waiting for somebody to come and serve you.

"How's your night going?" Tup questions. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah, are you?" you reply with a nod, curling up into Tup's side.

"Mhm," Tup nods in agreement. "I just need a few more drinks down me," he adds, and you understand how he feels. If you weren't the centre of attention, then you'd be just as quiet as Tup is, shying away nervously in the cornerless booth.

"Let me get one for you," you offer, and Tup takes you up on it.

"Thank you, Comma- I mean, uh, love." Tup's expression turns sour, blushing at his fumbled reply. You brush the nerves off him by placing a kiss on his cheek, and watch in amazement as his face begins turning a different shade of red.

Tup mutters something to you, and you almost miss his words over the volume of the music. "You missed," he boldly states. Tup's definitely stolen that line from Fives, or has been taught it - either way, it's something Fives would say, and you know how close those two are.

"Oh?" you cheekily sigh. You're about to follow it up, until the bartender arrives, pulling your attention away from the clone.

Once your order is placed, you turn back to Tup, wanting to finish where you left off. He looks at you, then looks away, pulling an embarrassed face. Your fingertips are placed below Tup's chin, gently turning his head to face you, and before Tup can say anything, you lean in to kiss him.

Tup freezes up, before melting into the kiss, moving his head to fit against yours. A hand finds its way to the back of your neck, holding you there, as if to reassure himself that yes, this really is happening. Tup's kisses match his personality, sweet and gentle, but the tongue that slides across your lower lip suggests there's more to him than meets the eye.

You can overhear the sounds of cheering in the background, and you just know that it's coming from your men. You break away, not to be rude, but because you don't want the poor bartender to be stood there awkwardly as you're busy snogging a clone. Thankfully, they arrive moments later, and you two soon return to the booth with drinks and shots in hand.

Fives applauds his vod as Tup sheepishly sits down, and you go to take a seat beside him, until Jesse pulls you onto his lap. "You've had enough fun with him, come and give us some attention!" he playfully nips, and follows his statement up with a kiss on your neck.

"There's plenty of me to go around," you bite back, wiggling your hips slightly, grinding your ass on Jesse's lap. He sighs heavily at your move, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you there.

You turn your attention to the drinks that you just brought, downing yet another shot, and washing it down with your beverage.

Minutes later, and you're really starting to feel the liquor running through your veins, as well as the undying urge to dance. Jesse is willing, and Hardcase lets you two know that he'll meet you over there, once he's gone and used the refresher. The rest of the clones stay seated, to your surprise, but then again, they don't seem like the type to dance. Well, Fives possibly, but he's barely able to stand, let alone dance, and Kix is nursing him back to soberness with many glasses of water.

Jesse follows you over to the dance floor, your hand in his, and it's busier than you expected. The dance floor is mostly full of clones and their squadrons, all celebrating various victories and whatnot, with a few women lingering about. You understand by now that women only come to this bar to pick up the clones, and can you blame them? Bless the Kaminoans for picking out Jango Fett to be their donor, as his genetics are excelling in all departments.

"My turn with you already?" Jesse questions as he begins dancing with you, swaying in time with the music.

"We've only been here for a few hours. I thought you'd be more patient?" you tease, and Jesse gives you a look.

"I'm patient when I want to be, sweetheart," Jesse shrugs. "But for you? I've been waiting a long time for this," he explains as he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist.

The tattooed clone smiles down at you, and the glisten in his eyes informs you that his patience truly is running thin. But how long will it be before it runs out? Or how much can you rile him up before he breaks?

"I'm sure you can wait a little longer," you flirt back, trailing your hand along his shirt, fingertips gliding over each of his buttons. You meet his collar and hook a finger over the fabric, gently pulling his head down to your level.

Jesse smirks as he replies "I don't think I can," before pressing his lips to yours. You can tell that Jesse's patience is running thin from the way he kisses you, hungry and lustful, playfully nipping at your lower lip. Your hands wrap around his neck, and you have to remind yourself that you left your bag with the others - that's why your hands are empty.

The hands on your waist trail down to your ass, and Jesse boldly grabs more than a handful, pulling your body tightly against his as he kneads your ass. You break the kiss with a yelp, and remind yourself that you're still in public, thankfully with no eyes set on you. "Jesse!" you playfully swat him, and he chuckles against your skin as his lips trail over your neck.

"You started without me!" A disappointed voice calls out, and warmth appears against your back.

Hardcase has returned from the refresher, pouting because the party has apparently started without him. Jesse moves his hands back to your waist, almost as if he's giving permission for Hardcase to press his crotch against your ass, sandwiching you between the two, tattooed clones. Your cheeks quickly turn red, and you must look more flustered than you feel, as the face that Hardcase and Jesse send each other informs you that they have something planned.

"So," Hardcase begins, his eyes flicking down to yours. "When are we taking you back?"

"Soon?" you nervously reply, questioning your own motives. It's hard to concentrate with an uneven sea turning in your stomach, but the liquor is thankfully helping - you'd be a lot more flustered if you were sober right now.

"Soon?" Jesse repeats, raising a brow at your reply. "Why not now, sweetheart?" he asks.

"Yeah," Hardcase nods, and then dips his head down to kiss along your neck. His kisses trail up to your ear, nipping at that sensitive spot behind it before stating "you look like you need us to fill you up."

A bold, yet true statement, but you're unsure if you want to leave just yet. Do you want to continue your teasing here? Or click your fingers and order your men to take you home and fuck you?

"She's thinkin' about it," Hardcase states, directing his words to Jesse.

"We know what you're thinking, babe, and we think that you've teased us enough already," Jesse says to you, and kneads his hands on your waist, picking and pulling at the fabric of your dress. Bold of him to assume what you're thinking - you're the Jedi here, not him. Either way, his thoughts are true. You have teased them enough, but there's no harm in drawing it out just a little longer, is there?

Jesse steals a kiss from you again, and you can feel him smiling as you let out a soft moan. Hardcase continues kissing up your neck, rutting his semi-hard cock against your ass; his lips wander down below your neckline, and he bites and sucks at your skin, leaving a purple blotch behind. It's in just the right place, an area where your Jedi robes will cover it up, but if you want to tease him on the battlefield, all you need to do is pull back at the thin layer of clothing, revealing his mark.

Just as Hardcase is about to kiss your neck again, a voice calls out "get a room!"

Oh yeah, you're doing all this on the dance floor of 79's. Whoops. Jesse pulls away and chuckles at the strangers remark. "See? Even he thinks we should get going," he states, and you finally agree to make a move.

Jesse leads you off the dance floor, and Hardcase keeps his hand comfortably around your waist. You wander back over to the booth, picking your drink up off the table and finishing it off. "It's time, boys!" Hardcase states, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh?" Fives looks over to you, flashing you a cheeky grin. It seems the many glasses of water on the table have finally brought him back to a stable level; Kudos to Kix for dealing with him.

Tup passes you your bag as he shuffles off the sofas, and you thank him by pulling him down for a quick kiss. You break away with a soft laugh as you hear Fives complain "where's mine, huh?"

"You can get it when we're in the taxi," you explain.

Fives swats Hardcase's arm from around your waist, replacing it with his own, and mouths the words "my turn," to Hardcase, who simply laughs at his eagerness. You and Fives take the lead, exiting the club with your squad following behind.

--------

The ride back to the barracks is... eventful, as is entering the barracks itself. Jesse and Kix walk ahead, pretending to be drunker than they actually are so they can distract the guards with their very existence. The rest of you sneak by, sheltered by a wall of horny clones, and you're ushered into their dorm.

The second you step foot into the room, Fives is all over you. With his hands on your hips, he leads you over to the wall, pushing you up against it and locking his lips with yours. Fives's hand trails up to grab your bag, pulling it from your grasp, and chucking it onto a nearby bed, leaving your hands free to wrap around his neck. He's impatient and needy, hungrily kissing you, his hands struggling to find a single place to rest; they slide over your waist, down your back, and grab at your ass, before trailing up and repeating the process all over again.

"Kriff, calm down. She's not going anywhere," one of his vods comments. Kix possibly?

Fives ignores the comment and continues turning your legs into jelly, making up for all his apparent 'lost time.' When he does finally pull away, he's grinning. His pupils are blown, full of lust, eyeing you up like a piece of meat, until somebody swats him away.

"I'm the one who proposed this to her, so I get first dibs," Jesse intervenes. There's something thrilling about the way they're speaking about you, as if you're not there, as if you're their property. In some ways, you are theirs - you have always been theirs - but only tonight have things finally taken a step forward.

Somebody has dimmed the lights, enough to set the mood, but still light enough that you can see what's happening, and so can everyone else. Everybody's watching as Jesse leads you over to what you assume is his bunk, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. Your knees fall onto either side of his hips, spreading your legs, your dress hiking up your thighs.

Jesse places his hands on your waist, holding you as his lips take over from where Fives left off. As he kisses you, he pulls down on your waist, grinding you over his semi-hard cock, reminding you of what's to come. You feel the hem of your dress slip up slightly over your ass, and one of the clones sighs at the small teaser.

Jesse knows what his vods are after, so his hands trail up your back, finding the zip. He slowly unzips your dress, taking his time to reveal what lies beneath, and breaks the kiss so he can pull your dress over your head, discarding it on the bunk next to him.

Needless to say, the air is filled with an array of praise, mutters and moans at the sight of you. You're straddling the ARC Trooper in your underwear and heels, now being freed of your bra. Jesse groans as your tits fall free, and moves his lips down your body, along your neck, over your collarbone, until he latches onto a nipple.

You feel something tug at your foot, and peer over your shoulder to see Hardcase removing your heels; he's polite (and sober) enough to place them down neatly, rather than tossing them to the floor, or worse, throwing them at his vods. Hardcase then stands up, peering over you, and prevents your lips from feeling lonely. He keeps your mouth occupied, whilst Jesse flicks between both of your tits, and both of them find their way to your panties.

"Need to get these off you," Hardcase mutters against your lips. Hardcase hooks his fingers around one strap, Jesse has the other, and the pair slowly slide them off you, moving with your body as you shuffle from Jesse's lap to remove them. You're left naked in a room full of your men, the men that have served under you for a few years now, but it seems that Jesse is the one taking the lead tonight.

"C'mere," Jesse mutters as he manhandles you off his lap. He shimmies around and lays down, his head at the foot of the bed, feet resting against his headboard. Jesse pats his shoulders before making grabby motions with his hands, signalling for you to climb aboard.

With one knee on either side of Jesse's face, you straddle him. Despite the alcohol still pumping through your system, you're still nervous, exposing yourself fully to your men. They're all reacting positively, a few of them palming themselves through their smart pants. Your nervousness doesn't stay for long, being brushed away as Jesse pulls your cunt down onto his face.

He licks a firm stripe over your pussy, followed by a few more curious ones, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. You yelp, instinctively grinding down on Jesse's face, and he seems to like it from the hum he lets out. "Kriff," you overhear one of the clones mutter, and you realize it's Fives when he pipes up with "go on, sweetheart. Fuck his face!"

Jesse nods against your cunt, and the squad seems eager for a show, so, why not?

Firm hands hold onto your thighs, steadying you as you begin rocking back and forth over Jesse's tongue. He's flattened it out nicely, and at this angle, you're able to brush your clit over the wet muscle, grinding oh-so-perfectly. The room is filled with soft words of encouragement, "that's it, doll," and "keep going for us!"

You feel bad that Jesse isn't receiving anything in return, so whilst sitting on his face, you begin unfastening his pants, eventually freeing his cock.

Oh, thank the Maker for those yummy Jango Fett genes.

Jesse is thick, leaking with precum, slightly red at the tip. If he's thick, then that means the rest of them are thick... you're in store for quite a treat.

With one hand barely wrapped around Jesse's cock, you begin pumping his already hard length, earning a whimper from the man beneath you. Your hips have slowed in pace, and Jesse urges you to speed up by grabbing your hips and moving them for you. He takes over, fucking you onto his face for a few moments before steadying your hips again, and wrapping his lips around your clit instead.

You yelp, pumping Jesse's cock faster, and he lets out a similar pleasant sound. Another hand appears on your body, and you peer over your shoulder to see Hardcase grabbing your ass, kneading at your cheeks, playing with them. "Got room for one more?" he questions, eyeing you up.

"Uh-huh," you say with a nod.

Hardcase flashes you a cheeky grin before moving his head down to kiss over your cheeks, lightly biting at each mound, moving from one cheek to the other. Every time it feels like he's getting close to your entrance, he moves across to the other cheek, teasing you with a smile on his lips. You're half tempted to push back onto his face, but he beats you to it by running his tongue over your rim, circling your entrance curiously.

Hardcase doesn't hold back, attacking your entrance with his tongue, his hands kneading at each cheek. Jesse continues flicking his tongue against your clit, and a hand is removed from your thigh; fingertips brush over your pussy, slicking themselves up, before a finger slides into you, not stopping until he reaches his knuckle.

Jesse slowly begins working you open, not that you need it much, considering your heavy arousal. Hardcase notices and takes the hint, wetting his finger in his mouth before pressing the pad against your entrance. He circles your ass a few times, relaxing the muscle, before slowly and gently pushing in. Unlike Jesse, Hardcase takes his time, working with your body to slowly open your ass up.

Your hand continues sloppily pumping Jesse's length, just enough to keep him satisfied; you want to do more, but your thoughts and feelings are already occupied. Just when you think you can't take any more, another clone comes into your line of sight, and asks you those exact words as he knees down in front of you.

"Can you take any more?" Kix questions, eyeing you up, reading your body language.

"Uh-huh," you nod once more, and Kix seems content with your approval.

He plants a light kiss on your lips before standing, and works on unfastening his pants, revealing yet another thick cock for your pleasure. You know exactly what Kix is after, so you open your mouth, awaiting him; he lets out a groan at the sight, and slips his cock past your lips, the underside brushing over your tongue.

Both of your hands are occupied, with one propping your weight up, and the other pumping Jesse; so, you make do with your mouth, sucking him to the best of your ability, and despite being slightly sloppy, Kix seems more than satisfied. He's an understanding man who can clearly see how busy you are.

And oh kriff, you sure are busy.

An orgasm is sitting on the fence, waiting for that final push. Jesse slips another finger into you, curling them and searching for that sweet spot. He knows he's found it when he overhears a muffled moan, and your moan seems to echo, as one of the clones groans at the sight of you. Hardcase removes his finger from your ass, slipping his tongue in and tongue-fucking your small gape, slicking you up so he can begin pushing two fingers in. Like before, he goes slow, understanding the stretch and burn that you're feeling right now.

Hardcase, within time, reaches his knuckles, and gently works his fingers in and out of you. That sensation, added with Jesse's fingers in you, and lips around your clit, is more than enough to have you cumming. You have to slip off Kix's cock to let out a shaky moan, thighs and body trembling as your orgasm takes you. Your forehead presses against Kix's thigh, eyes scrunched shut and mouth hanging open, and Kix soothes you by running his fingers through your hair, keeping it off your face.

You overhear Tup gasp, Dogma whine, and Fives cheer you on. "That's it, sweetheart," one of them encourages, but your mind is so hazy that you're not sure who it was. Either way, the words of encouragement are appreciated, as well as the soothing touches that Kix and Jesse are leaving over your body.

You soon come back around, still trembling from the intensity. Your eyes meet Kix's, who places a kiss on your forehead before settling down on the bunk beside you, muttering something about you having your hands full.

Curiously, you peer over your shoulder, and only then do you realize that Hardcase now has three fingers inside your ass. You're ready, and Hardcase flashes you a look that confirms it. "Wanna see what else we can do?" Hardcase questions, and you swiftly nod, accepting their advances.

Hardcase slowly slips his fingers from your ass, and works on removing his clothes. A kiss is planted on your inner thigh before Jesse gives you the signal to roll off, and you do so, letting the clone crawl out from beneath you. His face is soaked - no, drenched - and your juices have dribbled down over his chin, darkening the collar of his shirt.

"How do I look?" Jesse chuckles, before wiping his mouth and chin with his shirt sleeve. Taking Hardcase's idea, he too undresses, leaving you sat on your knees on his bunk.

Hardcase frees himself from his clothes first, and takes a seat beside you. He's about to get into position, until Fives calls out his protest. "You just had a go with her!" he whines.

"We'll be quick," Hardcase winks. He gets comfortable on the bunk, lying on his back, head pressed against the pillow. Hardcase makes a grabbing motion at you whilst mumbling "I want your ass," and with a laugh, you begin getting into position.

At first, you feel awkward and exposed, settling so your back is pressed to Hardcase's tattooed chest. He takes the lead, swinging your legs on either side of his, spreading you wide, and signalling for you to hold your hips up. Hardcase wraps his hand around the base of his cock and begins searching for your entrance, and with your help, he finds your ass.

"Go at your own pace, babe," Hardcase comments, and allows you to take your time sliding down onto his cock. Despite being prepped, Hardcase is still a stretch, slowly working your ass open. A mixture of groans fill the room as you slowly slide onto him, soon reaching his base, a gasp escaping your lips. "Beautiful," Hardcase comments, and reaches around to flick his fingers over your clit, attempting to help you relax.

"You ready for me?" Jesse questions, and all you can do is nod as nothing escapes your lips. Jesse shuffles up the bed, settling between your thighs. He slowly enters you, making a comment under his breath about how soaked your pussy is.

Jesse slides in with ease, holding his cock deep inside you, bottoming out. He awaits your signal before making a move, as does Hardcase, and when you give it, both the clones start slowly.  

Your head rolls back to rest on Hardcase's shoulder, and the tattooed clone places a kiss on your temple before turning his focus to bucking up into your ass. Jesse's speed is slightly faster, considering he's in an easier position, and fucking a looser hole. Either way, you're full to the brim, moaning and groaning for them as Hardcase continues flicking his fingers over your clit.

"Kriff, doesn't she look good?" you overhear Kix comment.

Dogma follows up with, "if only you could see yourself, Commander."

Commander, Kriff. That status somehow slipped your mind - you're their Commander, their superior, and your men are currently watching you be fucked, whilst queueing up to take their turn with you. Let's hope your Jedi training has paid off, as you're going to need an extra stern poker-face the next time you're in their presence, or worse, in the presence of your Master.

Jesse, from the sounds that he's making, doesn't seem like he's going to last long. In his defense, you have been pumping his cock this entire time, despite your handiwork being somewhat sloppy. Hardcase's hand on your clit brushes over the perfect spot, causing you to clench in response, and that is more than enough to bring Jesse to orgasm.

"Where?" he manages to blurt out.

"Inside," you order, and every single clone in the room groans at your reply.

Jesse is about to ask if you're certain, but his body gives up before he can speak. Jesse slides his cock as deep as he can, and fills you up, panting and groaning as he releases. He's a debauched, a sweaty mess, possibly still drunk from earlier. Once he's somewhat stable, he slips his cock from you, slowly shuffling off the bed and collapsing on a nearby bunk.

Hardcase kisses your neck, as if to remind you that he's still there, or warning you, since he moves his hands to hold beneath your knees, pulling your knees up against your shoulders, and begins fucking up into your ass.

Your legs are spread, displayed for the other clones to watch as Hardcase ensures that you won't be able to walk for weeks. He's a grunting, sputtering mess beneath you, groaning into the curve of your neck as he chases his release.

A few more thrusts and Hardcase is finishing in your ass, holding your body tight against his as he leaves his mark. You're almost certain you heard a few whimpers from him, meaning his orgasm must have been intense. Eventually, a sweaty Hardcase begins slipping himself from you, being gentle as he rolls you off his chest.

Hardcase has barely removed himself off the bunk before another clone calls out "I'm next," and you look in the direction of the voice to see Dogma slipping his clothes off.

"Dogma? You?" Tup questions.

"Yeah, me!" he states, pointing a finger to himself.

"I didn't think you would," Tup shrugs, and in Tup's defence, you agree with him.

"I thought you'd be the type to tell on us," an exhausted Jesse comments, still laying back on a nearby bunk, spread out and panting heavily.

"Even if he did, I don't think anybody would believe him," Fives adds with a laugh.

"Stop being so mean to him, Troopers. Dogma is just as welcome as everybody else," you defend, and the clone thanks you with a smile.

"As welcome as everybody else?" Fives repeats your word. "Kriff, Commander, I didn't realize you were inviting the entire Legion!" he jokes, and you roll your eyes at Fives's comment, twisting your words cheekily.

You ignore Fives's playful remark, turning your attention to Dogma instead, who's just about finished removing his shirt. "How do you want me, handsome?" you question.

Dogma's eyes light up at your little nickname, and he orders you to "get on your front, hands and knees, and face the boys."

Orders are orders, and you follow them without question. Dogma shuffles in behind you, kneading your ass for a few moments before wrapping his hand around his cock. You're already slick enough, with your own release smeared around your thighs, and a release in both holes, so Dogma doesn't bother using his own spit to slick up his cock. Instead, he glides his cock over your pussy, ensuring the tip of his cock flicks over your clit with every thrust, and once he's satisfied, he begins pushing into your ass.

You let out an "oh," as Dogma slides in, letting out a grunt as he bottoms out. With his hands on your hips, and the signal from you to continue, Dogma begins fucking your ass, gawking over the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from you. "That's it," he mutters under his breath. "Kriff, you look so good for me."

"For us," Kix intervenes, and Dogma shoots him a grumpy glare.

Dogma is clearly trying to prove his vods wrong, showing them that he wants this, that he won't rat everybody out for breaking so many rules. His thrusts are heavy, the sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis fills up the room, pushing moans from your lips with every thrust. You can feel Hardcase's release slowly being pushed from your ass, settling around your rim, soon to be replaced with Dogmas.

You overhear someone shuffling about, and Kix soon appears in your line of sight. "I'm back," he says with a smile. "Care to continue where we left off?" Kix questions, and lets out a pleasant sigh when you nod in agreement.

This time, you have your hand free, and you wrap it around Kix's cock as the tip slips into your mouth. Dogma's not letting up his thrusts, pushing your head forwards with every roll of his hips, causing you to lightly gag on Kix's length. Kix seems to enjoy it, as do the viewers, and the sensation is alright for you; so, you continue, eventually letting Kix begin thrusting and fucking your mouth, his pace matching Dogmas.

Kix notices the lack of attention on your pussy, and leans forward, hand reaching out to dip beneath your body and help get you off, but Dogma swats his hand away. At first, you're insulted, as is Kix, until Dogma speaks up and explains his actions. "Let's see how long she can last without being touched," he cheekily states, and Kix flashes him a similar smile before looking down at you.

"Sorry, Commander. Orders are orders," Kix shrugs, and returns to fucking your mouth.

You let out a whine, as does Tup, who seems sympathetic at the lack of attention in your key areas. Fives, on the other hand, is hollering, "she won't last long. She'll be begging for it soon!"

Ugh, he's right. Despite already having an orgasm, you're chasing another, eager for that certain-something to help get you off. The more Dogma and Kix fuck you, the more your cunt burns, and when you try to remove your hand from Kix's cock, he wraps his hand around your wrist to prevent you from touching yourself, clicking his tongue with a disapproving "ah-ah!"

"Soon, sweetheart," Dogma says from behind you, and judging from the way his cock is twitching in your ass, you assume he's close.

Dogma picks up his pace, ruining your own pace on Kix's cock - or improving it, as Kix groans when you gag, spit pooling from the corners of your mouth. "So wet," Kix comments under his breath, and returns to fucking your mouth again, grunting and moaning with every thrust.

"Oh, Maker!" Dogma sighs as he pushes his cock as deep as it'll go. With his hands tightly around your hips, he earns his release, filling your ass with hot, sticky cum. Your moan is muffled from Kix's cock, who has slowed his thrusts, almost to a halt. Kix waits for Dogma to finish, and once he's slipped out, he manhandles you into a new position.

Kix rolls you onto your back, legs against the edge of the bed. He's clearly in a rush, his orgasm sitting on the edge, and he hurries to slide his cock into your pussy, one leg up on the bed, the other remaining on the floor.

Kix only thrusts a few times before bottoming out and cumming inside, his load mixing with Jesse's, who has finally perked up after passing out on another bunk. "Good girl," Kix mutters as the pad of his thumb presses to your clit, grinding in circles a few times. He's milking his release, slowly fucking you in a hazy post-orgasm state, biting his lip whenever you clench around his overstimulated cock.

When Kix can't take any more, he pulls out, and your clit is left unattended. You can feel his and Jesse's load leaking from you, and your eyes lock onto Tup, who was just eyeing up your cunt, his cheeks turning red at the sight of your sticky, cum soaked pussy.

"We're up, Tup!" Fives says with a laugh, patting his vod on the shoulder, snapping him out of his fixated state. Fives has the audacity to follow up his rhyme with finger guns, causing you to roll your eyes at the cheek of this man.

Tup lets out a "huh?" before realising that it's his turn to play with you. The pair are quick to strip off; Fives leaves his clothes strung over the floor, whilst Tup leaves his on his bunk. Just like the rest of your squad, they're hung, and your holes are already beginning to feel sore at the sight of them.

Fives motions for you to stand, and with extremely wobbly legs, you manage to get up, clinging onto Fives as you do so. "Tup, c'mere and help me out," Fives playfully orders, before turning his focus to you.

He bends down slightly, arms stretched out, and asks for you to wrap your legs around his waist. "Catch her if she falls, Tup," Fives comment, and you hear a soft "oh, kriff," from behind you.

Well, you don't fall. Your legs are wrapped around Fives's waist, hands around his neck, awaiting the next move. Five pauses, staring out into thin air, before realizing his mistake.

"Wait, I want to fuck your ass... Tup, you pick her up," Fives comments, and gently places you back down on the floor, only to spin you around so you're facing Tup instead.

"Idiot," Jesse mutters under his breath, and Fives glares at him over your shoulder.

Tup wraps his arms around your waist, and on his nod, you jump up into his lap. He moves your legs to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing over, and your hands trail up to settle on his shoulders, fingertips playing with his loose strands of hair. Tup, for some reason, is trembling, and you're uncertain if it's from your weight, or his nerves. A soothing kiss on his nose reveals that it's his nerves, as he begins to relax, and your weight is then shared between the two clones as Fives approaches you from behind.

Fives focuses on slipping his cock into your ass, before taking your weight off Tup, allowing him to slide up into your pussy. The pair bottom out, pulling you down onto their lengths, and find an even way to hold your weight, making it easier on everybody.

At first, the pair are an uneven, a sloppy mess, struggling to find the right rhythm. Despite their lack of sync, you're still enjoying yourself, but the second they finally sync up, it's game over. With your hands desperately clinging onto Tup's shoulders, you roll your head back against Fives's shoulder, moaning and groaning as the fuck you.

Tup lets out a sigh as he comments "you're so good for us," his hands kneading at your thighs around his waist.

"Isn't she just?" Fives smirks, and his hands on your ass give you a squeeze. "Poor Tup here looks like he's going to cum already," Fives bites at his vod, and Tup sends him a disappointed glare.

"Play nice, you two," you softly order, not wanting to be stuck in the middle of their play fight.

They let out a "yes, Commander," as their thrusts continue, the sound of synced up skin against skin echoing around the dorm room.

However, the sound of the door opening makes everybody jump out of their skin, and you all turn with wide eyes to see none other than Captain Rex entering the room. Fives and Tup come to a halt, Jesse sits up on his bunk, and everybody awaits Rex's move.

Rex, with a stern expression, reaches a hand out to press the lock button on the dorms' door. "You forgot to lock it," he states, then tuts and shakes his head, scolding his men for their sloppiness.

Rex is still in uniform, his helmet tucked under his arm. The sound of heavy footsteps slowly approaches you, Tup, and Fives, and all three of you watch as Rex comes to a halt in front of you. You gulp, despite being a higher ranking than Rex, and despite knowing that he is also in on this.

The expression Rex gives you sends a shiver down your spine; he raises a single brow, slowly eyeing all of you up and down, before his lips finally trail into a smirk. A gloved hand reaches out and finds its way between your legs, instantly settling over your clit. Rex begins to slowly rub your clit, the fabric of his gloves giving you that something extra, and he speaks up in his usual, bold, military tone.

"You've got to play with her as you're fucking her, boys," Rex states, smirking as he notices everybody's expressions drop, letting out sighs of relief. "How is she meant to cum if you're not focusing on the right areas?" Rex questions, and gestures for his men to pick up their pace again.

Fives and Tup begin bucking up into you again, still slightly nervous, but lust soon takes over and evens them out. Rex turns his full attention to you, and the deepness of his voice makes your pussy clench. "Have these men served you well?" he questions.

"They have," you mutter, nodding as you speak, eager to express your fondness.

"That's good to hear, Commander," the Captain smirks. His eyes stay glued to yours, and you can't bare to look away. His fingers are working wonders on your clit, and the sensation of Fives and Tup tending to you is swiftly becoming too much. Your breaths become quick and short, and your eyes struggle to stay open. Rex takes not and announces, "she's close, boys."

"Go on, show off for Rex," Fives says against your ear, and Tup nods along in agreement. A few more thrusts and you're clenching around their cocks, both men grunting and moaning as you up their sensation. Rex doesn't stop playing with your clit, at first, until your thighs begin to twitch from overstimulation; only then does he pull away, taking a step back and settling his hands on his hips after placing his helmet down on a nearby bunk.

Tup lets out a whine, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you. "Good boy, Tup," you direct your praise to him, and that alone is enough to make him cum. Tup buries his head into the curve of your neck, groaning against your skin as his load joins the others inside you, most of it oozing out past his cock and dripping to the floor.

"Kriff, guess it's my turn," Fives comments with a light laugh. He buries his head into your other shoulder, kissing and nipping at your skin as he continues fucking your ass. It doesn't take long for Fives to also cum, burying his length up to the base, and groaning when you twitch from overstimulation. "So karking good," Fives mutters, and repeats his compliment as he lifts his head off your shoulder, before kissing your cheek.

Slowly and steadily, the pair lower you, avoiding the slippy patches of cum on the floor that has dripped from both your holes. You're debauched, exhausted in every aspect, and undeniably cock-dumb as Rex approaches and asks "got room for your Captain?"

"Always," you steadily sigh. Rex chuckles at your eagerness, then gestures for you to get comfortable on a bunk.

You pick Jesse's bunk, seeing as it's already a mess, plus it's in the centre of everybody's line of sight. Knowing Rex, he'll want to make a show of this, turning it into some training exercise as a way of covering up what is really going on here.

You sit back on the bed, falling back onto your elbows, and watch as Rex approaches. He unfastens his codpiece, discarding it onto a nearby bunk, and pulls his semi-hard cock out from beneath his blacks. The Captain is clean-shaven, thick and girthy, another cock to add onto your 'reasons why I can't walk this week' list.

Rex slips his gloves off before pumping himself with one hand, the other reaching down to trail over your overly sensitive cunt. Gentle fingertips slide over your wet folds, and Rex spreads you apart, revealing the sticky mess leaking from your entrance. "I see they've been keeping you full," Rex comments as his fingers trail up to glide over your clit, pressing firmly and flicking over the bud.

"Very full," you nod along. Your eyes flick to Rex's cock, which is now hard, precum leaking like crazy. Rex notices the way you're looking at his length, and he stops pumping his shaft, holding at the base instead, as if to present it.

"Is this what you want?" he teasingly questions, causing you to shudder.

"Yes, Captain," you nod, and Rex lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Place the order, Commander," Rex orders in his own way.

You lick your lips, followed by clearing your throat, and keep your eyes locked onto your Captains as you state "your orders are to fuck me, Captain."

"Yes, Ma'am."

You overhear a handful of men groan at your tone of voice, no doubt working themselves up again. "I'll show you boys how it's done," Rex says with a smug laugh as he moves both of his hands to your knees, and slowly pushes them up until they're almost pressing your shoulders, folding your body in half. He keeps one hand on your knee, the other holding the base of his cock as he begins slipping into you.

It isn't until you feel cold plastoid pressing against your body that you realize he's still in uniform.

Rex is fucking you with his armour on? Oh.

The sound that Rex lets out as he bottoms out is one that will forever play on repeat in the back of your mind. He holds himself there, scrunching his eyes shut as he regains focus, enticed by how wet and warm you feel. Once Rex has evened out, he begins thrusting into you, and oh Kriff, this man does not hold back.

With your body folded in half, Rex is able to drive his cock even deeper, his tip brushing over your g-spot with every thrust. Your legs find their way around his upper back, ankles locking over each other, and to encourage Rex, you press your heel against his back, urging him to give you all he's got. Rex's eyes meet yours, a single brow raised, and he makes a brief comment about how needy you are.

You're already a babbling mess, and Rex has only just begun! No doubt, you'll pass out the second he's finished with you, but your men are here to pick up the pieces, labelling you as a war hero for helping them during such desperate times.

"How're you doing, sweetheart?" Rex questions, affectionate eyes locking onto your half-lidded ones.

"G-good," is all you can reply, and Rex chuckles at your cock-dumb mentality.

When words fail, actions speak, and Rex dips his head down to introduce his lips to yours. Despite his heavy thrusts, the kiss is steady, adding to your overstimulation. You've always been fond of your Captain, but you could never quite put your finger on why; now you've got it - it's because he fucks so kriffing good!

As the kiss breaks, you reach around Rex's neck, hands clasping onto his back, attempting to rake your nails into his slippery armour. Rex lets out a soft laugh before kissing along your neck, leaving his mark below where your Jedi robes sit - what a smart man.

"Rex, I'm-" you blurt out.

"I know, sweetheart," Rex replies in a soothing voice, only for his tone to turn stern as he questions "you're going to cum for me, aren't you, Commander?"

Your reply can't seem to leave your lips, so you nod in response. Rex chuckles at your desperation, and to your surprise, he stops what he's doing. His thrusts come to a sharp halt, and he quickly slips his cock from you, leaving you with your mouth hanging open.

Just as you're about to question what he's doing, as are the other clones, he sits on the end of the bed beside you and slips two fingers into your cunt, instantly curling them and fucking you where he left off.

Rex clearly knows something you don't, but you allow him to take the ropes, especially as your orgasm is on the edge. There's a strange sensation in your gut, something you haven't quiet felt before, and judging from the way it's growing with Rex's movements, you assume you'll soon find out.

"Watch and learn, boys," Rex states, but keeps his eyes focused, locked onto yours.

You're putty in his grasp, mewling on the bed, not bothering to hold back on your moans. You're about to cum, any second now, but that foreign sensation takes over instead. Suddenly, everything becomes too much, especially Rex's fingers hitting that soft spot inside you over and over. You yelp as something takes over your body, an orgasm of some kind; on shaky elbows, you rush to prop yourself up, gazing down to watch in amazement as you squirt all over your Captain's arm, the liquid coating his plastoid armour.

"Good girl," Rex coos through gritted teeth, repeating the praise, but doesn't let up just yet. Kriff, you're screaming, even with your hand over your mouth. You fall back onto the bed, clawing at the sheets as this orgasm lasts longer than usual.

Even after you squirt, Rex continues fucking you with his fingers, as if to ensure that you're empty. He eventually calms down, and only then does your volume begin to drop, revealing the vast amount of praise from your troopers.

"That was beautiful, Commander!" Fives calls out.

"Kriff, she's shaking," you overhear Tup comment.

Jesse whines "my karking bed is soaked..." under his breath, which makes you smile to yourself. He was the one to suggest his bed, so he can lie in his wet grave!

A gentle stroke of your hair makes you open your eyes, only to meet Kix, who's gazing down at you. "Are you alright?" he questions.

"Uh-huh," you lazily nod, and he smiles at your exhaustion. Kix slowly props you up, letting you fall back against him. Your eyes trail to Rex, who looks almost as tired as you do. He's wiping something off his thigh, and if your calculations are correct, his thigh was out of your splash zone.

"Did you cum?" you ask Rex, who looks up at you with a tired smile. He nods in confirmation.

"Untouched," Rex states, and you take pride in making him cum in such a way.

You have a sudden burst of energy, and use it to lean forwards and thank your Captain with a kiss. Rex smiles against your lips before playfully nipping at your bottom lip, earning a sarcastic comment of "get a room!" from Jesse.

"I think we should get you into the refresher instead," Rex comments as he breaks the kiss.

"As good as that sounds, I can't walk," you sigh, and attempt to gesture to your jelly-like body, only for your arms to flap about and fall flat at your sides.

Rex laughs at your exhaustion, then informs you that he'll run you a bath instead. You look at him with a surprised expression, to which he states "I know, I wasn't expecting the GAR to treat us to baths, either."

Rex leaves you in the company of Kix, who begins checking over your body whilst asking you over and over if you're alright.

------

A nice, hot bath doesn't take long for Rex to run. Hardcase, now in his blacks, with caution, picks you up and carries you to the dorms' refresher. He's extra gentle as he places your feet on the tile floor, keeping his arm around your waist to steady yourself as you slowly enter the bath.

Hardcase steals a kiss from you, muttering "thanks for tonight, Commander," against your lips before leaving you to it.

Kix enters the second Hardcase exits, bringing you a glass of water and a certain prevention pill. "Let me know if you need anything," he informs you before kissing your forehead and leaving you to relax.

Only for Fives to come barrelling in, instantly blabbering on about how good you were. "I always assumed you'd be quite the slut, but... well, I wasn't expecting that," Fives playfully jabs, and insists that "we should all do it again some time!"

Dogma peers his head around the door and barks at Fives to leave you alone, but the second he shoos Fives out, he replaces the emptiness with himself instead. "Eh, Fives is right," Dogma comments, referring to Fives statement. "But don't tell him I said that," he grumbles as he steals a kiss from you.

You stretch back in the bath, enjoying the GAR assigned bubbles, and just when you think you're alone, Tup appears. "I don't want to smother you..." he sheepishly comments, "but I wanted to thank you for tonight." You can't help but laugh at Tup's kind demeanour, and the smile remains on your lips as Tup offers you a massage.

You accept, under the cheeky condition that Tup joins you in the bath. His cheeks turn pink at your suggestion, and continue turning pink the more he undresses. Tup even attempts to cover himself up as he settles in the bath with you, making you giggle once more.

Tup has your back resting against his chest, tenderly burying his fingertips into your damp skin, softening out those tight areas. You overhear commotion outside, and both of you laugh as it unfolds.

"No fair! Tup's in there having another round with her!" Fives protests, his voice thudding through the thickness of the refresher door.

"Leave her alone, Fives. She's a free woman, she can do what she wants!" Somebody defends, and you're almost certain it's Dogma.

"They're just cuddling, leave them alone," Rex intervenes, and you know it's Rex from his firmness and slight difference in tone.

Following the Captain's orders, you and Tup are left to it, cuddling and lazily washing each other. Once the water turns cold, you both make your exit, drying yourselves off and gawking when Tup lets down his hair, only to refasten it into another, fresh manbun.

A pair of blacks has been left for you on the side, and despite them being a little big, they still fit snugly. As you exit the refresher, the first thing you notice is that Jesse's bed has been completely stripped, bedding in the wash. The dorm is clean, and your clothes and bag have been folded and placed on Jesse's empty bed.

"I guess I'm staying the night," you comment, and gesture to ask who you're bundling up with.

Before anyone can get a word in, the Captain speaks up. "I missed out on most of the night, so I'd like to catch up with you."

You're unsure if 'catch up' means have a chat, or wake up to find Rex spoon-fucking you, but either way, you're down. With a nod of confirmation, you begin settling in for the night, curling up in Rex's bunk as he continues changing from his armour into a fresh pair of blacks to sleep in.

"Wait a minute," Jesse intervenes. "Where am I sleeping?" he questions, setting his hands on his hips with frustration.

"You can go give Tup a cuddle, he loves them, apparently," Fives maliciously comments, sending playful, yet bold daggers at his vod.

"Ah, leave Tup alone," Dogma defends him.

Before Fives can take another jab, Hardcase barks up with "we can spoon!" And Jesse doesn't look too pleased at his suggestion.

"You can join us, Jesse," Rex disgruntledly states.

"You do know these beds are singles, right?" Jesse states as he gestures to the small, single beds, barely big enough for one clone, let alone two, and you.

"Yes, but from what I've seen, the Commander likes it when she has a clone pressed up on either side of her," Rex teases, side-eyeing you as he comments.

An array of laugher fills the air, and Jesse nods in agreement. You remain quiet, as there's no point denying something that is blatantly true!

The lights are soon turned out, and the boys take it in turns to say goodnight to each other. In the dark, you feel Rex join you, manhandling you into position. Your head finds Rex's chest, an arm sprawled out underneath your neck, and your arm wraps around Rex's waist. Jesse then joins, and since your back is free, he decides to spoon you, trapping you perfectly in your 501st sandwich. Before falling asleep, you make a minor comment to Rex, as if to apologize for him not being there tonight. "We'll make sure you come with us next time," you quietly comment, referring to 79's, the venue that lead you here.

Jesse chuckles before mentioning how wild the night went. "You should have seen her, Captain. She's the sluttiest woman in the galaxy, grinding on Hardcase whilst making out with me," Jesse explains, and you lightly elbow him in the ribs for leaking so much information. A few men can be heard giggling in their bunks, if only you could elbow them too.

"Oh really?" Rex responds, his pitch heightening him as he asks. "Well, I'll definitely be there next time, and I'll ensure that I make up for my lack of presence," Rex promises, and knowing Rex, this is a promise he'll keep.

"I can't wait," you reply, softly yawning against Rex's chest.

"Neither can I," Fives comments from across the dorm, earning a giggle from Hardcase.

"Alright, men. That's enough. Go to sleep," Rex orders.

"Yeah, Captain's orders," you playfully comment, earning yet another sea of giggles.

Within time, the bunch calm down, and the air is soon graced with the soothing sounds of snoring clones. It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep, as your exhausted body is begging for some rest. You doze off, sandwiched snugly between an ARC Trooper and the Captain of the 501st.

What a dream!!!!