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shenachigans · 1 year

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THRICE THE SPICE | Inazuma’s Big 3

PAIRING: CEO!Yae, CEO!Ei, Co-worker!Sara x Fem!Office worker!Reader

CW: smut, foursome, fingering, brief cunnilingus, overstimulation, squirting, the women are smitten with Y/n and kinda fight over her, slight dirty talk and possessiveness, teasing, nickname use (bunny), double penetration (fingers), messy plot, bottom female afab reader

SUMMARY: Taking three women who are hungry for you at once is a good and bad idea

A/N: It's my first time writing a foursome huhu. Y/n calls Ei "Ms. Raiden" for formality since they're on a last-name basis during work, but I'm not sure if "Raiden" can be counted as Ei's last name (Let's just pretend it is). Sakura is an OC.

WORDS: 4,500

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

A company requires a lot of work. Documents are here, meetings are there, and people are all over the place. Being the team leader of a significant project has left you restless, exhausted, stressed, and undernourished.

You were the team member with the most responsibilities, so you had to rush deadlines, review your teammates' work, and submit it for processing. Hence, you didn't have time to relax and enjoy a fancy alcoholic beverage. But there is always a reward at the end of work and suffering.

The CEO of your company just announced the project's success. Your blood, sweat, and tears have paid off. Archons. You want to return home and enjoy a day of rest to celebrate.

"We should all go to the bar after work to celebrate!" One of your coworkers said. Their joy at the success made you proudly smile because they deserved a break after the nonstop workload.

"Team leader Y/n is the guest of honor!" Itto, another of your coworkers, exclaimed. All eyes turned to you, expecting your approval to join the celebration.

"Ah... I can't drink tonight," you said, slightly embarrassed.

You can drink, but you lied. However, it was merely a white lie because you can't trust yourself to know how much alcohol you can consume without becoming a chaotic drunk. When you're not sober, you're not usually calm, collected, or innocent-looking...

Some accidents happened in the past, and you're too embarrassed to make the same mistake.

Sakura then walked over to you, pouting, and grabbed your hands while saying, "But N/n! There is no point in celebrating if the person who led the project is not present! A little alcohol won't hurt, either, right? You can still enjoy a nonalcoholic beverage even if you don't want to drink. Just join in the celebration with us, please!"

Everyone agreed with her statement, and their action made you feel appreciated. You don't talk to them much outside of work, but they enjoy your presence. They're throwing a party with you as the special guest to show their appreciation for your hard work. How can you refuse now?

Your eyes turned into crescents as you smiled, everyone flushed, and you giggled, blessing them with your melodic voice, "Oh, alright, how can I refuse such an invitation when all of you look at me like that?"

Sakura tightly embraced you while musing, "Y/n is so adorable!"

She's a tiny woman, but her hugs are unbearably tight, not that you mind them.

"Then it's settled, everyone in the team is going to the xxx pub after work, and the bill is all on Ei. What do you guys think?" The figure coming through the door, revealing themselves as Yae Miko, the CEO of the Kitsune Corp and a close friend of your company's CEO, Raiden Ei, elegantly boomed.

She's always in the company when she has free time or when the two companies have a deal, which happens quite frequently because the two companies greatly benefit from each other.

Sara then entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee and handed one to you before turning to face Miko. "What brings you here, Ms. Yae?" she inquired, somewhat unimpressed.

"My, my, Ms. Kujou, you speak as if I'm not welcome here," Miko flaunted, drawing a glare from Sara. The atmosphere was tense, and no one dared to break the tension. They're like a crow and fox competing for something or someone.

"Haha... Now, ladies, if you two keep the tension this high, it's going to get hot as a furnace," you chuckled awkwardly, drawing both of the women's attention to you. Their gazes were belittling. "Is Ms. Raiden attending the after-party, Ms. Yae? Are you also coming?"

"Of course, little lamb, I wouldn't miss seeing your cute little drunk antics for the world, and I'm sure Ei and everyone here feel the same," she teased, making a blush crawl up your cheeks.

Everyone cooed at your flushed state. Even though you are a tough nut to crack, you give in easily to women like Miko. Everyone, especially your boss Ei, knows that she enjoys teasing you.

However, no one notices how Ei's mood changes when you react to Miko's teasing — nobody besides the fox herself.

"How cute," Miko whispered, only for you to hear because you were close enough. Your cheeks flushed at her remark. "It's wonderful to see everyone pleased after the project's success. Your leader did a terrific job guiding this team," she mused before widening her eyes upon realizing something. "If you'll excuse me, I'm rather late for my meeting," she chuckled as she left the room with a sly grin directed at you while everyone said goodbye and expressed their gratitude.

"Oh, boy, oh boy! Y/n was practically trembling under Ms. Yae's gaze! How'd you do it? She's smitten with you!" Itto laughed as he patted your back—no, smacked the life out of you. He flashed a sly look that made you want to die of embarrassment and curl up into a ball.

"Oh, shut up, Itto! I at least don't swoon over women the way you do!" You teasingly chuckled back at him, making him blush embarrassingly.

Sara shook her head with a light smile while the rest laughed at both of your antics. She then sipped her coffee once more before putting it down and clapping her hands to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, people, if you want to celebrate later, we have some work to do first," she sighed. Everyone sulked and went to their desks to finish their work, leaving you and Sara alone in the conference room. Sara began, taking another sip of her coffee, "Congratulations on the success, Y/n."

"Caffeine will kill you someday," you chuckled as you drank your last drop of coffee. "And thank you, none of this would have been possible without the team's dedication," you smiled as you placed the mug on the table.

"Don't act as though you didn't consume eight mugs of strong coffee during your overtime the previous night, Y/n," Sara sneered, and you awkwardly chuckled.

"W-What do you mean...? Haha... You dummy, that was water, not coffee," you fumbled before snatching her mug and drinking from it.

"Hm... So if I fucked you dumb, wouldn't we be considered equal?" she bluntly remarked, as if she hadn't said something vulgar. She smirked as you choked on her coffee. "No wonder Yae Miko likes to tease you," she remarked, patting your back to help you breathe. "Your reactions are a sight to behold, and it's more fun when I make you flush," she added.

"S-SARA! H-How can you say something like that so casually?!" You flushed, covering your hot face with your hands to conceal your flustered face.

"Oh? Why are you so agitated? I was merely teasing you. Unless..." Sara started as she slowly walked towards you and trapped you against the conference table. "Unless you do want to get fucked dumb?" she softly spoke in your ear, her voice so enticing that you whimpered.

"Not here..." you squeaked and turned your head away from her menacing eyes.

Do you not realize how fuckable you look right now?

Sara grinned and leaned towards your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your skin. She was gentle at first, but she soon became rougher. She was stronger than you, so no matter how hard you tried to push her away, there would be no avail.

You were sure Sara would leave a mark on your flesh after she licked, sucked, and bit it. Sara immediately drew back as she heard the hushed whispers of people in the corridor, a ribbon of saliva joining the skin of your neck and her tongue.

It must be break time.

"Count yourself lucky, bunny. I would've gone further if we weren't at work," Sara smirked as she looked at your heaving, flushed mess. She then collected both empty coffee mugs and continued, "You sound melodious. Those charming whines and whimpers are adorable. What more when you scream my name in bed, hm~?"

She abruptly left the room, leaving an embarrassed and intensely horny Y/n.

─────

"Fuah! It's exhausting to sit all day staring at documents!" Sakura finally stood up from her seated position, groaning as she stretched.

"That's because you're supposed to get up and walk around during your breaks, not sit all day and grumble about how long the day is," Itto grumbled as he passed her desk.

"Touché... Ha, ha..." Sakura embarrassingly flushed. "Anyway, work is done. Let's party!" She rejoiced, raising her arms in the air, causing Itto to cheer and join in the celebration.

"Can you two please quiet down? You guys can rejoice all you want in the pub, but keep in mind that there are people working overtime today," you boomed, all worn out, approaching them with a limp.

Why are you walking that way?

Sara did fuck you in her office during your breaks, and because you had many breaks throughout the day, you orgasmed at least five times.

"Oh, dear, Y/n! Are you okay?!" Sakura exclaimed as she noticed your limping and sweating condition. Itto also sped over to your side to assist you in standing. Shit. You should have just minded your business; now you must explain yourself.

"Oh... Um... The elevator wasn't working in the lobby, so I had to take the stairs, and you see, I have bad knees, which is why I'm limping like this... I'm fine. It's nothing serious..." You trailed off and thanked them as they guided you to your desk. They both gave you skeptical glances, but when they noticed your somewhat suspicious smile, they shrugged.

"Sure! Just message me or call me if you still need assistance moving around. Sakura and I will head to the bar and meet the others, hehe," Itto said as he ruffled your hair with his large hand.

"Okay, okay, I'll also head there once my legs are rested, and don't ruin my hair, Itto," you pouted as you removed his hand from your head, making him chuckle. The two then prepare to depart for the pub as you say your goodbyes.

How long must you endure before using your legs to walk once more? Archons. This woman has such a high sex drive...

───── FLASHBACK ─────

You knocked on Sara's door for permission to enter, and she responded with a hum. You walked into her office, a stack of papers in your hand, and sat down at her desk.

"What do you need? I'm quite busy-oh," she paused, realizing that you were the one who entered. "Y/n, what brings you here? "

You placed your free hand on the table and leaned forward. "I need some of these papers signed, Ms. Kujou Sara~" you hummed, causing a blush to crawl on her cheeks and her eyes to glint with lust.

"Is this the so-called 'Y/n coffee-drunk energy?' How many cups have you already devoured? You're high on adrenaline, little thing~" she chuckled. You didn't respond and just grinned. "I must say, Ms. Y/n L/n, that was rather daring of you. You do realize that your antics have consequences, hm?" Sara sighed as she got up from her desk and came up to you face-to-face. Her menacing stare made you regret your teasing. You're so fucked. Literally.

She snatched the papers from you and brought you close to her with her other hand as it snaked around your waist. Her body towered over yours as she leaned into your ear. She whispers, her voice tickling your ear, "I change my mind." She twisted a strand of your hair over her fingers and said, "By me not fucking you at work, I mean. What do you say, hm~? I can take care of you right here and right now~"

How could you say no to a woman like her?

A woman from an influential family is wrapped around your finger, ready to do anything to please you. A humble woman like you is intoxicating to her, especially when you act submissive.

Too embarrassed and intoxicated by lust to speak, you nodded and made her slyly smile, "As you wish, bunny."

─────

Sara was both harsh and soft. She spoke to you sweetly while violently pounding her fingers into you as if she were not overstimulating your wet, sopping hole.

Sara was in front of you as you sat on her desk with your legs spread wide while she fingered your moist cunt, her body flushed with yours but with enough room to flick her wrist.

"T-Too much, too much!" You screamed—or should I say, creamed. Although you had already released, she continued to finger you. You have been so overcome with ecstasy that another orgasm was on the way.

"S-Sara, I'm close~!" you moaned and buried your head on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her neck. The new angle made you release, and you felt euphoric.

"Go on, bunny, cream all over my fingers," she purred, ignoring her wet core dripping with arousal and concentrating solely on your pleasure. "You did so well for me," she said, smiling.

───── END OF FLASHBACK ─────

Your face turned scarlet as you recalled her facial expressions when she was repeatedly fucking you at work. Sara's eyes were lustful, and she was intent on observing how your body would respond to her touches.

Sara would also lick her lips as if she had just had dessert when she makes you cum, as well as sneakily smirk with flushed cheeks when wanton moans and whines leave your mouth as she fucked you to oblivion.

You slapped your cheeks to get rid of such thoughts and decided to stand up, thinking that the time spent remembering being fucked was enough for your legs to recover. You said goodbye to the workers working overtime and stepped into the elevator to walk to your car. You set your GPS to the correct location of xxx pub and began driving.

─────

You were 30 minutes late due to traffic, plus an additional 30 minutes since you were lost and didn't find a parking spot. 'How embarrassing, Y/n,' you cursed.

As soon as you came to a stop, you gathered your belongings and headed straight for the bar. Sweat covered your body as you ran.

After you gave one of the servers the booking code, they brought you to one of the private rooms. You then entered the private room reserved by your boss for tonight's celebration. No one was there, and it's too late for you to be early.

Fuck.

You might have missed it since they may have ended the night early as everyone was tired. "Oh well, I should have left with Itto instead of resting my legs." A snort interrupted your loud sigh as you turned to exit the room, causing you to look around with a raised eyebrow. "Did I hear—

"SURPRISE!!!"

Everyone shouted as they emerged from their hiding spot. They were all smiling, but as they saw a tear slip down your cheeks, they became concerned.

"Y/N! Are you alright!?" Itto said, worried. "Did you not like the surprise...?"

"No, no! I like it very much," you sniffed as you wiped a tear from your cheek, "I just thought that I missed the whole celebration, thinking that you all left because I stood you guys up," you waved off, making everyone coo.

"HA! HA! We knew you'd come, you always do, and we even became concerned something happened to you," he said, handing you a tissue from one of the tables.

"Sakura said we should wait for you before we start ordering, so while we were waiting, we decided to surprise you by doing this," one of your coworkers stated, a little embarrassedly rubbing his nape. "We apologize if we gave you the wrong impression."

You grinned and told them not to worry about it. You also thanked them for waiting for you even though you were an hour late.

"My, what happened here~?"

"Did you all just get here?"

"Huh."

Three voices boomed, drawing everyone's attention. Miko, your employer, Ei, and Sara were at the door. You all bowed and greeted them, and they told you that it wasn't required because you were no longer at work.

"Oh, my, why is the little bunny crying?" Miko queried, intrigued by what had occurred. Sara and Ei were both taken aback by her question and glanced at you with concern.

"Oh, nothing happened, just tears of joy and relief," You chuckled, wiping the last tears from your cheeks.

Sakura provided context for the three, and Sara and Ei glared at the people involved in the scheme before humming while Miko simply chuckled.

"How thoughtful of all of you, and for Y/n, how adorable," she said and mumbled the last part, but you heard it. There was something in her tone... It was sultry and filled with lust...? But you opted to ignore it, assuming it was all in your head.

"That being said," Itto chimed in, "Y/n's reaction was priceless. And now that everyone is here... LET'S PARTY!" he yelled as he raised several beer bottles.

Except for you and the three women who had just arrived, everyone followed Itto's lead and started partying their assess off.

─────

Oh, boy, the place felt like it was the center of a carnival. The karaoke was packed with individuals singing their intoxicated hearts out, slurring their words, and making the songs incomprehensible. Passed-out individuals filled the seats. Empty and partially consumed beer bottles adorned the tables.

The only people who weren't drunk were those who didn't drink at all or had a strong tolerance to alcohol.

"We should leave. It's late," Sara mumbled as she held your wrist. You comply since you want to retire for the night.

But before you could pursue her, Sara and you were halted by a tug from your other wrist.

"And where might you two be heading, hm?" Miko held your other wrist while flashing a sinister grin. Sara interpreted it as an annoyed grin. "Ms. Kujou, the night is still young. If you want to leave, don't drag the poor bunny with you and ruin her fun. You're being rather selfish, don't you think?"

There it is again, the tension between the two women from this morning.

"Miko, stop," Ei huffed as she intervened, preventing the two from murdering each other with piercing eyes. "Look. You're hurting Ms. L/n's wrist," she glared at the woman as she snaked her arm around your waist from behind, trapping you between her chest and forearm.

Archons. Because of you, three women are glaring daggers at each other. It's a good thing the room was dark. Everyone was busy because rumors would spread if they saw the four of you in this situation. And the last thing you want is to be associated with a scandal.

"L-Ladies..." You attempted to intervene, but it seemed that you worsened the situation as the three women gazed at you with dark eyes. They were still holding you, and you trembled under their touch, making them coo.

Miko forced you to face her by holding your chin between her fingers and thumb. The proximity caused you to burn with an unknown sensation.

She gave you a sly grin and then turned to face the other two women. "Well, why don't we make a proposition to make the night entertaining? Only if our rabbit agrees, of course~"

Since when did you become theirs?

Sara and Ei exchanged a knowing look and then nodded. Miko smiled at their response before looking at you for consent. You couldn't understand what was going on, though; you were too mesmerized by her goddess-like beauty.

"Bunny, why don't we make you feel good, hm~?" Miko purred. Your cheek is now caressed by the hand previously on your chin. "Since we know you're exhausted from managing the project, let us please you. What do you say?"

You gulped. Your eyes were full of lust, and you forgot you had sex with Sara at work. Despite not having any alcohol in your system, you felt intoxicated.

You meekly nodded, not trusting your voice. The three women smiled at your cute disposition and licked their lips at the thought of you becoming more helpless than you are right now.

"Let the fun begin~" Miko grinned.

─────

Taking all of them was a bad idea.

As soon as Miko opened the door to her reserved room, all three had their hands on you. They forced you onto the bed and began stripping off your clothes like a predator skinning its prey. Their hands and lips touch every inch of your skin. Your core drooled with arousal, and your skin scorched with need from their touches.

They were taller than you, and you felt so small. They cooed at how your nude body reacted to them: like a frightened rabbit trapped between three hungry wolves.

Ei and Sara were in front of you while Miko held you on her lap and teased you from behind. But despite how enclosed and suffocated you felt, it aroused you greatly. It was enough to make you climax to imagine three powerful women enticing you with their might.

Miko was the teasing one. She abused your lips and neck, leaving your skin covered in bruises and markings, even though her hands and skin ghosted your flesh.

You've had a lot of sex with Sara, but her touch still makes you weak the way she wants it. In contrast to Miko, Sara enjoys holding you for as long as she can, even to the point where her rough treatment leaves bruises on her hands. You get manhandled every time you're with her.

Ei is rather soft—too soft. Her lips and hands moved in sync with your skin, almost as if they were waltzing. Her delicate hands made your hair stand up, and her words lulled you into ecstasy. She counteracts Sara's roughness and Miko's teasing.

Your wet cunt was tired of being ignored. You want all three to touch you where you need them the most. You want them to fuck you right now.

"It appears that the bunny desires more~" Miko murmured as she felt your arousal moisten her garments. She snaked her hand from your waist to your dripping core, touching you bare and gathering your wetness, making you shudder and gasp at her icy, manicured fingertips.

"My nails are too long. What a shame," Miko purred in your ear as her hands groped your chest. She glanced at the two women who sat like puppies waiting for their master's commands. "Why don't you two make up for it and pleasure our needy bunny in my stead, hm~?"

Ei's fingers subconsciously traced your cunt before slipping a digit into your hole. You groaned as her long finger brushed across your cervix.

"You're quite wet, Ms. L/n," she whispered, her eyes wide as if it were the first time she had touched someone's cunt. It was, but the ease with which her finger thrust into you made you believe she had experience. "Heh, what cute sounds you and your cunt make~"

Ei calling you by your last name doesn't seem appropriate in this situation, no? Not when you two have crossed the line already.

Sara did nothing but observe as the two women aroused you. Miko rubbed your puffy clit and made out with you while Ei fingered you. You were helpless in their hands. She was envious of their ability to easily hold you at their mercy in the same way she could.

You were hers first.

"Seems like you'd whore around for everyone," she sneered, drawing Ei and Miko's attention. You were too engrossed in your pleasure to hear her speaking to you. "Your body must've forgotten how I fucked you many times this morning, huh?"

"My, how dirty of you, bunny," Miko teased as she twisted your hardened nipples and nibbled your ear. "I didn't think you were the kind to have sex at work~"

"N-No..." you whimpered as you squirmed in Miko's grasp. You babbled incomprehensibly, making no sense. You moaned as Ei's finger pumped faster in your core, amplifying the squelching sounds that echoed off the walls.

Sara huffed as she approached you, a sneer on her face as her palm caressed your leg, causing you to tighten on Ei's finger.

"Who am I to deny if that's what you want — to be a whore?" she groaned, a pink hue staining her cheeks as she inserted her finger along Ei's in your cunt. "Your hole is greedily squeezing our fingers."

Sara and Ei synchronized their fingers to get you to your climax while Miko assisted by sensually massaging your clit.

The overstimulation made you moan and tremble. The three women's groans and dirty talks increased your pleasure tenfold. Sara and Ei's thrusts quickened as your fluttering walls showed you were close.

"Stop fighting, bunny," Miko observed as you jerked under her grip. She motioned, "Go on. Cum. Make a mess out of their fingers, hm~?"

You yelped, unable to control the string of pleasure, but Sara and Ei didn't stop moving, causing you to whine and thrash.

"N-No more!" you whimpered and tried to stop them by clutching their wrists, but you were too exhausted to exert any force, encouraging them to keep thrusting their fingers.

The three women widened their eyes as sudden spurts of arousal ruined their clothes.

You squirted.

"How messy of you," Miko chuckled as she continued to rub your clit to make you squirt more.

You were seeing stars at this moment. Your body is sore and trembling from overstimulation, and the clouding pleasure has made your vision hazy.

You huffed and sank into Miko's chest, trying to catch your breath. Your fluttering cunt trembled as Sara and Ei pulled their fingers away, making you squirm from the stimulation. Both women brought their arousal-stained fingers to their lips to clean off your wetness.

"Sweet..." Ei smiled as if she was enjoying her favorite sweets. She then grasped both of your thighs and lowered her face to your cunt. Ei's eyes glimmered with lust at how your cum poured out of your hole.

Sara mimicked Ei's movement and licked a stripe of your cunt, causing you to jerk. Ei followed suit, tasting more of your desire. Both of them began to lap your cum like kittens.

"W-Wait! No!" You exclaimed, grasping their hair with both hands and making them groan. You opened your eyes in surprise at the newfound pleasure as the sound vibrated over your folds. "I just c-came!"

"Looks like our hungry kitties are up for another round," Miko sneered as her hands began to touch you again. "You can give us more of your pussy milk, right bunny~?"

Oh, how you wish you hadn't taken them all at once.

2K notes · View notes

starrylothcat · 5 months

Note

Ollo! I GIVE THEE A SMUTTY PROMPT

❛ you're fucking gorgeous like that, spread out like a good boy / girl who just wants to be eaten. ❜

With... 👀👀👀👀👀💀👀👀👀

Fox or Hunter or an oc of choice if you'd rather

Alright there goes my bravado times to slink back to the blankets

😘💜💜💜

Beautiful Meal

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. Smut, hardly any plot. Oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), kissing, Hunter being horny (what’s new). Reader wears a dress, though dress and reader aren’t described. Established relationship.

WC: 956

Summary: You were supposed to be gathering intel for a mission, but Hunter has other ideas.

A/N: Moonlight my darling! This prompt is so delicious…thank you for inspiring some thots. I had to choose Hunter…because you know me. I just can’t help myself. I hope you enjoy it!

The moment Hunter’s hand traced up your thigh under your dress, you knew what he wanted.

You were in a casino, sitting at a dirty booth trying to gather intel. Or that was the intended plan.

Hunter’s eyes haven’t left your body since you slipped into a dress to blend in at the gambling den. You knew his senses were honed in on you, rather than the crime lord you were trying to track down.

You locked gazes with him, his eyes seemingly glowing in the dark, smoky shadows of the casino. His hand was now tracing further up your thigh, dangerously close to your panty line.

“Hunter…” you warned, knowing you were powerless against his touch, wanting, needing more.

Hunter smirked, grazing his finger over your thin, silken panties.

“You’re wet. I can feel it. I can smell it.” He whispered, leaning into your ear, his lips barely brushing against your lobe. Goosebumps erupted up your legs as he began rubbing small, deliberate circles over your clothed clit.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that was threatening to leave your throat, not wanting to attract attention.

Luckily, your booth was at the back of the seedy gambling institution, and given how dark it was in there, no one would know what was going on unless they had a reason to look at you.

“We…we need this info.” You managed to whisper, his finger still languidly rubbing over your now very wet panties. “We can’t be distracted.”

You were trying to stay professional, but crumbling by the second. It was hard when your boyfriend was now slipping his finger under your panties, reveling in the small sounds you couldn't hold back.

Hunter hummed, his body pressed into your side.

“I’ve been distracted since you slipped into this dress, sweetheart.”

You were gripping your drink so hard you thought you might shatter it, your breath becoming labored.

“Besides, we’ve been here for a while, and from what I can tell, we have the info we need for Cid.”

“Hunter, we - “ Your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his thick finger probed your entrance.

“What was that?” He teased, teasing you with his finger in such a way you wanted to scream.

“Let’s get out of here.” You whined, knowing you sounded desperate.

Hunter hummed and pressed a kiss right under your ear. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

Soon, you were back in the small motel room you were sharing, splayed out on the small bed. Your dress was shoved up past your hips as Hunter kissed and nipped up and down your thighs.

He had already thoroughly lavished your neck, leaving love marks precisely where they could be covered by your normal clothing.

He was now working on your thighs, saving himself for his eventual feast between your legs.

Your panties were still on, thoroughly soaked by now, needing him to continue what he started earlier.

“Hunter…” you whined, his lips now ghosting over your clothed cunt. “Please…” Hunter licked a stripe up your clothed pussy, groaning at your taste.

He sat up slightly, gazing at you and your disheveled form with heavy eyes.

You were beautiful.

The way your lips parted as you panted, your cheeks and chest flushed a deeper color, your hair a mess, the desperation in your eyes for him to please you in the ways only he knew how.

“You’re gorgeous like this, you know that?” Hunter mumbled, hooking his fingers under your panties and sliding them down your legs.

“All spread out like a good girl…” His lips met your lower ones, kissing your pussy, sliding his tongue up and down. “A good girl who just wants to be eaten.”

Hunter gripped your hips to keep you in place as he plunged his tongue into you, feeling your body convulse with pleasure as he began his meal.

Your moans and gasps were a melody, your fingers gripping his hair and head tightly, anchoring yourself even more to him, trying to bring his face even closer to your aching core.

The sounds were obscene, your choked cries and the wet sounds of his mouth working you to release.

When Hunter began working your clit with the tip of his tongue, he knew you would be coming undone soon.

He could hear your breathing hitch, your heart rate change, the scent of your arousal becoming impossibly stronger.

With a final circle of his tongue over your clit, your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of hot bliss starting at your core and pulsating through your body.

Hunter greedily drank every drop you gave him, still working you with his mouth until you were gently pushing him away from you.

You lay boneless and satisfied as Hunter crawled up your body to lay next to you. He traced his finger up your arm, letting you catch your breath.

You smiled, turning your head toward him. “You’re impossible, you know that?” You let out a breathy laugh. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

Hunter chuckled, kissing your shoulder. “Are you complaining?”

You reached down to palm the large bulge that was tenting his pants. “Of course not, darling.”

You watched Hunter’s eyelids flutter close and his brows knit together as you rubbed along his length, which you knew was aching for attention.

“Now, be a good boy and lay down. It’s your turn to spread out nice and pretty for me.” You gently squeezed his cock, a deep groan escaping his lips.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Hunter rumbled as you sat on top of him, ready to deliver him the same attention he gave you.

Horny List: @crosshairlovebot @sev-on-kamino @kimiheartblade @wizardofrozz @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @kashasenpai @freesia-writes @multi-fan-dom-madness @aconstructofamind @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @secretthegriffin @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @secondaryrealm @littlemissmanga @maybethatfanfictionwriter @pb-jellybeans @wanderer-six @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @523rdrebel @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @sleepingsun501 @coraex @cw80831 @dangraccoon @din-miller @mythical-illustrator @eternal-transcience @the-cantina

Dividers by @dystopicjumpsuit

#hunter x reader #hunter x you #hunter tbb #the bad batch x reader #tbb #the bad batch fanfiction #hunter smut #sergeant hunter #clone x reader #the clone wars #hunter tbb x you #hunter tbb x reader #x reader #starrycatwrites #tbb hunter #the bad batch #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #clone trooper hunter

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greenandsorrow · 2 months

Text

the fox

Alastor x fem!reader (sfw, platonic)

Summary: A soul that doesn't belong in Hell finds sanctuary in the Hazbin Hotel.

Warnings; mentions of the reader dying, mentions of Alastor's backstory, typical violence, fluff, light angst, hurt & comfort, grammar mistakes, no use of y/n

In the woods somewhere

Found something real that's out of touch

We'll meet again*soon

Author's note 😁

The poll's results said that it's okay to redeem Alastor for the sake of the plot! This whole fic was a very random idea of mine. I combined a dream I had with my love for the little prince and that's what I came up with. I know that you're all thirsty for smut and I do as a matter of fact write lots of it. But for the love of our canonically asexual deer boy I wrote a non-spicy fic! I personally liked the platonic dynamic Alastor and my fox girl had. She's an OC but also qualified to be the reader.

As a struggling university student, tips are highly appreciated! CLICK HERE(PayPal link)

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starscabaret · 2 months

Note

How would Cynthia react to a love sick puppy dog reader that admired her so much as a first year?

Lovesick Student Introduction

pairing: yandere! Graduate Student Fem Cynthia 📚 x Fem Reader

summary: you are in her class

warnings : mentions of a minor, no actual minors, this is wlw, sapphic, gay, all that!

Authors note : yall are so smart with your request I love that !! check out my oc profiles to learn more about cynthia pookies !

Cynthia enjoyed graduate school. She was very excited to be furthering her education. She also worked in a field she loved and was very passionate about. The professors she worked under were very kind and had her best interest in mind. It was obvious she would go far after obtaining her master’s degree.

There were some parts of grad school she enjoyed much less than others. At her university, all of the graduate students were required to be Graduate Teaching assistants. Her job was to help a professor with their class and build a bridge between students and faculty. She graded papers, held office hours, and occasionally led the lecture.

Cynthia knew that just a few months ago she was an undergraduate but she still couldn’t help but find some of the undergraduates she assisted complete nuisance. Sending her emails in the early hours of the morning, asking simple questions that were obviously on the syllabus, crying about their grades during office hours, the list went on.

But she would grin and bear it, at the end of the day she had to. But then there was you. An undergraduate freshman. You looked so naive and full of life. So excited about college. Something that had been sucked away from Cynthia after 4 grueling years of undergrad. She wouldn’t exactly consider you a nuisance like the other students. But you were a nuisance in other ways.

You stirred something in her she hadn’t felt since junior high school. She didn’t know what it was but she didn’t exactly like it… or hate it. The only way she could describe it was like the first time she saw Megan Fox in the movie Jennifer’s Body. She came out as a lesbian the next day.

But you were forbidden… you were technically her student for Christ’s sake. And not only that but you were a freshman … how old were you? 18? what if you were 17? ugh gross, she couldn’t even think of that. No matter what a relationship between you two would be completely inappropriate, no matter your age, and no matter how strong her desires were.

But you didn’t make it easy. You came to all of her office hours and stayed the whole time no matter what you were doing in class that week. You would sit at her desk making sure to lean over it so she could see right into your cleavage and ask her, “Is this good Miss. Cynthia?”. Of course, it was good, you had a perfect score in the class, she doesn’t know why you continue to come to office hours. And she told you to stop calling her that. It was just Cynthia not “Miss.Cynthia”, that stirred something in her she wasn’t sure she could control.

This wasn’t your only attempt at tempting her. You signed every email to her off with “Can’t wait to see you next class, Love Y/N”. As the semester went on it became increasingly obvious you were a love-sick puppy for her. You only came to class for her approval and to see her, hoping she’d see you in that way. You only did well in the class because you wanted her to see you as smart and mature.

You had no clue that Cynthia more than saw you in that way. She was strong and stoic. She would ward off your every advance with kind professional language. But inside she wanted nothing more than you make you hers.

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sweetestofchaos · 7 months

Text

➵ Parings: Teacher!Jungkook x OC!Netta ➵ Genre/Trope: Fluff, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Co-Worker AU, Teacher AU ➵ Rating: 18+ ➵ Summary: The new English teacher has a big fat crush on the PE teacher Jeon Jungkook and everyone know about it...including Jungkook, himself. ➵ Word Count: 6.1k ➵ Warnings: Kissing, Thigh Riding, Ass Smacking, Food Play, Oral (fem receiving), Fingering, Mentions of Periods

𝘮.𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ▵ 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 ▵ 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

a/n: 10 months later and I’m finished!! I have to thank @dawnagustd and @vvh0adie for helping me ease into the smut from when I first started writing this bad boy. I was starting at the screen for hours just looking dumb. Thank you @hobeemin for being my beta, your comments made me giggle!! Banner made by the wonderful @floralkive. MDNI/Support divider made by @benkeibear

It was a known fact that Little Flower Academy was one of the few elementary schools that didn’t have a dating ban for its employees. The headmaster wasn’t stupid; he knew that if you worked around people for days at a time, crushes and even love were bound to happen. Netta was the kind of woman who never mixed business with pleasure, but when Jeon Jungkook came into her world, that idea was washed away like the chalk lines at recess. Netta had a huge crush on Mr. Jeon, the cute Health and PE teacher. She wasn’t sure what it was about the man that made her heart pound so harshly. With just a single glance or if he smiled, Netta swore there were yellow jackets in her stomach, or maybe it was just pizza sticks she ate from the cafeteria.

The first time Jungkook spoke to Netta, she couldn’t stop staring at the mole on the bridge of his nose; it was cute. She was so lost just staring at it that she completely missed the question that had been asked. It wasn’t until Jungkook laughed and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck that Netta snapped out of whatever trance she had been in. She apologized for zoning out, and Jungkook shook his head, his dark hair flying around his ears before he repeated his question. He wanted to know how she liked the school, and if she had any issues, she was more than welcome to come to him. Issues? There was only one that Netta could think of, and it was standing in front of her.

The two quickly became the topic around the water cooler of the academy. Teachers and parents alike all whispered about how good they looked together, the dream team they were called to their faces, and behind their backs, they were the perfect couple. Netta heard the rumors and wasn’t sure if Jungkook had too. If he had, he never let on about it. Jungkook was kind and very funny in the weirdest of ways. He was a giant nerd, to be honest, and Netta was thankful that she could see that side of him as his friend. That’s how she ended up here, now. All alone in Jungkook’s home, helping him grade papers while eating Thai take away on a Friday night.

Jungkook has his bluetooth speaker playing music at a lower volume, sitting on the couch with papers spread out all around him. Netta is sitting on top of a pillow on the floor with her legs folded underneath her, twirling a set of red chopsticks between her fingers. She glances at Jungkook when he sighs and pushes his hair from his face for the nth time that night. Jeez, can he look any hotter? A familiar beat catches Netta’s ear, and she bites her lip as Jamie Fox’s voice fills the air.

You know what, I'm ma make it do what it do baby,

I'm ma make it do what it do baby

Netta drops her chopsticks, and they fall to the floor, making Jungkook look away from the papers in front of him. “You good?”

“Huh?” Netta stares at Jungkook and tries to ignore the sexual words spilling from the speakers. Does Jungkook not hear what’s playing? “Y-yeah, I’m good. Just…yeah.” Netta turns her attention to the papers in front of her and squints at the black text. What does this even mean? It’s like she’s reading a different language all of a sudden.

“How many papers have you gone through?” Jungkook’s voice cuts through Netta’s foggy mind, and she can feel heat warm her face. Honestly? She hasn’t graded much; it’s kind of hard to focus when Jungkook’s scent is all around her; plus, the oversized smokey green denim shirt isn’t doing anything for her well being either. How can he wear something so simple and look so hot? It’s not even fair at this point in life. “Net?” Jungkook tilts his head to the side, and Netta quickly pulls herself together, ducking her head down as she bites her lower lip.

“I didn’t get much done.” Netta sees the frown pulling at Jungkook’s lips and swallows. “S-sorry Kookie.” Her voice is soft as she spots the chopsticks on the floor by her leg. “I-I need new chopsticks!” Netta jumps to her feet, and Jungkook’s jaw clenches.

“Sit down, Ms. Robbins!”

One second, Netta is standing, and the next, she is sitting on the edge of the love seat, the fallen chopsticks clutched tightly in her fist, staring at Jungkook with wide eyes. Jungkook sighs and takes his reading glasses off, setting them on the table before he sits up and runs his hand through his hair…five times, not that Netta is counting or anything. Jungkook tucks his hair behind his ears and inhales with a smack of his lips. He stares at the unmarked papers on the table before he turns his gaze to Netta, who refuses to meet his eyes.

Jungkook’s lips press into a line as his eyes flicker up to the ceiling, licking his lips as he tries to gather his thoughts together. He sniffles once and runs a hand through his hair once again, his bangs falling right back in place, framing his face. Netta risks a glance Jungkook’s way, and her breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet. Jungkook raises an eyebrow and presses his tongue against his cheek while Netta looks away.

“Netta?” Jungkook calls her name softly, speaking just above a whisper as if anything louder would spook her.

“Y-yes?” Netta squeaks out, and she clears her throat. “Yes?”

Those rumors about Netta having a crush on him may be true after all. Keeping that thought in mind, Jungkook nods his head and sighs. Jungkook smiles, his lip ring catching the light and forcing Netta to focus on his lips. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Huh? Tell you…what?” Netta fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist and starts to bounce her left leg as she tries to figure out Jungkook’s question.

He cracks a sly smile, “The rumors are true, huh?” He swipes through his hair once more, shaking his locks before he sits back in his chair. Netta has no thoughts, his arms are folded, and his legs spread. Her mind is empty as she stares at Jungkook’s massive thighs. Were they always so thick and inviting? Netta’s thighs press together subconsciously, and she shifts in her seat. Seeing her movement, Jungkook strikes. He uncrosses his arms and holds his hand out to Netta. “Come here, Netta.” Jungkook’s voice is magnetic, pulling Netta from her seat to stand between his legs.

Jungkook tilts his head back to get a better look at Netta’s face, “What’s going through that pretty head of yours, Ms. Robbins?” Jungkook slowly raises his arm and places a hand on Netta’s waist, keeping his eyes locked on her face. He doesn’t want to miss any signs of discomfort. “Humm?” Jungkook’s thumb slips under the hem of Netta’s shirt, and he forces himself not to look away from her face even though he wants to see the goosebumps that he feels on her bare skin. Wrapping his other hand around Netta’s wrist, Jungkook pulls her closer, and reaches out, her arms caging Jungkook on either side of the couch as she stops herself from falling on top of him.

“J-Jungkook!” Netta gasps, and Jungkook’s smile is wicked as he gazes at her.

“I’m not reading the room wrong, am I?” Jungkook questions as the rest of his hand slips underneath Netta’s shirt.

Netta opens her mouth, and no sound comes out. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Jungkook’s warm palm pressed against her side so softly. His hands are large, so very large, and his fingertips are calloused. Netta lets herself wonder how they would feel against more of her skin. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Netta gathers whatever resolve she has and lowers herself onto Jungkook’s lap, her knees on either side of his left thigh.

Jungkook mutters something under his breath, and before Netta can question him, Jungkook cups the back of Netta’s neck and pulls her into a feverish kiss. Their lips mold together, their tongues taste each other, and Netta’s full weight falls into Jungkook’s lap, her legs refusing to support her any longer. Jungkook groans into the kiss, feeling the pleasurable weight settle sweetly on his upper thigh. The heat from between Netta’s legs seeps into the fabric of his jeans, and Jungkook squeezes Netta’s hip tightly. His lungs burn, but he fights the urge to breathe; he doesn’t want to part from such sweet lips. Jungkook never knew that peanut pad thai was so delicious.

Netta slides her hands from the back of the couch and tangles her fingers into Jungkook’s hair. The strands are silky soft, and when she accidentally tugs, Jungkook moans into her mouth. Netta pulls away from the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connects their lips, and she pushes at Jungkook’s chest as he chases her lips.

“W-Wait…Jungk-kook.”

Jungkook hums and licks his lips as he inhales deeply. His heart is beating rapidly under Netta’s fingers as the rise and fall of his chest starts to slow. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and alert as he stares at Netta concerned. He cups her cheek in his hand and swipes the spit from her bottom with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you okay? D-Do you want to stop?”

“God, no!” Netta shakes her head, and Jungkook smiles, all bunny teeth and scrunched up nose.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook whispers as he bumps his nose against Netta’s, trying to kiss her lips again.

Netta firmly pushes at Jungkook’s chest and puts space between their bodies, “I don’t want to do this on your couch…we could ruin the paperwork.”

Jungkook glances over Netta’s shoulder at the piles of ungraded tests and the rainbow of markers scattered on the table and floor. Jungkook’s tongue darts out to play with his lip ring as he thinks over Netta’s words. His hands slowly trail to Netta’s buttocks, and his fingers tap out a random beat that matches the current song playing from the speakers.

“My bedroom is a mess,” Jungkook pouts, and Netta giggles as she plays with the necklace hanging at Jungkook’s throat.

“Jungkook, we work with a bunch of children. I doubt your room is any worse than theirs.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes and gives Netta’s butt a firm slap, making her yelp and jump in surprise.

“I don’t think I like your tone, Ms. Robbins.” Jungkook leans forward and nips at Netta’s jaw before he licks up the length of her neck to her ear. “Are you a messy girl? Is that why you won’t mind my room? Just gonna make it messier for me, yeah?”

Jungkook’s words go right to Netta’s core and settle so deep that she can feel her walls clench around nothing. Empty. She suddenly is so self-aware of how long it has been since she last had sex with someone. Netta bites her lower lip, and a shiver crawls down her spine as Jungkook ghosts a gentle path of kisses from her ear to the corner of her lips.

“No, no, Ms. Robbins,” Jungkook easily pulls Netta’s bottom lip from between her teeth and soothes the tender flesh with his own lips. He licks at the bitten skin and sucks Netta’s lip into his mouth, his hands pressing firmly against Netta’s butt and she moans. Her hips start to move on their own, back and forth, over the meaty length of Jungkook’s thigh. Jungkook breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers, “That’s it, make a mess for me. I can’t wait to clean it all up.” Jungkook’s tongue is sinful as he licks back into Netta’s mouth. He leaves no space unexplored and slides his hands around a little to sink his fingers into the sides of Netta’s upper thighs.

Jungkook pulls Netta down more onto his thigh, and he flexes, giving her something harder to grind against. A broken moan slips past Netta’s lips, and Jungkook swallows it whole, devours every sound that continues to spill from such sweet lips. Everything feels too hot; Netta’s nerve endings are on fire, and the coil in her stomach is wound too tight. Her panties are wet, embarrassingly so. So wet that Netta knows she has soaked through the fabric of her yellow jeans. She wonders if she has soaked Jungkook’s jeans as well. The blood rushing behind her ears becomes louder than her thoughts; all she can do is feel.

There is a damp patch of skin that Jungkook keeps nipping and licking at; it’s right below her ear, and it’s driving her wild. Jungkook’s body is warm, firm, and strong under her hands. She wants to touch more than just his hands and face. Netta pants, her head lolls backward, and her eyes screwed shut as a warm wave of pleasure washes over her body. She whines, and Jungkook curses under his breath; he can feel the pulse from between Netta’s legs. He can see the wet mark she had made on his jeans and wants more. Jungkook grabs the back of Netta’s neck, mindful of the passion, twists in the way, and crashes their lips together.

“In my room, on my bed, now!” Jungkook pushes Netta away from him, and she scrambles to her feet, her legs wobbly and weak from her first orgasm of the night. “Second door on the left,” Jungkook informs Netta as he stares down at the wet patch on his thigh. He can see that Netta hasn’t moved, and he picks his head up with a raised eyebrow.

“What-” Netta wraps her arms around herself and shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Jungkook slowly stands from the couch and cups Netta’s face once more. He runs his thumb over the seam of her lips and tugs the bottom lightly, “What’s holding you back? We can stop if you would like.”

Netta looks down at her sock clad feet, and Jungkook gently grabs her chin between his thumb and index finger before he tilts Netta’s face upward.

“What is going through that mind of yours?”

Netta’s eyes well with tears, and her lower lip starts to quiver. Jungkook’s eyes widen, and he pulls Netta into a tight embrace as he wraps his arms around her.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay.” Jungkook smushes his cheek to the top of Netta’s head and rubs her back. “We don’t have to do anything; you don’t want to do Netta. We can even pretend that it never happened!”

“I-I’m s-sorry,” Netta cries into Jungkook’s shirt and shakes his head.

“What are you - no! You have nothing, and I mean nothing, to apologize for, Netta. Do you hear me?” Jungkook pulls away and bends a little at the knee to get a better look at Netta’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you-”

“No! I-I liked it…I-I wanted it.” Netta fists Jungkook’s shirt in her hands, and Jungkook just stares. Why is Netta crying if he didn’t read the room wrong? “We work together, Jungkook.”

“Yes…is that a problem?”

Netta pulls away from Jungkook and wipes at her face, embarrassed to be seen crying like this after she just ruined his jeans.

“I can’t sleep with you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook licks his lips, and his tongue goes right to his lip ring, “Because we work together?” Jungkook questions slowly and carefully as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Netta nods her head and links her fingers together as she speaks, “I just don’t want to make it awkward at work or anything…you know?”

Jungkook inhales and nods his head. Yeah. Okay. He can understand where Netta is coming from. Their work place was full of gossip, and he can understand why that would be off putting.

“I understand, Netta. I guess I misread the room, huh?”

Netta shakes her head, and Jungkook frowns, “I really do like you, Jungkook,” Netta admits, and her face heats up. “I just can’t do a one night stand with a coworker.”

Jungkook repeats Netta’s words, “A one night stand?” Netta looks up and sees the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes. “I don’t think I was clear with my intentions, but that’s my own fault for doing things out of order.”

“What?”

Jungkook pulls his hands from his pockets and grabs Netta’s hands gently between his. “I would like to date you, Ms. Robbins.”

Netta stares at Jungkook, face lost and adorable, making Jungkook giggle as he bops her nose with his finger.

“May I do that, Netta? Can I take you out? On a real date, officially?”

“Officially?” Netta parrots, and Jungkook motions towards the take away boxes. Netta quirks an eyebrow, and Jungkook’s ears heat up. “This was a date?”

“I-I had more planned!” Jungkook defends, and Netta laughs with a shake of her head.

“An official date would be lovely, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook’s whole face lights up, and he surges forward, capturing Netta’s lips with his own. The kiss is light and sweet, a clear way to show his true feelings. Netta rests her hands on Jungkook’s chest, and he nibbles at her lower lip, making Netta whine against his mouth.

“I have a spare bedroom…you can spend the night.” Jungkook whispers, and Netta sighs softly. “It has a lock that I don’t have the key to if that makes you feel better.”

Netta giggles and pecks Jungkook’s lips three times before she pulls away, “What would I sleep in?”

“I’m sure we could find something.”

“And if we don’t?”

Jungkook grins and snakes his arms around Netta’s waist, his hand resting low on the small of her back. “The sheets are really soft, perfect to sleep nude.”

Things at work are interesting. Netta and Jungkook are seen carpooling to work often, and they sit next to each other in the break room with their lunches. The Art teacher, Taehyung, is sure that the two of them are dating, while Seokjin, the Headmaster, is certain that they are in the beginning stages of a relationship. He likes to point out that Jungkook is more reserved around Netta; he isn’t touching her or making slick comments. He is very respectful, and Netta is the one that usually touches his hand. Hoseok, the Math teacher, doesn’t really care. He’s just happy that Jungkook has finally stopped talking his ear off about the new English teacher.

Netta sits with Jimin, who teaches Social Studies, and Yoongi, the Science teacher. Everyone, students, teachers, and parents are gathered outside for the teachers versus students kickball game. Namjoon, another PE teacher, is the referee for the match, and Netta giggles along with Jimin as all the moms drool over him. The teams are mixed with different grades from kindergarten to fifth, and the teachers were well rounded. Jungkook, Namjoon, and a handful of other teachers are together on a team and wear matching white mesh tops over their blue t-shirts. The kids wear yellow mesh tops over their shirts, and the school provided them with new cleats so that no one gets injured while playing.

Taehyung and Seokjin are the announcers for the game, and they are dressed for the part, both wearing black slacks with button up shirts and colorful ties. Taehyung has a yellow beret to match the children, and Seokjin, a white one to stand with the teachers. As the last of the parents and staff fill the bleachers, Seokjin announces the teams and Netta smiles. This is going to be a great game. Plus, Jungkook is looking right in those black sweatpants.

“You’re drooling,” Jimin teases as he nudges Netta with his elbow, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Leave her alone, Min. You know she’s down bad for Jeon.”

“S-Shut up!” Netta whines as she clicks her tongue and pulls the hair band from her wrist. Keeping her eyes on the game, Netta pulls her twists into a low ponytail and folds her hand in her lap. “I’m watching everyone.”

“Sure you are,” Jimin giggles and links his arm with Netta’s. “So, when is loverboy taking you out on a date?”

“I never said anything-”

“I overheard Jungkook asking Namjoon.”

Netta rolls her eyes and sighs, “We’re supposed to go out later tonight.”

“Where’s he taking you?”

“Why do you want to know?” Yoongi cuts in, and Jimin glares at him from the other side of Netta. “Their love life has nothing to do with any of us. Leave ‘em alone.”

Netta laughs as Jimin pouts, and Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Yoongi. But honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. I don’t know where we are going. Jungkook said he wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“How romantic!” Jimin gushes, and Netta turns her attention to Jungkook, who is now standing at the plate to kick.

“I guess it is…”

The students beat the teachers nine to five, and as their reward, Seokjin was going to host an ice cream party for everyone next Friday during the last class.

“Bye, Mr. Jeon!” A few students shout from their parent’s cars as they drive past, and Jungkook beeps his horn as he starts his engine. Right away, he puts the air on and sighs the moment the cool air hits his hot skin. He’s still sweating from running outside, and his heartbeat is slowly returning to normal. Jungkook pulls the sun visor down and looks at himself in the mirror; his hair is a mess, his face is sweaty, and his eyes are alive and bright. He wipes at his face and pushes his hair back quickly before he flips the sun visor back up and leans back in his seat.

He is waiting for Netta to come out so that he can drop her off at her place. They have their first official date tonight, and Jungkook is determined to have a great time for Netta. Everything is planned out, and now all Jungkook has to do is get himself ready. A few minutes pass before Netta comes out of the school with her friend Jimin by her side. The two are talking about something that Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine, and he unlocks the doors for her.

Jimin is ever the gentleman and opens the passenger door for Netta and shields her head as she lowers herself into the seat. Leaning against the door frame, Jimin looks at Jungkook and narrows his eyes.

“You better treat my bestie right, Jeon. I will kick your tall, muscular ass if you fuck this up!”

Jungkook huffs a laugh and nods his head, “Goodbye, Jimin.”

Jimin kisses Netta’s cheek and slams the door shut before heading to his car. Jungkook waits for Netta to buckle herself in and pulls out of his parking space.

“You did really well today. I thought your team was going to win.”

“What kind of teachers would we be if we swept the floor with a bunch of little kids?”

Netta laughs and nods her head in agreement. She is sure that the children would have been heartbroken if they had lost, especially with the promise of an ice cream party as the prize.

“Well, I still think you kicked ass out there.”

“Yeah? We still lost the game…my ego is bruised.”

“Your poor ego.”

“Kiss it and make it better?”

Netta glances over at Jungkook, and he smiles innocently.

“You’re a dork.”

“I’m your dork,” Jungkook says with a wink before he turns his attention back to the road.

Date night is beyond anything that Netta was able to imagine. She was under the impression that Jungkook was going to take her out to eat, and that was it, classy and simple. How wrong she was. Jungkook took Netta to an aquarium. The aquarium was something that Netta recalled telling him about over a late night phone call when Jungkook asked what was something she missed from her hometown. They explored the whole place, swam with the dolphins, pet the stingrays, and cuddled some otters and Jungkook won a large penguin plushie from a raffle that he entered. For dinner, Jungkook had placed an order for pickup at one of his favorite small family restaurants, and they ate their meal under the stars on a large blanket in the park.

It was a perfect date, and Jungkook suggested that they end the night with ice cream, to which Netta agreed. Ice cream sounded wonderful, and that’s how she ended up back at Jungkook’s home, once again sitting in his living room. They sit on the same couch and share a tub of ice cream between them, along with a few other treats, while One Piece plays on the tv.

“Nami is always hitting them,” Jungkook pouts, and Netta laughs.

“If they would act right, they wouldn’t get hit.”

“They are pirates! There is no acting right,” Jungkook argues, and Netta licks the spoon in her hand.

“Pirates or not pirates, they shouldn’t scream at each other all the time.”

“It’s entertaini-”

“Shit! C-Cold!”

Jungkook’s brain freezes, and he stops talking mid-sentence as he watches the melted ice cream from Netta’s spoon drip onto her bare leg, her thigh that is exposed since she chose to wear a dress tonight. Netta drops her spoon into the tub of ice cream and quickly wipes her thigh with her middle finger, collecting the melted ice cream. She brings her finger to her mouth and licks the melted treat from her finger.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

She turns her eyes back to Jungkook, and he is staring at her hard. Netta tilts her head, unsure why he looks so pained, and she follows his gaze to the smeared ice cream on her thigh.

“Jungkook?” Netta calls his name gently, and he doesn’t budge, so she unbends her leg and kicks out her foot. The tips of her toes graze Jungkook’s outer thigh, and he jumps from the sudden pressure against his leg. His large eyes find Netta’s, and she smiles while biting her lower lip. “See something you like?”

Jungkook’s eyes drop back to her thighs, and he grabs her ankle now that her foot is resting on his lap. The spoon in Jungkook’s hand slaps against the side of Netta’s calf, and she jumps from the coldness.

“Sorry…” Jungkook’s voice is breathy as he slowly lifts Netta’s leg upward towards his face, “Let me get that for you.” His tongue peaks out of his mouth, and her breath catches in her throat as the warm wetness of his tongue sends goosebumps up her body. Jungkook’s tongue slides up, up, up. The splat of ice cream long gone as he moves higher, stopping at the side of Netta’s knee before he places a wet kiss on the skin. He lets her leg fall to his shoulder, the other still tucked under her butt, giving Jungkook a great view of the black and green panties underneath the dress.

“Not sure what I enjoy more-” Jungkook places the ice cream on the table and drops his spoon into the tub. “the ice cream or you.”

Netta releases the breath in her lungs as Jungkook devours her with his eyes and untucks her other leg from underneath her butt. “I don’t think you tasted me properly, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook’s eyes darken, and he quickly grabs her legs and throws them around his waist, “You might just be right, Ms. Robbins.” Jungkook lifts them both from the couch and supports Netta’s body by holding her ass in his hands. “Should we test our hypothesis?”

Netta fights the smile on her face, “Did we come up with one?”

“I hypothesize that you taste better than anything I’ve eaten today.”

“Just today?”

Jungkook smirks and clicks his tongue, “Let’s find out.”

Making his way through the apartment, Jungkook heads to his bedroom and toes open the door of his bedroom, thankful that he never fully closes it when he leaves. He steps inside and plops Netta down on the bed so that her legs hang off and drops to the floor on his knees. Jungkook places his hands on her knees and trails them up over her thighs, the fabric of her nude colored dress catching against his hands and bunching as he travels farther up. Jungkook licks and sucks at the exposed flesh of Netta’s thighs; her skin is salty and smells like cookie dough. Jungkook groans against her inner thigh and sinks his teeth into the soft skin. Netta whines, and her back arches as her hands tangle in Jungkook’s fluffy locks.

“Shhh, relax for me…I just want a taste.” Jungkook’s voice is gone, airy and light, as his hands tuck into the waistband of Netta’s panties, and he tugs them down. Netta removes her hands from Jungkook’s hair before she lifts her legs slightly and bends her right leg to make it easier for Jungkook to remove them. He just lets the panties hang from around her left ankle. The dress that Netta is wearing is now bunched completely up her waist, her lower half exposed to the cool air in Jungkook’s room, and she shivers when his warm breath glides over the wetness that is slowly leaking from her core.

“One taste...please, Ms. Robbins?”

Netta nods her head, and Jungkook stares at her with wide eyes, his lips parted slightly as his tongue plays with his lip ring. “Y-Yes…go ahead, Jungkook.” Netta’s heart pounds in her chest as Jungkook lowers his head, not once breaking eye contact. The warmth of his breath makes her shiver, and in that moment, Jungkook trails his tongue from her perineum and licks upwards to her sensitive nub, dipping the tip into her dripping slit teasingly.

“O-Oh!”

Spurred on by the soft pants of ‘ah, ah!’ and ‘s-shit’, Jungkook slurps up everything Netta offers. Like a peach, her juices coat his mouth and chin as he wraps his lips around the puffy bud between her legs. Netta’s back arches, and Jungkook moans against her, grinning as her thighs squish his head like a vice. His dark eyes are sparkling in delight as Netta threads her fingers through his silky locks and pushes his head down. Not waiting to leave his baby wanting for more, Jungkook manages to get his right hand between Netta’s legs and slips his middle finger inside of her dripping cunt.

“Oh, f-fuck!”

The stretch is very slight, not much, but the pressure is enough to make Netta’s legs quiver. Jungkook presses a messy kiss to her pussy and nips at the tender flesh of her inner thigh, “That’s it, baby. So fucking wet…mmm-” Jungkook hums as he licks his lips. “Best pussy I’ve ever eaten.” Jungkook’s voice is liquid gold, thick and warm as he presses his index finger in with his middle, and Netta’s whole body is shaking. “Close, Ms. Robbins?”

The air in Netta’s lungs is hardly there, and the words on the tip of her tongue come out as harsh pants of breath as she struggles to control herself. Jungkook’s fingers are long and thick around his knuckles. They press into her quickly, hitting that soft bundle repeatedly as he laps at every place he can taste. He can feel how her walls pulse around him, a silent beat that his body easily follows.

“Squeezing my fingers so tight…” Jungkook tries to wiggle his fingers, and Netta moans loudly. He removes his fingers and nips at Netta’s right thigh, the flesh tender and damp with his spit. “Look at the mess you made,” Jungkook holds his hand up to show Netta the sticky clear strands of her arousal between his spread fingers and grins wickedly as Netta stares down at him through hazy, hooded lids.

“J-Jungkook!” Netta whines at the loss of his fingers and sinful mouth. She was in the throes of pleasure, at the highest peak, ready to plummet before he pulled it all away. Jungkook raises an eyebrow and nibbles at his lip ring. Shaking her head with a huff, Netta kicks at Jungkook to move from off the floor, and he crawls onto the bed. “Can you do something with that? Please?” Netta motions to Jungkook’s soiled hand, and Jungkook easily pops his fingers in his mouth with a lewd moan as he sucks her arousal from the digits. “Jungkook!” Netta squeaks in embarrassment and slaps at his chest.

He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud, wet pop, and Netta wishes she could hide under the covers. “Why are you acting shy now, hmm?” Jungkook wipes at his mouth and chin with the back of his wrist and pulls Netta into his arms. He nuzzles their noses together and grins. “Best pussy-”

“Shut up, Jeon!” Netta slaps her hand over his mouth, and Jungkook kisses her palm. Jungkook nips at her finger, and Netta giggles as Jungkook wipes his head back and forth playfully like a dog trying to escape its muzzle. Netta pulls her hand from his face, and Jungkook pecks her lips.

“Do you want to stop here?”

“But what about-”

“Aht, aht!” Jungkook shakes his head and grips Netta's chin lightly between his thumb and index finger. He tilts her face upwards and stares into her honey brown eyes. “I’ve gone to sleep with boners before. It’s not that big a deal. Do you want to stop here or keep going, Ms. Robbins?”

The urge to pee presses into Netta’s pelvis, and she bites her lip, “C-can I use the bathroom first?”

Jungkook laughs and kisses the tip of her nose, “Go. I’ll get everything ready here.”

Netta wiggles out of Jungkook’s arms and hurries out of his room, her panties now somewhere on his bedroom floor as she walks the rest of the way out of them. Jungkook lays in bed, his heart racing in his chest before he takes a deep breath and sits up. He runs a hand through his hair and strips out of his shirt, pants, and boxers. Not wanting to make Netta feel awkward, he reaches into his nightstand drawer and grabs a condom from the pack. He rips the foil, rolls it on over his dick, and settles under the blankets, exposing his chest.

From the floor, Jungkook’s phone rings from his pants pocket, and he groans. Glancing at the door, Jungkook chews at his piercing. It wouldn’t hurt just to check to see who is calling. Slipping out of bed, Jungkook grabs his pants from the floor and digs his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen, and Netta’s smiling face is looking up at him. He glances at the door again before hurries out of the room and knocks on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you okay in there?”

The sound of crying is muffled behind the door, and his phone goes off again. Netta is calling him again, so Jungkook answers.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying? D-Did I hurt you?” Jungkook’s voice raises with panic, and Netta sniffles a few times.

“I-I’m sorry, Jungkook. I-I wanted to do more b-but my period c-came and-” Netta bursts into tears on the other line, and Jungkook’s heart drops into his ass.

“No, no. It’s okay, Netta!” Jungkook reassures her. “D-Do you have anything with you? I’m sorry, I don’t have anything here.”

“I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Just wait here, okay? I can ask my neighbor if she has anything for you to use so you aren’t stuck in the bathroom. I-Is that okay?”

“I’m sorry Jungkook-”

“Stop apologizing! It’s fine, Netta.” Jungkook walks away from the bathroom and heads to his room to throw his clothes back on. “Give me a few moments. Do you mind if she comes over? I can run to the store and grab whatever you need in that time.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Netta, stop. I’m dating you, and you’re dating me. That means we take care of each other, right?” Jungkook hurries to the front door and slips on a pair of shoes. “Right?” he asks again, and Netta makes sounds of agreement. “Right! So, act right, and let me take care of you.”

Netta’s laugh is watery and full of snot but it makes Jungkook’s heart race.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook grins and knocks on his neighbor's door, “You’re welcome, Ms. Robbins.”

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x oc #teacher!jungkook #soc jungkook #act right #exqueuese me

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anxiouspineapple99 · 6 months

Text

Queen of Hearts

Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader

Summary: On your way home from work one early morning, you catch Fox drinking a man's blood in a back alley, and it changes your life forever.

Pairing: Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fox, Thorn, clone OCs

Tags & Warnings: 18+, NSFW, MonsterClone!AU, clone discrimination, clone rights, minor injuries, violence, murder, blood, angst, domestic fluff, mild sexual themes, non-sexual intimacy, erotic blood drinking, enemies to friends to lovers, reader can be considered demisexual, stalking

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: This fic is dedicated to my beloved @starrrgazingbunny! She gave me the clone, the monster, and the prompt, which inspired this monstrosity of a fic. Haha, get it? Monstrosity? Monster? I'm hilarious. Anyway, I love you darling and I hope you like the fic 😘 As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: "Your eyes sparkle."

MonsterClone!AU Prompt: "I know what you did."

Fox’s boots rhythmically clack against the sterile tile floor of the GAR clinic as he strolls through the bright halls with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. It’s late, and he was sorting through an endless stack of data-pads when he received the comm that one of his Corrie Guards was injured on duty and undergoing medical treatment at the clinic. After the comm, he tossed his data-pad to the side and downed the rest of his cold caf before making his way to the clinic.

Fox hates receiving these comms because it’s always the same story. The natborns, who he swears are born with only one brain cell each, are cruel to his corries. Their apathetic dismissal of a clone's mere existence boils his blood. The clones never asked to be created and they surely never expected to be used, abused, and thrown out with the evening’s trash. They are flesh and blood men, his men, and he considers each one of their lives as his responsibility.

Fox lets his frustrating thoughts dissipate when he stops in front of the exam room door. The medic on duty, whose fingers are rapidly tapping on a data-pad medical chart, deviates from his rounds when he sees Fox with his arms crossed. Fox stays silent as he approaches, so the medic continues his data entry as he waits. Fox glances through the window of the door to get a small glimpse at the situation, then turns to address the medic. “What happened?”

The medic looks up from his data-pad and frowns. “He was breaking up a street fight on the lower levels when a natborn busted his nose and broke his arm.” The medic shakes his head. “Poor kid. It was his first night on patrol too.”

Fox sighs, thanks the medic, and dismisses him with a silent nod.

As the medic leaves, Fox opens the door and quietly slips into the exam room, hoping to go unnoticed. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he observes another medic carefully tending to the corrie’s injuries. Fox slumps his shoulders and releases a heavy sigh as he assesses the bruises on the clone’s face. This is the fifth corrie he’s gone through this week and the trend is only getting worse. It’s mind-numbing to him, just how cruel the natborns are.

After watching for a few more seconds, Fox pushes himself off of the wall. He pulls his bucket off and sets it down on the counter, his loose curls cascading down to just above his eyes. He walks over to the exam table, taps the medic on the shoulder, and asks him to take a break. The medic nods and hands Fox the bandages and adhesive before exiting the room. Fox flicks his hair to the side and away from his eyes as he takes a seat on the stool in front of the injured clone.

“C-Commander,” the corrie stammers in surprise while scrambling to stand to attention.

Fox reaches up and places two firm hands on the clone’s shoulders to gently push him back down onto the exam table. “At ease, vod,” his voice soothes. “No need to get up. You’re hurt.”

“Y-Yes sir,” the corrie says, nervousness escaping his voice. It’s not every day a shiny gets a visit from their commander, let alone have them bandage their wounds.

Fox lets a small smile creep onto his lips. He always finds it endearing the way the shinies act around him. They think he’s some sort of celebrity being the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, but in reality, he’s just an overworked, sleep-deprived, and overly-caffeinated bag of meat. There’s nothing about his existence that makes him feel worthy of their praise, at least, not when his men sit in the clinic wounded while he sits behind a desk doing data-work.

“What’s your name, kid?” Fox asks, his fingers working deftly to continue wrapping the bandage where the medic left off.

“Slapstick, sir,” the corrie says.

Fox chuckles at the name and tightens the side of the bandage.

Slapstick winces at the pain. “Apparently, I’m good at comedy, sir,” he jokes.

Fox grins. “You’ll have to tell me a joke when you’re better.”

“Will do, sir,” Slapstick smiles.

Fox makes quick work of wrapping the broken arm and gently gives it back. He grabs a cloth sling and fits it over Slapstick’s shoulder, making sure the elevation is correct for his arm to rest comfortably. Fox then grabs a few cotton pads and dabs them with alcohol to clean the blood off the corrie’s face and applies a bandage across his nose. When finished, Fox sits back in the chair and watches as Slapstick nurses his broken arm, a flash of emotion crossing his bruised face.

Fox frowns, rises from the chair, and places a firm hand on the younger clone’s shoulder. He peers into the shiny’s innocent, yet fearful eyes, and silently reassures him. “Do what the medics tell you, and you’ll be fine. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Slapstick nods. “Thank you, Commander.”

Fox smiles with sad eyes. “You’re welcome, kih’vod.”

Fox turns away, grabs his bucket off the counter, replaces it on his head, and then exits the exam room. He softly shuts the door behind him and stands in the hallway for a moment to compose himself. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly to release the tension built up in his shoulders. They’re so young. He laments. The new shinies come in looking so full of life and eager to please their superiors. It catches him off guard every time he sees one of their youthful faces.

Being part of one of the earliest batches of clones, Fox feels old. The gray streaks running through the sides of his dark curly hair only serve to prove it. It’s ironic to him since his batchmates haven’t grayed yet, so it must be the stress. He and the shinies are only a few years apart in manufacture date, but the accelerated aging makes him feel as if he’s lived a lifetime. He wishes he could relive the days when he was a shiny. Back then, they didn’t even have names.

Fox still remembers being a fresh young clone and ready to serve the Republic. He was created as part of a batch of commanders bred to be leaders, with superior intelligence and bolstered strength. Little did he know what true horrors he and those under his command would endure. The constant ridicule by every lifeform walking the streets of Coruscant, the discrimination and litany of ‘no clones allowed’ signs on business storefronts, and the lack of human decency was, and still is, repulsive.

He didn’t ask for this post, one so far from the war. Yet, here he is, visiting the broken men under his command and taking every bit of their suffering personally. Each one who is spat on, belittled, cursed at, and dehumanized weighs deeply on his soul. At least on the battlefield they’d receive the respect they deserve. At one point, Wolffe warned him of being overly attached to his men, and Fox knew Wolffe had every right to speak about loss, but he still didn’t listen.

He internalizes all of their pain and lets it steep deep within him. His anger for the natborns burns white hot in the pit of his stomach. He decided long ago that there’s nothing good about a natborn. They’re all useless beings that sit on pious ideals and build their peace on the dead bodies of his brothers, stacking them like cheap bricks and using their blood as mortar. But now, he’s done letting the atrocities slide. He’s done watching his brothers suffer at their hands.

Fox straightens himself as his resolve settles within him. Purpose driven, he marches back to headquarters. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on in his dark office, the blue glow from his data-pad illuminates his face as he sifts through the new reports to find the one about Slapstick. He pulls up a holo-recording of the events and watches it with intent. He notes the location, and when he sees the natborn’s face, he tosses the data-pad onto his desk and leaves his office.

He knows what he needs to do, and he’s finally ready to act on his intentions. The guilt that has crept into him, knowing that he could have done something sooner, only propels him forward in his mission. As he nears the exit of the headquarters’ building, Thorn is waiting for him. Fox curses under his breath. He knows Thorn will try to stop him, try to talk some sense into him, but he doesn’t care. He’s done playing around, and if he has to go through his brother, he will.

Thorn crosses into Fox’s path and folds his arms. "And where are you going?"

"Out,” Fox answers as he steps to the side to go around him.

Thorn follows his movements, preventing him from advancing. "What? You've got a hot date or something?"

"Something like that," Fox mutters, trying to side-step him again.

"I know what you’re gonna do," Thorn says, blocking his brother again. “I can smell it. The lust.”

Fox grunts in frustration and forcefully pushes past his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Thorn turns and catches Fox’s arm, his grip tight. "Whatever you think you're going to accomplish out there is only going to come back to bite you,” he warns. “You're gonna get caught!"

Fox smirks under his helmet. "Not if I bite first."

A small gasp escapes Thorn’s throat. He didn’t want to be right. He knew Fox was up to something malicious when he first caught a whiff of his altered scent, a shift so strong he could smell it from two klicks away. He refused to believe that his brother would go this far and intentionally put all of the commanders at risk by going rogue, but he was wrong. Fox is going through with it. In his brief shock, Thorn’s grip slacks enough for Fox to yank his arm out.

Fox, finally free of his brother’s blockade attempt, stalks off into the night to find his prey.

“Fox!” Thorn calls, desperate to get him to reconsider, but Fox doesn’t respond, and Thorn, powerless to stop him, watches as he slips into the shadows of Coruscant.

You let out an exhausted sigh as you finish up your shift at the diner. It’s been a long night, and you glance at the chronometer on the wall while stretching out your back. It’s 02:00 hours and almost time for you to go home. You don’t mind working the second shift, in fact, you enjoy being a night owl and sleeping during the day. The initial adjustment to your schedule was difficult, but now that you have a routine set, your body works just as well as it did in the daylight.

After bringing the remainder of the plates to the kitchen, you grab a to-go container and pile all of the leftover scraps into it, then pour what’s left from the caf carafe into a to-go cup. Your manager is a good person, and she lets you take food home at the end of your shift for dinner. It isn’t much, just what customers didn’t finish, but you’re always grateful. Once you have all of your things gathered and your leftover dinner, you wave goodbye to the rest of the staff and leave.

As you walk along the diner front, you frown at the bright circular neon sign. It has an image of a clone’s helmet in the center and a large red slash running through it. You don’t understand what people have against the clones because they seem human enough to you. Sometimes it bothers you to be working in such a discriminatory business, but you don’t have much of a choice. Most places of business are anti-clone, and it’s hard getting a job with one that’s clone-friendly.

You sigh, and continue along the darkly lit street towards home. As you approach the next alleyway, you see two Coruscant Guardsmen leaning against the wall. You smile and wave at them and they eagerly wave back. One of the perks of working the second shift at the diner is that you get the pleasure of running into your two favorite Corrie Guards, Traipse and Chris, on their patrol route. They’re wonderful friends, with big hearts, and even bigger stomachs.

“Watcha got for us today, mesh’la?” Traipse asks as he slips his bucket off.

“The usual,” you smile and hand the to-go container to him. “A couple half-eaten sandwiches and some cold fries, but this time there’s a little ketchup stuck to them.”

“Sweet!” Chris rips his bucket off as he eyes the food in the container, practically salivating at the prospect of cold, soggy fries.

It breaks your heart to see them so excited over scraps from another patrons table, but you know that anything you give them is better than what the GAR feeds them. It’s the least you can do for them, and they truly appreciate the meal. You still remember the first day you met them when you began working at the diner. They were new and on patrol when they stopped in for a hot cup of caf, which was a big mistake. The owner was livid, cursed at them, and almost shot them.

The scene that unfolded in front of you was just as frightening as it was disturbing. The two corries only wanted a cup of caf to keep them awake during their patrol, and they were nearly killed over it. That was the night your heart broke and truly softened for the clones. You felt so bad for them that at the end of your shift, you scraped together all the leftover food and caf you could get a hold of, and searched the streets looking for them. You’ve been friends ever since.

“And,” you sing while holding up the to-go cup, “some caf to wash it down.”

Their eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “No way! You got us caf too?”

You laugh and hand the cup to Chris. “It’s not very hot, and it's a bit stale, but it should be enough for the both of you to share.”

Chris takes the first sip of the lukewarm, slightly stale caf, and you can see the tension slip from his shoulders. It’s like he’s tasting caf for the very first time, and it’s not even good caf. You smile, but on the inside, you’re hurting. All of the caf shops on their patrol route are anti-clone, so they can’t stop for a simple cup of caf or even grab something to eat. They have to wait until their patrol is over and return back to the GAR headquarters. You wish you could do more.

“Thank you, mesh’la,” Traipse says, then gives you a big hug. “You’re so good to us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you smile as you squeeze him back. “You know, someday I’m going to open my own diner, just for clones.”

Chris grins. “We’ll be your first customers!”

You laugh at his exuberance, and tap your foot on the ground. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I really need to get home.”

Chris hands the cup of caf to Traipse who takes a small sip. “You want us to escort you home?”

“Nah,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’ll be fine. I walk this route every night, you know.”

“Be safe, okay?” Traipse says. “And if you need us, you know where to find us.”

“Thanks boys,” you give them each a farewell hug and set out towards home, turning around to wave goodbye one more time.

You really did want to stay and chat with your friends like you do every night, but this particular shift was exhausting and now you only want to sleep. You barely had any breaks in between your tables being filled and emptied, so your feet ache painfully. Just the distance to walk home is enough to make you want to scream in agony. You didn’t want to tell your friends that your feet hurt, because you know that one of them, if not both, would have tried to carry you home.

It’s not that you wouldn’t mind being carried home by a big, strong, and handsome clone, but they have a job to do. They're on patrol, and you’re already putting them into jeopardy by chatting away with them when they’re supposed to be walking about the streets of Coruscant. They’re allowed to take breaks, but to have them deviate from their course so severely just to take you home because your feet hurt, is way too big of an ask. It would not be right..

As you continue to walk the dark streets, illuminated only by neon signs, your thoughts are interrupted by a noise coming from one of the side alleys. It almost sounds like a scuffle. They say curiosity killed the tooka, but it hasn’t killed you yet. So, you cautiously peer down the alley and see two men standing by the wall. One looks like a clone, but you can’t tell what color his armor is, and the other man looks wasted. You tip-toe closer and crouch behind a crate to get a better listen.

“I know what you did,” Fox says as he backs the drunken man against the wall.

“Get lost clone,” the man slurs.

"You hurt my kih’vod," Fox says.

"Your what?" the man asks, clearly confused with the term.

"My kih’vod," Fox repeats. "You broke his arm, and for what? Fun?"

The man pauses as he tries to understand what the clone is talking about through his drunken haze. Once it finally registers, the man sneers and becomes angry. "He deserved it!" the man yells. "All of them! They're all freaks of nature!"

"Freaks of nature?" Fox mocks and cocks his head to the side, feigning confusion at the accusation. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Disgusting meat droids," the man scoffs.

Fox chuckles darkly and gets in the man’s face. "You don't understand anything."

"What’s that?" the man slurs.

Fox pulls his bucket off and whispers in the man’s ear. "I'm the freak of nature." He grabs the man by the throat and lifts him up against the wall.

"Let go!" the man yells as he struggles in Fox’s grasp.

"You're not in a place to bargain," Fox says, purposefully baring his fangs in a show of intimidation. The neon lights bounce off the fangs, making them glow bright, a stark contrast to the dark alley.

You startle at the sight of the fangs and your grip loosens on the side of the crate, causing you to fall into the alleyway, making a thud noise when you hit the ground. You scramble back to your hiding place behind the crate and clamp a hand over your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear or notice you. You close your eyes as your mind races a mile a minute, wondering just what in the stars you just saw.

Fox snaps his head to the side when he hears the sound and he catches a small glimpse of you scurrying behind the crate. Tucking that away to deal with later, he turns his attention back to his prey. “Looks like we have an audience,” Fox sighs. “I just hate it when guests show up uninvited to dinner, don’t you?”

The man wriggles helplessly in the Fox’s grasp, fear washing over him as he realizes the mistake he’s made.

"Confess your sins," Fox says.

"I… I'm sorry, please," the man pleads, tears streaming down his face.

"Oh, not to me," Fox explains. "I'm not your Maker."

The man whimpers, haphazardly kicking and fighting to get free, but he’s too weak under the influence of alcohol.

"I am your death," Fox sinks his fangs into the man's neck and sucks every last bit of blood out of his worthless body. Eventually, the man stops wriggling, and his body slumps in Fox’s grasp.

Fox grimaces at the bitter taste of the man’s blood, but it’d be a shame to waste it. He finally pulls away from the man’s neck, panting for breath, then spits the last bit of the bitter blood out of his mouth as he staggers back. The alcohol in the man’s blood begins to make him feel light-headed and woozy. He turns to where you’re hiding behind the crate and starts walking towards you. His bucket sways in his left hand, while his right hand drags the man’s limp body alongside him.

Fox stops in front of you and drops the lifeless body beside you. The man’s cold, dead eyes meet your live ones, and you feel sick to your stomach. You look up at the clone with wide eyes as fear and dread wash over you like a heavy blanket. You can see now that his armor is red, red like the Coruscant Guard and red like blood smeared on his face. Your breath quickens when you notice the elongated fangs made visible as he pants from his fresh kill.

“You’re a… a…” you stammer out as you slowly inch away from his looming presence.

“A vampire?” Fox finishes your sentence with a roll of his head, still feeling tipsy from the alcohol invading his system.

“That’s… impossible,” you say. You’re at a loss for words as your brain flips between fight, flight, and freeze. Sure, you’ve read the stories about vampires, but they were just stories, right? Vampires don’t exist in real life, do they? You’re not sure what to think, but you don’t have time to work through figuring out an answer. You dart your eyes to the left and to the right, looking desperately for an escape route.

Fox kneels down in front of you and grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. “This is our little secret. Do you understand?”

You nod your head, too shocked to give a verbal response.

Fox searches your face for a moment, unsure of what he’s looking for, but eventually he releases you. “Run along little one,” he whispers, “or the fox might catch you.”

At his words, you scramble backwards, awkwardly trying to get up off the ground. He’s not coming after you, but the fear and adrenaline that’s raging inside your body tells you to run away. You get to your feet and you run. You run as fast as you can. You look back to make sure he’s not following you, and you see him, standing where he left you, watching you as you make your escape. You turn forward and continue running, ignoring the pain in your already tired feet.

You’re not sure which direction you're running in, just that it’s away from him. You wonder what he meant by ‘the fox’. Who is ‘the fox’? Is he a fox? No. He’s a vampire. Is his name Fox? You’re not sure of anything at the moment, and you decide to figure it out later. You keep up your stiff pace, dashing through the streets, turning down corners that look familiar until you come to an abrupt stop when you crash into Traipse. A small yelp escaping your lips as you fall backwards.

“Mesh’la?” Traipse asks in surprise.

Chris stoops down to pull you to your feet. “Are you alright? That was quite the hit.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Traipse adds as he looks you over to make sure you’re not hurt.

“I’m okay,” you pant.

Traipse and Chris trade bewildered glances and briefly look around to see what you might have been running from.

“What happened?” Chris asks. “We thought you went home.”

“I…” you want to tell them what happened. You want to tell them what you saw, but you quickly remember that you were sworn to secrecy, so instead, you feed them a lie. “I just got spooked. That’s all.”

Traipse doesn’t believe your explanation for one second. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you insist with a shaky breath, trying to sound convincing. You pause for a moment, then make a simple request, hoping that they’ll stop asking questions. “Would you walk me home now? Please?”

“Of course,” Traipse answers. He’s still not happy with the lack of explanation, but he doesn’t want to push it any further. “It would be our pleasure.”

The two corries walk on either side of you as you make the journey home. You feel a sense of safety with them at your side, so you try to let yourself relax a little. Many people fear or even hate the Coruscant Guard, but you’ve always enjoyed having them around. They make the lower levels more bearable and safe to live in, and your late nights aren’t so lonely. But now, can you really trust them? Are they really who you think they are? You’re not so sure anymore.

As you approach your apartment, you once again think about the corrie you encountered in the alley. You know that he’s a corrie based on the color of his armor, but you’ve never seen him around the lower levels before, or at least not on your route home. Perhaps he lives on the upper levels and comes down to the lower levels to feed. Your skin bristles at the thought. A vampire amongst the clones. A vampire amongst the Coruscant Guard. What if there are more?

You glance at your companions and briefly wonder if they’re vampires too. You quickly throw the idea out of your mind. If they were vampires, wouldn’t they have drank your blood by now? You shake your head to remove the swirling thoughts. The sun will be rising soon, and you just want to go to bed at this point. When you arrive home, you thank your two escorts as they leave you outside of your apartment, but they stay long enough to make sure you get inside safely, and for that you’re grateful.

Once inside, you lock your door and check every window to make sure they’re locked as well, and then pull the room darkening curtains across them. The fear that has crept inside of you from the words of the mysterious corrie in the alley has not left you. You shiver and slink down beside your bed, clutching your knees to your chest. You wonder if he’ll find you or if he’ll try to hurt you. You know not all clones are good, but you’ve always tried not to judge them on the outside.

As your adrenaline winds down, you decide to skip dinner, throw on your pajamas, and curl up under your duvet, covering your head with the thick material like a child afraid of the monsters under their bed. You keep a light on beside your bed, just in case, then slowly drift off to sleep as your exhaustion overrides your fear and forces you to sleep. Surprisingly, you sleep well, and are only awoken by your preset alarm at 17:00 hours, reminding you to get up for another day.

You barely remember the events of the night before in your waking haze, but as your senses return, the fear and anxiety creeps back in. You now wish you had asked Traipse and Chris to walk you to work as well. You know they would have if you asked. Sighing heavily, you take a quick shower, get dressed, and throw some food together for a hasty breakfast before heading out the door. Fortunately, your route to work is uneventful, which you’re thankful for.

Your day at work is the same as usual. With the hustle and bustle of the diner, you rarely have a moment to even think about the corrie in the alley. Between waiting tables, refilling caf, and chatting with the patrons, you almost forgot. However, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. The feeling that you're being observed. You don’t let it bother you too much, but you know it has to be him, watching your every move, making sure you don’t spill his secret.

At the end of your shift, you bring the remaining plates to the kitchen, gather up another to-go container of scraps and pour the last of the night's caf into a to-go cup for Traipse and Chris. You bid farewell to your co-workers and meet up with your two corrie friends by the next alley. They’re leaning against the wall, waiting for you to show up, but with stern looks on their faces. They must be worried about you. However, their demeanor perks up when they see you coming.

Across from the diner and in the shadows, Fox watches you. He keeps his distance, but he decided to keep an eye on you after the events of the previous morning. The words from Thorn rotate in his mind about getting caught and they churn in his stomach, because knows what will happen if the GAR finds out he’s a vampire, and he knows he put the rest of the commanders at risk. Which he mentally kicks himself for; the stubborn stupidity and lack of rational thinking.

Thus, he watches you, making sure you keep your mouth shut. He really doesn’t want to have to shut it for you, so he’s saving that drastic option for last. The keeping of his secret is vital to his entire batch’s survival. Only a few people outside of the commander batch know what happened during that unfortunate training mission, and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s not safe for any of them. They’re not monsters and they’re not animals, but they aren’t normal.

It was a routine training mission for the batch of commanders. A get in, complete the objective, and then get out type of mission. Their Mandalorian instructor was a proud and harsh man, but he knew how to train strong leaders. However, something went wrong when they stumbled upon an unknown creature in the bowels of the world. An otherworldly looking being that struck fear in all of them, even their instructor. Every man on that training mission left that world changed.

They left that world infected. Each one gained a heightened sense of smell, sharper ears, and an unusual taste for human blood. They could hear heartbeats as people passed by and smell fear on their men. The change was difficult, being acutely aware of others around them, and they didn’t drink blood often. It wasn’t needed for survival, so why risk it. Most of them didn’t like talking about it either. So, their fangs remained hidden and their attraction to blood was stifled.

Fox snaps back from his memories when his eye catches the blinking neon sign affixed to the diner’s transparisteel front which bars his brethren from entering. He scowls at the offending sign and writes you off just like he does everyone else. A worthless natborn that can’t see past their own biased ideals. He huffs, thinking that maybe it would be worth the trouble to just get rid of you after your shift, but his better judgment, that he was missing last night, tells him not to.

He continues to watch you throughout your shift, unamused as you bustle around waiting tables, refilling caf, and pocketing tips. He finds you rather boring, actually, and continues to weigh your existence in his mind as to whether he wants to keep you alive or not. As you exit the diner at the end of your shift, he straightens his back and stretches. He quickly furrows his brows at the smile plastered on your face and wonders what you could possibly be smiling about.

Fox becomes curious about your odd happiness, so he follows you, maintaining his distance and keeping to the shadows where he can. Luckily, that isn’t a difficult thing to do in the lower levels. When he sees you approaching two Corrie Guards standing by an alley, he stiffens, worrying that you might harm his brothers. He watches intently as you get closer, his muscles tensing as he rolls the notion of ousting himself. He takes a single step forward, then stops.

Laughter. He hears laughter. His brothers are laughing with a natborn. They’re laughing with you. Fox’s mouth falls open in shock, and he takes a step backwards, caught completely off guard by what he’s seeing. He watches, dumbstruck, as you hand them the to-go container of food and the to-go cup of caf. To think that a natborn could be kind to a clone was unfathomable for Fox, but here you are, giving them food, giving them caf, and making them laugh.

The look of pure joy and happiness on their faces melts something deep within Fox. He can’t quite place the feeling, but it’s warm and soft and inviting. His anger and fear starts to crumble as his features soften. Could he be wrong about you? Is there such a thing as a good natborn? His skepticism and apprehension are replaced with intrigue and curiosity, and he decides that he needs to know more about you. So, he watches you more, but now because he wants to.

You fidget with your fingers and shift your weight between your two feet. “Hey, can I ask you guys a question?”

“Sure,” Traipse says as he tosses a few potato wedges in his mouth.

You hesitate for a second, piecing together the words carefully so that you don’t say too much, but you need to know the answer. “Is there a ‘fox’ in the Coruscant Guard?”

“Is there a ‘fox’?” Chris repeats with a slight laugh. “Yeah, there’s a Fox, but he’s not in the Coruscant Guard.”

“Oh…” you knit your brows together in confusion. You swear that the colors on that clone’s armor belong to the Corrie Guard.

Traipse chuckles at your confusion and needles Chris. “What this di’kut is trying to say is that Fox is the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, so technically he’s not in it, he’s over it.”

Your mouth opens in shock. “Fox is a Commander?!”

“The Commander,” Chris corrects with a pointed finger.

Your brain continues to recalculate like a GPS that has lost its signal. You can’t believe that the corrie you ran into in that dark alley, the one that killed that man, the one that is a vampire, is also the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. You feel sick. You’re not sure what question to ask next. You don’t want them catching on and you don’t want to release too much information, so you go with something simple. “Do you like Commander Fox?”

“Of course!” Traipse exclaims. “He’s the best!”

“He visits his men when they’re in the GAR clinic,” Chris adds. “Even the shinies get a visit from him. He really cares about us. Kinda like you do.”

“Oh,” you trail off, not sure what to say.

Traipse and Chris continue to gloat about their amazing commander, which confuses you even more. The image they paint of Fox is nothing like the man you saw in the alley last night. There’s no way they’re the same man. It’s not possible. The man they’re speaking of is kind, brave, and smart, but the man you saw in the alley was terrifying, violent, and spiteful. The two images clash inside your mind as you struggle to decide if they really are the same man.

“Why do you want to know about our Commander?” Chris interrupts your thoughts.

You stiffen and come up with something quick. “Oh, no reason,” you dismiss. “I just heard the name is all.” You hope that explanation is convincing enough for them, and you let out a little sigh of relief when they shrug and change the subject.

Fox continues to watch you from the shadows as you interact with the two corries. He becomes nervous when you bring him up in the conversation, because if you’re as smart as he thinks you are, you’ll figure out his identity. With that information, you could easily go to the nearest general and get him arrested, court-martialed, or worse, decommissioned. He listens intently to his men’s praise, but his shoulders finally relax when they change the subject to something else.

After that encounter, Fox decides to watch you more, fully intrigued by the way you treat clones. He still has some doubts, and wonders if it’s only for show or if you really do care. However, night after night, he watches you clean tables, pack scraps together, and leave the diner. Like clock-work, you meet up with your two Corrie Guard friends to offer them a half-eaten meal, talk about your day, and listen as they regale you with harrowing stories of their nightly patrols.

Slowly, Fox finds himself wanting to see you more. Every night he leaves his office, whether his work is finished or not, to come and watch you at the diner. The way you dance around the tables in your apron, smile at patrons as you refill their mugs, and the sound of your laugh have become a part of his routine. He doesn’t want to miss a single second of you. He watches you with every intention to reveal himself, but he knows he can’t. Not after what you saw him do.

While Fox is back at headquarters, Thorn catches him lost in thought while sitting at his desk, mindlessly twirling his stylus around his fingers as his stack of data-pads grow. Thorn leans against the door jam and folds his arms. “You look busy.”

Fox continues to twirl his stylus while staring blankly at Thorn, unamused by his sarcastic tone. “Yeah, I am. So, why don’t you leave me to it.”

Thorn huffs. “You’ve always been a bad liar, vod.”

Fox wonders if Thorn is getting suspicious of him, and his question is answered quickly.

“You gonna tell me where you keep sneak’en off to at night?” Thorn asks.

Fox stops twirling his stylus and lowers his eyes to scan the data-pad on his desk. “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business if you’re gett’en us all in trouble,” Thorn retorts.

“It’s not like that,” Fox says without looking up from his data-pad.

Thorn approaches Fox’s desk and places both hands down flat onto the surface. “Then why don’t you tell me what it is like?”

Fox looks up from his data-pad and meets Thorn’s eyes with a scrunch of his nose. He emphasizes his words and says them slowly. “It’s none of your business.”

Fox and Thorn stare at each other with intensity. Thorn trying to read Fox’s intentions and Fox trying to ward off Thorn’s intrusion. As Thorn continues to search Fox’s face, he picks up on a faint scent emanating from hum. Thorn’s mouth slowly opens into a toothy grin as a singular thought pops into his mind. Thorn laughs and shakes his head, straightening himself up and moving away from the desk. He drags a hand across his chin. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

Fox’s body tenses at Thorn’s acute awareness. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he dismisses, but his body betrays him. Heat slowly rises up his face and to the tips of his ears as his heartbeat quickens, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Thorn.

“You are!” Thorn exclaims with a knowing smile.

“I am not!” Fox retorts loudly, but then hushes himself to make sure no one hears. “I am not.”

“Don’t worry, vod, your secret is safe with me,” Thorn says playfully. “This is kinda unexpected though… I thought you hated natborns?”

Fox groans and leans back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “I do.”

Thorn throws him a devilish grin. “I guess not all of them.”

Fox leans forward and points his stylus at Thorn. “Get out.”

Thorn laughs and turns to leave Fox’s office, but not before giving him one more parting piece of brotherly advice. “Let me know if you need any date-night ideas.”

“Out!” Fox yells as he throws his stylus at his brother.

Once Thorn is out of sight, Fox plants his face onto his desk and groans. He never understood how Thorn could be so perceptive all of the time. He reads him like a book, but then again, he’s never been good at hiding his body’s reactions. Fox picks his head up from the desk and places it in his hands, fingers sliding through his mess of curls. He hates to admit it, but Thorn is right. He is in love, but he refuses to admit it because you’re a natborn. It goes against everything he knows.

It’s too late though, Fox can’t help himself from falling in love with you. He doesn’t get many glimpses of happiness in his life, but when he sees you. Maker, when he sees you smile, and your eyes sparkle, and you laugh, it’s enough happiness for him. He wants you to bring him table scraps and cold caf, to tell him about your day, and laugh with him. He wants to escort you home, to make sure you’re safe, and to be the reason that you smile, but he doesn’t know how.

Fox once again finds himself sitting in the shadows just outside of the diner and staring into the transparisteel window. He’s completely transfixed on you as you go about your shift. Something about your warm smile has captured his cold and calloused heart, and tonight is no different. He feels the urge again, the urge to confront you, to make himself known so he can get to know you. He kicks himself over and over for making you scared of him, but he wants to make it right.

He decides to approach you tonight, and steels himself to prepare, but as you open the door of the diner to leave, Fox catches a whiff of something intoxicatingly sweet. His heart skips a beat, his breath quickens, and his fangs become aroused at the scent. Even with his bucket on, it’s not enough to block out the decadent aroma. He pulls his bucket off and places a hand over his mouth and nose to try and stifle it, but it’s no use, the scent wafts around as you walk.

Through his growing arousal, Fox searches your body, looking for the source, and then he sees it. A bandage on your arm covering a cut. He tries to block the lustful thoughts out of his mind and remain focused, but Maker does he want a taste of you. His fangs throb out of need. The fragrance of your blood is like nothing he’s ever smelled before. Male blood is bitter and female blood is sweet, but your blood is overwhelmingly sweet. Sweeter than anything the universe could ever provide him.

Although he had plans to finally confront you tonight, he decides he needs to leave. The urge to drink your blood is too strong. If he made his move now, it would only frighten you, and that’s not what he wants to do. He doesn’t want you to be scared of him anymore. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear like you did the night you met. He wants to make his intentions clear to you so there’s no mistake. He’ll show you that like your two corrie friends, he is also worthy of your affection.

It’s been three weeks since your terrifying encounter with Commander Fox, and you’ve finally put him and the ordeal out of your mind. You did what he asked and kept his secret, so there was no reason for him to come for you. However, you never quite lost the feeling of being watched, but you decided that it was just the paranoia getting the better of you. Besides, with Traipse and Chris walking you home every morning, you always felt safe.

Tonight is no different. You finish up your shift at the diner like usual, scrape together the best looking leftovers, and pour a to-go cup of the remaining stale caf. You clock out, say goodbye to your co-workers, and meet up with your corrie friends at the next alley over to give them their dinner. The look of excitement on their faces never fails to make you smile. It’s sad that something so simple, like table scraps and old caf, could make their night something special.

You chat with them about your day at work, and all the latest gossip from your co-workers, while they devour the diner food. A few well-timed jokes and laughs are exchanged, and when they’ve finished eating, they walk you home like they do every night since the scary incident. On the way, they fill you in on all of the juicy details of the Coruscant underworld. Some of it is so ridiculous you wonder if it can possibly be true, but you laugh and enjoy their musings.

Once you arrive at your apartment, you bid your friends farewell and swipe your keycard to enter your home. The inside of your apartment is dark, and only illuminated by a couple strings of battery powered fairy lights that are much more cost-effective on your energy bill than keeping your lights on. You lock the door behind you, toss your bag on the couch, and check all of the windows, before pulling the room darkening curtains closed as the sun threatens to rise.

You then enter the kitchen and wash the day of work off of your hands, then do a couple of the dishes that you’ve neglected for the past week. You place them neatly in the drying rack, then dry your hands as you mull over what you want to eat for dinner. You don’t feel like cooking, so leftovers are your only option. You pull open the conservator door and stare at your dismal choices. Finally, you pull out a small container of something you know isn’t bad and reheat it.

Sitting at your kitchen table, you mindlessly scroll through your data-pad and look at the current events while you munch on your dinner. You sigh as you read reports of the increased crime rate, violent anti-clone protests, and higher taxes for the lower levels. You toss your data-pad down, and grumble about there never being anything happy in the news to look at. When you finish dinner, you place your used dish in the sink, stretch, then head to your bedroom.

As you enter your bedroom, you flip the switch on the side wall to turn the lights on and nearly jump out of your skin as your soul almost leaves your body. There’s a clone lying on your bed. Of all the things you thought you’d come home to, maybe a stray tooka or something, you definitely never in your wildest imagination thought you’d find a whole clone in your apartment. You freeze and throw a hand over your mouth to stifle any noise but the clone doesn’t stir.

After the initial shock wears off, you notice that the clone’s armor looks awfully familiar to you. Your eyes widen with realization. It’s Fox. The Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, a vampire, is on your bed. He’s lying on his stomach, armor still adorning his body, bucket perched on the nightstand, his face buried in one of your pillows, with both arms wrapped around it. Every single human emotion runs through your body, and you’re not sure which one to pick.

“Fox!” you yell. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Fox doesn’t move, but mumbles into the pillow. “Sleeping.”

“Why are you sleeping in my bed?” you demand.

Fox nuzzles the pillow gently. “It’s comfy.”

Your mouth falls open at his answer, but you really aren’t sure what you were expecting. “How did you even get in here?”

“The door,” he murmurs sleepily.

“I– You–” you're at a loss for words. You’re stunned. You rush over to him and grab his left leg to try and pull him off your bed, but he’s too heavy and you can’t get him to budge. You step back and groan in frustration that he’s not moving. Suddenly, something clicks in your brain and you become very afraid. “You’re…” you back away from the bed. “You’re not going to kill me are you? I kept your secret! I promise!”

Fox sighs at the fear he hears in your voice, and he mentally kicks himself for being the cause of it. He thought that confronting you in a safe place, such as your home, in a very calm and non-threatening way would make this easier on you. Clearly, he was wrong. Perhaps he should have asked for Thorn’s help after all. In an attempt to de-escalate the situation Fox remains still and speaks calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His soft spoken words almost sound sincere, but you can still see his bloody face in your memories and hear those cynical words spoken to you. You feel conflicted about the situation. He hasn’t bothered you since that night and he hasn’t moved an inch since you got home. If he really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t he have done so already? It would be way too easy. Your physical prowess is nothing compared to a clone, let alone a commander. He could easily kill you.

“I promise,” he adds when you remain quiet.

You can hear a level of vulnerability in his words that strangely sets your heart at ease. Maybe the Fox that your corrie friends spoke of is the real Fox, and the Fox that you met in the alley isn’t. You might be rationalizing away his behavior that night, but everyone has a breaking point. Ultimately, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You're still not okay with him breaking into your apartment or sleeping on your bed, but maybe he just needs a place to crash.

“Can you at least take your armor off?” you sigh. “You’re getting my duvet dirty.”

Fox doesn’t move a muscle.

“Whatever,” you let out another sigh, too exhausted to argue. “I’m going to take a shower, and I’m locking the door. So don’t try anything funny.”

Fox remains silent and unmoving.

You narrow your eyes, still wary of the commander. You know who he is. You know what he is. And you know what he’s capable of. As a precautionary measure, you grab your mace from your purse on the couch, gather a change of clothes, and lock yourself in the refresher. You should feel scared, more scared than you are, but something about him feels disarming and almost safe. It’s a stark contrast to what you saw the night you met, but maybe that’s his plan.

You finish your shower and exit the refresher, feeling clean and ready for bed. When you walk back into your bedroom, you startle for a moment. Fox is still lying on his stomach on your bed, but his armor is stacked neatly next to your dresser, leaving him clothed only in his black bodysuit. You look at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side, and wonder why he waited to take his armor off. Perhaps he didn’t want to scare you by making any sudden movements.

Whatever the reason, his intentions of not harming you are made clearer every second. He’s leaving his entire body vulnerable to you. You could easily grab one of the steak knives from the kitchen and stab him in the back with it, but you won’t. He hasn’t given you a reason to, and you hope he doesn’t. You haven’t been known as the smartest person in the world, and you trust way too easily, but you honestly don’t feel any malicious intent from him as he lies in your bed.

You cautiously come around to the empty side of the bed and look at his face nestled in your pillow. His dark curly hair lines the sides of his face, coming to rest just above his closed eyes, his lips are slightly parted as he breathes slowly. You have to admit, he looks peaceful, like this is the first bed he’s ever slept on in his whole life, and your heart softens a bit for him. He’s still a vampire, you remind yourself, but he doesn’t look scary, at least not like this.

Since Fox is sleeping on top of your duvet, instead of in it, you grab a blanket from the chair on the other side of the room and carefully drape it over him. He remains still and doesn’t say a word. You still wonder why you’re doing any of this, but something deep inside tells you that he won’t hurt you. You grab another blanket for yourself and stand at the edge of the bed. He’s still a little too close for comfort, and for caution's sake, you decide to sleep with your mace in your hand.

“Can you scoot over, please?” you ask.

Without opening his eyes, Fox wiggles himself to the edge of the bed, taking the pillow with him. You stifle a snort at how funny he looks, but the smile that crosses your face cannot be hidden. He’s like a child. Acting just like the rest of the clones when they encounter such small creature comforts. You take a lot of things for granted as a human, as a natborn, but you try your best to pay it forward to the clones when you can, even if that means letting one sleep in your bed.

You crawl onto the empty side of the bed and snuggle under the blanket you pulled off of the chair. You rest your head on your pillow and look over at Fox. His eyes are still closed and he seems to be asleep. Your mind on the other hand is racing with so many questions that you’re having trouble sleeping. It keeps going back to the night you met, and makes you wonder why he’s so different today than he was then. You fidget with your fingers, then decide to finally ask.

“Fox?” you whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums.

You hesitate for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles against the pillow.

“What would happen if they found out?” you ask.

Without opening his eyes he answers. “I’d be decommissioned.”

You chuckle. “Is that some type of early retirement?”

Fox opens his eyes slowly and looks at you. “I wish,” he sighs. “I’m defective. Defective clones are either reconditioned or decommissioned.”

You stare into his deep brown eyes. They look sad. “What’s the difference?”

“Reconditioning makes you a blank slate,” he explains. “Like a memory wipe. Then you’re put back in the general clone population to start over from scratch.”

“That’s… terrible,” you say. You don’t know too much about a clone’s life other than what your clone friends have told you, but to think that their lives can be ripped from them in an instant is sickening.

“That’s life,” Fox laments.

You pause before asking your next question, unsure if you really want to know the answer. “What about decommissioning?”

Fox rolls onto his back and leans his arm over his forehead, pushing his curls up and out of his face. He doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but if he ever wants you to understand the reason he needs you to keep his secret, then he has to tell you. “It’s just a fancy term for euthanasia.”

You sit up and your mouth gapes open in shock. “Euthanasia? Like what they do with animals?”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“But you're not animals,” you retort.

“You’re right,” he says. “But we’re not people either. We’re products. Goods bought and sold. Some can be fixed, others need to be disposed of.”

You stifle back tears. “I don’t think of you as products.”

“I know,” Fox smiles sadly, remembering the way you treat your Corrie Guard friends. “But a memory wipe can’t fix what I am, so the only option is disposal. It used to be very common back when I was manufactured. I almost lost one of my batch brothers because he had blonde hair.” Fox chuckles at the memory.

“I’m so sorry,” you offer, unsure of what words of comfort you can even give him. The way he talks about himself, as a product makes you sick to your stomach. The reality of the clones hits you like never before and your resolve to help the clones grows even stronger. “I’ll keep your secret, I promise. I won’t let them decommission you. Any of you.”

Fox smiles at your kind words, even if they are naive. He knows you can’t save all of them, but he also knows you will try. He finds your affection for him and his brothers endearing, and it makes his heart flutter with warmth and happiness. He knows he is safe with you, that he can be vulnerable with you, and that you won’t cast him aside like so many other natborns have. You’re different, so much different than anyone else, and he never wants to lose that.

“Go to sleep, mesh’la,” Fox says. “You can save all of the clones tomorrow.” Without another word, Fox flops himself back onto his stomach and buries his face into the pillow, slowly drifting off to sleep.

You lie awake for a little while longer as the sun peeks through the top of your room darkening curtains, and think about his words, about the fate of the clones, and about his fate as a vampire. You’re not even sure how he became a vampire, or if there are more vampires amongst the clones. All you know is that this clone, this commander, Fox, is sleeping peacefully in your bed, and dreaming of a life that is more than what he was created for.

The next evening, you wake up as usual to your alarm going off, telling you to get up for another night at work. You sit up and stretch towards the ceiling, then rub the sleep from your eyes. You look over and see Fox still sleeping in the same position he started in. You wonder if sleeping on his stomach is out of habit, or if he really enjoys it. To you, it looks uncomfortable, but you let the thought go. You sneak out of bed, trying not to wake him, and start your morning routine.

Since it’s the two of you this evening, you decide to make breakfast for once, instead of just tossing whatever you find in your mouth and flying out the door. You start the caf machine and pull two mugs out from the top of your cupboard. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a guest for breakfast, so you’re glad you kept the extra mugs. As the caf percolates in the machine, you set your small kitchen table for two, with plates, forks, napkins, and cups.

You pull four eggs from the basket, but you pause when you realize that you’re not sure how he likes his eggs. To be honest, you’re not sure if he’s ever eaten an egg. You decide to play it safe by making them all scrambled. Everyone loves scrambled eggs. Then you toss several strips of bacon in a different frying pan. As you work on cooking the eggs and bacon, you pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the orange juice from the conservator.

When you close the door, you’re startled to see Fox standing there. His face is still covered in sleep and his curls are all flattened on one side. He has one hand under the top half of his blacks, scratching at his stomach, and he releases a small yawn. The smell of food must have roused him from his sleep. You give him a small smile and pull out one of the table chairs for him to sit. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes light up when you place a mug of hot caf in front of him.

He looks between you and the caf several times, almost asking for your permission to drink it. You chuckle and nod your head for him to take it. He grabs the sides of the mug, cradling it like it’s the most precious gift he’s ever received. He brings it to his lips, inhaling the beautiful aroma before giving it a small taste. The hot liquid bites his tongue, but it doesn’t bother him, not when the taste of the caf is this divine. He lets out a languid sigh and practically melts into the mug.

You smile grows bigger at his childlike innocence and you place a plate of steaming food in front of him. His face is still in his mug, but when he pulls it away and sees the food, his eyes blow wide open. Once again he’s shocked that you’re providing him with such delicacies to enjoy. He starts to feel guilty that he gets to eat like a king while his brothers are starving on rations, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he eats what you give him and enjoys it.

Whether it was your home cooked meals or your comfortable bed, your new routine now contains Fox. Every morning, when you come home from work, you find Fox lying in your bed, exhausted from his night. You let him shower now, and even bought him his own towel, soap, and shampoo to use. Sometimes he spends a while in the shower, but you don’t bug him about it. You can only imagine how good it feels for him, after never having a proper shower in his life.

You also make dinner for the two of you as well. You have to admit, ever since Fox came into your life, your eating habits have gotten better. After dinner and dishes, you both curl up into your bed and sleep. When you first explained to him that the duvet was for sleeping under and not on, Fox got very excited. The weight of the duvet made him sleep better than he’s ever slept before. Then, in the evening when you get up, you make caf and breakfast, and you both leave for work.

It’s been several months now, and you’re completely used to cohabitating with Fox. You now expect him to be there whenever you come home. You find it fun to have a roommate. You have someone to talk to and watch sappy holo-dramas with. There’s nothing you enjoy more than curling up on the couch and eating popcorn together. He doesn’t bring in any income, but you don’t mind. The joy on his face when he drinks his first mug of caf in the evening is payment enough.

This early morning is no different than any other. You come home from work and find Fox lying in your bed, and you jostle him awake so you can make dinner together. Once you taught Fox how to cook, he became invaluable for meal prep and dinner time. Making dinner with Fox is now one of your favorite things to do. You both find it fun and a great bonding time. You talk about your days, smile, and laugh about dumb things each other says. You’ve never been happier in your whole life.

This morning, you’re making stew for dinner. It’s a new recipe and you’re really looking forward to sharing it with Fox. The days on Coruscant have grown cold and blustery, so it’s the perfect time of the cycle to be making warm food for the soul. You both set to work, peeling and chopping vegetables to throw in the pot. You're chatting about your day, when in a split second, your knife slips and you cut your finger. You wince at the pain and drop your knife on the cutting board.

Fox immediately smells your blood, that sweet sweet blood of yours that he almost forgot about. His heart skips a beat and his fangs twitch to life in his mouth. He fights it, the urge to take you right here in the kitchen and drink that precious blood of yours, and he staggers backwards until his back is resting against the conservator, covering his nose from your alluring scent. You sigh at your clumsiness and walk over to the sink to rinse your finger off, but Fox catches your arm and grips it tightly.

You snap your neck to look over at him and you see his blown pupils threatening to overtake his dark brown irises as his fangs begin to grow in his mouth. His grip on your arm is tight and for the first time in a long time, you feel fear when you look at Fox. Your life together has been so normal, you almost forgot he’s a vampire, and here you are bleeding in front of him. Your breath quickens, and your arm trembles. When Fox smells your fear, he releases your arm and steps away from you.

“I… I’m sorry,” he apologizes through a shaky breath. “It just smells so good. I couldn’t help myself.”

You rub your arm where he gripped you and knit your brows with worry. You can tell he’s struggling against the urge, and you feel bad for being afraid of him when his reaction seems automatic and not even close to malicious. He’s desperately trying to respect your boundaries, fighting the arousal in him as his fangs throb, desperate to release the building pressure. You have to get rid of it, the blood that’s causing him so much pain, so you turn the water faucet on.

“Please!” Fox pleads between pants. He reaches with his arm again, but stops himself as he poorly tries to contain his need. “Don’t waste it.”

“Do… Do you want it?” You ask hesitantly. The words feel foreign as they cross your lips.

Fox clenches his teeth and nods.

You fidget nervously. "Will I become a vampire if you drink my blood?"

Fox chuckles as he strains through his desire. "Doesn't work… Like that.”

“Fox, I’m scared,” you admit.

“Won’t… Hurt you,” Fox says through gritted teeth. “Promise.”

You hesitate for a moment, then tentatively stretch out your finger. He looks at your blood, lust overtakes his eyes, the pupils now blown wide. He wants it. He craves it. The sweetest smelling blood. He parts his lips and you can see his fangs protruding past the rest of his teeth. A fresh wave of fear hits you and you recoil your finger. Fox can smell your fear, so he takes your wounded hand gently in his and caresses the side of his face with the back of it, trying to calm you down.

He slowly slides your hand down his cheek and to his lips and darts out his tongue, flicking it across your bloody finger. He closes his eyes and he releases a sultry moan at the taste. Your blood is intoxicating and he wants more. He wraps his lips around your finger, his hot tongue swirling around it, lapping up every last drop that has spilled from it. You shudder when he starts sucking on it, pulling fresh blood from the open wound, the sensation odd and unfamiliar.

As much as Fox wants more, your finger won’t give it. The cut begins to clot without further penetration and the sweet taste slowly dissipates. He reluctantly releases your finger, a soft whine escaping from his throat at the loss of your blood. You take your finger back and inspect it, the wound already scabbing over and healing. You look at him in shock, and he stares back at you, panting as he comes down from his high. His fangs retract and his brown irises return.

“How did you do that?” you ask.

Fox sits down at the kitchen table and exhales deeply as his senses come back to him. “The secretion of my fangs.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“How much do you know about vampires?” he asks.

“Just what I’ve read in books,” you answer as you sit down at the table across from him.

“Well, all those books are wrong,” Fox explains. “First, I can’t turn you into a vampire. Second, we’re not immortal. Third, my fangs are only present when they’re aroused. And fourth, my fangs secrete both dopamine and serotonin.”

You blink at him a couple of times as you take in all the new information. You open your mouth to ask another question, but he answers that one too.

“And no, I don't turn into a bat at night or become dust in the sunlight,” he adds with a small laugh.

“So, then you don’t need blood to survive?” you ask.

Fox shakes his head. “Nope. It’s more like a craving.”

“What about the man?” As soon as the words are released, you instantly regret the question. You didn’t mean to bring that night up, but it fell out of your mouth too quickly.

Fox pauses at the question, knowing it was going to be asked sooner or later. “I drink blood for two reasons,” Fox begins and puts up two fingers. “For revenge and for pleasure.” Fox pauses again and looks to the side. “That man… He hurt one of my men. I was angry and bitter, and out for revenge.”

“Oh, I see...” You think about his words for a moment, wondering if you should ask more about that night or if you should just change the subject and move on. It’s already a sore spot between you two, but Fox has apologized about it multiple times since you’ve been living together. You ultimately decide on the latter of the options. “Does it taste good?”

Fox chuckles at the question. “Depends. Male blood is more bitter and female blood is more sweet, but those scales can tip depending on a lot of things.”

“What does my blood taste like?” You ask.

Fox traces absentminded shapes on the table with his finger and smiles as he remembers your taste. “Sweet, very sweet.”

You fidget with your wounded finger before asking your next question. “Was it… pleasurable?”

Fox purses his lips and thinks for a moment, trying to form his words carefully so as to not cause you an alarm. “Yeah, it was pleasurable, but it’s more pleasurable when I use my fangs.”

You wonder what the taste of your blood has to do with his fangs. “Why?”

“The secretions,” he says as he taps the side of his lip. “If my fangs are inside you, then you get it too. It’s supposed to keep the prey from struggling too much, but it also feels really good.” Fox rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. He’s never had to explain this to anyone before, especially to someone he cares about. “It can make for an awkward revenge kill, but also an erotic pleasurable drink.”

A warm heat creeps across your face. You remember the way he looked when he was drinking the small amount of blood you gave him and he was clearly having a good time sucking on your little finger. Perhaps getting your blood drunk by a vampire is a pleasurable experience. Your mind begins to wander and you think about Fox sinking his fangs into the side of your neck and it sends sparks of excitement through your body. You quickly lose yourself in your daydream.

“Mesh’la,” Fox says, trying to pull you from your thoughts.

You blink back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Fox asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, yeah,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m fine. Just a lot of information.”

Fox gets up from his chair and places a small kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll finish dinner tonight. Why don’t you go shower. It'll be done by the time you're out.”

You lean your head back against his stomach, close your eyes, and sigh. “Okay.”

Fox gives you another chaste kiss and helps you to your feet. A shower does sound really nice right about now. It’ll give you some time to clear your head and think about everything that has happened. You leave Fox to dinner and head to the refresher to take a shower. You run the water for a minute before getting in, then step under the stream of hot water. The water flows across the curves of your body as the gentle massage of the droplets soothes your muscles.

You wash your hair and give it a good conditioning, then wash your body. You lather up your washcloth and run it across your arms, legs, stomach, and down the side of your neck. You stop and do it again, only slower, rubbing the soft cloth against the thin sensitive skin. You start to think about Fox, about his fangs inside you, and what it would feel like. You close your eyes and imagine it, an erotic encounter with someone you trust and love that doesn’t involve sex.

You’ve had the conversation with Fox before, about sex. You’ve been living together for a while now, and what started as a mutual living arrangement turned into a relationship before you could blink your eyes. He shared his feelings with you. How much he loves you, cares for you, and what you mean to him. The feelings are mutual. However, you always feel bad about denying him such an intimate encounter, but you aren’t ready, and you’re not sure when you will be.

Fox never pushes the issue, and he never brings it up. He only ever discusses it if you are the one who initiates the conversation. You love that about Fox. He respects every boundary you give him. Even when he was overcome with lust at the scent of your blood, he still let you make the choice. He was in pain, and he chose you over himself. He always chooses you, over and over again. This time though, you want to choose him. You want to give him what he craves.

Once out of the shower, you dry yourself off with your towel and hang it next to Fox’s. You quickly towel dry your hair, moisturize your body, throw on your pajamas, and leave the warmth of the refresher. The transition to your chilly apartment isn’t bad, because Fox grabs you from behind and pulls you against his warm chest. You squeal and then smile when he wraps his arms around your stomach. He buries his nose in your freshly washed hair and lets out a contented sigh.

“You smell good,” Fox mumbles against your scalp.

You giggle. “Really? All I smell is that stew you’re making.”

Fox chuckles. “It does smell good, doesn’t it?”

You escape his embrace and spin around on your heels. “I think it’s dinner time.”

“I think you’re right,” Fox agrees and you both head to the kitchen.

The two of you sit at the kitchen table and enjoy your dinner together. Regardless of your small chopping mishap earlier, the stew came out wonderful. Fox did an amazing job and you can see him beam with pride as you groan from the warm earthy goodness. He also made a small batch of biscuits, which surprised you. You forgot you had those in the conservator, so you're happy they finally got put to good use. After dinner, you clean up the kitchen and Fox takes his shower.

It’s just about bedtime as you see the sun peeking through your curtains. You’re already in your pajamas, so you crawl into bed. The cool sheets cause you to shiver slightly as you wait for the bed to get warmer. Fox returns from his shower, his curls still a little damp from toweling them. He removes his t-shirt and tosses it onto the chair, leaving him in only his gray sweatpants, both of which you bought him a couple months ago, then settles in on the other side of the bed.

With Fox under the duvet, you know the bed will get warm soon, but you’re still cold, so you scoot over to him to leech off of his warmth. His body radiates heat, which is why he can sleep without a shirt and not freeze to death, unlike you, who needs ten different layers, plus extra blankets to keep warm. Without opening his eyes, Fox lifts up his arm to give you access, and you eagerly take the invitation and snuggle closer to him, instantly feeling warmer.

You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but your thoughts from earlier are nagging at the back of your mind. You start thinking about Fox drinking your blood again, and how pleasurable it might be for you. The thoughts are only compounded by being so close to him, the warmth emanating from his body, the musky scent of his skin and hair, and the feeling of his toned back muscles beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much to bear, and once again your curiosity is getting the better of you.

“Fox?” you whisper into his shoulder.

“Hmm?” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Do you want to drink my blood?” you ask, a twinge of nervousness escaping through your question.

Fox opens his eyes as a jolt of lightning goes straight from his stomach and into his fangs. The thought of drinking your blood arouses them, and they quickly become engorged and primed for penetration. He curses to himself at just how fast they were ready when you asked. Almost, embarrassingly fast. The familiar pressure begins to build and Fox shifts his body in discomfort. He doesn’t know if you’re just curious or if this is an invitation, but he prepares himself for either.

“Yeah,” Fox admits as he rotates from his stomach to his side so he can see you better. “But not unless you want me to.”

“What if I do want you to?” you ask.

Fox stifles a groan as his fangs throb in his mouth, desperate to pierce your beautiful skin. “Are you sure?” he asks.

You hesitate for a second. “Will it hurt?”

Fox picks his head up and props it up on the palm of his hand, elbow bent and leaning on the pillow. He looks into your eyes, glides his hand from your covered waist to your exposed neck, and brushes his knuckles against the soft flesh. The skin there is so supple and inviting. His fangs throb harder as he envisions himself drinking your sugary sweet blood. Fox leans closer, as he continues to caress the side of your neck, and rests his forehead against yours to reassure you.

“You’ll feel a sharp pain as they sink in,” he explains with a gentle whisper, “and they’ll throb under your skin, but the pleasure will take over soon after.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you say softly.

Fox smiles, then continues. “It’ll drip a little when I pull them out, but I’ll clean it up. You might be drowsy afterwards and a bit cold. It might ache for a day, since it's your first time, and form a small bruise.”

Your heartbeat quickens at all the information and Fox can smell your growing fears.

Fox cups the sides of your face in both of his hands and looks deeply into your sparkling eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid, cyare,” he soothes. “I won't hurt you.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

“Tell me that you want it, cyare,” he whispers, his hands moving from your face to your shoulders.

“I want it Fox,” you answer.

“How do you want it?” he asks, nuzzling the side of your cheek with his own. “Do you want to lay down or sit on my lap? Whatever is more comfortable for you.”

You think for a moment, and if you’re going to be drowsy, then you’ll want to be laying down, so you pull back from his touch and lie back against your pillow. “Just like this.”

Fox leans over to give your forehead a small kiss, then rips the duvet off the both of you. A slight shiver runs down your body at the loss of your warm covers, but it’s soon replaced with a new warmth. Fox straddles his legs overtop yours, hovering over your prone body as his hands plant themselves at the sides of your head. Your anticipation grows as he stares down at you with lustful eyes, and a knot forms in your stomach as you wonder what his fangs will feel like as they penetrate your soft skin.

Fox can hear your heart racing and he gently places his left hand on your chest. "Relax for me, mesh’la. Your heart is beating too fast. I don't want this to hurt."

You nod your head and work to get your breathing under control to slow your heart rate. You take deep, slow breaths as Fox guides your breathing to be in sync with his. His brown irises have been replaced by blown pupils and his fangs protrude from their hiding spot, dripping with their pleasure inducing secretions. His dark curls drape around his face, accentuating his hooded eyes and parted lips. You stare into his eyes, letting your breath match his, as you finally calm down.

"Good girl," Fox praises.

He tilts his head to the right and ghosts his lips across your supple neck as he searches for the perfect spot to penetrate your flesh. It has to be just right. Too far to either side, and he might hurt you. He takes him time, even as you whimper impatiently beneath him, because he needs this to be perfect. You’re putting all of your trust in him, that he won’t hurt you, and he refuses to break that trust. He continues to nose around your neck, before he finds his mark.

"Right there," Fox breathes against your neck, causing the little hairs to stand on end. “That’s where you’ll feel me.” He nuzzles the side of your face for reassurance. "Are you ready, mesh’la?” he whispers against your skin. “To feel ecstasy?”

You release an involuntary moan at the sultry words. "Please, Fox. I want you to– Ah!"

Your words turn into a whimper when you feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck. You instinctively raise your left hand to touch the pained area, but it instead finds purchase in Fox’s hair. You clench your fist around his curls, your other hand digging into his back, as you wince at the stinging sensation. It’s just as he described, but as soon as the pain came, it went. Now all you feel is the throbbing of his engorged fangs under your skin as he drinks your blood.

Fox pulls away from your neck to catch his breath. His head rises to meet your wanton gaze and you can see your blood on his fangs and lips as he pants above you. Your own breath becomes rapid as the endorphins released from his fangs invade your system, reaching every corner of your body, causing you to elicit the most salacious moan. The feeling is euphoric and your eyes roll back in your head. He’s not even touching you, and your body feels like it’s on fire.

"How do I taste?" you ask between labored breaths.

"Intoxicating," Fox moans. "So sweet. So perfect."

Fox reinserts his fangs into your delicate skin, desperately needing to taste more of you as he becomes drunk on your sugary blood. It’s delectable, addicting, and too good to part with. A pure delicacy that he wants to drown in. His own pleasure is only magnified as you fall apart beneath him, moaning his name in the most obscene ways while taking chunks of flesh out his back. If anyone were to overhear you right now, they’d never once think that you’re being devoured by a vampire.

The flood of endorphins overpower your body. You dig your nails further into Fox’s back as you curl your toes into the sheets, trying not to scream from the tension building and releasing in your body. You understand now, what he meant earlier when he said it would be pleasurable, and you wholly underestimated just how pleasurable it would be. You’ve never felt like this before, like you're floating in a cloud of weightlessness, and you never want it to end.

Fox knows he has to stop before he drinks you dry. The urge to stay here forever, tasting you and lapping up every drop of blood you have to offer, is overwhelming. He wants to indulge in your sweet nectar and get drunk on your blood for hours, but he can't. He can feel your skin growing chilled as your blood recedes your vital organs. He’s out of time and he needs to let you go. It won’t be forever though. He has a feeling that he’ll get to drink your blood again.

With a soft whine, he releases you, panting heavily from the long drink. He looks at the two holes in the side of your neck, little pools of blood forming at the surface. He licks the droplets until they begin to clot and close, and kisses the spot for good measure before picking his head up to look at you. He licks the remaining blood off his lips and smiles down at your disheveled state. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes half open, and mouth parted. It must have been a wonderful ride.

“Fox,” you moan as your body continues to ride out the last of the endorphins.

“Cyare,” Fox purrs as he nuzzles the side of your cheek.

You look up at him with hooded eyes. “How was it?”

Fox chuckles. “I should be asking you that.”

“It was really really good,” you groan.

Fox smirks. “I’m glad.”

You groan at your body’s response. With Fox’s fangs gone, the euphoric feeling in your body slowly begins to dissipate and your senses return to you, as well as the side effects. You roll your head to the side and close your eyes. “I’m so tired.”

Fox carefully gets off of you, stretches out beside you, and strokes your hair. “That’s normal.”

“I’m cold, too,” you add with an involuntary shiver as you try to curl into a ball.

Fox frowns and pulls his fingers away. He moves toward the edge of the bed and grabs the duvet that he flung off earlier. He rolls you over so you’re facing him and gently presses you against his chest. He then wraps the duvet snuggly around you both, making sure that you are completely covered, with just enough of an opening so you can breathe. He runs his hands up and down you back as you bury your face into his neck and cling to him for warmth. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you mumble against his skin.

Fox places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Rest now.”

“Fox?” you whisper.

“Yes, mesh’la?” Fox answers.

You look into his eyes and smile. “You caught me.”

Fox chuckles and holds you tighter. “So I did.”

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thatone-brightstar · 7 months

Text

More than all the stars (Carmy Berzatto X Fem!Reader) ✨CHAPTER LIST✨

Hi, I'm Amy and this is Part III of my The Bear & The Fox Series!

Hope you enjoy and show your love to the other parts! Remember comments are appreciated even in older chapters. Links to the first two parts here:

Part I: The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Part II: Before You (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!OC)

Aditional tags and warnings: porn with plot, fluff and angst, spanish speaking reader, established relationship, no use of y/n, too much swearing, touch starved carmy. MINORS DNI!

Prologue: "'best natural lighting' or whatever..."

Chapter 1: Peelers, pears and 'I'll be there's

Chapter 2: Heavy is the head 'n all that 🔥🔥

Chapter 3: My darling, my dearest, my dead.

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wizardofrozz · 1 year

Note

"Do I look like I've moved on?" with Cody

Always Yours

Commander Cody x fem!reader, Original Clone Troopers (Zero and Lith)

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: NSFW +18, smut, slight dubcon, possessive behavior (Cody's a little toxic in this), rough handling, exhibitionism

A/N: Happy Star Wars Day! Writing for Cody is new for me but this turned out better than I expected lol. I want to thank @homie-one-kenobi for letting me borrow her OC Lith for this fic and for all the encouragement and help from her, @a-single-tulip and @techs-feral-wife 💕

If anyone had told you that your night at 79’s would’ve ended with your cheek pressed into the wall of some dark corner with a panting commander at your back, you might’ve hit them.

You were the idiot for thinking it would’ve ended any other way.

It had started like any other night when you visited 79’s with a few of your friends, except this time there wasn’t a gold-painted commander ready to drag you to bed. You were almost sure he wasn’t even on Coruscant and that was the main reason you agreed to the night out. You had been playing this back and forth with Cody for a while now. Fucking like ashrabbits at every opportunity only to never hear from him until he blew back into 79’s after another campaign. It was an exhausting routine that got harder each time. Especially when you found yourself wanting…more from him. Something that seemed impossible for a man like him.

You shoved away any thoughts of the 212th in general and leaned against the bar, half-heartedly listening to the conversation your friends were having. Luckily, it didn’t take long to catch a curious eye, although his red armor made you hesitate. Your job in the Republic Detention Center meant you worked closely with the Guard, and most notably, Commander Fox.

Fox, who happened to speak to Cody at least once a week and couldn’t resist indulging in good gossip.

You allowed yourself to be pulled in by a sweet smile for the night knowing that Fox, and eventually Cody, would know about it in no time. You smirked to yourself as you approached the trooper, wishing you could see the look on Cody’s face when Fox undoubtedly called him.

The trooper in question, Zero, truly was a sweetheart, and you felt a little guilty that you couldn’t give him what he deserved, but he seemed to understand on some level. You were currently perched on Zero’s lap, mindlessly playing with his fingers while he recounted the story of how he got his name. He was the kind of man you should’ve gravitated toward, but when did life ever make sense?

“So, you’re proud of, as you put it, having zero brain cells,” you giggled, smiling when Zero’s cheeks took on a faint pink color.

“Well, when you say it that way,” he mumbled, twisting his mouth to the side. You laughed a bit louder, swaying close enough to catch a glimpse of his cheeky grin and unintentionally bringing your tangled hands closer to your chest. His gloved thumb grazed your collarbone, the warmth of his skin under the fabric had goosebumps trailing behind his touch, turning your laughter to ash on your tongue. He was close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips.

“I think it’s cute,” you whispered, your eyes trained on his mouth.

“And I think you’re beautiful,” Zero countered. You watched the smile form on his lips, transfixed by how it fell somewhere between flirtatious and sweet. There was a gentle pressure against the underside of your chin, tilting your head back to force you to meet his eyes. Your lashes fluttered as he closed the gap, his lips finding yours in a soft, hesitant kiss.

An explosion of whoops and cheers had you jerking back, years of working in a prison meant that loud bursts of noise had you whipping around in a panic to look at the door on instinct. Your heart immediately hit the floor when your brain registered that, you weren’t at work, and it wasn’t prisoners but waves of orange armored soldiers blowing through the doors. 212th troopers flooded the bar and you were blatantly staring, looking for that distinct sunburst that you had hoped you’d make it through one night without seeing.

But when would you ever be that lucky?

He was the last through the door, keeping a slow, unbothered pace as he wandered toward the bar, eyes scanning the room. A small part of you hoped he wouldn’t notice you but you could see the exact moment his eyes landed on you. Cody’s mellow expression steadily darkened, his jaw flexing as his eyes ran the length of your body, noting the trooper you were perched on. Suddenly you were almost scared for the poor, naive shock trooper.

“Hey,” Zero mumbled, cautiously cradling your hand. “What’s wrong?” You turned your head, finding genuine concern shining in his eyes and it broke your heart; this man had no idea what kind of mess he’d walked into.

“Uh, I know some of the 212th,” you admitted with a shrug. The white lie was obvious but Zero let it slide, nodding as he shifted his eyes to the battalion getting louder by the minute. Cody had moved to an empty spot at the bar but you could still feel his eyes burying holes into your skin. “We could get out of here if you want?”

“Sure,” Zero replied, a small smile on his face, “I can walk you home.”

“I’d like that.” Zero’s smile brightened as he helped you to your feet before sliding out of his seat and leaning down next to your ear.

“Let me run to the bathroom before we go,” he yelled over the music. You nodded, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek as you handed over his helmet. The dusting of pink in his cheeks was back and you wished that it could last but you knew the second you were alone, all hell was going to break loose. Maybe one day he’d find someone that could give him what he deserved. You watched Zero work his way through the crowd until he disappeared into the sea of brothers, squirming under the heavy stare you could feel on your back.

“You know he’s gonna be pissed.” You spun around at the voice next to your ear, blinking rapidly at Lith’s smug expression.

“Hi, nice to see you too, Lith. How’ve you been?” you sassed, rolling your eyes. Lith just arched a brow, loudly sipping his drink, waiting for you to break the stalemate first. “It’s none of his business. He made it glaringly obvious that he doesn’t care.”

“Ha! That’s cute, you thinking he doesn’t care,” Lith laughed, shaking his head and you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach somersaulted at the thought. He leaned into your personal space, the acidic stench of cheap liquor on his breath. “Looks like you’ll find out for yourself.” His eyes lifted to something over your shoulder before he backed away, doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk behind the rim of his cup. The unforgiving hand that closed around your bicep had you going rigid, muscles locking up when his grip tightened.

You refused to even look at him, trying to tug your arm away but Cody was relentless. You knew there was no use in fighting it, giving up and letting him drag you through the writhing crowd of bodies. He still wore all of his armor, sans helmet, allowing you to glare at the back of his head, occasionally catching a glimpse of his profile. You stumbled to a stop when Cody pulled you into one of the back hallways of the bar that was blessedly empty, something you knew wouldn’t last long as 79’s grew busier.

“What do you want, Cody?” you snapped as soon as he released your arm. He turned a sharp look in your direction but you stood your ground, crossing your arms. It was infuriating that despite how irritated you were with him, there was a tiny part of you that was relieved to see him alive.

“What the fuck was that?”

“None of your damn business,” you hissed, taking a step closer to him. You expected anger, maybe even contempt, but Cody letting out a harsh, unamused laugh was probably at the bottom of your expectations for this conversation.

“Aw, you really liked Fox’s shiny, huh?” Cody taunted, a cruel edge to his voice that you hated more with each passing second.

“Maybe I did,” you spat, stifling the urge to shove him. “Maybe I had plans to show him what us natborns have to offer.” Cody’s expression twisted into something dangerous and he stalked toward you, backing you into a dark corner, looming over you.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarled, face barely inches from yours.

“And why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem sticking your dick in the closest breathing life form.” He jerked back like you’d hit him, a familiar crease forming between his brows, and for a moment you faltered.

“What are you talking about?” he huffed, pressing two fingers into his right eye, an action you knew meant he had a headache building.

“I saw you with that Mirialan last time you were on-world,” you admitted, grinding your teeth at the image of the barely dressed woman draped across his lap. “You moved on, so I planned to do the same.” The words were barely out of your mouth before he surged forward, trapping you against the wall with a bruising kiss. Your immediate reaction was to push him away but your strength was no match for him, and if you were being honest, you had been craving this: the dominating sweep of his tongue, the way his presence demanded your attention, and the borderline possessive grip on the back of your neck.

You ached for him no matter how hard you tried to fight it, despite the hurt that came with his presence.

Cody broke away first, resting his forehead against yours. “Do I look like I’ve moved on?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you huffed, turning your face away from him. Cody growled, the hand curled around your neck tightening as he wedged his armored leg between yours, pressing the rigid plastoid tight against your suddenly aching pussy.

“Guess I’ll have to prove it,” Cody breathed against your lips. You yelped at the sudden movement, gasping when your cheek met the cool wall, and your thigh clenched to satiate your throbbing clit. His body molded against your back, his warm breath puffing against your cheek, similar to how Zero’s had not even 15 minutes ago, but this promised something far less innocent than a chaste kiss. “For the record, I didn’t fuck that Mirialan.”

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. You weren’t expecting much, maybe an irritated huff but your lashes fluttered when his tense muscles softened against your back, his grip loosening slightly.

“She’s not my sunshine,” he whispered, his pinched expression barely visible in your periphery. He didn’t even give you a second to absorb his confession before he was yanking your pants down, knocking the air from your lungs when his finger slid through your soaked folds. “Stars, you’re dripping.”

“Are you really surprised? It’s you,” you panted, blindly searching for his belt buckle. Cody chuckled against your shoulder, expertly sinking his finger into you down to the second knuckle from behind and resting his other hand on the curve of your waist. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, a soft whine working its way up your throat when it was just shy of what you had been craving.

“Oh, cyare, you have no idea what you do to me,” he mumbled, pumping his finger.

“How - how about you show me instead of talking about it,” you taunted, rocking back into his hand. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise when he shoved two fingers inside you as far as they would go; you had asked for it.

“I’m starting to wonder if I should fill that bratty mouth instead,” he mused, curling his fingers in a way that had your knees threatening to give out. You were quickly hurtling toward your first orgasm, your thoughts running together as pleasure tore through every cell in your body.

“Fuck - I don’t care, just fill something,” you pleaded, meeting the slow thrust of his fingers. Cody groaned against your hair when you clenched around his fingers, your body unable to decide if you wanted his fingers or his cock. An involuntary whimper left your lips when you were suddenly empty and the clatter of plastoid behind you was enough to leave you squirming.

“Ready?” Cody whispered against your cheek, his lips just barely brushing over your skin.

“Cody,” you whined, pushing against the head of his cock that was resting against your entrance. He didn’t seem to care about your pleading, sliding his cock through your soaked folds, the head nudging your clit with just the right amount of pressure. Stars danced behind your eyes, the drag of his cock taunting you with the one thing you wanted. Cody wasted too fucking long coating himself in your arousal only to sink into you without warning; the stretch was almost too much, bordering on painful. He didn’t stop until there was nothing left for you to take and his armored chest was flush against your back. He may as well have been in your lungs with how hard it was to pull in a full breath, your head feeling a little fuzzy.

“Maker, you - you take me so well,” Cody panted, kissing down the length of your neck. You turned your head, resting your forehead against the wall, simply trying to breathe as the pain started to blossom into pleasure. The hand on your waist tightened, likely leaving finger-shaped bruises behind, a thought that made your head spin. Cody stood perfectly still as if he wasn’t balls deep in your fluttering pussy and if you could think straight, you’d have been a little peeved at his control.

Just as you opened your mouth to beg him to start moving, Cody rolled his hips, forcing a surprised moan past your lips. Of course, that fucker could read you like an open book. However, that was the only warning he gave you before he pulled all the way out only to deliver a pointed thrust to exactly where you needed it most. Cody started at a brutal pace, the edges of his thigh armor biting into the back of your legs but you couldn’t find the brain power to give a shit, solely focusing on not drawing other patron’s attention.

You jerked when something brushed against your lips, peeling your eyes open to find his free hand near your face.

“Open,” Cody ordered hoarsely in your ear, lightly tapping your bottom lip again. “And no biting.” You hesitated for a moment, this apparently being the thing that made your cheeks feel warm, not the fact that he was fucking you senseless with hundreds of his brothers a few feet away. And yet, your lips parted for him, taking two fingers into your mouth. You weren’t paying attention to what hand it was so when the faint taste of your own arousal hit your tongue you whimpered, clenching around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his pace faltering. “Good– good girl. You like that, huh?” You could only hum in response, earning a soft, shaky chuckle from the man behind you, and in some twisted way it felt like this piece of him belonged to you. A part of himself he willingly shared with you when he didn’t need to, allowing you to see the effect you had on him. “I - I know…I do too.”

You moaned around his fingers, doing your best to meet his unforgiving thrusts just to hear the pinched-off moan he muffled against your shoulder, sending you closer to your tipping point. The heat building under your skin continued to grow but there was a disconnect, you could only just brush against it, leaving the mind-blowing orgasm out of reach. You squirmed trying to change the angle but Cody’s hand on your hips kept you trapped; this asshole knew it wasn’t enough. Worst of all, to make his point, he started to pump his fingers in time with his thrusts and you moaned desperately, debating on just touching yourself if he wasn’t going to.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, teeth grazing your jaw. “You told me to fill something, so I’m giving you what you wanted, cyare.” Cody pressed down on your tongue, slamming into you before going still, his slightly labored breathing puffing against your cheek. “I’d find a way to fill all three if I had the time.”

The pathetic cry of his name was muffled against his fingers, tears starting to well up as you teetered on the edge, so close yet so far. There was a moment of stillness, his cock twitching inside you before he started to lazily grind against your ass, the pressure on your tongue letting up.

“I’ll give you what you want if you give me what I want,” he proposed, nuzzling against the bolt of your jaw. It was a much sweeter gesture than the rest of his demeanor would suggest and you couldn’t decide between being irritated or flustered. Either way, you nodded as best as you could, ready to give him whatever he wanted. “You’re mine - fuck - you hear me?” he panted, struggling to keep the lazy pace, his hips stuttering. “Some - some wet-behind-the-ears shiny wouldn’t know how to do this for you. He’s not me.” The desperation in his voice resonated in your soul, reminding you of why there was no one that could captivate you quite like Cody. “Please, just - just say it.”

His fingers slid out of your mouth, trailing spit down your chin. Cody gave you a minute to catch your breath, his presence lingering over your shoulder expectantly. Later, when your brain was back online, maybe you’d regret saying it, but deep down you knew it was true; you belonged to Commander Cody no matter how badly you tried to fight it.

“I’m yours, Cody,” you whispered, turning your head enough to bump your forehead against him. There was another weighted pause before he craned his neck, blindly kissing the corner of your mouth.

“And I’m yours,” he breathed, the admission making your throat feel tight. There were very few times Cody let this type of vulnerability through and you treasured each one but this one was easily the most profound. He was telling you the one thing you never thought possible from a man of his position and it was equally as beautiful as it was arousing. “Always yours.”

“Then show me,” you pleaded, pressing back into him. The soft laugh that bubbled past his lips made your stomach somersault, only making your barely coherent thoughts feel more disjointed, yet your lips parted on instinct at the soft tap of his finger. Cody kissed your cheek in a final sweet gesture before bucking his hips, punching what would’ve been a loud cry from you if it weren’t for his fingers stuffed in your mouth. Cody resumed his previous, punishing pace, yet this time the hand keeping a vise grip on your waist loosened, trailing lower.

Your knees buckled at the lightning-quick tap against your clit, somehow pushing him deeper and the tears finally fell. Thank the heavens above that he didn’t stop there though, pressing with the perfect amount of pressure, drawing tight, fast circles that made each of your stunted inhales grow shorter until you were forced to unseal your lips from around his fingers.

“Let go, sunshine,” Cody coaxed, sounding a bit desperate. You had been known to push his buttons, disobeying when the urge struck, but this was not one of those times. Your hands clawed at the wall, your back arching as the coil finally snapped, the pleasure lighting up every nerve ending from your head to your toes. Cody used the fingers still filling your mouth to tilt your head back, doing his best to muffle your sobs as he moaned openly against your shoulder. He made it through a few more pumps before going rigid, a barely audible whine leaving his lips as he came.

You both slumped forward simultaneously, Cody’s fingers slipping from your mouth as his weight pressed you into the wall. The warm panting against your throat slowly brought you back to the land of the living, realizing Cody was still buried inside your sensitive cunt, his cum starting to leak down the inside of your thigh.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you complained half-heartedly. Cody littered your shoulder with light, playful kisses, his arms moving to wrap around your waist as his shoulders shook with laughter.

“Not usually wearing 80 pounds of armor,” he chuckled, kissing the base of your throat. That reminded you of where you were, realizing that the harsh lines of his thigh plates were still biting into the back of your legs, making you wonder if you’d have bruises for days to come.

“Finding that I don’t really mind it,” you confessed, wiggling your arms out from where they were pinned to the wall so you could gently stroke his arm. “Sometimes at least.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cody snorted, one of his hands snagging your fingers as they trailed up his arm. A calm, intimate silence settled around you, letting you just bask in Cody’s presence but all good things had to come to an end.

“We should go before someone finds us,” you sighed, dropping your cheek against the side of his head.

“Waxer and Lith are standing guard.”

“Of course they are,” you giggled, rolling your eyes fondly. Then you remembered a poor shock trooper most likely looking for you. “Did you at least tell Zero I didn’t get kidnapped?”

“No,” Cody grunted, squeezing your fingers in a way that definitely felt possessive. Oh, you had a bad feeling about what that meant.

“Is Fox going to be calling to rip you a new one?”

“...maybe.” As if on cue, the comlink on Cody’s vambrace started to chirp softly and you had to stifle a laugh.

“Come on,” you urged, voice wavering in an attempt to hide your amusement, “I want to go curl up in bed with a lot less plastoid, and you have the consequences of your actions to deal with.” Cody grumbled for a few seconds but inevitably untangled himself from you, bending down to grab his codpiece as you hiked your pants up again. You almost regretted wearing one of your favorite outfits now that they’d been stained with remnants of Cody. Almost. You glanced over at him once he finished clipping his codpiece in place, grinning at the scowl he was aiming at his comlink.

“What?” Cody grumbled. Fox barely let him finish answering the call before ripping into his brother.

“I’m coming for your fucking kneecaps,” Fox said, sounding eerily calm. “See how well you fuck without ‘em.” Cody shot you a dark look when you giggled but it didn’t hold its usual weight seeing that his brother’s disembodied voice was still chewing him out. You shot him a wink as you backed down the hallway, ignoring the warning in his beautiful brown eyes.

“Reap what you sow, dear,” you called, blowing him a kiss before slipping through the door. You would definitely pay for that later and the idea that there would be a later with Cody made all the heartache worth it.

Taglist: @toomanybandstocare @starrylothcat

#commander cody x reader #commander cody x fem reader #commander cody #star wars #the clone wars #commander cody smut #cc-2224

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tcwmatchmakingau · 9 months

Text

Everybody Hates Neyo Round 2: Matchmaking Boogaloo

A/N: This is a standalone sequel to “Everybody Hates Neyo,” (NSFW) by @dystopicjumpsuit (that’s me), and “The Blacklist,” by the brilliant @blueink-bluesoul, who also generously let me borrow the character of Daria Trace (THANK YOU!). You don’t need to read those fics to understand this one, but you should because they’re great and they provide more background. I converted the Reader-insert into an OC because to be frank, she’s a piece of work, and I didn’t want to project that onto my readers. That said, as always, feel free to insert yourself into the story if you prefer; I haven’t described the OC beyond being a woman with hair long enough to pull.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x the Admiral (formerly Fem!Reader)

Rating: M | 18+ | Minors DNI

Wordcount: 6.5K (I know)

Warnings and tags: toxic, obsessive behavior; SO MUCH SMUT; hatefucking; rough sex; oral sex; PIV; hair pulling; biting; sex under the influence of alcohol; Neyo and the Admiral being absolute menaces to society

Disclaimer: Let me just put on my Auntie DJ hat for a second. *ahem* This is a work of fiction intended for entertainment only. Please do not take this as a guide to romance or a healthy relationship. Neyo and the Bad-miral are flawed characters in a wildly problematic relationship with more red flags than the Fire Nation. Enjoy!

Matchmaker extraordinaire Daria Trace was not accustomed to failure. When she applied her considerable intellect to a problem, she did not stop until she formulated a solution. Which was why her now-99% matchmaking success rate galled her so intensely. In all her years of matchmaking, she had never encountered a client so stubbornly determined to thwart her efforts as Marshal Commander Neyo. After twelve failed matches—one of which involved a call from an infuriated woman demanding to know “why the kriff you thought I was a good match for that sociopath”—she had reluctantly conceded defeat.

The blacklisting of Commander Neyo from the Right to Love Matchmaking Service spread like wildfire through the GAR gossip channels. Most of the troopers thought it was hilarious; others insisted that he’d finally gotten what he deserved. In fact, the only people who seemed to have any sympathy for Neyo were Commanders Bacara (to be expected) and Fox (somewhat less expected). And when Fox reached out directly to Daria and asked her, as a personal favor, to give Neyo one more chance, she agreed. One more chance, and ONLY to give her an opportunity to get that track record back up to a perfect 100%.

She glared irritably at Neyo’s file and clicked her stylus three times, twirling it between her fingers. The man was impossible. It was no wonder he’d turned to RTL for help finding a partner; any woman in her right mind would run in the opposite direction the minute she looked into those blank, frigid eyes. She shuddered involuntarily. Shark’s eyes. Daria had made a few discreet inquiries after he’d first signed up for the service, just to make sure she wasn’t about to set up some unsuspecting match with a serial murderer. Without fail, every single answer said the same thing: he was an ice-cold sonofabitch, but he had a strict code of honor, and no, he wasn’t a serial murderer. Probably.

She sighed and tossed his file to the side, to be revisited some other day. He was her most difficult client, but by no means was he the only problematic match candidate, and she had a small stack of what Blizzard liked to call The Hopeless Casefiles waiting for her to review. Just thinking about Neyo’s case had given her the beginnings of a spectacular tension headache, and she flipped through the folders quickly, looking for one that was a little less challenging. As she skimmed the stacks of flimsi, her eyes came to rest on one name: Reeda Wai’yen.

Now there’s a thought.

Daria was sure that Reeda was a lovely woman, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was just very… intense. Like Neyo, she had chewed through several potential matches, and the most frequent word that appeared in her failed matches’ post-date surveys was “intimidating,” followed closely by “terrifying.” Daria had sniffed disdainfully that those particular matches simply couldn’t handle a strong woman; however, she had to admit that after several months of trying, she had not been able to find a perfect match for Reeda. She pulled Neyo’s file and laid it out next to Reeda’s. As she compared their backgrounds and preferences, she became more and more convinced. This could work. Given their personalities, it might well be the best possible outcome for society at large if they were both removed from the dating pool. And if it happened to close out her two most annoying files, well. That would just be the cherry on top of her perfect-track-record sundae.

A timid knock sounded on Reeda’s office door.

“Come,” she called shortly.

Her assistant, Lissi, poked her head into the room. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’ve received a comm from RTL Matchmaking.”

Reeda cursed. She was up to her ass in flimsiwork, and she was meeting with the Senate Task Force on Galactic Security in ten minutes. She did not have time for this now.

“Take care of it,” she ordered.

“Sir?” Lissi asked, her wide, startled eyes giving her a distinct resemblance to a terrified ash-rabbit.

“Just take care of it,” Reeda repeated, tamping down her irritation at being questioned. “You know my schedule better than I do. Set it up. Somewhere nice—somewhere in the Federal district. I don’t have time to deal with traffic.”

Lissi blinked, nonplussed. “Don’t you want to see who you matched with?”

“No time,” Reeda said, rising to gather her materials for the meeting. “Just put it on my calendar, and I’ll be there.”

Three nights later, Reeda sat in the restaurant at the top of the tower where her penthouse was located, waiting for her mystery date to arrive. She had to commend Lissi’s efficiency in choosing the venue; the only traffic she’d had to endure was at the lift. And it was a lovely restaurant, she had to admit, with stunning views of the Coruscant cityscape. She had only eaten here once since she’d bought the flat, usually opting to have food delivered to her office at the Republic Center for Military Operations as she worked late into the night.

She had resisted the urge to bring her datapad with her to the restaurant, knowing that if she did, she would inevitably get sucked into work, but now she wished she’d taken a moment to review the file from RTL. It wasn’t that she thought all clone troopers were interchangeable; far from it. She had worked closely with them during the war, had fought by their sides, and she had found them to be brave, competent, and loyal. They were also notoriously attractive, but she was a professional, and she was their superior officer, and she had never allowed that line to become blurred—except on one memorable and highly regrettable occasion.

She had had no time for a personal life during the war, but now that it was over—well, to be honest, she still had no time for a personal life. Which was exactly why she had reached out to RTL; it was the perfect solution. She didn’t enjoy solitude. She wanted companionship, and maybe even something more. But she needed a partner who would understand the demands of her career, and nobody understood the burden of duty better than the clones. Now that she had separated from the GAR and returned to her post in her home planet’s military defense force, the rules regarding fraternization no longer applied to her.

She hadn’t bothered to review the file because she’d learned from the previous several failed dates that a promising file was no indicator of compatibility. Still, as she waited for her date, who was now seven minutes late, she wished she’d at least checked to see if he had any identifying marks or tattoos that would make him easier to spot. To be fair, though, the few clones present in the restaurant were already paired up with other diners.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t intended to skip lunch, but she’d had back-to-back meetings with the joint chiefs of the Core Worlds Defense Alliance and the senate appropriations committee, and one thing led to another. The service droid had delivered a basket of fresh, hot bread rolls, which she had heroically resisted for the first six minutes past the scheduled start of the date, but now her resolve began to crumble. If her mystery date didn’t have the basic courtesy to be on time, by the Force, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if she ate all the bread before he arrived.

She buttered a roll and took a small bite. She couldn’t suppress the groan of relief at the buttery, yeasty goodness, and she quickly polished it off, then picked up another. She had just begun to butter her third role when the unmistakable voice of a clone spoke next to her.

“Admiral.”

She turned automatically, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, when she caught sight of a familiar set of numbers tattooed on a handsome, arrogant face.

“Oh, no,” she said with disgust. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Marshal Commander Neyo replied contemptuously. “I have as much right to be here as you do.”

“I’m on a date,” she snapped.

He looked pointedly at the empty chair across from her. “Looks like your date has a strong sense of self-preservation. Probably took one look at you and ran for their life.”

“He’s just a little late,” she said, tilting her jaw at a haughty angle to hide the flash of hurt at his words.

“That must kill you,” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “I remember the time you made a Jedi padawan cry for being three minutes behind schedule.”

“There were barely tears. Do. Not. Sit,” she gritted out as he made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. He picked up one of the remaining bread rolls and took a large bite, and she sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“It just so happens, I am also on a date,” he said, mumbling around the bite of bread.

“Oh?” she wrinkled her nose at his table manners. “And who’s the unlucky lady?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some civvie named Reeda.”

Her hand tightened dangerously around her butter knife. Neyo’s eyes dropped to the blade, and he smirked.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“You could say that,” she said, grinding her jaw. “I’m Reeda.”

He choked on his bite of bread and wheezed a bit, pounding his chest to clear his airway. Alas, he survived.

“What?” he sputtered.

“You didn’t even bother to find out my first name after you were inside me?” she demanded. Her sharp tone attracted attention from the surrounding diners, and she heard a few quiet titters from the tables around her, but she was too irate to care.

“You didn’t even bother to find out who’d be eating dinner with you?” he retorted.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t just as surprised as I am,” she snapped. “Didn’t you read the file?”

“I didn’t get a file, just a call.” He grunted. “Apparently, ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ and I was lucky to get a match at all.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mocked.

“Careful, Admiral. Don’t forget they matched you with me.”

“I would be insulted if it weren’t so obviously a mistake. I can’t say I’m impressed with their performance thus far.”

“For once, I agree with you,” he said. “You’d have to be a special kind of incompetent to think we were a good match.”

The service droid approached the table and asked, “May I take your order?”

“He’s not staying,” Reeda cut in.

“I’ll have the bantha filet,” Neyo replied, ignoring her. “Bloody.”

He turned to her and arched his brows. The droid waited expectantly.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” she lied.

Neyo’s mouth twisted, and he huffed a breath through his nose. “The admiral will have the roast porg. And a bottle of Alderaanian red.”

The droid nodded and ambled away. Reeda glared at Neyo.

“I don’t eat meat, you presumptuous ass,” she said.

“Liar,” he said. “Unfortunately, the souls of the innocent weren’t on the menu, so I had to settle for your second-favorite meal.”

“At least you’re safe, since you obviously have no soul and you’re definitely not innocent,” she said in a pleasant tone.

Damn him for being right about the porg, though. How did he know?

The wine arrived, and he poured a generous glass for each of them. She didn’t toast; just downed half of it in a single swallow. Neyo sipped his and leaned back in his chair to observe her. His sleek, severe hair and the large tattoo on his cheek made him look menacing as hell, but it was his eyes that made brave men take a step back. She didn’t know how it was possible for his eyes to be that unnerving. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? What a waste of perfectly good Fett genes to have a personality like that.

“Did you stay just to torment me?” she asked when the silence stretched beyond the limits of her endurance.

“And because I heard the filet was good,” he said affably. “What are you even doing on Coruscant? I thought you’d scuttled back to whatever hellhole spawned you.”

“Kuat,” she bit out from between clenched teeth. “I was assigned to work as our military liaison on Coruscant.”

“Couldn’t stand having you back on the planet?” he derided. “I don’t blame them.”

“I need to use the fresher,” she said, flinging her napkin down on the table with excessive force. “Feel free to die while I’m gone.”

She strode purposefully through the restaurant, her face set in a steely mask. She knew she was drawing attention from other patrons, but if she sat at that table and listened to Neyo needle her for one more second, she was either going to stab him or burst into tears. She pushed through the refresher doors and went to the sink, washing her hands just to give herself something to do. The face that stared back at her from the mirror was Admiral Wai’yen, not Reeda. Stern. Unyielding. Unaffected.

She swallowed, and her face crumpled. Tears of rage stung her eyes, and she ruthlessly wiped them away with her clenched fist. A soft noise at the door startled her, and she whirled to face the intruder. Horror flooded her. It was Neyo, and he’d caught her crying in the ladies’ room.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing in here?” she demanded icily. “Get out.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then he locked the door. Stalking across the room, he cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her face to get a closer look. She tried to pull away, to put her Admiral Wai’yen mask back in place, but then his thumb stroked softly next to her eye, wiping away the tear that had breached containment. She gasped involuntarily, and his lips collided with hers.

Reeda was so shocked that for a moment she went perfectly still, but then Neyo flicked his tongue across her lower lip, and her body remembered how to move. She thrust him away and stood back, glaring at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, and those cold eyes blazed with a dark and covetous fire. She raised a hand to her lips and felt the slickness left by his tongue. Something snapped inside her. She took two hasty steps forward, and she was in his arms again, his hands rough and dominating on her body as they consumed each other with a kiss that teetered on the edge of violence.

Lips, tongues, teeth crashed together. He clasped her tightly against his hard, unyielding body, and unbidden, the memory of him deep inside her came flooding back. He gripped her ass and ground his rapidly stiffening cock against her. Her reaction was electric. She rolled her hips, nearly climbing him in desperation. He dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed her once, roughly, and then to her breast, yanking aside her dress as he closed his teeth on her soft skin. He picked her up by the waist and set her on the edge of the sink, dropping to his knees between her thighs, rucking up her dress around her hips, and then his mouth was on her.

He didn’t even bother removing her underwear, as though he couldn’t wait another millisecond to taste her. He licked and sucked on her through the fabric, his mouth working frantically. Her body jolted and trembled at the effort of staying upright, and then his tongue snaked past the lace and dipped into her, smooth and hot and wet. He let out a vicious growl and grabbed her hips, settling her thighs over his shoulders, and then he pulled her off the sink and thrust her against his face as his tongue speared over and over into her cunt. She yelped and scrambled to brace herself with her hands, her arms shaking with exertion.

She couldn’t come like this, but kriff, it was hot to feel Neyo throw her around with such ease, like she was his own personal toy. How many nights had she fucked herself to sleep to the memory of their first encounter? The way he’d lifted her bodily off the ground and thrust into her, supporting them both with those powerful thighs—it played on a loop in her head for months, long after the bite marks and bruises had faded.

His tongue slid out of her cunt and swirled around her clit, and her legs spasmed around his head. She couldn’t come like this. Could she? All the muscles in her body began to tense, and her pelvis began to rock rhythmically against his face. Shit, I’m going to come. No sooner had the thought formed than Neyo dropped her back onto the sink and pulled away from her.

“No!” she wailed. “You bastard, I was right there!”

He shot to his feet. “Shut. Up,” he bit out, and kissed her punishingly hard. “Do you want the whole Federal District to know what we’re doing?”

He pulled her head back to expose her throat, and he scraped his teeth across her delicate skin. She felt his other hand fumbling in between them. Within seconds, his cock was free and thrusting against the scrap of lace that still covered her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, determined to find the stimulation that she needed to reach completion.

“Get inside me,” she hissed.

“You aren’t calling the shots any more, Admiral,” he growled. “You don’t get to give commands.”

“I hate you,” she breathed.

“And yet here you are, begging for my cock,” he said coldly.

“I do not beg,” she said. “Ever.”

He released her hair and pried her legs away from himself, then took a step back. “You get nothing until you admit that you want me. I’ve waited a long time for this. I can keep waiting.”

“What the kark is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, sliding off the sink to stand in front of him.

“It means you give me what I want, or I walk out that door right now and you can figure your own shit out.”

Was this his twisted kriffing way of asking for consent? Because she was pretty sure she’d covered that when she all but ordered him to fuck her.

“Fine,” she said in a low voice. “I…” She nearly choked on the words, and Neyo’s intent gaze pinned her in place. “I want you.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a bruising kiss, then spun her around and bent her over the sink. He pulled up her dress, yanked down her panties, and thrust into her. She muffled a whimper at the intrusion and squeezed her eyes shut as she adjusted to the stretch. He wrapped his hands around her hair and jerked her head up.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch,” he ordered.

She complied, shocked when she saw her own ravaged face in the mirror as Neyo pounded into her from behind. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was a wreck, her eyes were dilated with lust, and a sheen of sweat glistened across her skin. She flicked her gaze to stare at Neyo. His face was twisted into a scowl, and if she had any sense at all, she would have been frightened, but she was in too deep to care. His hard eyes met hers in the mirror, and his jaw tightened.

He released her hair and slid his arm around her body, between her breasts, to wrap around her throat, and he lifted her upright so he could whisper in her ear.

“Do you know what you did to me?” His voice was hoarse and anguished. “Every time I kissed someone, all I could taste was you. Every time I hooked up, all I could remember was this perfect fucking pussy.”

He pounded into her with bruising intensity, furiously working her clit with his free hand. Her head began to throb. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be saying what she thought she was hearing. She was confused from the lack of blood flowing to her brain.

“I got matched twelve different times, and not one of them was right, because not one of them was you,” he snarled. “You cursed me. You haunt me.”

The world began to darken around the edges as her eyes drifted closed, and he released her throat and forced her head to the side so she faced him.

“Look at me when you fucking come,” he ordered.

She gasped, and he clamped his hand down over her mouth to muffle her scream as he wrenched an orgasm from her body. He didn’t let up, chasing after her at a frenzied pace that rocked her entire body as she sobbed into his hand.

“Inside?” he asked roughly.

She nodded and whimpered as tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks. He came with two brutal thrusts, and she felt the hot rush of his release deep inside. He shuddered against her hair as his cock softened and slipped out of her. At last, he loosened his grip and turned her to face him as he leaned against the wall for support. He wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she rested her head against him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she sighed as she licked his neck, unable to resist the temptation of tasting his skin.

“I’m sure there’s an official list in my GAR file,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Reeda cleaned up quickly while Neyo went back to their table so they wouldn’t be spotted leaving the refresher together. Her hairstyle was destroyed, so she hastily repinned it as well as she could, and then wiped off the mascara that smudged heavily beneath her eyes. A quick reapplication of lipstick, and she almost looked presentable—with the minor exception of her missing panties, which Neyo had silently retrieved from the refresher floor and tucked into his pocket while maintaining strong eye contact.

When she returned to the dining room, Neyo waylaid her with a ferocious expression. Force, what is he scugged about now?

“We’re leaving,” he said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her toward the exit. A few quiet murmurs whispered around the room as he dragged her behind him.

“What?” she asked, tugging her wrist to no avail. “Why?”

“The karking droid gave away our table,” he said.

“My deepest apologies, Admiral,” the droid said. “We can locate another table if you would care to wait.”

Reeda assessed the room quickly. Every table was occupied, and none of the diners were anywhere close to being ready to leave. Moreover, at least half of the customers were eyeing her and Neyo with expressions ranging from amusement to overt curiosity.

“No,” she said. “Have the food delivered to my flat.”

“Right away, sir,” the droid replied, waddling off to relay the order to the kitchen.

Neyo looked at her inquisitively. “Your flat?”

“I live in this building,” she said. “Come with me.”

She was keenly aware of the many sets of eyes that tracked their hasty exit, but before long, she led Neyo into the private, secure lift that opened directly into her penthouse. He stood silently next to her on the trip up, watching her with an inscrutable gaze. She tried not to give herself an opportunity to second-guess her decision to let him into her home. Strange, she thought, how this seemed more intimate than allowing him inside her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed another person into her home.

The lift doors opened, and he followed her into the flat, pausing long enough to remove their shoes, then looking around curiously.

“Lived here long?”

“A few months,” she said. “I bought it when I found out I’d be stationed on Coruscant long-term.”

“It’s nice,” he said. “Very… clean.”

She laughed. “You mean sterile. I haven’t had time to do much decorating. I’m hardly here except to sleep, anyway.”

He nodded. “I thought I’d have more time for hobbies after the war ended, but now it’s just nonstop—”

“Red tape and committees,” she finished with a sympathetic grimace. He shot her a wry grin. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before, and it did uncomfortable things to her brain. She tried not to think about it, instead asking, “What kind of hobbies? Aside from plotting my slow death, obviously.”

“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “Torturing small, adorable creatures; sharpening my vibroblade collection; collecting stamps; that sort of thing.”

She blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He regarded her steadily for a moment, eyes unreadable as ever. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”

She was taken aback. “I—”

Her reply was cut off by the chime of the door. The food had arrived, thank the Force, which gave her a moment to stop herself from blurting out her immediate thought: You’ve never given me any reason to think anything else.

Neyo was a competent soldier—brilliant, in fact. There was no question that he had one of the finest tactical and strategic minds in the GAR. But as a person? From the moment they’d met, he’d been antagonistic, sardonic, cold. He’d challenged her authority and provoked her in meetings. He’d only treated her with the barest semblance of civility in public, and in private—Well. They both knew how things went when they were alone.

The service droid rolled a cart into the dining room and began setting up the meal.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offered Neyo. “I don’t have any Alderaanian red, but I do have Cheedoan whiskey.”

“The good stuff,” he replied. “I’ll have a glass. Thanks.”

The droid finished setting up and shuffled out the front door as Reeda poured two generous glasses of whiskey at the wet bar.

“Ice?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, and when she turned around, she nearly dropped the glasses in surprise to find him standing close behind her. He locked his eyes on hers and never looked away as he took one of the glasses and drained it in a single swallow, then set it down with a decisive click on the counter. Her heart began to pound as he loomed over her. He traced his fingers from her elbow up to her wrist, and then he wrapped his hand around hers and raised her glass to her lips.

The whiskey burned a fiery path across her tongue and down her throat. A few droplets escaped and splashed coldly on her chest. Neyo didn’t let up until she emptied the glass, and when she was done, he leaned down and sucked the liquor off her skin. His hands dropped to her hips and slid up her back as he located the zipper of her dress and dragged it down excruciatingly slowly, and all the while, his mouth moved across her skin. He slipped the straps down over her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor, and then he kissed a path along the lacy edge of her bra.

“Thanks for the matched set,” he said, unhooking it and pulling it off.

“Those were expensive, asshole,” she said unsteadily.

He didn’t reply, but she knew she was never going to see that bra again. He kissed his way down her breast and captured her nipple in his mouth, abrading it lightly with his teeth. She jolted, and the empty glass slipped from her hand and smashed against the hard tiles of the floor.

Neyo barely responded to the sound of shattering crystal. Reeda froze, keenly aware that the smallest movement could result in a bloody footful of glass. She stood utterly, helplessly still as he continued to explore her body with his teeth and lips and hands and tongue. He was thorough in his attentions, and something about being entirely at his mercy was wildly arousing. Her head spun as the whiskey began to work its insidious way through her bloodstream.

“I missed this perfume. What is it?” he murmured against the soft skin of her abdomen.

“I don’t wear any,” she said.

He nuzzled against her as though he could transfer her scent to his own skin. Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her out of the room, completely disregarding the risk to himself. But instead of dropping her as soon as they were clear of the broken glass as she expected, he asked, “Bedroom?”

“Left,” she said, and he strode across the flat and kicked open the door, to her intense irritation. “You gonna pay for the broken doorknob?”

He didn’t reply, just tossed her onto the bed and pounced on her as soon as she landed. He slid in between her thighs and gripped her hard as his mouth descended on hers, kissing her as though he were trying to devour her soul. He was still fully clothed, and she scrambled to pull off his shirt. He was completely unhelpful, too engrossed in her taste. She raked her nails across his skin as she yanked his shirt over his head, and he seized her lip in his teeth in revenge.

At last, the barrier of his shirt was gone, and she writhed against him, desperate to feel as much of his warm, smooth skin against her as possible. They clashed together, sinking nails and teeth into each other. At some point, Neyo got his trousers down enough to free his cock, and he shoved into her. His belt chafed harshly on her delicate skin as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster. The sounds they made were unholy, primal: growls and grunts and screams of pain and ecstasy as they tore into each other with all the aggression that they had built over the years.

She pulled his hair; he clawed her back. She slapped his face; he bit her shoulder. She snarled that she loathed him; he interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered how beautiful she was when she came apart beneath him. She thrust him away and kicked him across the bed; he pinned her down and fucked her until she sobbed and begged for more. At some point, she tasted blood, and she didn’t know or care whose it was. And when at last she lost count of how many times he’d brought her to orgasm, he curled his body around hers and traced his thumb softly over her features as she drifted to sleep.

“If I die while I’m inside you, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven,” he whispered.

“Force, you say some kriffed up shit,” she grumbled.

Reeda awakened slowly, aware of something blissfully warm and soothing moving across her skin. She cracked her eyes open. Neyo was lying on top of her, dragging his tongue lazily over her body. He roamed along her curves, and it wasn’t until he paused at her bruised wrist that she realized what he was doing.

“Are you licking my wounds?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes met hers with an intensity that bordered on madness. Gods, everything about this was so fucked up, and she didn’t dare examine too closely why she found it so incredibly arousing. He moved slowly, meticulously, his tongue gliding softly over every centimeter of her body, until she felt like a bomb, ready to detonate at the slightest spark. She came before he ever reached her cunt, and again as he rocked gently inside her, his lips soft against her mouth, silent tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to course down her temples.

After, he guided her into the shower, and when her legs gave out, he held her upright as the hot water washed over them. Once he’d massaged her entire body with his strong, soapy hands, he dried her off and laid her back on the bed while he spread bacta across the damage he’d inflicted. It was disorienting to be cared for so thoroughly by the man who’d spent the better part of four years making her life hell. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t know what to say, so in the end, she simply watched him in silence.

When he finished with the bacta, he retrieved their dinner from the dining room. The food had long since gone cold, but after hours of intense physical activity, they were famished, and they ate it anyway, sharing bites and sipping whiskey straight from the decanter. Neyo sat with his back against the headboard, his long, strong legs bracketing Reeda as she leaned back against his broad chest.

“How did you know porg was my favorite?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They’re tiny, cute, and innocent. I just assumed you would enjoy extinguishing the life from them and consuming their remains.”

She laughed and snuggled closer to him. “Is that why you order your meat rare? Because it’s the next best thing to drinking straight from the source?”

“Finally, someone who understands,” he smirked. “Truthfully, I overheard you tell Admiral Coburn that porg was your favorite during a banquet at the strategy conference at Valor.”

She turned to stare up at him. “Neyo, that was two years ago. That was before we ever…”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“Stalker,” she murmured.

He dropped his mouth to her neck, and she tilted her head back against his shoulder as his lips glided across her skin.

“What does it say about you that you like it?” he whispered when he reached her ear.

He pulled her close, positioning himself between her and the bedroom door. From the proprietary way he held her, she knew it was a deliberate choice; any threat that came through that door would have to go through him before it got to her, and she had a feeling that there weren’t many beings in the galaxy that were brave or foolish enough to try.

Reeda jerked awake to a furious pounding at the front door. Neyo was already halfway out of the bedroom, stark naked and armed with a steak knife from their midnight dinner.

“Wait here,” he ordered, his voice hard and flat.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled on a bathrobe and grabbed a blaster from her nightstand. Neyo glared at her when she joined him, but didn’t bother yelling at her.

“Coruscant guard! Open up,” a modulated voice shouted harshly from outside the door.

Neyo glanced questioningly at her, and she shrugged, hiding the blaster behind her robe. He stepped out of view of the door, and she opened it to find none other than Marshal Commander Fox, flanked by two Corrie ARC troopers.

“Commander,” she greeted him, not bothering to conceal the surprise in her voice.

“Good to see you’re in one piece, Admiral,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, baffled.

“We received multiple calls about a disturbance at your address. Are you alone?”

Reeda felt a hot rush of blood wash over her face and neck. “I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Commander.”

“Sorry, sir, but it’s my duty to—” He stopped abruptly, and his visor shifted to a point behind her.

“Isn’t this a little below your pay grade, Fox?” Neyo drawled close behind Reeda.

Fox’s visor turned back to Reeda, then to Neyo, and then back to Reeda again. The two ARC troopers appeared to be fascinated by the walls on either side of the front door.

At last, Fox spoke. “I don’t send shinies to wake up admirals.”

Neyo’s hand slid possessively around the front of Reeda’s abdomen, and he pulled her against his nude body. Something large and solid prodded against her backside. Dank farrik, is he turned on right now? Sick bastard.

“Thank you for your concern,” she told Fox, “but everything is under control.”

“So I see,” Fox replied. “Still, you’ll need to keep the noise level down, or I’ll have no choice but to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

Neyo reached forward silently and shut the door in Fox’s face, then he spun Reeda around, picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her back to the bedroom. The last thing Fox heard was the unmistakable sound of Neyo’s hand slapping her ass as Reeda shrieked with indignant laughter.

Republic Military HQ buzzed quietly with speculation the next morning when not one, but two of the most senior command staff called in sick for the first time in either of their careers. Rumors swirled: some were convinced a secret bioweapon had been released by Separatist holdouts; others maintained that the stress of dealing with politicians was beginning to take a toll; still others claimed that it was a coverup and that the marshal commander and the admiral had been taken hostage by pirates. It was whispered that Commander Fox had a particularly haunted expression that morning, and two of the Coruscant Guard ARC Troopers had contacted the legal department to update their wills. In the midst of all this, the beleaguered Lissi received a brusque order to inform RTL Matchmaking that the admiral no longer required their services.

Daria drained her third iced caf of the morning as she flicked through her holomessages. Buried amidst the intake forms and meeting invitations was an abrupt-bordering-on-rude note from Marshal Commander Neyo ordering her to close his file.

“Why do you look like the tooka that got the blue milk?” her fellow matchmaker Tarsi Renda asked as she passed Daria in the corridor.

“Oh, no reason,” Daria smiled. “The galaxy is back to normal, that’s all—and my track record is once again perfect.”

---

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xalygatorx · 4 months

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Unbound | Chapter 10, "What You Want"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The party has reached the Grove after a stressful few days on the road from the goblin camp. The tiefling refugees and Zevlor join their camp for the night to celebrate their victory and rest up before resuming their journey to Baldur’s Gate. While making her rounds, Áine receives a proposition from Astarion.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: 18+/NSFW (p-in-v sex); Astarion romance scene #1 spoilers; suggestive content & dialogue; angst; trauma (intrusive thoughts, self-loathing); lightly proofread; encouraging comments welcome to assuage my anxiety over whether I could do Astarion’s inner monologue justice here hahaha jk unless

Word Count: 8.3k

Listening to: White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes, I Will Love You (Even If It Kills Me) - Too Far Moon (again)

“When I come near, your odor alone is enough to make my neck sweat and my hairs stand on end.”

Easily able to hear the conversation taking place in front of Lae’zel’s tent, Astarion snuck a glance at Áine’s expression, seeing if he could gauge her interest based on look alone. He nearly shot the piss this lot passed for wine through his nose at the sight of her impossibly rounded chocolate eyes and the polite smile plastered across her lips. His mind cemented that sight into a memory that he could only hope would enter his reverie’s nightly rotation and serve to chase at least one recollection of the horrors he’d endured back to its rightful shadows.

Then again, even if caught off-guard, perhaps she’d say “yes” to Lae’zel. He focused back on their conversation and turned his gaze toward the tieflings drunkenly mingling nearby to obscure his intrusion.

“I want to taste you,” Lae’zel was saying, her confidence palpable. It was an honest pride, unlike the sort Astarion wore at times, he realized. She truly believed these things of herself and he envied her for it. “Perhaps tonight. Perhaps later. But I want it all the same.”

Astarion listened with figuratively bated breath for Áine’s answer. He would make his final advances tonight regardless of what she told Lae’zel or anyone else. 200 years’ worth of perfecting his methods under threat of torturous punishment from Cazador would not be for nothing when he finally had a personal use for his skills. If she said “yes” to anyone else, then the plan would simply adjust rather than fail, just like when he’d thought she was seeing Shadowheart.

Not particularly to his surprise but to his benefit, Áine was in the process of letting the githyanki down gently. “I’m sorry, Lae’zel, I don’t feel the same way. But thank you. I think.” Astarion smirked, obscuring his expression behind another sip of whatever acrid brew lay in his wine bottle.

For the time being, he let his attention wander across the party and their guests, letting the rest of their conversation wrap up without his ear. Áine seemed to be making the rounds around the camp and all its residents, regular and temporary, so she would eventually end up at his tent as well. And if she didn’t, he supposed he’d go seek her out, but Astarion had complete confidence that she’d come. Several times, if all went accordingly.

Meanwhile, Lae’zel was taking Áine’s polite rejection with as much confidence as she’d delivered its related proposition. “Your loss, I fear,” she said, still smiling. “One day soon you will wonder how my lips might have tasted. How my fingers on your skin might’ve felt… And you will wish you could return to this lost moment.”

Áine wasn’t often at a loss for words, but she was now. And yet still she admired Lae’zel’s self-assured demeanor where most would have crumbled in her place at being rejected for a post-party romp. In fact, she’d seen a couple of those responses firsthand already just that night. She was beginning to think Shadowheart may have been onto something when she’d told her all those nights ago that the majority of their camp wanted a shot at her. The idea made her more anxious than flattered.

With Lae’zel and her steady unfazed response, however, Áine allowed herself to just feel flattered. “If that does come to pass, I know I’ll have no one but myself to blame,” she said, smiling. “I hope I’m as confident in myself as you are someday.”

Lae’zel smiled back at her, the tilt of her thin lips no longer holding a sensual edge but one of camaraderie. “You deserve to be. I can firmly state that your only major fault that I have witnessed thus far has been your taste in mating partners,” she said. Áine laughed, content to sit in self-deprecation as Lae’zel added, “Oh, but do enjoy yourself this night. I intend to, myself. Wyll or Astarion in particular both look rather tempting...”

Áine’s brows rose, her eyes sliding toward where Astarion stood at his tent. He watched the party with an expression flitting between amusement and a glower, occasionally raising a green glass wine bottle to his lips and seeming to regret it every time. Despite the twisty faces he pulled, he was immaculate as always. Just looking at him made her chest tighten a little, as had begun to happen any time he caught her eye in the past few days. Truly, she’d felt that twinge ever since he’d kissed her that night which already felt like so long ago.

And amidst that twinge at Lae’zel’s mention of propositioning Astarion was…jealousy? She had no right to be jealous, but she—unlike a certain vampire—could admit that she was. Perhaps he’d be taken with a proposition from Lae’zel, after all. She didn’t hold any sort of right to him and he could do whatever he liked. A simple fling was also often preferable in these times and a much easier task to manage for most, and Áine wasn’t most. As much as it ate at her, she supposed it might be best for all parties if his fancies turned elsewhere and she could start squashing the feelings growing inside her.

“Well, I just passed Wyll on the beach for whatever it’s worth,” Áine told Lae’zel. “And you can, of course, see your other interest from here… Whatever you do tonight, Lae’zel, I hope you have a nice time.”

“And you as well,” Lae’zel said, inclining her head. Áine couldn’t help but feel heartened when she saw the githyanki’s gaze flicker first toward the beach rather than the tent adjacent to hers.

Áine made her way around the tents further back from the fire, careful to give Gale’s tent a wide berth following their own exchange earlier in the night. His advance she’d seen coming more easily than Lae’zel’s, which had come out of left field, but it hadn’t made her any more ready for it. No matter how sorry she felt and how she communicated that to him, he still tried and seemed increasingly bitter toward her responses each time.

She’d feared something similar from Wyll, but with his new devilish appearance courtesy of Mizora’s punishment for his refusal to kill Karlach—which had come to pass during their trek back to the Grove—he was more doused in angst than anything down by the shoreline. Áine sighed to herself as she approached Halsin, her dour expression fading only to offer a smile and wave to Mol as she passed by. She hoped that Wyll found it in himself to join the party before it wound to a close. Of all the people who might judge him for his new appearance, she really didn’t think the refugees he’d helped so much would be among them.

“Halsin!” Áine greeted the Archdruid over the jubilant, but occasionally raucous party noise around them. She took in his empty hands and asked, “Can I grab you a drink?”

“Oh, no thank you,” he chuckled. “In truth, I rarely imbibe. The stuff goes right to my head and, before you know it, I’d be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I lay eyes on.”

Áine laughed. “That hardly sounds like a detriment to a good party, but no pressure, of course,” she said.

With all the other noise in the vicinity, Astarion now found Áine’s conversation to be out of earshot, only able to pick up the occasional dulcet note of her voice amongst the clamor. It was most certainly not because he’d grown accustomed to seeking out her voice. At the thought, he remembered seeing her by the fireside just a few nights back with tears streaming down her face, her fingers still positioned diligently against her lute strings.

Astarion pulled a face and took another swallow of wine, which caused him to pull an even stronger face. Bleeding Hells, he wanted a proper vintage, but more than that he wanted to know what that tree trunk of an elf had just done to make her grin like that!

“But I digress,” Halsin was saying, “there are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. Go on now, don’t waste a night like this talking to me. We will discuss your problem tomorrow.”

Áine frowned at both halves of his statement. “Firstly, it wouldn’t be a waste. But second, I thought you said we could run through some things once we reached the Grove. But we’re putting off the conversation again?”

Halsin frowned. “I understand your eagerness. However, it is something better discussed on a fresh morning, I think. Your parasite shows no further signs of turning before the morrow and a well-deserved night of recreation and rest awaits you.” He offered her an encouraging smile and waved her on. “Enjoy yourself. Seek out some wine before it runs dry—there are a lot of thirsty people around here.”

Yeah, no kidding, Áine thought, artfully dodging both Lae’zel’s and Gale’s eyes as she was dismissed from Halsin’s company. She trotted along toward Shadowheart’s tent, dodging a very tipsy Bex and some other well-drunk tieflings along the way. Áine couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips at seeing everyone so happy. Even if they ran into trouble on the morrow, like Halsin had said, at least they had tonight.

“Everyone seems to be in high spirits, don’t they?” Shadowheart suggested as she drew closer, brandishing a silver goblet. “Can I tempt you?”

Áine paused heavily, suddenly uncertain of what she meant and opting for caution. “...With what?”

Shadowheart’s lips curled into an amused smile. “Wine and glorious friendship.”

“Yes, please,” Áine said, drawing a chuckle from Shadowheart. “Sorry, it’s been a minefield out there tonight. I’ve begun to err on the side of overcareful.”

“I told you that the others were firmly on the prowl,” the cleric said, pouring a goblet for Áine. “Even more true now than it was when I first said it. At least you’ve almost gone full circle at this point, only one or two more stops to make if I’ve paid appropriate attention.” Behind a sip of wine, she mumbled, “Only one of high importance though by my estimation…”

“What was that?” Áine challenged her with a laugh at how utterly smug Shadowheart looked after she lowered her goblet again. The bard took a sip of the wine she’d been gifted, her brows rising as the rich fruity notes graced her tongue. “My goodness, where did you find this?”

Shadowheart gave Áine an ambiguous look that reeked of mischief. “I may have nicked one of the vintages that Wyll stashed away in his tent,” she said. “But you’ll never get me to admit such a second time.”

Áine laughed. “Shadowheart, shame on you!”

“What?! You probably pilfered this bottle, yourself, before the little rat scurried off with it,” she pointed out, refilling her goblet with abandon. “He can’t steal every good wine he sees for himself, he has to share with the class. I’ve simply liberated a single bottle as a treat and you’re welcome for it.”

Áine couldn’t help the amused smirk that found her lips, the heady wine layering on top of the weaker blends she’d already taken that night—many of those pressed into her hands by happy attendees wanting to share their spoils—and making her head pleasantly swim. “Thank you for sharing,” Áine said with a sassy curtsey, a gesture returned by Shadowheart as the two giggled. “What did you mean by ‘only one of importance’?”

“You know what I meant,” Shadowheart said, taking a deep sip of her wine. “Unless I’ve missed you speaking to him, but I daresay I haven’t.”

“Astarion?” Áine asked and, at Shadowheart’s dubious look, she said, “I haven’t just yet. Not for any reason, I just—”

“Prefer to save the best for last?” Shadowheart suggested. Áine started to speak but ended up pursing her lips, silenced by embarrassment. The cleric grinned triumphantly. “Well, go on, what’s the concern? Are you worried he’ll join the list of people to ask you to bed tonight?”

“No!” Áine said but quickly recanted. “I mean, a little.”

Shadowheart measured Áine’s expression before she slowly asked, “...or are you worried he won’t join that list?”

“I don’t know,” Áine admitted. “For all the reasons we discussed, this sort of thing is a big deal for me in ways that usually just inconvenience others. And while I felt guilty turning down Lae’zel, Karlach, and Gale, I—”

“Karlach, too?” Shadowheart asked, surprised. “I must’ve missed that conversation.”

“She was the first I said ‘hello’ to tonight,” Áine said, “and she was very kind about it. Like you were.”

“That should be the standard, you know,” Shadowheart pointed out. “Anything less than respect shouldn’t be tolerated.”

“Do you know how many people I would have had to ‘not tolerate’ if I followed that rule?” Áine sighed. “And that isn’t a ‘oh look at me, people want to have sex with me’ sort of brag, it’s just the uncomfortable truth.”

Shadowheart frowned. “I suppose. At least you don’t people-please. I would worry about you more if you did.” Áine’s heart warmed at the cleric’s protective tone. “Right, so which are you hoping for then? That he’ll ask or he won’t? Because I’m wagering he will, for whatever that’s worth.”

Áine blushed. “I truly don’t know. I suppose I’ll know if he suggests something,” she said. “That’s all to say if he even does. Lae’zel had an eye on him earlier, so who knows? He may have plans by the time I end up talking to him.”

“You’re counting on that, aren’t you?” Shadowheart asked suddenly. “Because it’s easier than facing the decision yourself.”

“You’re alarmingly observant when you’re drinking,” Áine remarked. She sighed. “It’s all been tension so far and it’s been…nice. I’ve never been interested in someone like this before and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. By what I’m like as a person, as a partner, or by my actions in the moment. By doubting myself and the truth of my feelings.”

Shadowheart studied Áine, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh. “Far be it from me to encourage you toward that rakish vampire—and, believe me, I don’t believe his intentions to be pure regardless of who he associates with—but if one of you is to ‘ruin’ whatever you have going on, it will not be you. And if you do then so be it,” she said, shrugging. She swirled her wine around her goblet, looking at its dark currents thoughtfully. “In my experience, the regret we feel at not seeking something out is stronger than that which we feel at seeking something out and finding it wasn’t what we thought.”

Shadowheart’s gaze lifted back to Áine’s. “All that to say, at least you’ll know if you try. But do be careful. I am a cleric after all and can fashion a stake in mere minutes if need be.”

Áine gave her a tender smile and collected Shadowheart into a hug. “Thank you.”

Shadowheart hugged the bard close, resting her chin against her shoulder and gently patting her back. Over Áine’s shoulder, she caught Astarion’s eye who was attempting a surreptitious glance their way. He froze when they locked eyes, at least until Shadowheart gave him a teasing wag of her brows while she still held the object of his interest in her arms.

Astarion scoffed and looked away with a roll of his eyes, causing Shadowheart to chuckle. Áine felt the movement of her chest against her own and asked, “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Shadowheart said as they parted, sipping her wine. “Here, have one for the road,” she added as she topped off Áine’s goblet. “And, again…be careful. But also enjoy yourself.”

Shyly, Áine smiled and inclined her head in thanks for the advice and the wine. Sipping from her goblet as she turned to head back into the fray, Áine’s eyes wandered the party, but they of course settled in a predictable spot. Astarion’s vibrant crimson eyes caught hers the moment she did, snaring her attention as wholly as ever and affirming that she would indeed have to face whatever would end up surfacing between them that night. Perhaps nothing would—but the possibility of “something” unnerved and electrified her at once.

Clutching the goblet from Shadowheart in her palm like a lifeline, Áine crossed the distance to where Astarion stood waiting, contemplating his bottle and the wine within until she stood before him. “Good evening so far?” Áine wondered, measuring what was gone from the bottle he held to try to determine that.

“It is now,” he said, smooth as ever. Áine gave him a scolding look but couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Astarion smirked and commented, “You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they’d toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…”

Áine watched him pause to take a long sip of his wine before he finished his thought. “I hate it. This is awful.”

The bard laughed. “Surely it can’t be so bad? We did a good thing.”

“The tally of lives didn’t change much—a few goblins killed to save a few tieflings,” he said with a shrug. “And what do I get for all my hard work? A pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“Oh stop, you got to kill a horde of goblins, too,” Áine chastised him, her tone affectionate despite her scolding. “And the wine is not that bad.”

Astarion’s brows rose and he challenged her by offering the bottle. Áine rolled her eyes and shook her head, but took the bottle in her free hand, tilting it back to take a sip. When a rich, dry red wine hit her tongue, she looked at the bottle and then at Astarion, bewildered at how he could find anything wrong with the blend.

He mistook her baffled expression for distaste. “See what I mean? Awful!”

Áine licked her lips, a motion that Astarion followed with keen interest, as she looked back down at the bottle. “It tastes relatively normal to me, but perhaps our palates differ,” she suggested, although she was wondering why he was trying to drink wine in the first place. He’d told her and Gale once in passing conversation that any food he’d tried since turning tasted wrong on the tongue, wouldn’t wine have the same result? Maybe he wasn’t ready to accept that yet. “Try mine?” Áine offered instead, holding out her goblet. She decided to withhold that it was an expensive vintage for now until he tried it. For science, of course.

Astarion took the goblet she offered, his wintry touch ghosting across her warm skin and, she thought, lingering a bit longer than usual. When she stole a glance at his face, she found him watching her with an intensity that caught her off-guard. Without breaking eye contact, he tried the wine she offered him, and she saw his throat work again before he said, “I admit it is better, but still leaves much to be desired.”

Áine wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that wine wouldn’t taste good to him anymore if even these decadent reds didn’t pique his interest. She didn’t have a death wish.

Astarion handed her back her goblet, politely refusing the bottle when she tried to return it to him, giving up on that one completely. He sighed loudly. “All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” he griped.

Áine was occasionally sipping the wine from her goblet, resting her lips against the rim even when she wasn’t. The cool metal was a helpful grounding tool. She snorted a little, glancing toward the festivities taking place all around them. “And what do you consider ‘a little fun’?” she asked. Here it was—either he’d suggest something akin to what everyone else seemed to be hungry for that night or he’d flip her expectations and crave something else. Violence, perhaps. Mischief, most certainly.

“By the Hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.”

Shadowheart had been right. Áine paused heavily, her lips still brushing the rim of her goblet as she looked up at him and studied his expression. He had his rake mask on, not a crack in it to be seen.

While she introspected a little at how his suggestion made her feel, she said aloud, “Ah, I see,” with a soft laugh. As somewhat of a test, Áine nodded toward Lae’zel’s tent and informed him, “I was talking to Lae’zel a little bit ago and she mentioned having half a mind to seek you out for some extracurricular. For what that’s worth.”

Astarion’s brows rose. “Is that what you want?”

Now it was Áine’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean? You said you wanted sex.”

“Yes, and you’ve suggested that I seek out Lae’zel, or let her seek me out,” Astarion said. “Is that what you’d prefer I do?”

Áine frowned at him. “I want you to do what you want to do. Always. Consider it a heads-up, if nothing else.”

There was that assertion of autonomy again. Astarion didn’t know how to handle her when conversations took this turn. He hardly knew how to handle himself and he hated that feeling. The rest of it, he craved. Dangerously. However, Astarion also craved needling her a little. “Right, now who’s jealous?” he accused with a crooked smirk.

Áine gave him a sideways look that reeked of disapproval, which only egged him on. “I am not jealous,” she declared, but she was lying and they both knew it. Instead of continuing to persist, she grumbled into her goblet and took a deep gulp of wine.

He watched her intently, gauging every microexpression in her pretty face as he said, “What if what I want is a night with you?” Her face visibly warmed over and she didn’t speak right away. He found himself filling the silence when she didn’t. “I know, me and everyone else this eve. It wouldn’t take my specialized range of hearing to guess that you’ve had such a proposition at every stop tonight.”

“Shadowheart didn’t ask,” she supplied, her lips pursing as she realized he was pretty much correct about the others. “Wyll didn’t either.”

“Shadowheart doesn’t surprise me. She already took her shot,” Astarion commented, his unanswered question hanging painfully in the air while they chitchatted around it. “Wyll does surprise me though.”

Áine shrugged and inclined her head back toward the beach. “He’s having a time. When I checked on him earlier, he wasn’t keen on joining the festivities. He’s still adjusting to his new look and he was wary of the tieflings seeing him like that.”

Astarion scoffed. “Was he, now? Oh, boo-hoo, ‘no one at the tiefling party knows how hard it is to have horns,’ now that makes complete sense,” he remarked.

“Shush,” Áine half-cackled, giving him a playful shove. “Gods, that’s not funny. You’re positively evil for making me laugh at that.”

Astarion smirked. “An absolute villain, I know,” he bantered back. He’d stepped closer to Áine after she’d given him her little shove and he was comfortably cloaked in her bouquet—the delicious, tempting scent of her blood combined with soap and mint leaves. “Did you want Wyll to ask you?” he asked, dropping his voice to a low husk.

Áine shook her head, having to tilt her head back some to meet his eyes when he was this close. “No. I was relieved that he didn’t,” she said honestly. The quiet stretched again, and then apropos of his earlier question, Áine finally gave him a slow nod. “I would say yes, by the way.”

Astarion was a little slower on the uptake, unsure if she was referencing back to his original question or if he was experiencing a form of wishful thinking. “Yes to what, dearest?”

Áine swallowed against a suddenly tight throat and replied, “To you. If what you wanted…was me.”

Astarion gave her a rakish smile. “But we’re not jealous, are we?”

Áine gave him a hard look in return. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Fine, fine,” the vampire said with a chuckle, raising his hands in surrender. “Once things quiet down… Once everyone’s asleep, we’ll find each other.” Astarion nodded toward the far side of their camp. “The little glade we set up in when we last passed through here isn’t far from here… That should give us plenty of privacy to…get to know each other better.”

Still a little timid, Áine nodded back. She was nervous, but it was a nice sort of nervous. One might even call it “butterflies.” Gods, she was deep in it already. However, she’d decided she would follow what her gut told her to do this time and when he’d suggested that he wanted to spend the night with her, the thrill that had hummed through her bones and the heat that had warmed her from her belly to her heart told her all she needed to know. She wanted to know what happened next for them.

To him, she said, “I suppose I’ll see you there, then.”

Astarion smiled, the expression perfectly dashing and sensual as he murmured, “Indeed, you will, my love… Indeed, you will.”

His voice and the words he wrapped within it did funny things to her heart and Áine gave him a look before that look crumbled into a soft laugh and a smile. “Right,” she murmured, handing him her goblet. “I leave you the ‘still much to be desired but better’ wine and will now make myself scarce.”

Astarion accepted her offering and raised the goblet to her as she stepped away. In truth, the wine she’d offered him was as acrid as what was in the bottle she took with her, but it was less to choke down, he supposed. Someday perhaps he would admit to himself that wine was as much off the table as any other consumable that wasn’t blood, but today was not that day.

He watched his little bard find her way to Alfira, greeting the other woman with a fond hug and finding herself immediately furnished with a borrowed flute. Subconsciously, he rotated the goblet against the press of his lower lip until he found where she’d rested the metal against hers, her warmth still lingering there. Astarion closed his lips over the spot, disguising his fixation with a sip of wine that nearly drained what remained in the goblet.

As his eyes traced Áine’s movements—her dancing while she and Alfira performed, the rise and fall of her breasts as she portioned her breath between the flute and her steps, every time her hair caught the light of the fire or the moon peeking over the canopy, the joyful sparkle in her eyes that he found himself hoping he represented one small part of—he took a moment to collect himself.

Astarion, at no fault to himself or his allure, had been almost certain that she would give him the polite “no” she’d delivered around the camp several times already that evening. He’d had competition from their allies, even from some of the tieflings, and even though he knew he was the obviously correct choice amongst them all, she’d still picked him of her own volition. He was positively preening, but he was also wary. Wary of how easily this singular woman’s “yes” had set him aflame, the “heart of a schoolboy” feeling anew yet again, and also how the personal stock he was developing in winning her over might cause him to make a mistake.

This is a transaction, he reminded himself firmly. Sex was always a transaction, regardless of feeling. He’d learned that swift and soon and had been reminded of it every day since that first time allowed out of the kennels to prowl the streets and lure back a prize he’d deliver to his master. His former master.

Astarion’s jaw set. This was hardly any different. He’d chosen her as a target, an easy one at that, and would follow through on executing his plan as he’d originally intended. The only difference was that he’d get to keep this prize and its benefits of protection. He’d never have to hunt, to lie, to bed for another’s gain again.

He was in control of this situation, he reminded himself as he returned his pensive stare to its subject, teaching himself to dismiss the things that transfixed him. He wouldn’t be controlled by her or by his feelings for her, he wouldn’t be tricked into a vulnerable position, into servitude, into capture by the tangential side-effects of physical intimacy. Astarion brought those additional walls down around his mind and heart, remembering his foolish attachments from those first few victims he took in Cazador’s name. The guilt, the heartache, the shreds of hope—all of it had simply added to his misery in those sparse stone dungeon rooms after he’d delivered those first ill-chosen innocent souls to their fate.

Misery would have no company from him. Never again.

It occurred to him later, while slipping off his shirt under the cloak of shadow just past the trees circling the clearing, that despite telling himself that he was in full control of the entire situation, the entire seduction, that he was awfully anxious for that to be true in its entirety.

Astarion chalked it up to how much of his guaranteed personal safety relied on this and also from the mild pressure he’d felt start to build by being the partner Áine had chosen out of several available options. It was different than seducing someone in a tavern or from a street corner. He wouldn’t be taking her to her death afterward—he’d see her the next day, travel on as usual, and likely even sleep with her again at some point if she asked or he felt a need to renew his “contract,” so to speak. And he had no doubt she’d ask. But it was something quite different to know that this encounter wouldn’t be the last he had with someone.

He worried the inside of his lower lip with the edge of one fang, firmly pushing down the anxiety rising in him that made as little sense as the foreign symptoms of desire that he’d only seen in others who looked upon him for ages but hadn’t felt within his own body for centuries.

Astarion grumbled at his physical betrayals, setting his well-worn and oft-repaired ruffled shirt down on the grass in front of him as he sifted through his mind for some of his best lines, the ones he felt most comfortable delivering and also a few with a good track record for success. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you,” was always a strong choice. And it was a line he’d used a thousand times over as well. That would help him numb himself a bit and dissociate from what was soon to come.

Or so he hoped, anyway. Maybe she’d changed her mind or passed out after all the wine and dancing had taken their toll on her.

He’d no sooner thought that than he heard familiar, hesitant footsteps working their way from the direction of the campsite. Astarion’s mouth twitched with a faint smile that echoed a feeling of triumph, of anticipation…and of something bittersweet. He wasn’t a monster, after all. He did feel a touch guilty for reeling her in like this. The poor thing was infatuated, just as he’d intended for her to be, but he knew quite well he’d played the rake as well as ever. Of course she was entranced by his practiced façade. He’d yet to meet someone he’d tried to seduce who didn’t end up under the spell of its glamor.

It is, after all, all you’re good for.

Astarion dropped his head forward, wincing at the voice in his head reciting something Cazador had told him so many times that Astarion had begun to hear it in his own voice, telling himself the truth of things. He heard the footsteps nearby when they crossed the edge of the clearing, and then when they stopped, too.

He shelved the despair that clawed its way forward with incrementally more success in each attempt to overtake him again. There was no Cazador in this scenario, there would never be again. The only person he needed to worry about for the moment was growing evermore hesitant just shy of his hiding place and would retreat to camp if he didn’t show himself soon.

Roughly, lovelessly, Astarion rubbed himself through the taut leather of his pants, his jaw tightening as familiar nausea seeped into the pit of his stomach. He winced as his own touch turned harsher, hateful even. His mind recited old lines, ones he was soon to use on a surely unsuspecting Áine and ones he used on himself to ensure he would perform as he must. Remember to tell them how much you want this, he ran through in his head, his palm still grinding against his cock until his anatomy was bullied into arousal. Now stay hard until she finishes. This is your payment. This is a trade. Remember that and remember to smile.

One shuddering breath later, Astarion donned the mask as professionally as ever, all traces of self-loathing, of pain, of grief for what he’d lost neatly leeched from his exterior, nestled like a leaden ball behind his bared chest, where his heart should’ve beat. And then he stepped out into the moonlight.

Áine was still there but looked as though she was just considering heading back. She stilled her step when he showed himself and he watched her eyes trace down his torso, across his muscular arms, before they snapped back to meet his. She reminded him of a fawn, which was a far cry from the hellion he knew she could be—it made seeing her like this that much more new, that much more a secret between them. He’d be gentle with this prey, Astarion told himself, eager to hang onto this vision rather than the more dangerous alternative of looking at her and seeing her. If this endured, he would remain fully in control.

“There you are,” he greeted her, remembering to smile. “I’ve been waiting.” Astarion inclined his head as he approached her, his gaze trailing languidly across her clothed body, noting where the fabric clung to a curve, where it draped across her toned limbs.

He also kept a speculative eye on her expressions and how she reacted to him, body and words. Her attraction to him was consistent in how it gave her away—he could feel her heat already from where she stood, just at arm’s length, and hear her heart flutter first in nerves and then in wanting. Astarion noticed that the more of this he took in, the less nauseous he seemed to feel, perhaps because his attention was elsewhere. Áine smiled at him, either what he offered or what he’d said pleasing to her.

Emboldened, Astarion added, his voice a calculated, sensual husk, “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you… Waiting to have you.”

Something about that didn’t land. Áine gave him a peculiar look although her smile lingered and he wasn’t sure what had tipped her off. He’d heard himself give a flawless delivery of a line that had made many a man, maiden, all weak at the knees.

Áine smirked as she fiddled with the ties of her shirt, rolling the tiny knotted ends between her fingertips. “Before or after the headbutt?” she asked. “Or perhaps because of the headbutt?”

Shit.

Astarion pursed his lips, already mentally lashing himself and working on a recovery. Of course she’d found that funny rather than sexy—he hadn’t accounted for how different their meeting had been from the others he’d scouted. They were no sensual brush of hands in a tavern near closing, no whispered word against the ear whose echo carried only to an inn room door, no loveless meeting of eyes in a darkened street where the fire of carnal favors were the only ones with light on offer.

They were a dagger to the throat, an offer for companionship, a roll in the dirt, and yes, even a headbutt when he hadn’t let her go the first time she’d asked. They were a quiet conversation fireside, a snarky comment and an answering laugh, a sometimes-bard and sometimes-swordswoman with a sneak-thief archer protecting her flank, an injury and a salve in perfect alternation thus far.

The part of the salve this night it seemed, Áine smiled at him, the crescent of her lips warm and inviting and putting the moon above them to shame. “I could always replicate our meeting,” she offered. “You don’t have me yet, you know.”

“Don’t I?” Astarion challenged her, a little unnerved by her now. She was turning the tables by flirting with him, by seducing him. He couldn’t recall ever being seduced. Never needed to be, really. And he didn’t need to be now either, but it felt…nice to have her eyes on him, to be met with a—he cursed himself for even thinking it—partner in this sense. There was no power struggle either, it seemed, which was also new. His earlier attempts to keep his mind away from Áine as a person rather than something to hunt and catch were failing one after another and the way she spoke to him felt kind and playful. She spoke to him like an equal as much as she ever had. “You’re here, after all. And…I don’t think you want to talk.”

“No?” Áine bantered back seamlessly. Perhaps his slip had been to his benefit. She seemed somehow more relaxed, more interested than before, even when his little lines had been working. What a strange one you are, he thought, still studying her as she asked, “What do I want, then?”

He was back on track. “I think,” Astarion purred, stepping closer as his hand traced the air around her, not yet moving to touch her, “you want to be known.” He smiled at her meaningfully. “To be tasted.”

Áine’s lower lip caught between her teeth. He could feel the heat coming off her skin as her blush deepened, he could smell her desire and it could only rival the bouquet of her life’s blood that he’d come to recognize without question. An alien sensation coursed through him and went straight to his cock where it still pressed against the seamed leather of his trousers. It jarred him and, were he any less broken, he may have thought that had been his own first taste of desire. But Astarion felt nothing when it came to sex. He’d been broken of that long ago. It hadn’t even taken a year.

She interrupted his internalized confusion when she turned the tables on him yet again. “And what do you want?” Áine asked, her voice hushed into a murmur that sent a shiver up Astarion’s spine. No, it was the air. A wayward breeze, he corrected viciously. She wasn’t allowed this sort of influence on him, this was what he meant to do to her. And clearly was, but…had he ever been asked what he wanted? Especially on the precipice of carnal pleasure?

What did he want?

His hesitation did not breach his mask. “What do any of us want? Pleasure,” he reasoned simply, perfectly present while his thoughts careened down forbidden paths. The best he could do was block out his wayward mind, focus on what he had complete control over at last—his body. And yet wasn’t he just repeating its most habitual motions? Now wasn’t the time to question himself. “Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

Astarion could see the way her eyes grew heavy with lust, the cadence of his voice purposeful and near-hypnotic. He could see her beginning to bend—he simply needed her to break. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

Part of him wanted her to say “no.” Not to refuse him, but to tell him that wasn’t what she wanted. To tell him that this was somehow more than just a bit of dissociation, at least for him, more than what he logically knew it really was. And she did see something in his eyes, or so it seemed to him, that made her hesitate.

Yet as different as she was from anyone and everyone before her, Astarion artfully derailed her train of thought with the simple gesture of skimming his fingers up the length of her arm, her skin like summer against his icy touch. Áine leaned in toward him, her lashes fluttered, and a soft sigh eased her lips apart. It was all the answer he needed, the only one he was comfortable receiving despite all his contrary wishes. Astarion smiled and whispered, “I thought so.”

Áine’s eyes remained conflicted despite their lack of focus and Astarion relied on his distractions winning out before he could discover what had her faltering. He couldn’t stop to wonder if he’d let something slip through his otherwise carefully curated façade. It didn’t matter.

His fingertips trailed up her sleeve, tracing the sweep of her collarbone until he reached the ties of her shirt, and his carefully tended nails found purchase on one of the knots she toyed with. Astarion’s eyes flickered up to meet hers as he tugged the tie loose, taking the hem of her shirt and lifting it over her head. This was a procedure. It was practiced. He’d help her undress and then he, with her help if she preferred, would disrobe. Then he’d simply initiate with a kiss, lay her down in the grass, and uphold his part of the unspoken bargain. It was the most repeated pattern in his lifetime. All he had to do…

Astarion’s regimented thoughts, the rehearsed little moves he’d run through in his mind, all sputtered to a halt the moment he let her shirt flutter to the grass and he laid eyes on her naked body again. He’d counted on having once already seen her topless down in the river that night, thinking that this at least would have no way to distract him again. And yet the sight of her lavender skin, star-shaped scars, and perfect, pert dusky breasts all highlighted by the celestial landscape above them left him stunned all over again.

Luckily—or perhaps not—for him, Áine was too busy minding her own clothing to notice him staring, his mask forgotten for an instant. She fumbled with her belt with nervous hands until he reached out and hooked a finger in the strap, pulling her toward him and catching her parted lips in a kiss when she looked up. Nimbly, he unfastened her buckle and untied the laces of her trousers all while his tongue explored her warm, yielding mouth.

He felt her fingers at his waistband and smirked against her lips. “Eager little thing, aren’t you,” he mumbled and claimed her mouth again before she could snap back, causing her to whimper against his tongue and fangs instead. Astarion barely swallowed the growl that rose in his throat at this new sound of hers, surprised at himself and how tightly wound he felt.

She succeeded in loosening his trousers but he snagged her persistent hands in his own before she could go any further. Astarion placed Áine’s hands on his shoulders and reached down to get rid of his own pants, suddenly anxious at the feeling of someone else’s hands touching his skin, his clothes, trying to strip him down to touch his cock. Memories of pawing, grabbing, chafing touches from rough, hungry hands seeped in like a sickness and he tensed against the intrusive tactile flashbacks.

Astarion broke their kiss and swallowed thickly, opening his eyes to look at the woman before him and remind himself precisely where he was and what was happening outside his tortured mind. He could feel Áine’s hands twitch against his shoulders, but they stayed firmly where he’d put them. Trusting her to resist her obvious desire to touch him, Astarion focused on finishing the removal of his trousers and then hers thereafter before scooping her up into his arms.

He cradled her ass in his hands and backed her against a tree, kissing her again. She kissed him back, harder and more passionately this time, and he readily followed her lead for the moment as he felt her legs hook around his hips and draw him in toward her heat. He punished her mouth with his, cursing her warmth, her intoxicating scent, her beautiful body, her kindness, all of it straight to Avernus. She was far from his first warm body and yet she still felt like a first as he smoothed his hands over her thighs, unable to help the quiet growl that surfaced from his throat this time with her satin skin laid open and bare against his palms. He felt her shiver against him, her arms tightening around his shoulders as her back arched, pressing her body needily against his while they devoured each other as if starving.

This would get messy quickly if he didn’t check himself. He hadn’t promised an impassioned, tortured lover, after all, he’d promised the artful, cunning seducer. The patient wolf, the beguiling rake. Besides that, he couldn’t comprehend still how the first could even be happening. Astarion had warred with himself throughout every step of putting his plans for her, for them, into motion and yet it was all coming to a head with the delirium he found himself exposed to now. Everything he’d thought would resolve itself when he finally slept with her was just intensifying with each second that ticked by. As if to prove his point, she impatiently squirmed against him and he very nearly took her on the spot.

Astarion circled an arm around her waist, holding her still as he reached between her legs, finding her plenty hot and wet for him to get this wrapped up. The tiny moan that escaped her when he touched her went straight to his now rock-hard cock. Áine threatened his self-control in a way that terrified him. It was the polar opposite of the way Cazador’s power over him had terrified him, but it terrified him all the same. She made him feel as if he’d come apart from her slightest touch. A lack of control, to him, in any form was unwanted, and more frightening still was realizing that some part of him wanted her to render him helpless. It went against every single thing he’d sworn to himself during his imprisonment in the last two centuries and everything he’d sworn to himself since stepping off that Nautiloid.

Astarion took her down to the grass, allowing himself to memorize and savor her despite his fear of what she may be capable of with him. Áine met his gaze and a flash of consideration entered her beautifully lust-laden eyes before she tilted her head back and bared her neck for him. Astarion’s eyes flickered between her face and her neck, his throat beginning to burn with the rest of him as he weighed her offer if it was truly an offer.

As if answering his thoughts, Áine nodded and temptation won out. Astarion buried his face against her neck, running his tongue along her pulse before he bit her at the same time he positioned himself to slide into her warm, wet cunt.

The instant he did, any semblance of control he had, he lost.

Astarion maintained his clarity for the sake of not bleeding his lover dry, but the rest of his body acted with abandon. He found a rhythm between their hips, angling himself to pump against her inner walls that already clenched around him with every thrust. Swallowing the mouthful of blood he’d taken, he licked her wound closed and concentrated on his thrusts, gratified when her little moans became trembling, barely controlled mewls and her legs tightened around his hips.

Astarion was so focused on bringing her to her peak that he hardly realized he was reaching his for the first time with someone else. He could force his body into anything—he’d learned that without room for doubt over the years—and had sorted out how to perfectly fake an orgasm if needed. Not that the vast majority of those he bedded cared whether or not he came. It was something he was so unused to monitoring during sex that when it hit him, it hit him harder than he could’ve thought possible.

As Áine muffled a cry against the back of her hand, her body shaking under him as she came, Astarion suddenly felt himself go over the edge with her, gripping her tightly as pleasure ripped through him, a quavering groan that he just barely managed to bite down rising in his throat as he flooded her with his seed. They both shivered through aftershocks in each other’s arms, but through the mind-numbing euphoria, something else resurfaced in Astarion.

That guilt again. For ever thinking of this as a chore, like something he had to do to ensure his safety. For every time he’d squashed what he felt while touting their match as something real and normal and without deception. For setting Áine up to wind up with nothing but his broken, worthless, rotten soul at the finish line when he’d wordlessly promised so much more.

For not being able to give her something real, no matter how desperately he now realized he wanted to.

Next chapter: Chapter 11, "Old Scars"

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marleyybluu · 8 months

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Me and Mrs. Jones

hbf!Rio Martinez x fem!black!OC (Fox Jones)

Wc: 3.1k

Content warning: 18+ content, smut out the ass, infidelity (I just like being messy), OC is written as a bigger girl (with descriptions of rolls, tummy and thick thighs), they have a small disagreement, drama, hotel sex, fingering, p in v, squirting, creampie, backshots, awkward ending cus I ran out of words. Wrote this high as fuck so it's feral, lmk if I missed any.

A/N: Inspired by Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul.

Yes her name is Fox, idk I thought it was cool as fuck and you cant change my mind. announcements at the end🤭

not my gif

She was ethereal. Her curly hair flowed freely, some uniformed and others frizzy but they blended well, if he ever saw her she was always wearing a skirt— some of them were tight, others danced along the winds of summer and fall, and they were always paired with a crop top. She liked to show off her body in any manner, he loved it though, when she sat down her tummy would fold over the band of her skirt, love handles too, the sight would make his fingers tingle itching to touch. To run his fingers over her supple skin, his nose buried into her sides as he held her, inhaling her naturally sweet scent.

He leaned against the kitchen counter his glass of whiskey getting warm in his hands, The constant buzzing of friends and family around had long tuned out of his eardrums, and his eyes were purely on her. The jewelry she wore was minimal today unlike usual. She loved her rings, always stacked on her fingers and necklaces layered around her neck. All she had on today was her wedding ring on her left hand and a little Amethyst stone on her right. The one he bought her. The way she smiled and laughed earnestly at whatever conversation she was having with her own sister caused him to smile as well as if he was a part of the conversation. Rio felt a nudge on the side of his arm, his trance broken and his head turned to see his best friend who just so happened to be her husband.

It's fucked up. It's a fucked up situation. He was beginning to fall for a woman who should be off limits, but those limits were exceeded a long time ago.

"What's up, man?" He asked nodded to him. "Nothin'." Rio answered taking a sip of the brown liquor, his eyes darting over to her quickly before going back to his friend. "I hate these things too, don't worry."

Rio pitied the poor unsuspecting man with a chuckle. He could make out her gaze at him in the corner of his eye and when he went to look at her she dodged him. His friend noticed. Well... not really.

"She's single. Could ask Fox to put in a good word for you." It took Rio a minute to realize he was referring to his wife's sister. Rio shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Got someone already."

"Since when? Who is it? Maria?"

Rio rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Maria."

'I actually mean your wife.'

Speaking of. Fox's heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she made her way over to them, her hand coming in contact with her husband's shoulder. "Hey, hey. How are my boys?" Her head was directed more towards Rio. "We're good." He answered too eagerly. She smiled softly. She raised her other hand, purposefully, pointing with her index finger. The Amethyst ring that was on her pinky now sat on her pointer finger. He smirked. "You want a refill?" She asked. He shook his head. "Nah but I gotta get up outta here soon."

She frowned. "Why?"

Her husband chimes in. "Maria's probably up his ass as usual."

"Oh, you two got back together?" She entertained, in order not to look suspicious. "Working on it."

She hummed. "Well, I just came to borrow Mr. Jones for a second, I will return him before you leave though so don't worry."

Fox tugged her husband's arm lifting him from his position against the counter, he playfully groaned and walked in front of her. With his back turned she looked over her shoulder at Rio and winked. Her hand was now on her husband's back gently shoving him in the direction that she needed him to go.

— —

"Text me when y'all get home, okay?" Fox waved as the last of the guests left, she closed the door and wheezed leaning against it. "That's the last dinner party until fucking Christmas."

Her husband swaggered his way toward her with a glass of wine and an interesting look on his face. She cringed internally. "You wanna clean up or you wanna make a bigger mess upstairs?"

A statement that made her want to gag physically but she swallowed. "Can't. Gotta go by mom tonight." She lied looking down at her Amethyst ring as a reminder, her chest blooming with warmth and anticipation to feel his hands on her.

They both knew what they were doing was wrong, but it couldn't be stopped, it was an addiction. The sneaking around, the subtle gifts and the not-so-subtle stares at each other from across the room. But she couldn't help it. Rio was bringing out feelings in her that her husband had neglected so long ago.

Rio was supposed to be her hall pass. You know? Someone she was to have been with one time, revenge, to get it off her chest after discovering the infidelity her husband committed with one of his colleagues. His way of apologizing was telling her she could even the score by sleeping with whoever she wanted and they'd forget the whole ordeal.

Big mistake.

Fox had had her eye on his best friend for years. A sick fantasy that became reality when she confided in Rio about the betrayal.

One time. She promised it. But it didn't stop. And it wasn't going to stop either.

And when he gifted her that ring, she was done for. Amethyst was her favourite stone, she doubted even Mr. Jones could remember that and they'd been married almost ten years.

The ring was their signal, she wore it regularly on her pinky but once it shifted to her index finger it was his sign to meet her at the hotel they often went to. The Yellowstone Inn, at 11:30 PM, not a minute later.

Mr. Jones groaned. "Come on, it's been so long."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes reaching for her keys that dangled from the hook on the wall next to the front door. "Are you asking me to ditch my mom for some dick?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No, but I'm also not just some dick."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her insults buried. She smiled, he didn't realize how ironic his statement was considering he was just some dick for someone else a few months back.

"You don't have to clean up tonight, I'll get it in the morning."

"You're sleeping over there!?" He bursted. "Yeah, she's just been having trouble getting around the house, my sister will take over tomorrow."

His eyebrows furrowed together and that was her cue to dip before he could question her further. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and vanished out the door.

Fox sat in her car and sighed, her hand motioning the cross, hoping she could receive some sort of forgiveness for using her mother in a fib. She started her car and proceeded to drive in the direction of the hotel.

The whole ride her palms had suddenly felt sweaty, her heart racing and guilt crept into her bones the closer she got. Fighting off various thoughts of turning around and going back home. She sat in the parking lot, she'd been there for a few minutes with her forehead resting on the steering wheel, feeling sick, feeling queasy about this whole thing. Her phone buzzed with a message from Rio asking if she was there yet. She ignored it for a moment, collecting herself and her thoughts. She reached in the back for her duffel bag that was packed with her overnight things.

Fox sighed exiting the car, her headlights blinking as she locked the doors. She made her way inside, walked past the front desk flashing her keycard in hand and over to the elevators. Her nerves rose once the doors parted.

Floor 6.

Room 637.

She pressed her card against the reader, a beep and a green light granted her access inside. "Christopher?" Fox called closing the door behind her. No answer. "Martinez, where you at?"

Still no answer.

She sighed and checked her phone;

❤️: Went to get food, I'll be back.

— — Fox took the time to get herself together, She laid out her moisturizers and serums on the bathroom counter, grabbed her body wash and washcloth, she turned the knob on the shower wall letting the steaming hot water run. She struggled to tie her hair up but it was finally out of her face. Her clothes were discarded in the corner, she stepped foot inside the shower and slid the door closed. She hoped this would wash off all her uncertain feelings.

While she was busy humming and scrubbing, Rio had arrived back to the room with food and drinks, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and a bouquet of flowers. He heard the water running and smiled. He quickly set the food on the dresser below the mounted television, the bouquet of flowers and bottle of wine were placed in the middle of the well-made bed. He knocked on the bathroom door as if he hadn't invaded her privacy numerous times before.

The water shut off and the sound of the shower door opening signalled she was out. "Mrs. Jones. Am I safe to come in?" He playfully asked.

She flinched. "Uh, just let me grab a towel."

"Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Mm, don't remind me."

When Fox was done she opened the door for him and then turned to face the mirror to begin her usual routine. Rio felt a bit of coldness from her. "I brought your favourite."

"Thanks."

There was a beat of silence before he invited himself into the bathroom, his arms instantly wrapping around her waist, his chin finding a place in the crook of her neck. "What's going on?"

She sighed silently hating the way he could easily read her. "Don't you feel kind of guilty? About this whole thing? You and him have been friends for years, he and I've been together for ten. It just feels dirty sometimes."

"Do you think he felt guilty when he cheated on you?"

"Christopher."

"It's a valid question. Do you think he felt bad?"

Fox looked down picking up another serum, twisting it open and squeezing the top of the dropper for the liquid to land in the palm of her hand. She rubbed her hands together and applied the product on her face. "No." She answered begrudgingly. "Then why should you?"

"It's different."

"No, it's not," His nostrils flared. "He didn't hesitate to do it."

"But he did it once, and we've been doing this constantly."

"Yeah, that's what you think." He mumbled. Fox's eyes quickly met his in the reflection of the mirror. "The fuck did you just say?"

Rio stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. "It wasn't just the one time. Got drunk and told me he saw her a few more times-"

Hot tears of anger formed in her eyes. "How much is a few more!?"

He swallowed hard as if he was the guilty one. "Four."

"Four." She repeated to herself. "And you knew."

"I did."

"And didn't tell me."

He scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't."

Fox slowly nodded, nothing else was said as she finished up everything. She walked back to the room and put on a shirt and a pair of shorts, she searched the plastic bag with their food. "This mine?"

He nodded almost afraid to say anything else. She took it, her phone, the keycard and left him in the dust.

— —

It wasn't until two hours later when the lock clicked shooting Rio up from his position on the bed. He heard sniffling. "Fox..."

"Don't talk to me." She scolded putting her stuff on the dresser. Despite the distance between them, he could smell the marijuana from where he was. "You didn't drive high did you?"

Fox said, "Now you're concerned?"

"I'm always concerned about you, mama."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "You're so lucky I'm high right now." A little giggle escaped. "So fucking lucky."

Fox's shoulders sulked making her way to the bed, she crawled onto the bed and onto his lap. "I love you." She blurted. He was ready to respond but she put her hand up. "Let me finish."

"I love you, but I am pissed that you didn't tell me. If this was the other way around I would've even called you the same day. You and I don't do secrets."

"I know." He pouted. She smiled softly cupping his face in her hands. "Good."

"Can I say something though?"

"You can."

His hands squeezed her sides gently. "I love you, too. And I'm sorry."

She pressed her lips to his. "How sorry?" She felt him smile against her mouth. "I'm bout to show you."

She squealed when he put her on her back and attacked her with kisses. From the top of her head down to her torso, his eyes never leaving hers as he got closer to the band of her shorts, his fingers playing with it slightly pulling down one side and leaving a warm kiss on her hip. She hummed with gratitude and rested her head back on the mattress, her eyes closing. Rio pulled her shorts off, tossing them behind him, he pushed her legs back and smiled. "No panties, as fucking always." He mumbled.

She playfully rolled her eyes, "Easier for you, no?" Her breath hitched feeling his finger slide through her slit. She whined squirming her hips around. "Stop." He warned. She listened, but she wasn't happy about it. His warm lips tasted her sweet brown skin as he kissed down the back of her legs, his hand left her needy pussy and his palm spread as he caressed her leg, his nimble fingers finding her plentiful tattoos. Fox sighed, her patience wearing thin with his teasing actions.

Rio gave her what she wanted when he pressed his thumb against her throbbing clit. He watched her leaking hole convulse around absolutely nothing, her legs twitch with every circular motion he made. "You love me?" He smirked, just wanting to hear it again. She nodded, her hazy vision staring at the smooth ceiling. Her jaw slacked feeling a finger inside her. "Where are my words?"

Fox groaned pushing her hips forward. "Shit. Yes Christopher, I do, I love you, baby." He grinned leaning down, his tongue flicking against her bud, and her head fell back. Her body was entirely at his mercy.

His fingers hooked inside her, fingertips brushing against her hot spot. Her eyes rolled at his greediness, he munched her down like it was his last day on Earth. Her fists balled up the sheets as she whined and whimpered for him. "Rio... oh fuck." Her head lolled to the side, her eyebrows knitting together as his fingers quickened their pace, his lips slowly sucking on her clit. Rio swayed his head from side to side, her hips bucking into his mouth and her cunt clenching around his fingers. She let out a long sigh. "Yes... yeeees!" Fox's moans were his favourite melody. "I'm close, holy shit." She cried out, he continued devouring her until she was leaking onto his hand. "Look at that," He mumbled to himself, clear liquid flowing out of her. Fox's legs trembled, her hand pushing his away. "Fuck!" Her thighs were wet. She giggled, her face dazed and fucked out.

She didn't get to rest for too long. He lay on his side after ridding himself of his shorts and boxers, his chest pressing against her back, his hand gripping her thigh as he lifted it up, resting it on his own. He wrapped his hand around his girth, his tip nudged her entrance before pushing further inside, her raspy voice crying out his name as he stretched out her pussy, her eyes crossed as he penetrated her, pulling out and thrusting back in at a slow and steady pace to adjust her to his size. Her sticky walls welcomed this pleasurable feeling, he held her leg up as he drove his hips into hers. "Only I get you wet like this? Hm?" He whispered in her ear, she could only reply in broken moans. She reached back, holding on to his bicep. "Y-yes. I love the way you feel inside me." She cooed. "I know, mama, I know."

Her eyes squeezed shut, "Rio... I can't- already"

He smacked her thigh. "You can. Cum for me, it's okay."

Fox's toes curled, her cream coating his dick beautifully. He continued his strokes throughout her orgasm, her walls suffocating his dick, he grunted as he pounded into her, using her sopping pussy to get himself off.

After a few more pumps he reluctantly pulled out, his hand coming in contact with her soft ass, gripping her softly. "Put that ass up." Fox moaned at his instructions, she rested on her knees, her booty jiggling with every shift of the bed. Rio smacked her ass once he got behind her, his girth stretching her out once more. "Fuck," He moaned getting lost in his own pleasure. Her fingers tapped against the mattress before gripping the sheets again, her pussy still sensitive. His hands held onto her hips and wandered down her sides, his thumb slipping in every roll on her back. He kissed up her spine, his arm around her belly holding her close to him.

Fox's pornographic sounds fill the room, probably disturbing the other people on this floor, but who fucking cares, she was floating on a lustful cloud and the pleasure she was receiving tingled all over her body. She pushed her hips back meeting the beat of his thrusts, she bit her lip to suppress her whimpers. Her hair was puffy and messy from the humidity building in the room, she was so fucked.

She kept up with his relentless pounding until that warm feeling began to brew in the pit of her stomach, her lip quivering unable to warn him of her approaching peak. He kissed her neck. "I got it... I got it." He mumbled in her ear. She croaked out his name, her cum coating him again. Rio groaned, "Fox, fuck, I'm cummin' in that fucking pussy."

"Please, give it to me."

Rio pulled her close, pressing his nose on the back of her neck. His warm seed spreading inside her, she smiled feeling him paint her walls. He gave her kisses down the back of her shoulder. Fox hummed with content. He kept himself buried until he was empty, his dick going soft inside her. She sleepily giggled when he pulled out and her body collapsed on the bed. He laughed spanking her again. "You're killing me." She playfully complained. "Good."

She sucked her teeth and mustered up whatever energy she had left to shuffle herself under the sheets, her eyes getting heavier with every passing moment. Rio softly smiled when she lifted the sheets as an invitation for him to join her. He turned off the lights and happily laid next to her. She rested her head on his chest, he kissed the top of her head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"Just us?" He whispered as if he was scared to ask it any louder. Fox smiled, her eyes closing with sleep.

"Just us."

If you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

I have reached 1k followers, I think that's crazy as fuck, I made this blog not really knowing if I'd get back into writing but yall make me glad I did so thank you.

Now. On my masterlist there is a new category called The Mixtapes. Its a new series (?) that I have created, it will contain fics inspired by various albums, songs and artists from all decades, of all genres. You get it. I'm very proud of this idea so I hope I'm not copying someone else😩

Peace and love, see you in the next one. 🤙🏾

🏷️ : @darqchilddaydreamz @rio-reid-whoreee

@bigenergy777 @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb

#rio x black!OC #rio #goodgirls #rio fanfic #marleysfanfictions #marleywrites #good girls rio #rio good girls #viewer discretion is advised #rio x plussize!OC #smut #rio smut #hbf!rio #Spotify

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natashasfilms · 9 months

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Revelations - Season One

Summary: FBI agent Leila Kade faces a profound life change after giving birth to a baby girl, supported by her loving husband. Despite the challenges of motherhood, Leila returns to her role as a dedicated agent a few months later, ready to confront gruesome and haunting cases with her BAU team.

Pairing: BAU!Fem!OC x Male!OC , EVENTUAL Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Fem!OC (Like much later)

Warnings: This story contains mature themes such as sexual content, strong language, violence, mentions of alcohol and drugs, blood, gore, and death. All the usual Criminal Minds stuff. And there is NO CHEATING.

Note 1: I imagine Leila Kade as South Asian but I have decided to let you, the reader, imagine her appearance, hence the reason why I have not given her a face claim. However, her race does not affect the story, whatsoever. You, as the reader, are free to imagine her however you want. If you don't see her as South Asian, then that's fine. It won't affect the storyline. I also imagine the OC!Male as South Asian, but again, it won't affect the storyline.

Note 2: The team will consist of the main cast (Emily, Derek, JJ, Spencer, Penelope, Aaron, and Rossi) but will also include Elle Greenaway and Jason Gideon because they were some of my favorite characters and I wanted to include them with the rest of the team. Basically, Elle and Gideon never leave when Emily and Rossi join.

Note 3: There will be multiple time skips throughout this series. For example, the first chapter will begin on the first season and episode of the show but then there will be a time skip to later episodes (because there are obviously way too many episodes to write this series on and I wanted to include specific episodes that would help the plot of this story). This means that this series will be a slow burn romance but I believe it to be better this way. This will also stray from the actual show a lot, so don't expect it to follow the plot precisely.

Series Masterlist

•• Chapter One: Extreme Aggressor

•• Chapter Two: Compulsion

•• Chapter Three: The Fox

•• Chapter Four: Derailed

•• Chapter Five: The Tribe

•• Chapter Six: Local

•• Chapter Seven: A Real Rain

•• Chapter Eight: Machismo

•• Chapter Nine: Charm and Harm

•• Chapter Ten: The Fisher King - Part 1

#angst #fluff #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #fanfiction #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #original female character #original male character #criminal minds bau #criminal minds series #revelations series

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autistook · 1 month

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DAISIES - pt 5

Merry Brandybuck x fem!hobbit!reader / soft oc

Words: 3.3k

Summary: Merry encourages you to try and face your fears. You two grow closer, but it seems like he is hiding something from you, along with your friends.

Content warnings: alcohol, small anxiety attack

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

---------

Something was missing. Maybe it was the sharp edges of the fox's tail that were bothering you?

You used your thumb to smudge the fur around a little, spreading the charcoal around the paper, making the tail puffier and more realistic looking. You looked at the paws of the fox, squinting your eyes at the small mistakes you had made. You were scared of ruining the whole picture, so instead you kept your attention mainly on the tail, your tongue slightly sticking out between your lips as you concentrated.

After making the finishing touches, you took a small step back to observe the finished product.

"That looks good," said Merry suddenly behind you, making your heart jump to your throat.

"Merry!" you gasped, startled. "You scared me! Where did you come from?"

"I actually watched you make it for the last five minutes," he confessed, snickering. "You were quite focused, and I didn't want to bother you."

"I really did not hear you come in at all," you said, heart still beating fast from the sudden appearence of your friend. You took the pile of the faintly yellow papers you had tied onto a wooden board on your paint covered easel, and placed them on your desk.

"Whats this?" asked Merry, taking the third drawing from the pile.

Merry was looking at the charcoal sketches. There were sparks in his eyes. He was visibly impressed.

Two of the sketches he kept admiring more than the others. One of them was quite a detailed drawing of his hand. The other drawing was a sketch of his side profile, the curls framing his face and his gaze on the horizon. A faint smile you had drawn on his face, and the collar of his shirt was a little unkept, as it usually tended to be.

"I've been feeling very inspired today," you said, fiddling with the lace of your corset. Merry noticed your sign of anxiety, and a small smile appeared on his face. He knew you were very picky and self concious about your own art.

"Its very impressive," he said, adoring your art work, wondering how you managed to draw him with such accuracy. "Is my collar always that unkept?" he asked as he observed the picture, immediately fixing the collar on the shirt he was wearing.

"Most of the time," you snickered, to which Merry responded by trying to fix his shirt a little more. You shook your head, and stepped closer to him. "Let me fix that," you said, your hands on his cotton collar now. Merry inhaled deeply.

"Thank you," he said as you fixed his shirt.

"Its not always bad if you're a little unkept," you smiled, tapping on his now straightened up collars. "It makes you look less formal and serious. It makes you more, well, Merry."

Merry smiled at you softly and cleared his throat as he took one small step back to put a little bit of space between you two.

"You have some charcoal there," he smirked, tapping his cheek. You wiped your cheek softly with the back of your hand.

"Did I get it?" you asked, making Merry snort.

"Not exactly," he said and took a red handkerchief from his pocket. He cupped your left cheek with his hand, and with the other he slowly cleaned off the charcoal you had just spread accidentally. "There you go," he said, looking at you with a soft expression before letting go of your face.

"What are you doing here anyway?" you asked Merry, wiping your hands on your dress.

"I wanted to see you," he responded, his expression slightly nervous. "I was thinking… I know how you feel about being challenged, and I… Well, I have a challenge for you."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Merry took a deep breath. He didn't know what drove him to think his plan was a good one, but he was confident about it.

"I think we should go to the Bywater pool," he suggested carefully. "And maybe test out walking in the more shallow water."

Your heart started beating fast, and your breath hitched.

"Merry," you said, immediately fidgeting with your fingers and shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"I am not going to force you to do it," he said. "But I am going to challenge you to do it. And there's no need to be nervous. We can go just ankle deep, and I will be there every step of the way."

"I don't know, Merry. Why would I?" you said with a loud gulp and your body tensing up more. He took your hand and held it tightly, stroking your thumb with his in a calming manner.

"I know you can do it," he said, but then a mischevous smile took shape on his face. "Or maybe you can't. Maybe I overestimated you."

And with that, he stuck a nerve. He overestimated you? Absolutely not.

"I can do it," you said in a serious manner, pulling your hand back to your side. You immediately started stomping out of your bedroom with determination.

Merry smiled to himself, and followed your fast paced and confident walking all the way outside of Bag End, and towards Bywater.

The closer you got to the Bywater pool, the more nervous you got, your anxiety growing with every step you took. Your breathing was slightly shallow, but you kept trying to steady it. Your heart was beating fast and it felt uneven. Your thoughts were unkept and bouncing from one scary thought to another.

You stopped. Merry made his way next to you. You took a deep, shaky breath.

The water was reflecting the bright blue sky, and the pond stood absolutely still. On the more shallow end was a rock bottom, and in the middle of the pond, you knew there was mud underneath the surface. It scared you. You feared it might swallow you whole.

Merry squeezed your hand to support you, and gave you a soft nudge.

"You can do this," he reassured.

Your heart was beating faster and faster. You were hesitating, even though the urge to prove you could indeed go in the water was strong. You fiddled with your corset again, trying to gather up the courage to walk in there, and go at least ankle deep into the cold water.

Merry took a deep breath after a while, and squeezed your hand more tightly.

"I'm sorry," he said. You immediately turned your face sharply in his direction. "I believe in you, and I'm sorry for what I am about to do."

And with that, Merry put his arms around your waist tightly and picked you up, your upper body resting on his shoulder.

"Merry!" you cried. "What are you doing?"

Merry rushed the both of you into the pond with a tight grip on your waist, as you kicked your feet in the air.

"I know you can do this," he said, now ankle deep in the water.

"No, I can't! Put me down!"

"That's the plan," he responded, lifting you so that you faced him. Your chests were pressed together and your nose almost touched his. "I am going to put you down now."

"No!" you said, shaking your head vigorously. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, and Merry could feel it against him.

"Trust me," he said, looking you deep in your eyes. There was confidence in his eyes as he kept reassuring you, your faces just inches apart. "I'll put you down slowly. There's nothing to worry about. I'm right here. All you need to do is breathe."

You took a deep breath. His reassuring and confident gaze made you slightly more relaxed. After all, he did know you better than anyone else. You gave him a small nod, your fingers trembling.

Slowly he began to lower you, and your arms immediately clung around his neck. You were shaking, but your breathing was getting more steady in his comforting embrace.

Inch by inch, he lowered your body towards the water, not breaking eye contact, giving you a reassuring look.

Your toes hit the cold water, making you shut your eyes tightly.

"Its alright," he said calmly, lowering you until your feet hit the bottom. His arms slowly started to move off your waist. He decided to keep his palms softly on your middle, making sure you can stand steady. "See? You're doing it."

You opened your eyes and looked at your feet. There they were, under the water which was looking magical now that the sunlight made it sparkle so beautifully. It was probably shiny before, but you didn't notice it until now. You curled your toes, getting some rough sand and tiny rocks between them. Your heartbeat regulated, and your breath was balanced again.

"I did it," you whispered in shock. Your eyes widened and a radiant smile formed on your lips. "I did it!"

"Yes, you did."

You jumped into his arms, your arms wrapping around his neck. A loud giggle left your mouth, and your ears softly fluttered from joy. The water splashed loudly as you hopped off Merry's embrace. You waded around a little, enjoying the feeling of the wet sand and cold bottom of the pond under your feet. The feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed you with joy.

"Thank you!" you giggled, enthusiastic about what felt like the most courageous act you had ever done.

"Next time we can go knee deep," Merry said.

"Hold your horses, Meriadoc!" you responded, pointing your finger at him. "This was already terrifying and a huge step. Lets just enjoy this for now."

Merry chuckled and put his hands in his pockets, kicking his feet around the water, splashing water around in small doses.

"I felt like it was time to try and beat at least a small fraction of your fears," he said warmly. "I strongly believe that you can eventually get over this fear."

"Maybe," you responded, your eyes fixated on the water and shiny with excitement.

You were amazed by how calming the water felt when you weren't completely buried in it. The cool splashes when you walked around felt ticklish but relaxing, and the waves that formed by the kicking of Merry's feet were captivating. The reflection of the sky felt like you walked into a dream, and the sparkle of the sunlight reminded you of the expensive glittering of jewelry.

The following day, you walked to the Green Dragon on your own. It was a rainy day, and you had been feeling a little blue. It was very quiet at home, as Gandalf was wandering outside with Frodo in the grey weather. The Green Dragon felt like a good chance to get some fresh air, with the hope of possibly meeting some friends there.

You entered the Green Dragon, your curls dripping with water and your coat soaked from the downpour.

To your surprise, you saw almost all of your friends there, already sitting together.

By a small booth in a dark corner, were Samwise, Pippin, Merry and to your surprise, Fatty Bolger. It was a surprise indeed, as you were under the impression that Fatty was still holding a grudge against Merry for breaking the heart of Estella, his beloved little sister.

Pippin noticed you first, and gestured towards your direction. You smiled at them, and made your way to their table.

"Hullo," Pippin said, smiling softly to you. Everyone else was quiet, and shifting in their seats.

"Am I interrupting something?" you asked after a moment of awkwardness. Their silence made you feel uncomfortable, yet curious.

"Not at all," answered Fredegar. His dark hair was unkept, and his vest old, a small hole on the front of it. "I was just about to leave."

"Alright," you said quietly, and Fredegar got up in one swift movement. He was suspiciously quick with his feet, and before he exited the Green Dragon, he gave a meaningful look to the rest of the group. "What was that about?" you asked.

"It was nothing," said Pippin, as he patted the spot next to him as a gesture for you to sit down.

"We were just discussing something private," Merry responded, to which Sam reacted by elbowing him softly. Merry looked at him, furrowing his brows.

"Private matters that concern only Fatty, he means," said Samwise.

You couldn't help but feel like your friend was lying straight to your face. You looked at Pippin and Merry. Both of them nodded in unison, confirming Sam's explanation to you. Yet, your gut was telling you it was not the whole truth.

"Is there something I should know?" you asked.

Merry shifted his gaze to Pippin, clearly looking for guidance on how to respond to your questioning.

"It's like he said," Merry responded. "It was just something that Fatty wants to keep private."

"Is he no longer angry at you?" you asked Merry, making him shift in his chair again. "About Estella, I mean?"

"No, not at all."

You looked at all of them, one by one. You took note of little irregularities in their body languages.

Sam was furrowing his brows more than normal, and his fingers were tapping the sides of his pint. Merry was shifting his position ever so slightly whenever you looked at him, whilst Pippin was looking at you with an overexaggerated grin. They were lying.

"Well, that's good!" you finally responded. You took a long sip of your drink. You could see everyone at the table relax a little, as they thought they had convinced you that nothing was out of the ordinary.

You all sat there in silence for a few uncomfortable minutes, until Sam opened his mouth in a long sigh.

"Well, I should get going," he said, getting up slowly. "I have some more work to do in Bag End."

"I thought you finished your work early today?" you said, giving him a questioning look. Sam scratched his head.

"Well, yes. But mister Frodo asked me to plant a few tulips near the entrance."

You looked at Sam, not blinking. He stared at you, his face flushed.

"Sam? It’s pouring rain," you said, trying to pull the truth out of your friend.

"Well, I should be going now," he said with a gentle smile. "I'll see you later, miss."

Samwise made his way out of the Green Dragon, and as your attention was at Sam, Pippin was smirking at Merry. You turned around only when you heard Merry smack Pippin on his shoulder.

"Well, I also need to be somewhere," Pippin said, bouncing over Merry and getting out of the booth.

"You too?" you said, now even more suspicious.

"Yes, I have places to be," Pippin said, taking his damp coat off the empty chair next to you.

"Where? What places?" you asked firmly, but with the same soft tone you always used when you tried to reel the truth out of Peregrin.

"Places," Pippin said and looked at Merry and you. He smiled wide. "Have fun," he continued. He walked away and left you two alone.

Merry glanced at you, and then shifted his gaze to his half finished drink. He was brushing his fingers around the small cracks on the handle of the wooden pint he was holding.

"Merry," you said in a low, quiet voice, trying to make eye contact with him. "What was all that really about?"

Merry huffed and looked up from his pint, still not directly at you.

"It's like they said," Merry responded, his eyes scanning around the room. "Just some personal stuff of Fatty's."

"I think you're lying," you said, firmly but gently. He still wouldn't look at you. "But if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. I guess I'm just concerned that I have done something wrong.

Merry finally looked at you, bewildered.

"Why would you have done something wrong?" he inquired. You shrug your shoulders, and he smiled compassionately. "You haven't done anything wrong. It's just a private matter, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about. I promise."

You kept analyzing the changes in his posture, the way he worded things and even the way he looked at you. You were still sure that all of them were hiding something, but you decided to trust his word.

"Are you in a rush to leave too?" you asked, immediately sneezing afterwards. You were uncomfortable and shivering from being so drenched from the downpour outside.

"You're shivering!" Merry said, concerned, moving closer to you in the booth. He took his dry coat off and wrapped it around you.

"Thank you," you sniffled. Merry tried to warm you up by rubbing his hand on your back over the coat. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said warmly. "If you want to spend time with me, that is."

You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder, making him shudder a little. You furrowed your brows a little as it was odd, but you deducted it must've been from the wet hair that hit his skin.

"Can I... I've been meaning to talk to you about something for a few weeks now," Merry suddenly said. Your head was still resting on his shoulder as you answered him.

"What's on your mind?" you asked softly.

A silence followed, as Merry was struggling to find a way to ask you something of delicate matter. Finally he cleared his throat.

"Have you ever felt different?" he asked.

"What?" you chuckled, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

Merry took a deep breath and huffed, trying to gather his composure and to find a better way to express his thoughts.

"Have you ever suddenly felt different about something?" he asked, his voice quiet. He took pauses between every sentence, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words. "Have you ever started to notice new things about something? Like you were always used to it being a certain way, but now suddenly it's just different?”

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him, confused.

"I still don't quite know what you mean."

Merry let out a sigh, leaning back a little for a more comfortable position.

"Have you ever looked at something differently, and thought to yourself: was this here all along and I just never noticed it?" he said. "And it felt natural. Almost like that thing was supposed to be that way all along, but it just took you some time to notice? That it took time to start seeing it differently?"

You thought about his words for a moment.

"I suppose," you finally said. Merry looked at you, analyzing your expression as you responded. You thought about his question a little more, and Merry's mood seemed to grow a little nervous. "My favorite book was that way. As a book it was alright, I thought. Then after reading it for a second time, I noticed how much I actually enjoyed reading it. Is that what you meant?"

Merry's lips pouted a little, his brows furrowed in what seemed like disappointment, and he sighed loudly. He finished his beer, again no longer looking your way.

"Almost, but no. That is not what I meant," he said quietly.

"Then what did you mean?" you asked, now even more confused. Merry shook his head, his expression anxious.

"It was nothing important. Just something stupid I've been thinking about. I'm going to get another ale."

Merry got up and took his empty pint with him. He walked to the counter, and his spirit seemed to have shrunk. As he got to the counter and sat down on one of the high chairs set in front of the bar, he glanced at you quickly over his shoulder, before turning away.

NEXT CHAPTER

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