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tsukkiseasalt · 3 years

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Eyes That Won’t Wonder

“What, what!?” You shriek.

Another low laugh erupts from him as he leans against the door, his large frame blocking any potential view of the inside.

“I believe that is a compliment.” He mumbles his lips curling up into a sly smile.

“Y-yeah, it was.” You stammer, words barely making themselves out of you as your stomach begins to do cartwheels.

“As much as I'd love to stay right here and chat, you’d probably find it to be much more comfortable inside.” He says, smile fully present now, and you take a moment to admire the sight-storing it in your mind. He moves enough for you to slip right past him and pause the moment your feet touch the dark hardwood floors.

The aroma is the first thing that invades your senses. It smells of pine and a rich tobacco, with slight hints of something sweet- maybe vanilla, you can’t really tell. The home is just as beautiful on the inside as it appeared from the outside. The dark hardwood floors complimented the ivory walls and dark rust colored trim. The living room was sparsely decorated though, it had only one couch, a chestnut loveseat and a matching recliner. He obviously doesn’t get many visitors.

“Your home is beautiful.” You say breathlessly, eyes roaming the space in awe.

“Thank you.” He exclaims, a large hand grazing the small of your back as he slips behind you and towards the kitchen. His touch makes your knees go weak and you steady yourself by placing a shaky hand on the door.

“Would you like something to drink?” You hear him call from the kitchen.

“Ah, water please.” You answer, taking a few deep breaths before you saunter over to the counter placing your folder in front of you. He slides the glass in front of you and you nod as a thank you before you begin to sip.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name.” He says leaning back onto the fridge, arms folded over his massive chest.

“Oh, uh, my name is y/n y/ln.” You mumble your index finger rubbing the rim of the glass.

“Lovely, it fits you.” He says, eyes catching your own. You can't help the blush that arises on your cheeks.

“T-thank you.” You manage to stammer out, silently cursing yourself for getting so flustered so quickly. He was a patient not some guy at a bar, you needed to get a grip and you needed to get it fast. “Uhm, you’re a bit younger than most of the other patients i have worked for. Is there actually anything wrong with you?” You quiz, but the words come out a bit harsher than you intended. “Oh goodness, I did not mean that in a bad way at all sir- Mr. Wakatoshi, oh my goodness. I am so sorry.” You exhale letting your head fall into your hands. Your words are all becoming a jumbled mess and you can't help the shame that creeps up your throat. Great, now he probably thinks I'm some kind of asshole.

“No, it's okay. I understand what you were trying to say. Two years ago I had to get a disc in my back replaced and it took a lot out of me. Though I can still get around pretty well, there are still certain tasks that I need help with. I am also set to have another surgery on my knee two months from now, so I thought it would be better to have someone get accustomed to me and my habits beforehands.” He says voice monotone. Is he angry?

“Mr. Wakatoshi, I am so sorry if I came off as rude earlier- I didn’t mean to offend.” You say feeling guilty.

He shakes his head. “You’re fine sweetheart, I’m actually quite flattered that you think that.” Before you have a chance to relish his words he starts again, “I’m going to go put some clothes on, but here. I made a list- well a schedule really- of how my day usually functions. You can look over it and if there is anything that seems to be a bit much for you let me know and we will make alterations to it.” He says walking out of the kitchen and returning with a piece of paper. “Here, I will return shortly.” He says handing you the paper. Your eyes skim the page as you read the text.

7:30am- Arrive & make coffee ( I prefer mine black)

7:45am- Read the newspaper

8:00am- Feed Randy & Lyle

8:15am- Pour second cup of coffee & wash dishes

8:30-9:30am- 2nd Workout (If you could have a bowl of fruits waiting that would be lovely)

10:00am- Post shower stretch (Help isn’t required but appreciated)

10:30-12:00pm- Take Lyle to the park (You are more than welcomed to join us)

12:30pm- Lunch / with Aone* (*Mon. & Thurs. only)

1:00pm- Stop at farmers market

1:30pm- Arrive home & check on Randy

1:35-4:00pm- Varies (You may leave at this time or you may stay for dinner.)

4:00-6:00pm- Prepare dinner

6:05- 6:45pm- Eat then wash dishes

All that is required of you is bolded, the italicized text is completely voluntary, though I would enjoy your company.

“Goodness.” You mumble, placing the paper down. “This is even less than I did with Washijō.” You thought you had it easy then just checking his oxygen, helping him up, and taking him wherever, but you were basically an in-home barista.

“I hope it isn't too much.” The voice startles you as he appears beside you now fully clothed- well not really. He had on a pair of dark sweatpants and a gray sleeveless shirt putting biceps on display for all to see.

“Uh, no, not at all sir. I was expecting much more actually.” You admit eyes darting between the paper and his arms.

“Oh, well I'm sorry to disappoint you.” He says voice low as he bends down to tie his shoes. “I’m sure that there will be more for you to do after my knee surgery.”

“Yes, and I'm not disappointed sir, I'm honestly kind of relieved. I haven't worked with anyone in quite a while, so this is a good refresher to allow me to get back into the routine of things.” You say words falling from your lips before you realize it.

“Is that so?” He asks standing back up to his full height, face full of curiosity.

“Yes, my previous patient passed away and I took some time off. He and I were close, friends even, and the death really hit me hard even though I knew it was coming. It still hurts ya know.” You exclaim as feelings of sadness wash over you at the thought of your friend.

You didn't know what you were expecting when you told him that, maybe an ‘i'm sorry for your loss’ or nothing at all but it is safe to say a hug was not one of those things. His body was warm and his chest was solid- it felt good. You wrapped your own arms around his waist and closed your eyes.

“I hope that one day you and I could be friends as well.” He says quietly pulling away.

You don't fight the smile that graces your face, “Yeah, I feel like we will.”

The words seem to liven him because a large smile spreads across his face again. “Well I’m gonna go lift now, feel free to look around. There's food in the fridge and snacks in the pantry. Make yourself at home.” He says walking to the back of his home.

“Oh, Mr. Wakatoshi!”

“Yes love?” He asks, turning back around, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Who are Lyle and Randy?” You ask looking back down at the paper, partly to hide the blush that you are now sporting. “Are they your children?”

“Yes, they are my children. I’ll introduce you when I return.” He laughs before turning back around and disappearing into a hallway.

You sigh as soon as he is out of eyesight dropping your head onto the cool marble countertop, raising your head just enough to read the time on the clock that sits unwavering by stairs. 8:37. You had just under an hour to get somewhat acquainted with the home you would now be in for ten hours a day for six days a week. You decide to begin with the kitchen, opening and closing drawers & cabinets identifying the contents within them, occasionally rubbing a light hand over them. Next is the living room. The wide open space is mostly vacant and you take a seat on the loveseat sinking back into the cushions. “Nice.” You mumble.

Pushing yourself up you wonder to every room opening the door just enough for you to peek in and see what it is. You hesitate though when you get to the room at the end of the hallway. It’s his. You could sense it, nonetheless you slowly push the knob down and peek inside. It’s clean just like the rest of his home. You don't linger and decide its best to close the door & move onto the next.

By 9:15 you’d looked throughout his entire home, and it was more beautiful than you could have imagined. The ceilings in the bathrooms were high and had beautiful artworks painted atop of them, they looked as though they belonged in a museum rather than someone's guest bathroom. The spare bedrooms were just as lovely. Each had a shelf that was littered with books and knick-knacks that looked foreign. All of this just fueled your curiosity- what did he do & how long did he do it?

You shrugged as you went back into the kitchen jumping when you saw his large frame in the fridge. He was shirtless, again, but this time his hair was wet and clung to his head. The small gray stripes were clear as day against his dark olive locks.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t think you’d be done yet.” You say awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

“Yes, I finished early and decided to shower & grab a snack.” He says waving the bowl of strawberries.

“I was about to prepare one for you.” You said.

“Oh, thank you. You don't really have to do anything today, just get accustomed to things.” He says popping the small red fruit into his mouth.

“Would you like me to stretch you out?” You ask, remembering the list.

His eyes shoot up to yours as soon as the question escapes your lips and you realize how wrong it sounded and before you had a chance to correct yourself he spoke. “You stretch me out, I mean i’ll try anything once but i’d prefer the opposite..”

His words startled you to say the least, and almost instinctively the words flowed from your lips, “I’d like to see you try.”

His eyes widened at your remark and at that you began to spew apologies. “Shit, fuck, DAMMIT. God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, the stretching part I mean. Well I meant that, but not what I said afterwards. Ok, let me start over. What I meant to say is do you need help stretching considering you just got done working out. There, that's what I meant.”

Your eyes are frantic as they lock with his. God, it's the first day and I'm already gonna lose my damn job. Just great. His lips are pressed in a straight line for a moment before he finally lets the edge of them glide up into a small smirk.

“I’ve already stretched, but I suppose I could go a little deeper, maybe a little harder this time.” He says emphasizing the two words as he pops another strawberry between his lips smirk still evident.

“The stretches of course.?” You ask for clarification.

He hums and pops another strawberry between his lips setting the bowl down onto the counter stalking towards you, his large figure quickly engulfing your much smaller one almost instantly. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

You can feel his warm breath on your lips as he leans down, “But if that is what you insist.”

A loud bark bellowed throughout the kitchen causing you to jump. He smiled and wrapped a protective arm around your waist. “No need to fret, he was probably just getting anxious to meet you.”

“He?”

“Yes, my son, or at least one of them. Come on so I can introduce you.” He says guiding you down the hallway, to his room you assumed. You were correct, you realized as he pushed the door open revealing a large dog.

“Don’t worry sweetheart he doesn’t bite. Daddy made him promise to be on his best behavior.” He whispers lowly into your ear.

Fuck, this may be harder than I thought.

hiiiiii, this is the second chapter & you can just check the tag eyesthatwontwonder to read the first. anywaysssss i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <33

#haikyu x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu!!#ushiwaka #wakatoshi ushijima #shiratorizawa #smut #eyesthatwontwonder #haikyu headcanons #haikyuu smut #haikyū!!

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milfgyuu · 3 years

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Under Control → Pairing: Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Tags: 1.7k, Dad!AU, Fluff, Part of the ‘Little Things’ series. Summary: Your husband promises you everything will be just fine if you get out of the house for a few hours to enjoy yourself. You come home to find things may have gotten a little out of hand.

“Are you absolutely sure?” You asked for the hundredth time as your husband shuffles behind you, pushing you closer and closer to the door.

“Of course I’m sure! It’s going to be fine,” He assures you, grabbing your purse and slipping it over your shoulder.

You twist your body around, hoping to stall a bit longer but he continues moving you toward the door, walking you backward while shooting you a massive smile and your worry eases just a bit. “You’ll call me if something happens right?” You ask, eyes wide and serious.

“Nothing is going to happen, honey,” He assures you, one hand on your waist and the other opening the front door, “I’ve got everything under control.”

Silently, you stand just outside the door staring over your husband’s shoulder, hoping to glimpse the door to the nursery. Jinyoung grabs your face in both hands and makes you look at him, “Enjoy some peace and quiet for once, baby. You’ll only be gone for a few hours. I can handle it.”

“You’re right,” You nodded, leaning up on your toes to kiss him goodbye, “You’re a very capable father, I'm just being a stage five clinger,” You admitted and Jinyoung laughed before kissing you again and off you went for the first time since becoming a mother.

Your son Kai was the absolute light of your lives. At six months old, he was already on the move. He was beginning to learn how to crawl, though he didn’t get too far before stumbling and rolling around. You’ve found out that he loves apples and loathes green beans. He’s also become much more expressive, now falling over in a fit of giggles when you tickle him.

Every second of every day has been dedicated solely to your son and your husband had to basically kick you out of the house for a few hours on your own to get you to take a break. He went so far as to schedule you for a haircut, manicure, and massage ensuring that you wouldn’t jet right home after twenty minutes. Sometimes having a know-it-all husband had its perks.

Two hours later you left the salon feeling pretty great. Your hair looked and felt amazing after your stylist trimmed off a few inches and gave you a stellar blowout. Thankfully, the nail salon was in the same plaza and you were greeted at the door with a smile and a free smoothie. You could get used to this kind of service you thought.

When you jumped back in your car to drive to the massage therapist, you dialed your husband on Bluetooth, just to check-in. To your surprise, it rang all the way through to voicemail which was really odd. He was the type to pick up on the second ring, but maybe he had his hands full. You waited a few minutes before trying him again.

“....Hi...Hey, babe!” Jinyoung’s voice came over your car speakers hastily.

“Honey, why do you sou-”

“How was your, uh...the hair thing?” He stuttered out loudly and you had to turn your Bluetooth volume down to not burst your eardrums.

“Jinyoung? Is everything okay? Why do you sound like everything is not okay?” You asked slightly panicked but trying to keep an even tone, giving him the benefit of the doubt before you jump the gun.

“Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about! Everything is fine! Anyway, your massage is in ten minutes and you should relax beforehand so you’re not so tense so I'll let you go, ok, I love you, bye!” He spouted quickly before hanging up the phone and you were flabbergasted by the conversation.

Your husband is the definition of ‘calm, cool, and collected’ so the fact that he was stuttering and stammering over the phone has you thrown off. You really want to call him again but you don’t want to make him think you lack confidence in him, so you let it go. He said everything was fine and you’re going to trust him, for now. As you park the car, you consider canceling and heading home once again but decided against it.

Another hour later and you're walking out of the massage therapist’s with a stupid grin on your face, your muscles like jelly after having all the knots released from your upper back and shoulders. ‘How could you have not done this earlier?’ you thought until you remember the exact reason why you’ve yet to prioritize any self-care.

You were still smiling as you walked into the house, hanging your purse on the rack near the door. As you entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water, as recommended by your masseuse, your jaw about hit the floor as you take in the mess. The high chair tray is hanging on by one side only and there are food and dishes everywhere. The walls, the counters, and the floor were all splattered with orange and green baby food.

With eyes as wide as saucers you make your way toward the nursery and it’s empty aside from the dresser drawer hanging open, clothes spilling onto the floor, and the baby powder dusting the changing pad and carpet. You left the room and made a right toward the bathroom where the light was on and the door was ajar.

You jump as you step in a puddle and realize the floor is covered in water. The tub is empty aside from some leftover bubbles and Kai’s favorite red ducky, so it was clear that a bath had been attempted. Probably after the feeding escapade and before the baby powder explosion. What in god’s name had happened while you were gone?

The last room you checked was the living room and you stopped dead in your tracks when you finally found the culprits behind the mess. The room is cluttered with toys of every shape and size. Jinyoung is sprawled out on the couch in nothing but his underwear with Kai on his chest and they’re both completely knocked out.

Your smile grows infinitely as you move closer and see that Jinyoung has food splattered on his face and baby powder in his hair. He is snoring lightly, his chest moving up and down gently while Kai sleeps on peacefully. You lean over them gently, brushing the hair on Jinyoung’s forehead back and he blinks at you sleepily at first before his eyes widen in panic.

You shush him quietly and lift Kai into your arms, rocking him gently to make sure he stays asleep before heading over the nursery to lay him down to finish napping. After spending a few minutes tidying up the dresser, tucking his clothes away properly, you make your way back into the living room to find your husband.

As soon as you enter the room, Jinyoung is shooting off the couch and you laugh at loud at the sight. His eyes are wide and he has tufts of powdered hair sticking up. He looks exhausted and completely adorable. The fact that your husband, who is never ruffled, is in such a state makes you giggle uncontrollably.

Jinyoung’s eyes softened and he smiled at you sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Did you have a nice time out, baby?” He asked.

You moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and his came around your waist, “I had a great time,” You thanked him with a kiss.

Leaning back you cocked your head to the side, a playful smile on your lips, “So, what happened here?”

Jinyoung sagged a bit, blowing his hair out of his face, “Your son is a little terror when his mother is not around,” He deadpanned.

You swatted his chest lightly, “My son is an absolute angel!”

Jinyound simply rolled his eyes. “He must have a ‘mommy sensor’ because he woke up immediately after you left and he was inconsolable. I tried feeding him and he refused absolutely everything I gave him, flinging and spitting food everywhere, THEN, I tried to give him a bath and he flailed around like a fish and got water all over the floors, soaking me in the process. When I tried to dress him he kicked the powder out of my hand and then would not stop trying to roll off the changing table while I was grabbing clothes,” He went on, barely taking a breath and you let him continue.

“When I finally got clothes on him, which by the way was like wrestling an angry cat into jammies, he was STILL fussing so I tried every toy in the house and he hated them all. He only fell asleep maybe fifteen minutes before you came home.”

He let out a deep sigh as he finished his tirade and you could only smile at him. It seems the one thing out of your husband’s control was your rowdy little boy and just the thought of him wrestling with Kai through your daily routine of feeding, bathing, and changing fills you with a twisted sort of pleasure. It’s wonderful to see him flustered like this.

“Despite the house being a complete wreck,” You began, “You’re both in one piece, so I think you handled it well enough,” You smiled at him sincerely, kissing the tip of his nose, which makes him roll his eyes despite his own growing smile.

“How about I start in the kitchen while you hit the living room and then we can meet in the bathroom,” You suggest after a few moments, “And when we get there, maybe I’ll give you a bath,” You add, poking at the dried food on his cheek.

Jinyoung smirked at you then, pulling you in closer to nip at your throat, “Oh, is that so?” He asks, all traces of stress and exhaustion replaced swiftly with the cocky dominance you’re so well acquainted with.

You kiss him once more before pushing off his chest and backing toward the kitchen, “Well, Kai won’t stay asleep forever so I suggest you get to cleaning, daddy.”

“Game on, baby.”

Series M.List | GOT7 M.List | Main M.List

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nurseofren · 3 years

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Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship.

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward. Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon. Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted. After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing. If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here. This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you. The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains. The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself.

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building. It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him. Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller. Not since Snoke. Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment. The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken. You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant. It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain.

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him. Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible. Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now. With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony. This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens. It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit.

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving. It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s. They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark. Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far. Somewhere off on his own business. Training, maybe. At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating. Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering.

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead. Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body.

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing. No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself. It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him. Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage. Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system. The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad. The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar. Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous. You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky. First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base. Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay. A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night. It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy. A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space.

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute. The stone iced into your cheek. You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside.

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call. “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper. It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here. Caught a nap, which was nice. Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all. Hopefully it meant he was done being weird. “I also got a nap. Which, agreed, is definitely nice. Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling. It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs. The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening.

“She isn’t that bad. It’s just her voice. And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing. And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there. Bright and early, just like you. Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform. I just find that a bit unfair. But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this. I don’t even know why I expected anything different. I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something. And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip. You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace. Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath. “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here. It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark. “No. No. Not homey. Not quaint. None of that. Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have. Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm. An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection. “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath. A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear. And then it was quiet again. He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become. Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on. And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else. “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked. Final.

It concaved your chest. Mason had never spoken to you like this. Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip. “Should I be worried?”

He paused. “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire. An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind. All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you. I can’t-,”

“I told you. I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause. His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No. I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear. “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow. You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you. You hated it. “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast. Mason cleared his throat. “Request transport for the morning after your shift. You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk. About things. Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him. Or you. Or both.

“Yeah. I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence. You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it. The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night.

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy. Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water. Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather. Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders. With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here.

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain. For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay. Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around. But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before. Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows. Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren. Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders. He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them. The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough. No, so much more than enough. Entrancing. Captivating. Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun. Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention. From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again. There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still. When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm. Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn. A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention. One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance. He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing. From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them. A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids. Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage.

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance. The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation. One you fully intended on accepting.

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night. Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet. You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase. As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you.

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door. No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants.

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly. Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance.

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence. You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier. The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it. The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines. And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake. On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room. This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides. Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come. A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression. Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller.

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach. Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body. Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms. And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower. Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower. Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart. The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known. You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him. No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him.

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped. Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again. He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time. You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now. You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it. He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar. You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek. Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it.

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares. So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob. “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him. “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit. When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you. Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers. Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder. “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility. “Before Takodana. You knew. He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae. “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me. Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me. And I’ve always been a bastard. So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek. Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye.

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room. Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole. He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore. “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision. He believed you because he believed those things of himself. After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart. You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head. You didn’t think it would show you anything different. You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist. With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard. Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up. “Nothing. Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you. Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow. Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh. Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door.

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze. He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip. Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you. Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own. The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso. Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface. You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you. He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly. The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will.

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him. He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone.

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis. Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast. His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow.

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner. His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft. He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went. The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips. The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest.

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours. So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life. Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury. With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair. Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis. Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair. A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs. The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine. Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath.

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft. Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next. It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him.

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes. A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him. You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers.

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him. “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum. “And you are my master. Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs. Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it.

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue. A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall. But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts. “Your names, your body. Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now.

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh. “I’m- everything. It’s yours. I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion. An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall. Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves.

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass. All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat.

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began. You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop.

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came. Simple. Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much. A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him. Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours.

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own. But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap. Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin. And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own. The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed. Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth.

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned. “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep. “Perspective, really. Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept. He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation. Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight. So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren smut #angst #fluff #ao3 #wattpad

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runephoenix6769 · 4 years

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ATLAB / LOK and Nickelodeon’s Enforced Gendered Viewership.

https://thesummoningdark.tumblr.com/post/619001411756310528/gayna-scully-prokopetz-silkktheshocka With regards to this long ass post. (And I’m gonna slightly deviate from the original topic.) The really messed up thing with Nick, with concern to Korra. I read somewhere that when they were first doing concept designs for LOK, that the Nick execs railed against a female avatar cause they thought/(wanted to market) Avatar Last Airbender as strictly a Boys show. When faced with the designs of a really buff, muscular Korra, Nick wasnt overly keen, because they thought her supposed lack of femininity would put boys off

They wanted her to be more feminine (even though Korra was meant to be a more physical Avatar in comparison to Aang.) And Mako would be more front and centre in aiding Korra. Guess what they found when they market tested the designs? Girls were absolutely thrilled. And the boys? The boys couldn’t give two shits about Korra’s supposed lack of femininity. They loved the fact she could punch through shit. They thought Korra’s design was ‘cool’ and ‘badass’!

(my opinion) So whilst the Nick execs were all patting themselves on the back that their fucked up view and enforced gendering of viewer ship still carried some weight, they obviously didnt think to actually look/take on board the actual content of ATLAB and maybe wonder why exactly it was so immensely popular and who exactly the fandom base was made up of.

ATLAB had some of the strongest, most well rounded female characters on tv at the time. There’s a reason why Azula, Katara and Toph are so popular. Why Suki, Ty Lee and Mai are so beloved.

Not a single one of them is a damsel in distress. Hell, more often than not they handed the boys their ass in a fight. Azula and Katara are bending masters in their respective element at 14 and Toph, a blind girl, at 11, in a world that it is heavily implied that most bending Adults have not reached that level of skill. Toph creates her own off shoot of Earth Bending by being the first metal bender. Azula is seen as an outlier by being able to create and bend lightening, never mind her signature and unique blue flame. Katara, under duress, masters the rare ability to blood bend, (being second person to do so that we know of in ATLAB) and has such a command of waterbending she can quite literally suck moisture out of the ground creating a barrier that torrential rain cannot penetrate.

Even in the small snippet we get of Avatar Kyoshi, she is ruthless and takes no prisoners. (and one of the main reasons why people have been clamoring for Kyoshi content spawning the books the ‘Rise of Kyoshi’ and the sequel that is following this year, ‘Shadow of Kyoshi’.)

If the Nick execs had cared to take notice of the themes and arcs of some of the characters they might have seen how part of Sokka’s character arc was growing from an ignorant misogynist to a young adult who learned over time and regularly took a hefty gulp of respect women juice. (A message that the Nick Execs might have benefited from when dealing with LOK.)

Aang, the titular protagonist learns bending from two of his female peers and often defers to their superior skill and knowledge, until he masters them. Were the Nick execs that dense that they genuinely believed that all these amazing female characters, created by Bryke and colab narratives by Ehasz, were there to appeal only to boys? To represent boys? The ratio of male to female main heroes/villains is 3 boys, 6 girls and 2 male adults. (one adult we dont even see until the last season.) The ATLAB fandom was massively made up of girls, and by virtue those girls would more than likely migrate to LOK, specifically because it was a female Avatar hoping for the same depth of character and positive representation, which makes Nick’s whole fucked up enforcing of gendered viewership all the more baffling. Again, had the Nick Execs not watched ATLAB if they thought they could tout it as ‘just’ another action show and its subsequent spin off LOK?

ATLAB at it’s core is about the interpersonal relationships, the struggles one faces when growing up, dealing with dark themes in a way that kids can understand and older viewers can relate. The war is the back drop, the action part of the draw but not main spectacle.

Had they not done their research, saw the trend of who exactly the audience consisted of and thought, ‘hey maybe its a good idea to maybe stop enforcing, dictating gendered viewership?’ and maybe not continue to labour under the belief that ‘girls dont like action’! Legend of Korra and ATLAB are still being discussed to this day and not only because it has the industry standard of redemption arcs by which all redemption arcs since have tried to emulate and hold a candle to. (SPOP I’m looking in your direction, congrats btw.) but also because of its representation, strong female characters and compelling villains. Outside of Korra (/Asami), guess who are the most popular characters? Kuvira and Lin Beifong.

Now getting back to the actual content of the OG post. There aint alot or ATLAB or LOK merch in general outside of comics and plushies. (There was a poor attempt made at merchandsing on the M Night Shabigamoo’s god awful adaptation..... but shhhhhhhh, we aint even gonna get into that.) But of the merchandise that is available one in particular stands out as being in high demand.

I typed into google ‘Azula Funko Pop’ and this is the first image!

(Look at that price, it’s insane!)

Now that might be a case of price gouging because she was a US Gamestop exclusive but it in no way detracts from the fact that FUNKO POP is aware of just how popular Azula is therefore by virtue she is a prime candidate for exclusivity and would have collectors clamoring to buy her.

Even Aang in the Avatar state isn’t an exclusive nor is the new Legend of Korra funkos that were meant to be released this June/July ,( which now might be pushed back Covid19 pending).

Now, who exact was Azula created for? Yes, a foil for Zuko and a way to explore familial dysfunction, a mirror to what Zuko could have been if he hadn't been banished and had the support and guidance of his Uncle Iroh. Her subsequent mental breakdown is heart wrenching and a compelling take on what goes on underneath a villain’s impenetrable armor, that the ravages and victims of war are not just found in the body count.

But for most of the show, Azula is flouncing round the world with her two more than capable and dangerous in their own right, sidekicks, Ty Lee and Mai thrashing the gAang for the most part, kicking ass and taking names whilst also successfully heading a relatively bloodless coup of Ba Sing Se.

How on earth with all that could Nick still be so bull headed as to continue to double down on maintaining it be a show strictly marketed to boys and then get pissed when it when girls flocked to it? And the comments made in the OG post are correct. Nick showed their displeasure by fucking around with LOK’s time slot on more than one occasion, claimed it’s ratings were dropping (no shit sherlock, wonder why?) before moving it to the web. (where ironically, it thrived.) and then they slashed it’s budget forcing Bryke to trim the animation in places, namely the outfits of the characters, so they could put the money towards the animation of scenes they had been building up to such as Korra’s style of metal bending, which would be more fluid given her OG element was water.

Now imagine the show we might have gotten if Nick hadn’t been a bunch of arseholes, hadn’t tried to enforce their outdated misogynistic views and thrown a massive hissyfit?

Roll on the live action re-imagining with Bryke at the helm. I’m sure Netflix wont be trying to claim or market it as ‘a show strictly for boys’! And thankyou to Bryke, for this.

#atlab #lok #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra #gendered viewership #korra #azula #aang #toph #katara #zuko #sokka #bryke #bryan konietzko #aaron ehasz #michael dante dimartino

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Minerva (Bit 3)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

Finally I have some writing to share. I might be getting my head back on straight, yay!

Buckets of Science!Gordon in this one. yes, I’ve let my inner geek out, sorry :D

Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read through and reassurance when I get wibbly :D

I hope you enjoy this pile of marine fluff :D Approx. 2000 words worth :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon grinned and clapped his hands together. “So, what shall we do next? A little Minerva 101? A walk on the reef? Or a swim?” Those hands were rubbed together eagerly.

“You’ve just eaten, Gordon.”

“So?”

Andre stood up. “It is my recommendation that we wait before attempting swimming.”

“Aw, Annie.”

The glare Andre shot his husband almost melted the stern of the boat.

Cecil grinned and winked at his husband.

Virgil bit his tongue. “You think you can lug me onto that reef?” In the distance, the open ocean crashed against the outer reef rim. It was hard to see if there was even any dry land from this distance.

Gordon’s grin turned fond. “Wouldn’t go without you, bro. Told you, I brought the water chair.”

Virgil felt the simple emotion behind that statement and his heart warmed. The water chair was something he himself had put together for Gordon all those years ago after the hydrofoil accident. His brother hadn’t been able to swim and the hoverchair could not operate under or over water. So, borrowing a little Thunderbird technology, Virgil had built one that could. With some feedback and suggestions from its over-the-moon recipient, Virgil had tweaked the design to the point that it could literally operate as a diver assist with minimal effect on its immediate environment while still enabling the operator to ‘walk on water’.

Tracy Industries now produced a trimmed down economical version for world-wide distribution. Gordon was the poster boy for the program and loved seeing people experience water in ways that had been denied them in the past.

But the original, the prototype, was kept on Tracy Island with Gordon. Virgil serviced it every couple of years and it had even been used a few times since.

But never by Virgil.

After stripping into their own water wear, it took some manoeuvring and both nurses to get into Virgil into some wet gear. It was awkward and frustrating, but both Andre and Cecil were gentle and understanding. Gordon stood ready to assist, his eyes warm, his hand briefly brushing Virgil’s hair.

Virgil was grateful, but hated every second.

The casts on his legs were specifically printed for him, a high-tech honeycomb of support, providing strength without the weight and bulk of traditional plaster. And they were water friendly, allowing both air flow and ultimately water flow around his injured limbs.

It took all three men to get Virgil safely into the inflatable.

“Virg, you’ve been stealing far too many of Scott’s apple pies.”

“Speak for yourself.” Virgil grit his teeth as they lowered him into the smaller boat. “Are you sure about this?” So much work to get one person onto a reef.

“Not going without you, bro. Apple pie butt or no.” The determined expression on his little brother’s face put an end to that argument.

The water chair was tucked behind a seat along with snorkelling equipment and a stash of Gordon’s scientific gear and within minutes they were motoring across relatively shallow waters spotted with tropical reef. Virgil peered over the side watching the ever so clear azure pass beneath them. The colours were amazing.

The atoll was obviously the remains of yet another undersea volcano. Living on Tracy Island, which was a volcano itself, gave him some familiarity with the symptoms. But unlike the islands in the Kermadec arc, this volcano hadn’t quite made it above the waterline. It had, however gotten close enough to bring its rim into the sunlit zone of the ocean, enabling coral to gain a foothold and build the reef that had accomplished the task.

As the rim grew closer, the water grew shallower, to the point where Gordon had to slow the inflatable or risk impaling it on submerged living limestone.

The roar of open ocean grew closer. The crash of massive waves that the coral rim was protecting them from. Virgil closed his eyes and soaked in the saltwater air, the breeze and the soundscape.

I was invigorating and relaxing at the same time.

At some point he became aware of eyes on him and he opened his own only to encounter Gordon smiling softly.

Ever so quiet. “That’s more like it.”

Virgil was caught between fondness and embarrassment. But Gordon didn’t say anything else and turned back to steering the boat. Neither Andre or Cecil appeared to have noticed, possibly through courtesy.

Virgil let one hand trail in the cool, clear water and closed his eyes again.

He might have just drifted off right there and then but for the sudden cease of the outboard which had been chugging along relatively slowly in any case. The inflatable drifted as Gordon deployed an anchor and Andre pulled out the water chair, unfolding the leg supports.

“Okay, Virg, let’s get your apple pie butt into the chair.”

Virgil growled at his brother, but Gordon only grinned, climbing behind him and, with Cecil’s help, lifting him enough for Andre to slide the contraption under said butt.

The chair’s gel morphed to his shape, fitting snuggly and supporting his back as Gordon strapped him in. Andre secured the leg braces, connecting them to his casts.

Andre jumped over the side and landed in waist deep water.

Gordon curled his hand around Virgil’s arm. “Okay, bro, let’s see how much fish you have in you.” Another teethy grin as he and Cecil lifted Virgil over the edge of the inflatable and lowered him with Andre’s guidance into the water.

Virgil palmed the seat’s control, which previously he had only used to test the contraption, and micro-thrusters fired up stabilising him as he slipped into the water.

A moment of wobble and the seat settled at waist depth in the water, its quiet hum barely audible over the ripples lapping against the boat.

“Well, it seems those apple pies aren’t going to sink you today.”

“Gordon!”

His brother only laughed as he joined him in the water with a splash…which landed mostly on Virgil.

He wanted to both throttle and hug Gordon to death.

Cecil joined them, smoothly sliding off the inflatable, and all four of them made their way towards the massive reef sticking a good foot above the low tide.

“Watch where you step. Virg has the advantage here. Lots of sharp nasties if you’re not careful.”

Virgil was too busy enjoying the water. The chair automatically adjusted to the surface and he was able to raise or lower it at will. As they neared the inner edge of the reef, he engaged the secondary thruster array and pushed himself above the waterline. The breeze caressed his skin.

The reef ledge was quite a step up. A purple-brown, the limestone sported a continual waterfall of seawater pushed by the swell from the open ocean on the other side.

Gordon slipped in behind him and gave the chair a nudge to get it high enough to engage with the raised surface. Virgil fiddled with the controls until the seat stabilised, hovering just a few inches above the rock and all the rockpools it held.

And there were a lot of rock pools.

Virgil had a sudden flashback to a young Gordon dashing from one rock pool to the next, yelling out his discoveries of this fish, that shell, the occasional ticked off crab…

The incident with the blue-ringed octopus particularly came to mind.

But his little brother had been six then. Theoretically, he was an adult now, one of advanced marine experience.

“Virg! Come and have a look at this!”

Then again...

Sure enough, it was a rock pool and it had some kind of eel trapped in it. Gordon started babbling Latin at him before Virgil had even made it close enough to see the thing clearly.

There was a camera, several shots, some holofilm and lots and lots of incomprehensible marine science-ese.

Virgil had to bite his lip not to grin like a loon.

Cecil appeared to be a disciple of Gordon, his knowledge obviously not up there with the aquanaut’s, but ever so interested and eager to learn. Gordon revelled in the opportunity and Virgil got to sit back and watch his little brother disappear into his element.

Andre hovered about his patient, on duty at all times. “You can relax, Andre. I’m good. Have a bit of fun.”

The quiet man smiled. “I am.” His eyes were on Cecil as his husband darted after Gordon from rock pool to rock pool chattering excitedly with the aquanaut.

Virgil pulled out his phone and took some photos of his brother and his student. “You may never get him back.”

Andre snorted. “I have my ways, don’t worry.”

An arched eyebrow found the nurse smiling again.

With Gordon off in science land, Virgil took the opportunity to do a little exploring of his own. He lowered the chair enough so he could reach down and touch the rock beneath the water. It was sharp, rough and covered in life. The rock pools were truly fascinating. Corals lived in niches, sea urchins huddled in all their spikiness, but it was the giant clams that caught his eye the most.

They had some brilliant colours and they reacted to his presence, closing up abruptly if he startled them. They were quite a distance down and he found himself poking into deeper pools as he scooted along the inner edge of the reef.

They came in a number of shades, but the most brilliant was a vivid blue. His eyes were attracted to the subtle patterns and his fingers itched to record them. His phone filled with shots at the thought of future paintings.

“Thought you might like those.”

Virgil nearly dropped his phone. That, of course, only produced a grin on Gordon’s behalf.

Virgil was hovering over a particularly deep rock pool and at the very bottom, wedged in a crevice, sat a beautiful blue example. It was still mostly open, displaying its variegated mantle. Due to a sudden lack of breeze and the clarity of the water, it was very visible, and Virgil had already taken several holoshots, a composition combining sea urchins, several of the bright red fish and the clam, already in mind.

Behind him Cecil was bouncing on his feet a few metres away gesticulating in excitement as he raved at Andre. Andre had that smile on his face again, the one where love and amusement met and each tried to take dominance.

“I think you’ve started something over there.” Virgil grinned at his brother.

A snort. “Cess has always had an interest. I’m just fanning the flames.”

“Luring him to cook for us forever?”

“Mmmmaybe.”

Virgil chuckled and earned himself a pair of sparkling amber eyes.

“Mel wants a clam count.”

A blink. “What?”

“She’s worried there might be poaching happening here. This place gets a lot of traffic. I had John check for yachts before we came and the fact there are none other than us here is a rarity.”

“People steal the clams?” Virgil stared down at the beautiful creature below.

Gordon sighed. “Is there anything people won’t do? Mel wants a count so we can do a population snapshot. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve adapted one of our lifesign locators for their particular form. Not sure it’s going to work, but I was hoping that between us, we could rig it.”

Virgil stared up at his brother. Gordon had planned this, but he had planned it well. Virgil couldn’t resist the challenge, and much like his aquanaut brother, certain stains on humanity really got his back up.

“Sure.”

Gordon’s smile was an honest one. “But no pushing it, Virg, or Scott will have my hide.”

As if summoned by his name, a roar swelled in the distance and out of nowhere Thunderbird One shot into the air space above them, VTOL flaring as she came to a sudden halt.

Their comms spat into life. “Thunderbird One to A Little Lightning, whatcha doing down there?”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #minerva reef #minerva #science!Gordon

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slashhinginghasher · 3 years

Text

Closet Space - Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Self-indulgent college AU? Self-indulgent college AU.

College senior Jesse Cromeans makes out with a hot international student at a frat party.

Jesse Cromeans and Caitlin Spann didn’t often go to frat parties anymore. The connections they’d gathered over the course of four years of business internships were enough to gain them access to real parties, not the desperate orgies of cheap sex and cheaper beer their peers engaged in. The Incident in their junior year also left Jesse reluctant to show his newly scarred face more than absolutely necessary. (Watching CEOs do lines of coke off of strippers’ tits in the hopes of getting a few business cards by the end of the night was necessary. Beer pong was not.) He’d made lots of excuses in that regard, and Spann was good enough not to call him out on it. But winter term was over, they’d both received their early acceptances from the Stanford School of Business, and tonight they felt like celebrating on somebody else’s dime.

They still made sure to choose one of the more monied fraternities. They did have standards, after all.

Old money or not, the inside of the frat house was still chaos. There was a massive, professionally decorated Christmas tree in the living room, which would be largely stripped of its ornaments and tinsel by drunk college kids come morning. Many of the girls had their tits out despite the winter chill, lots of skimpy, crushed velvet dresses and coquettish faux fur trim. Jesse was bombarded with greetings as soon as they walked through the door, and he fielded them with quickly waning patience as Spann drifted off to go do Spann things. He’d achieved a somewhat legendary status on campus after turning a first year stock market exercise into millions of real dollars. Spann had been his partner on that project, but she was perfectly content to take her cut of the money and leave the credit to him. She preferred to work in the background, claiming she got more done when she didn’t have to deal with the interpersonal bullshit politics that Jesse navigated so well.

He eventually wound up in the kitchen, where a steady stream of party-goers helped themselves to overpriced snacks (who put out charcuterie boards at a frat party, honestly?) and mixed half-assed cocktails that were 10% mixer at best. A couple groped at each other next to the pantry, and a short girl with dark, wild hair and an intense expression surveyed the stream of human traffic over the rim of a red solo cup. Jesse poured himself another whiskey and leaned against the island next to her.

PLANNING A MURDER?

The girl jumped slightly at the sound of his phone’s electronic voice, then glanced at him with startlingly blue eyes. She scoffed and took a swig of what looked like water or straight vodka.

“Just contemplating, not planning.” Her voice was lower than Jesse expected from someone her size, with a thick Eastern European accent. His lips twitched with a smile. He did always like them sharp, and a good chase was just what he needed tonight.

YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE ENJOYING YOURSELF.

“I’m not.”

THEN WHY COME?

“I’m fucking poor, and there’s free food.” As if to make a point, she turned around and started rummaging through the fridge like she owned the place. Jesse found himself at a loss for words, a laugh stuck halfway between his chest and his throat.

IF YOU’RE THAT POOR HOW DO YOU AFFORD THIS PLACE?

Jesse and Spann would graduate debt-free thanks to their stock market exploits, but the tuition at their university was… hefty, to say the least. He imagined it would be even worse for an international student.

“They gave me a lot of money because I am very sad orphan girl. And I am also devastatingly sexy,” she said, emerging from the fridge and shoving half a slice of pizza into her mouth in one bite. She flashed him a peace sign that somehow managed to be blisteringly sarcastic and sauntered away with her prize.

She was wearing a heavy plaid skirt that hit mid-calf, her black top looked like it had been run through a woodchipper and reassembled with safety pins, and she was eating stolen pizza straight out of the box.

Jesse wholly agreed with her self-assessment. The sexy part, at least.

***

He was still thinking about her an hour later when Spann sidled up on her platform stilettos, her balance impeccable despite her obvious intoxication.

“There’s a group of loudmouths gathering ‘round the pool table in the basement,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. “You in a betting mood?”

“A hunting mood,” he signed.

“Ooooh.” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically. “Got your sights set on anyone?”

“I might.”

Most people thought Spann and Jesse were an item just because they lived together and spent almost every public moment attached at the hip. Which were pretty good reasons, when one thought about it. But Spann was largely a commitment girl, and Jesse was decidedly not. Spann didn’t want to be a metaphorical notch on a bedpost; Jesse didn’t want to be tied down. They’d made out once as an experiment at the end of their freshman year, then hashed out the boundaries of their relationship in a five-minute conversation that they’d followed ever since.

Jesse had no idea why other people had to make relationships so damn complicated.

Before Spann could convince Jesse to come watch her annihilate some frat boys at pool, the fraternity president approached them. He was a douchebag of the highest order - the type of guy who insisted on being addressed by his last name because his first name was Edwin or Briggsley or some other rich prick idiocy - and Jesse and Spann both hated him, but his obscenely wealthy father would be a useful business contact in the future, so they forced themselves to be cordial.

“Some of the girls are organizing a game of Truth or Dare in the den. You feeling bold, Caitlin?” he asked with a cocky grin. He was also the sort of douchebag who addressed all women by their first name, including his professors and women like Spann who could break his spine over their knee.

“No, thank you,” Spann said, cold and sweet as ice cream. “I finished high school years ago.” He laughed, the insult and the rejection rolling harmlessly off his shiny money veneer, and turned to Jesse.

“How about you, Cromeans?” Jesse was on the verge of saying no when he saw a mane of black hair being led, somewhat reluctantly, towards the small crowd gathering in the den. He shrugged with practiced nonchalance and held up his phone.

SURE, WHY THE FUCK NOT?

“Atta boy!” President Edwin Briggsley Douchebag III clapped him on the shoulder, and Jesse had to force himself not to break the twat’s hand. The other boy left to continue his rounds, recruiting anything with a pair of tits for his little game. Spann - god damn her fucking eagle eyes - had tracked Jesse’s gaze and was now grinning deviously.

“I heard she has sessions with Malloy every other week,” she whispered in his ear, referring to one of the lead staff at the university’s mental health clinic. “Condition of her enrollment.”

Now that was interesting.

“Happy hunting,” she cackled, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. “I’m off to make some rich boys cry.”

***

People were so dreadfully predictable, Jesse thought. Nearly ten people in and not a hint of creativity to be found. People who chose Truth were asked to recount their sexual history or most embarrassing moments; those who picked Dare were promptly relieved of articles of clothing. The object of his momentary obsession appeared to be having similar thoughts as she watched the proceedings with heavy-lidded boredom. The crowd booed as one of the boys dared a girl to kiss him and she threw herself at him with great enthusiasm.

“That’s not a real dare, you’re her fucking boyfriend!” someone protested. The girl stuck her tongue out at them, then shoved it back in her boyfriend’s mouth. There were more jeers and whistles and a few calls for them to get a room. One of the boys tried to get back everyone’s attention.

“Alright, alright, whatever, next victim!” He pointed at Jesse’s girl and trailed off, apparently realizing he didn’t know her name.

“Mareeeennnnaaaaa!” cooed the girl who’d roped her in to the game, dragging the vowels out in a drunken sing-song.

“Marena!” the boy announced. Marena quirked a brow, apparently unimpressed with his pronunciation. “Truth or dare!”

“Dare,” she said with zero hesitation. The boy honest to god rubbed his hands together and grinned like he was about to say something genius.

“Twenty minutes in heaven.” Not that genius, then. He grabbed the closest empty beer bottle and held it up with two fingers. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on gets locked in a closet with you for twenty minutes.”

Like hell was Jesse going to let one of these dumb fucks get her alone for even one minute.

“I thought it was normally seven minutes.”

“Are you backing out?” Marena flipped him off as an answer and snatched the bottle from him, sending it spinning with an elegant flick of her fingers.

She had a few whitish scars on her hand and wrist, barely visible in the low light.

Jesse tensed as the bottle slowed, frantically thinking up reasons to start a fight with whoever it landed on. But his efforts were unnecessary, because the universe and physics were on his side that night. The crowd erupted into a clamor of hoots and hollers like someone had just won the lottery. None of them had really expected Jesse to participate; he had connections and status and thus was too cool to be anything more than a silent watcher. President Douchebag ushered the pair to the nearest closet - a walk-in (fortunately for Jesse’s long limbs) that had been converted to a coat room for the night - leering at Jesse like they were good buddies who’d discuss the relative merits of European pussy over drinks later. Jesse ignored him and, ever the gentleman, gestured Marena in before him with a little half bow. Her head barely reached his chest as she passed him wordlessly; she was only a little taller than Spann and she was wearing flats. The door was shut and they were plunged into darkness, the sounds of the party muffled by the thick wood.

A few seconds of quiet stillness passed before Marena turned on her phone (which was at least three models out of date), using the light from the (cracked) screen as a flashlight. She looked ghostly in the faint, bluish light, the shadows deepened in the hollows of her eye sockets. Jesse leaned back against the door and folded his arms as she started a slow circuit of the tiny room, observing the winter jackets twisted haphazardly on every available hanger and piled in the corners on the floor. He would have loved to immediately start making use of his twenty minutes, but there was something animal and twitchy about the way she moved that made him think that any sudden moves would be met with teeth. She did not look at him, or at the way his posture and shirt emphasized the size of his biceps, which he didn’t like, and he really didn’t like the tension creeping into her slender shoulders. When he touched her arm to get her attention, she jolted as though shot.

YOU GOOD?

The amount of time she spent mulling over the question was a clear enough “no”, but she still answered anyway.

“The last time I was locked in a closet was… unpleasant.”

UNPLEASANT IN WHAT WAY?

Thoughts of high school boys with beer breath and over-insistent hands were filling him with a slow rage.

“In a ‘listening to someone be violently murdered outside the door’ way.”

Well, damn. Okay.

WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Marena snapped.

I CAN DISTRACT YOU ANOTHER WAY IF YOU LIKE.

She resumed her pacing, chewing her lip, but she looked more contemplative than tense. Jesse was acutely aware of the ticking clock.

“When did you lose your voice?”

I NEVER HAD ONE.

“What happened to your face?”

NOW WHO’S ASKING TOO MANY QUESTIONS?

“Answer it and you can distract me however you want.”

He didn’t need a business degree to know that he was being offered a fantastic fucking deal.

I PICKED A FIGHT WITH THE WRONG PERSON.

Jesse barely waited for the electronic voice to finish the last syllable before tossing his phone to the floor and charging her. He burrowed both hands into that black mass of hair and crushed his lips to hers like a starving man. Her skin was cool, but he felt her hands like brands through his shirt when she placed them against his chest for balance. He tightened his grip on her hair, hard enough to pull slightly on her scalp, and let one hand wander lower, fingertips catching on safety pins and ripped fabric as he made his way down to the modest curve of her ass. In turn, her touch moved upwards, exploring the muscles of his chest and shoulders, sliding up his neck until her thumbs rested firmly over his jugular. It was a bold move, dominant, and he wanted - needed - to get closer to her, to press her body against his in a way their height difference would not currently allow.

Marena wrapped her legs around him with no coaxing when he picked her up by the waist, walking forwards until her back pressed flat against the door. She was so light, like a little hollow-boned bird, and if he’d had a little more blood in his brain he’d be worried about crushing her. As it was, his blood was rapidly migrating south and the only thing he was concerned about was the taste of her as he nibbled on her full lower lip. He nipped at her, hard enough to sting, then soothed the hurt with his tongue, and was surprised when her tongue darted forward to meet his. He rolled his hips into hers, slow and deep, as he explored her mouth, wishing there was less clothing in the way. His cock was pressed painfully against his zipper, but he made no move to free it; he was not going to fuck her for the first time under a time constraint.

Finally, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both panted for air. Jesse shoved a hand up Marena’s shirt, closing over her small breast and rubbing his thumb against the hardening nub of her nipple through her bra. Her head rolled back against the door with a soft thunk, granting him access to the soft skin of her throat. He latched onto her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and Marena purred. The sound shot straight to his groin, and he had a sudden, intense desire to bite down until the salty warmth of her blood filled his mouth and dripped down his chin.

He wrenched back. Jesse was no stranger to violent impulses - had even followed through on quite a few of them - but he didn’t want to ruin the evening by murdering this girl in a closet. Undeterred, Marena grabbed his head with both hands and attacked his mouth with hers. She kissed him ferociously, voraciously, a clash of teeth and tongue, and when she bit his lip hard enough to make him bleed, he almost came on the spot. His hands were all over her, needing to feel every inch of her body but barely registering the ridges of scar tissue they encountered. She slid her hands into his back pockets and pulled him in until his pelvis was flush against hers. He leaned in with his full weight, and the only thing in the world that existed was the heavy grind of his hips against hers and the hot, wet dance of their mouths.

He was so close to saying fuck it, ripping her clothes off and going to town right there on the closet floor, when someone pounded on the door.

“Knock knock, Cromeans! Put your dick away!” Jesse snarled, already planning a way to slaughter the little asshole who’d interrupted the best not-fuck of his life. The sensation of Marena’s body sliding against his as she settled on her feet sent another lightning bolt of pleasure down his spine. There was a shuffle of fabric as Marena picked up her phone and tried to put herself back in order. Jesse didn’t bother; he knew they both looked a damn mess and he didn’t give a single fuck. In fact, the only thing he cared about at the moment was getting her into his bed so he could finish what he’d started.

“Thanks for the distraction,” Marena murmured, opening the door to a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles. She rolled her eyes and started shouldering her way through the crowd. She didn’t look back, which stung a little, and Jesse gave a sarcastic little salute to the crowd to avoid looking like a lovelorn asshole before retreating to the basement.

***

He didn’t realize until much later in the evening that she’d stolen his fucking wallet.

#we're ALL thinking about that t-shirt pic let's be fully honest here #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #laid to rest #marena polunochnaya #my writing #messy #slasher oc

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dragonnan · 3 years

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Small teaser of the new fic for 2021 that I’ve started working on. This is in memory of my own dad - someone I loved dearly even if I never knew as much about his as I’d always wished. He was not someone who ever easily shared abut himself - that just wasn’t his way. But I knew he loved me and my mom and siblings. That was never in question.

It maybe goes without saying but the character of Stephen’s dad, while maybe having some surface similarities (the skills and history as a farmer) that are shared with my dad but he isn’t meant to be a proxy. In the end, this is a story about father’s and children and the complexity that can come from those relationships.

A final disclaimer - other than names and where they lived I know nothing about Stephen’s parents. Everything I write in this fic will be my own interpretation - not the least of which that I’ve chosen to have Stephen’s dad still be alive.

_____

Untitled Doctor Strange Fic teaser:

Nothing had changed.

And that was both startling and expected... in a way. But mostly it was comforting. Years... decades... centuries had passed him by and yet the same post office sat on the corner. The same family-owned general store was across the street – windows still painted with specials that had been special since he was a child. The same movie theater with its peeling marquee – the same bakery filled with overpriced and over-baked pastries – the same department store stocked with garments a good decade out of fashion. Still dark but there was no lack of traffic as owners and employees made their way to shops and businesses. One older man – Stephen thought his name was Danny... no, Donald, waved and smiled before unlocking the front door to a carpet and flooring shop.

He could lift any day from his childhood and it would look just like this.

His exhale carried visibly through the air – the chill setting off a shiver and making him miss his robes – the cloak in particular. This wasn't the sort of adventure where a cloak was needed, however, beyond warmth of course. In fact the only arcane item he'd brought with was his sling ring. He could be anywhere in the world in seconds, if needed. So why was he walking? Certainly Wong had been the small voice in his head asking the question for the last five minutes. But, truthfully, he needed this time. He wasn't certain what sort of welcome he'd find at the end of his walk and, if he took enough time, there was always a chance he'd be summoned back to the Sanctum well before he arrived.

He wasn't sure if that wouldn't be better, overall...

Stephen was half an hour beyond the town, sticking to the verge and surrounded primarily by fields, when he revisited the wisdom of his choices. He was vibrantly aware that a slip of the ring could have him at the end of his journey. He should have left later in the day. To be fair it was easy enough to forget when the sun rose in Nebraska. It was easy to forget a lot of things – even with an eidetic memory.

Why was he doing this?

The watch on his wrist was a far cheaper model than the one, sitting on his bedside table, back at the Sanctum. However, it had the benefit of actually functioning. Nearly 6:15, now; the sun would be up in a little over an hour. His destination, however, was at the end of the driveway just ahead. Stephen blew on his hands before starting down the gravel path.

Carefully cultivated red pines lined either side of the narrow road. They'd begun to go a bit wild, though, in the decade since his last visit. Outside lights, ahead, gave him glimpses of the two-story structure that had changed color ever four or five years when he was young. First white, then an unfortunate yellow, then finally red. One last turn and he could finally take in the entirety of the property.

The apple trees had grown. That shouldn't have surprised him and yet... And each branch was heavy with ripe fruit – some already scattered on the ground. God he could still taste Mom's pies. He could remember the tradition of canning them every Autumn... right around this time, actually. Steam adding a weighty humidity to the kitchen – his mother's arms red from the heat that rose around glass jars suspended in the hot water. The smell of fruit and spice. Stephen plucked an apple – brushing it against his shirt before biting into the flesh. Juice dribbled down his chin and he squinted at the tart twist of flavor – cool sweetness following and he wiped at the stickiness caught in his goatee. He chewed as he walked – bypassing the house for the barn near the back woods.

Once upon a time cattle had moved through the pastureland set just beyond the fencing that separated it from the trimmed lawn. But cattle hadn't roamed the hills since before he'd achieved his doctorate. Too much income lost between disease and predation. Tossing his core towards the treeline, Stephen was lifting his hand to the massive sliding door when sudden barking made him hesitate. There had always been dogs on the farm but he was a stranger, here, and he felt that realization cut sharp through his belly. A muffled voice quieted the dog. Work boots clumping across concrete carried through the thick wood and, moments later, the smaller side door creaked on hinges that likely hadn't been oiled since Stephen was a child.

An enormous black dog darted out onto the packed dirt surrounding the barn. Stephen couldn't help smiling – recognizing the breed as Newfoundland. Typical of the breed, the big animal approached amicably – tongue lolling out with no trace of aggression.

“Hey, boy...” Kneeling, Stephen twisted his face away from the tongue that swiped towards his cheek – though it managed to lap across his ear. A few rubs on the shaggy head and he pushed up again – aware of the silent form watching him. Finally he returned the look.

“Hi, Dad.”

Eugene Melvin Strange looked at the son whom he hadn't spoken to, face to face, in nearly a decade. Three years away from eighty but one wouldn't know it from his features. Only his hair gave it away – almost pure white save for some lead grey streaks near the temples. Well after the moment between them had become awkward, he gestured towards the house.

“I could use a cup of coffee. You planning to stay a while?”

Stephen nodded – one hand still stroking across the large dog's head. “Yeah. I was, uh, hoping we could...”

“Great. Lock up the barn, would you? I'll go put the pot on.” And with that, Eugene whistled the dog to his side and the two of them headed towards the house.

Well that could have gone worse. Rather than simply lock the door, Stephen allowed curiosity to lead him inside. Gone were the smells of animals – the wild mix of warm fur, hay, and oats that had always been so appealing. He used to nibble at raw oats – the taste like seeds and fresh grass. In its place was the powerful sharp tang of varnish and furniture stain; enough to trigger an involuntary sneeze. Rubbing his nose, Stephen pressed forward – back towards the stalls that used to house the cattle as well as one disgruntled boar. Now those spaces had been filled with tools and furniture in various states of completion. A second sneeze was brought on by the sawdust that still hung in the air where his father had been at work with a table saw – trimming down lengths of wood that had some eventual purpose that he couldn't quite discern. On the other side of the barn, completed pieces stood behind sheets of plastic that had clearly been hung to keep contaminants from settling on the freshly varnished surfaces.

Stephen could remember his father always having some interest in furniture building. He'd build a secretary for Stephen's mother for their 25th wedding anniversary. Beverly Strange had used that secretary often – both as a place to draft letters as well as work on her stories. She had never quite managed to publish anything but she had completed five manuscripts before she had taken ill.

Another sneeze hit sharp across his sinuses so Stephen called an end to his explorations – locking the outside door and following the path to the house.

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

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You Are My Shelter

Happy Winter’s Turn, Rori! Here is my finished piece for @tdpholidayexchange. I matched with Rori, who requested some Janai/Amaya goodness. I’ve always wanted to see someone getting to use the Banther Lodge in winter time, so this was a perfect opportunity to let Amaya take Janai to see it.

And I’m so excited to present @random-fandom-ramble‘s bonus art, custom drawn for this fic, as well! Posted with permission. Thanks, friend!

Happy holidays, Rori! Hope you enjoy!

Title: You Are My Shelter

Series: The Dragon Prince

AO3 Link: Read me!

Pairing: Janaya

Janai stood on the snowy steps of the Banther Lodge and studied the front doors from beneath the golden ruff of fur on her scarlet cloak’s hood. She’d been excited to share Winter’s Turn with Amaya, but she hadn’t expected their first winter holiday to be spent at such a cozy family location. Or that it would be so sun-blightedly cold in Katolis. The snowstorm had been howling for hours, and she’d forgotten what it was like to be able to feel her toes. She’d have used her heat-being to warm up if it wouldn’t have spooked the horse Amaya lent her.

Amaya threw open the front doors, and then she strode back to the steps and took Janai by the hands. Her smile was wide and mischievous, promising soft adventure within, and Janai let herself be pulled inside.

The lodge wasn’t much warmer on the inside than the snowstorm outside, but it was nice not having the wind cut through her cloak anymore, and she shivered in relief. The lodge held a quiet dignity, smelling of leather, books, and the ghosts of desserts past. She took in the high rafters, the thick carpet runners, and the broad staircase leading up to the second floor. And she smiled at the sight of an enormous fireplace on her left. “Do you mind if I—” she began.

Her sentence ended against Amaya’s lips as the shorter woman pulled her down by the edges of her hood for a sudden kiss. Janai’s eyes widened, and she felt Amaya smiling against her lips. She slid her arms around Amaya’s thick cloak and held her close, enjoying her warmth.

Amaya pulled away with a soft smile. She gently lowered Janai’s hood and signed, Welcome to the coziest cabin in Katolis. I’m so glad you’re here.

Janai bit her lip and smiled. “I can tell. Shall I start a fire?”

Amaya nodded eagerly and showed Janai all the fire-starting supplies stacked next to the edge of the massive stone fireplace. Janai pulled off her thick scarlet mittens and began sorting through the pine cones and selecting the kindling, and Amaya trooped in and out of the lodge with armfuls of firewood. Janai finally had to tell her to stop. “I’m building a fire, Amaya, not a miniature replica of your lodge.”

Amaya grinned sassily. I just want you to be warm enough.

Janai pointed a kindling stick at herself. “Amaya, I have a heat-being.”

Amaya’s dark brows flicked upward. That’s not what I meant. You’ll see. Wait here. She pulled off her dark blue gloves and headed across the main hall.

Janai heard porcelain clanking from the kitchen as she finished building her fire base just the way she wanted it: circles of pine cones supporting slender kindling sticks in a rough outline that resembled her palace in Lux Aurea. She picked up another pine cone, held it against her finger, and invoked her heat-being for just a moment.

The pine cone flared with a ribbon of golden flame, and she tucked it in with the others, catching them on fire one by one. By the time Amaya came back carrying a tray with a stoneware pitcher and two mugs, the hearth was blazing with the warmth and light of a wooden Lux Aurea engulfed in flames, and Janai was standing in front of it, holding her bare hands out to its welcome heat.

Amaya set the tray on the red-upholstered couch and took Janai’s hand, turning her until they faced each other. Flickers of gold played over their faces as she undid the lacing on Janai’s cloak and tossed it onto the back of the couch with a dramatic swirl. She followed it with her own deep teal cloak, and the fabrics draped in soft contrast together.

I want you to try something, Amaya signed. An old family recipe that King Harrow wooed my sister with on cold winter nights. Amaya picked up a sturdy mug of steaming hot cocoa and pressed it into Janai’s hands. Her hands cupped Janai’s, and their eyes met.

Janai’s breath caught at the steady confidence and warm comfort in Amaya’s expression. She’d been so used to leading alone in Lux Aurea, with no real confidants to speak of, that having a true equal who understood her on so many levels still took her breath away. She’d have been proud to simply call Amaya a friend. To have the brave and capable general fall in love with her, too? The bright light of the Summer Solstice was a flickering candle compared to the radiance of Amaya’s smile.

Without even looking into the cup, Janai let Amaya lift her hands until its rim brushed her lips, and she sipped at the hot liquid. Spicy sweetness rolled over Janai’s tongue, and she hummed appreciatively and took a few more gulps.

As they lowered the sweet cup together, Janai closed her eyes in bliss. There was something deliciously familiar about this cocoa. It tasted like her mother’s favorite bedtime-story drink, and Janai’s mind flooded with happy memories. She eagerly added one more: sharing this sweet moment with Amaya, feeling welcomed into her life and embraced by her heart in equal measure.

“I just want you to know,” she said softly, “that you already wooed me before I drank this cocoa. Its spicy sweetness in no way affects my feelings for you. In case you were wondering if human love potions work on Sunfire elves.” Her dark eyes twinkled.

Amaya’s eyes widened. Love potion? she signed dramatically. She grabbed Janai’s hands again and brought the cup to her own lips, draining the rest of the spicy cocoa in a few big gulps. Then she swiped her hand across her mouth and grinned saucily. Well, it’s working on me.

Janai giggled and picked Amaya up off the floor, kissing her enthusiastically. Gradually, she lowered her back down, and their kiss softened, breaking only so they could stand with their foreheads pressed warmly together, holding hands, intertwining their fingers in the embrace of the fire’s warmth.

Amaya tugged on Janai’s hands, and the women sat together on the floor against the couch, ignoring the traditional seating option. Janai cuddled Amaya against her shoulder and draped them both with her scarlet cloak. Its golden fur trim blazed in the firelight, and they shared cup after cup of spicy cocoa. Janai reheated the pitcher on the tray every time it cooled too much, and Amaya played idly with a few of Janai’s braids, booping her on the nose with one of them before smooching the same spot with a soft kiss.

Janai caught one of Amaya’s hands as the merry firelight played across it. She turned up Amaya’s palm and studied it somberly. The burn there had scarred over, and Amaya had healed, but she bore the mark of Janai’s anguish and rage the day her sister Khessa had perished, and she always would.

Amaya sat up and turned Janai’s face toward her with her free hand. It’s not your fault.

“It is. I did this to you.” Janai’s brows bent, and she looked down.

Amaya lifted Janai’s chin with a finger until their eyes met again, and she signed again. No, sweetheart. You felt what you felt. And I did what I had to do to save your life.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Amaya. You’re so precious to me. I never want to hurt you again.” Janai lifted Amaya’s scarred palm to her lips and pressed a soft, heartfelt kiss there. Finding Amaya—finding her love—had done wonders to heal Janai’s heart. She would take back all Amaya’s pain if she could.

Amaya slid her hand to cup Janai’s cheek. She didn’t need to sign a thing to let Janai know that she was forgiven. Their lips met once again, silhouetted against the fire, and they wrapped each other in warmth, safety, and trust, protected from the storm by the shelter of each other’s love.

#tdpholidayexchange #janai #amaya #janaya #janaya fic #tdp fanfic #tdp fanfiction #janaya fanfic #janaya fanfiction #tagging you on twitter #since you don't have a tumblr

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big-idiot-wolf-boys · 4 years

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Nightfall: Twilight Reimagined -1-

I hit 500 followers last night so here’s the first chapter of Nightfall as I promised! This is the first thing I’ve written in a LONG time, and it’s mostly for self indulgent purposes and to get my creative juices flowing again. It will very much feel like canon for a couple of chapters but stick with me, changes will be made! It’s also going to feel slow at times, as it is just as much about the everyday life of Bella as it is about the supernatural stuff.

****

The air was dry and heavy in Phoenix, Arizona. It wasn’t much of a surprise that it was 75 degrees and sunny, with no clouds to be seen. Thanks to this, I got to wear my favorite shirt as a goodbye to the lovely warm weather of my home in Phoenix; a heather grey tank top that flowed nicely when the breeze stirred. In contrast to this, my carry on item was a heavy hoodie I had bought specifically for the trip.

I had decided to spend my senior year with my father, Charlie. He lives in the Pacific Northwest, in a tiny town tucked into a forest where it was always raining. It was this town that my mother had fled with me when I was only a few months old. Forks, Washington. I had spent every winter there until I was fourteen, but we found that my mood was significantly dampened by the bad weather. So Charlie made a compromise with me. For the last four winters, Charlie had vacationed in California with me, where he could enjoy the ocean, and I could enjoy the sun.

When I arrive in Forks, it will be the first time I’ve lived with Charlie long term. At first, I was reluctant to move. After all, I knew nothing about Forks; Phoenix was my home, it was where I’d spent the longest. I knew it and I loved it. I loved the sun that beat down on the sidewalks, and the massive city that sprawled before my eyes.

“Bella,” My mom reminded me once again, “You don’t have to do this.”

Renee looks like a softer version of myself with short brown hair and freckles, with the beginnings of soft creases in her skin. I felt a now familiar surge of panic as I looked at her with wide eyes. How could I leave her? Renee had never been on her own before. She was so scatterbrained that I had been managing our finances since I was thirteen.

Realistically, I knew that Phil -- my mom’s new husband -- would be taking care of her from now on. He was much more level headed, at least enough to make sure the bills got paid and food made its way to the table. Still, I couldn’t help but worry.

“Mom, you can’t talk me out of this.” I tried to be gentle, but firm. I had always been a terrible liar, so I stopped saying ‘ I want to go’ two weeks ago.

“Give Charlie my love, then.” Renee said, chewing on her lower lip as she worried. She said this every time I saw Charlie. I knew that she still cared for him. They had just gotten together too young and it hadn’t worked out. She was too wild and he was too home-bound.

“You know I will.”

“I’ll see you soon,” She promised, “If you ever want to come home, you know I’ll be there.”

But not without sacrifice, I thought.

Phil was in Florida right now, and from all indications he was going to be signed to the team there.

He was a minor league ball player, and Renee went to all of his home games but I knew that she wanted to be able to travel with him. There was no way that was going to happen if she had to stay in Phoenix while I closed out my senior year. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The school year ended in June, it would only be two months until I graduated. And it would be nice to spend some time with Charlie.

“Don’t worry, mom.” I said, and hugged her tight. She kissed my cheek before stepping away to give me a watery smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bella.”

And then I got onto the plane.

The flight from Phoenix to Seattle only took five hours, but then it was another plane ride to a small town called Port Angeles. From there, Charlie was going to pick me up and we would drive the last hour to get to Forks. I liked flying, but I was worried that the ride with Charlie would be awkward.

Charlie was elated that I was moving in with him, in his quiet way. He had already enrolled me into the local high school. I felt a twinge of guilt for not visiting him more in my youth. Now, I wanted to make it up to him and ensure that we would spend some time together. The truth was, though, I wasn’t sure how many football games I could force myself to watch.

Besides my guilt, things were still bound to be awkward. In the past, I had made my distaste for Forks clear, like my mother before me. Charlie was bound to know I didn’t really want to be there, even if I wanted to be around him.

To no surprise at all, it was raining when we landed in Seattle, and raining even harder when the second flight arrived in Port Angeles. It was a good thing I had said my goodbyes to the sun already, rain was inevitable from this point on.

Charlie was waiting for me with a police cruiser. He’s the Chief of Police in Forks, and the cruiser was his only mode of transportation. I made a mental note to save up for my own vehicle as soon as possible. I didn’t want to be seen in a town this small in a cop car.

When I stumbled out of the terminal, Charlie enveloped me in a tight hug.

“Hey, Bells!” He grinned awkwardly as he steadied me by the shoulders. “It’s good to see ya. How’s your mom?”

“She’s fine, she sends her love.” I smiled awkwardly and took a half step back. “It’s good to see you too, Char-dad.” I stumbled over the words, unsure what I was supposed to call him.

All of the clothes that I owned that were weather appropriate fit into two small suitcases. These easily fit into the cruiser.

“So,” Charlie said conversationally as we strapped in. “I don’t know if you’d remember my friend Billy Black, we used to go fishing with him in the summertime.”

“I don’t remember him.” I admitted sheepishly.

“Well, maybe you remember his girls? Rebecca and Rachel? Or his son Jacob?”

Looking down, I shrugged, trying not to feel too guilty over not remembering Charlie’s friend. I vaguely remembered the twins, their names at least. Jacob was a little more familiar, I could remember a chubby cheeked boy with shining brown eyes and a bright smile.

“Well, he’s in a wheelchair now, and he offered to sell me his truck, cheap.”

Was Charlie one of those car club guys? I wracked my brain for memories of wandering around a field filled with classic cars, but none came. Well, maybe Charlie was anticipating my idea of buying a vehicle.

“I thought it would be a good welcome home present for you, Bella,” He continued, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oh.” I blinked in surprise, smiling widely at Charlie. “Thank you!”

“Don’t say that ‘till you see it.” He said with a chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pressed.

“Well, Jake just rebuilt the engine. It’s really not that old.”

I wasn’t going to give up that easily. “When did he buy it?”

“Er…” Charlie rubbed the back of his neck before quickly returning his hand to the wheel. “He bought it in ‘84, I think.”

“New?” I urged.

“No.” Charlie sighed, caught out. “It was new in the 60’s, I think. Maybe the late 50’s even.” He glanced at me. “It’s a cool old classic, though.”

“Ch- Dad. I don’t know… I wouldn’t be able to work on it myself if something happened; and I don’t think I could afford a mechanic.”

“The thing runs like a charm!” Charlie promised.

We made some more small talk, but eventually lapsed into silence. It wasn’t as awkward as I had expected. Charlie and I were both comfortable with silence. I stared out the window as we drove, observing my new home.

Washington was pretty, I could admit that. But it was pretty in a way that was different than my home in Arizona. There was a mist that clung to the air and bathed everything in a soft glow. From the tops of the trees to the grass on the ground, everything was shades of green. There were moss coated tree branches, ferns and shrubbery encroaching on the shoulder of the road.

The drive didn’t feel very long, we were soon at Charlie’s. He lives in the same two bedroom home that he bought with my mother when they were first married. There wasn’t much to their marriage besides a beginning, though. Parked in front of the house was the truck that Charlie had bought for me. It was a soft, faded red. There were big rounded fenders sticking out, with a couple of dings in them and the cab was large and rounded.

Surprisingly, I loved it. It looked like it had lived a life, like there was a story to it. The body itself was more visually appealing than the boxy four door cars that had become all too popular lately. The steel body looked like it could get into an accident and come out practically unscathed. It was a good fit for me.

“Dad, I love it! Thank you!” I exclaimed. Tomorrow, I wouldn’t have to sludge through the rain on foot to get to school; Or worse, ride in the cruiser. I could show up in my own ride, a surprisingly cool one.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed.

It only took one of us - and one trip - to get my things inside and upstairs. I got the bedroom that faced the front yard. It was familiar, since it had been mine since birth, even though I had never spent much time here. The floor was wooden, and the walls were a pale and faded blue. The ceiling was slanted, the curtains trimmed with lace. This was my childhood room, preserved. The only changes that had ever been made was exchanging the crib for a bed, and adding a desk when I started school. The desk now held a clunky, Windows 95 laptop. This was because my mother wanted to stay in touch through email. The rocking chair that my Grandma Swan had passed down to Charlie was still in the corner.

It was nice to see my childhood room this way, but in the back of my mind, I began to imagine little changes I could make.

There was only one bathroom, which meant sharing with Charlie. I wasn’t too enthused about that, and hoped he was a clean freak like I was.

After making sure I was settled, Charlie left me to get unpacked and sort my things. This was something my mother would never have been able to do. It was nice to have a moment alone, to not have to pretend to be happy to be here. I relished sighing dramatically over the rain pouring outside.

As I unpacked, I let my mind wander. I wasn’t looking forward to starting school tomorrow. Forks high school has a total of 321 students; 322 now. There were more than 700 people in my grade alone in Phoenix. There was no crowd for me to blend into here. Everyone had grown up knowing each other, and their families all probably knew one another generations back.

I set a snow globe on my desk. It was a souvenir from a trip Renee and I took to Hollywood, and when turned over, it rained gold glitter over the Hollywood sign.

I was going to be the new girl; the city kid encroaching on their small town life. Maybe, if I looked like people imagined a girl from Phoenix looked like, I could make the new kid angle work for me. It felt like I should be tanned and sporty, outgoing- things that went along with living in a sunny world.

Instead, I’m pale despite growing up in the constant sunshine. I’ve always been small and slender, I’m not in athletic shape, and I wasn't particularly curvaceous either. I felt completely average. On top of that, I was clumsier than should be possible. The two nice things I got from my mom were my hair, which always had big, soft brown waves, and my eyes which were a pretty brown to match.

When I was done putting my clothes away in the cedar dresser that my grandfather had built, I took my bag of bathroom supplies and put everything in its place. While I was there, I cleaned myself up from traveling all day. I looked at myself as I brushed my hair. Maybe it was just the lighting, but it looked like Forks had already taken a toll on me. My skin was paler somehow, unhealthy. I had no color here.

Making my way back to my room, I could think of nothing but the coming day. There was this urgent fear that I would never fit in here, that no one would want to be friends with the chief’s daughter anyway. I don’t relate well to people; even my mom, who’s my best friend, never truly got me. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same world that everyone else saw. Maybe there was something wrong with me, or my brain. The cause didn’t really matter, I supposed. All that matters is the effect. Tomorrow’s just the beginning.

I didn’t sleep well, which didn’t come as any surprise. The rain pounded on the roof and the wind screeched in the trees. I shoved pillows over my head, but the sound still intruded. The weather finally settled around midnight, and blissfully I drifted to sleep.

In the morning, a thick fog prevented me from seeing further than the driveway when I peered out my window. There was no blue sky, and no sunshine, this made me feel like the world was closing in around me. I couldn’t breathe. I turned away from the window, and centered myself.

Focus on my routine.

Breakfast was quiet. Charlie wasn’t a morning person. He sipped his coffee and pursued the paper while I scarfed down a bowl of cereal. He wished me good luck at school before kissing me on the forehead and leaving for work. Good luck had never helped me before, but it was nice that he offered the sentiment anyway.

I took Charlie’s place at the old oak table. There were three mismatched chairs that surrounded it. I examined the kitchen, with it’s paneled walls and yellow cabinets, the white tiled floor. Nothing had changed. My mother had painted the cupboards seventeen years ago to try to bring some brightness to the room. It felt like Charlie was living in a museum.

In the adjoining room, there was the fireplace. A row of pictures lined it: A picture of my parents on their wedding day in Vegas, followed by the three of us in the hospital the day I was born, and then my most recent school photo. I cringed and thought about asking Charlie to put my picture away.

The last thing I wanted was to be early for school, but I couldn’t stand looking at the relics of my childhood anymore. After pulling on my heavy jacket, I stepped outside with more than a hint of trepidation.

While the weather had quieted last night, it had never quite stopped raining and was still drizzling while I locked the house up. My brand new rain boots splashed in puddles as I sloshed my way to my new truck. I longed for the crunch of gravel under my feet.

Thankfully, the truck was dry inside. Someone had obviously made an effort to clean it up, but the seats still faintly smelled of tobacco and gasoline. There was a vanilla air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. The engine turned over quickly, but loudly, and idled at what seemed to be maximum volume. I’d been expecting it, but it still made me jump. The radio worked, which was a positive I hadn’t considered. After fiddling with the stations, classic rock hummed quietly in the background.

Finding the school was easy, though I had never been there. It was, like most things in Forks, right off the highway. It wasn’t obvious that it was a school building, it looked more like a jail or civil building. The buildings were a monotonous brick, and the walls were large and foreboding despite the small student body.

I parked in front of the building with the large black number 1 and OFFICE sign outside. No one else had parked there yet, so I hoped it wasn’t staff parking but decided to risk it. I stepped reluctantly out of the warmth of my truck and hurried through the drizzle until I was under an alcove by the door. I took a deep breath to steel myself, and pushed my way inside. The building was lit with bright fluorescents and was warmer than I expected.

The office was small; a little waiting area with padded chairs and a faded carpet, awards sat on shelves and posters were tacked to the walls, and a comically large clock ticked away. The room was cut in half by a counter, on top of which there were several baskets overflowing with colorful papers. A large, redheaded woman wearing glasses was sitting behind the counter. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which made me feel overdressed in my soft sweater and heavy jacket.

The woman looked up. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, uh, I’m Bella Swan.” Her eyes brightened with a spark of recognition. I was sure she had heard, and partaken in, plenty of gossip about the chief’s estranged daughter.

“Isabella, of course!” I didn’t bother to correct her as she dug through piles of documents. “I have your schedule here, dear, and a map if you need it.”

She highlighted the best route between classes on the map for me, and gave me a slip for each teacher to sign for me to bring back to the office at the end of the day. Then she smiled warmly at me and wished me good luck.

I politely smiled back, trying to fake enthusiasm.

Students had started to arrive while I had been inside. I moved my truck, following the flow of traffic towards student parking. I noticed with relief that most of the cars were older, like mine. People still looked in my direction, but I assumed that had more to do with the rumble of my engine than curiosity about me. At least, I hoped so.

The nicest car here was a shiny Ford, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was parked so that I didn’t draw more attention than I already had.

Hoping to remain in the warmth for a moment longer, I lingered in the cab of my truck, staring at the map. I was hoping to memorize it so that I wouldn’t have to pull it out later. Eventually, I stuffed the map into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I can do this, I thought, no one is going to bite me.

I exhaled and stepped out of the truck, pulling my hood up. I made my way towards the building with the large black 3 painted on the side. My breathing was coming faster now, and I tried to even it out before it became full blown hyperventilation.

You can do this, I reminded myself.

The first thing I noticed was how small the classroom was. There were maybe twenty desks in total. I hung my coat on the row of hooks next to the door, following the example of the student who had walked in before me. She was a stunning blonde, who looked more like she had stepped out of an old Hollywood film than Forks high school. She had pale skin, and eyes that were a dark amber, with even darker circles underneath. At least I wouldn’t stick out as the palest person here, I thought.

I brought the slip up to the teacher to sign. He was tall and lanky, with curly brown hair and oval shaped glasses that perched on the edge of his nose, looking dangerously close to falling. He identified himself as Mr. G and encouraged me to take a seat without introducing myself.

Despite taking the only open seat at an empty desk in the back of the room, my classmates still somehow managed to stare at me. I even caught the pretty blonde girl looking my way with an indecipherable expression. I tried to ignore the stares by looking over the syllabus Mr. G had given me: Shakespeare, Bronte, Fahrenheit 451, and The Hot Zone. All things I had read before, but things I would enjoy rereading. I wondered if my mom would send my old essays, or if she would consider that cheating. While Mr. G droned on, I imagined that argument with her.

When the bell rang, students streamed out of the classroom. Except a gangly boy with olive toned skin, black hair and a green sweater. He made his way back to me.

“You’re Isabella Swan, right?”

“Bella, actually.” I corrected as I slung my bag over my shoulder. The remaining students turned to look at me.

“Where’s your next class?” The boy who hadn’t introduced himself asked.

I glanced at my schedule slip. “Um, Government with Jefferson, in the annex building.”

“I’m heading that way, I can show you the way,” He seemed eager to please. “I’m Eric.”

“Thanks.” I smiled tentatively.

We paused to get our jackets from the hooks and pulled them on. The drizzle from this morning had turned into large, heavy droplets of rain now. As I pulled my hood up, I could have sworn that people stopped or slowed down to listen to us.

“So, you moved from Phoenix, right? I bet it’s different there.” Eric prompted me as we walked.

“Very.”

“And I bet you don’t get a lot of rain there.”

“Maybe four times a year.”

“Wow! I wonder what that’s like.”

“Sunny,” I told him. Eric’s expression implied that he thought I was being rude, and maybe I was, but my deadpan personality made small talk hard.

“Well, you don’t look very tan.” He pointed out.

“My mother’s part albino.”

He studied me carefully, like I wasn’t what he was expecting,and now he had to reevaluate what he thought of me. It seemed like I wasn’t going to find many people with a sense of humor here, I thought with a sigh.

We walked around the campus past the gym, to a building marked with a big black 6. Eric walked me to the door, even though it was clearly marked.

“Good luck!” He said as I walked into the classroom. “Maybe we’ll have another class together.”

“Maybe.” I smiled vaguely at him.

The rest of the morning was pretty much the same. My Trig teacher, who was a surly mountain man type, was the only one who made me stand at the front of the room and introduce myself. I stammered and blushed through the basics, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any more embarrassing- I tripped over my own feet on the way to my desk.,

After a couple of classes, I began to recognize faces. There was always someone who gathered the courage to speak to me after class; they would introduce themselves and ask me the same questions about Forks and my thoughts on it. I ended up telling a lot of little white lies about my opinions on the small town.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, so we walked to lunch together. Her skin was a rich sepia tone and she was a few inches shorter than me, but she had this dark hair that curled in every direction and evened out our height difference. I couldn’t remember her name, so I just nodded a lot while she talked me through the different teachers and their respective classes.

I followed her to a table, where she introduced me to her friends. I sat at the end of the table, forgetting most of their names as soon as they were said. Eric, the boy from English, waved at me from his position in the lunch line.

It was there, sitting in the cafeteria and trying to avoid conversation with strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from the crowd as possible. There were five of them, including the stunning blonde from my English class. None of them were speaking, and they weren’t eating despite having plates of food on the table. None of them were staring at me, like the other students had, so it felt safe for me to observe them without fear of having to make eye contact.

There were three boys. One was big, like he spent most of his time at the gym. He had skin in the same sepia as the girl I had followed through the line, but a couple of shades darker. His hair was black and had tight curls that were cut pretty short. He almost looked too old to be in high school. The next was taller and lean, but still muscular. He had honey blonde hair that fell to his collar, fair skin and freckles. He was tapping his fingers on the table. The last was lanky, slouched down, with hair more red than blonde, just as pale and freckled as the previous boy. He looked to be the youngest of them..

Next I noticed the girls. The first was the blonde from my English class. She was the kind of girl that radiated beauty and confidence. Statuesque, with blonde hair that curled and hung to her shoulders. I wondered if she was the honey haired boy’s sister. Sitting next to her was a pixie like girl, petite with pointed features. Her eyes were large and angular, her hair was an inky black, cut short and sticking out in every direction. She seemed to be the youngest of the whole group and a playful smile flickered when she noticed me staring.

Somehow, despite the five of them all looking distinct in their own way; they all shared similar features. They all practically glowed in the fluorescent lighting, almost like their skin was reflective. They all had very dark eyes, ranging from dark amber to almost black, and they all shared bruise like shadows under their eyes.

None of this was the reason I couldn’t look away from these mysterious strangers.

I stared because despite their differences, they were all the same kind of devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were the kind of beautiful that you never expected to see in real life. Especially in the middle of nowhere, like Forks. These were faces you would see in magazines or painted by a master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most attractive, the boy with the red hair or the blonde girl I shared a class with.

None of them appeared to be looking at anything in particular. They looked away from the other students, away from the staff, and even each other. Some of them stared out the window, or their food, or their own hands. While I watched them, the smallest girl rose with her tray and walked away. I was shocked at her grace. She hadn’t walked, but rather danced away. I watched as she dumped her tray and skipped out the door, faster than I thought possible. I looked back to the others, who hadn’t even seemed to notice her departure.

“Who are they?” I asked the girl from my Spanish class, who’s name I still couldn’t remember.

She looked up, but from the flicker in her eyes I could tell that she already knew who I meant. One of them moved again, and it drew my gaze back to them. The younger boy with the red hair had looked at my neighbor for a moment, and then his eyes met mine.

He looked away quicker than I could, but I dropped my eyes to my tray anyway. My cheeks were burning and I just knew they were bright red.

My neighbor giggled and looked down the same way I had.

“Those are the Cullens.” She said in a hushed voice. “Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who just left was Alice Cullen. They’re Dr. and Mrs. Cullen’s kids, well, sort of..”

I looked at the beautiful boy again. He was now looking at his tray, face a mask of determination. He picked idly at his food, and his mouth was moving very quickly. The others still weren’t looking at him, but I could tell they were listening to whatever he was saying.

Strange names, I thought, old fashioned. Maybe that was just the style around small towns. Most small towns had a couple of quirks, after all. I finally remembered that the girl sitting next to me was named Jessica, which was perfectly common. I had known more than one Jessica back home.

“They’re… pretty.” I wished that I could put it into better words, but had no idea where to start.

“Yeah!” Jessica agreed. “They’re all together, though. Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together!” Her voice made it more than apparent that this was a cause of gossip around town. I had to admit that it probably would have caused gossip back in Phoenix, too.

“What did you mean, ‘sort of’?” I asked curiously.

“Well, Edward is Mr. Cullen’s nephew and he’s been staying with them for a while, I guess. Rosalie and Jasper are Mrs. Cullen’s younger cousins, and they’re staying with them until they finish school. I think Alice Cullen is their foster daughter and Emmett lives with them because he's with Rosalie.” Jessica rattled off.

“So none of them are actually related?” I asked, trying to sort out that complicated family tree in my head.

“They all act like one big family, though. The Cullens basically adopted them all. It’s nice, just… weird.”

“That’s really nice.” I picked at my lunch, not feeling very hungry.

During this conversation, I had barely looked away from the Cullens. My gaze found it’s way back to them no matter how hard I tried to pull it away. The whole group continued to ignore me rudely staring at them, and none of them touched their food.

“They haven’t always lived here, right?” I definitely would have remembered them from my winters here if that had been the case.

“ No. ” Jessica said this in a tone that made it clear I had asked a dumb question, and it stung a little. I guessed it was obvious that the Cullens were outsiders here, but so was I. “They moved here a couple years ago from Alaska.”

So they’d been in my position pretty recently. The new kids. I felt bad for them, they clearly didn’t have many friends outside their family. On the other hand, I felt relieved because I wasn’t the only outsider in the tiny school.

As I stared, the redhead looked up and met my eyes again. He looked curious, like he expected something from me. I quickly looked down again, embarrassed at being caught staring.

“Which one has red hair?” I asked, peeking up from under my lashes. He was still looking at me. He looked frustrated now, and I looked back down.

“That’s Edward.” She said with a small sigh. “He’s the prettiest, isn’t he? But don’t waste your time, he doesn’t date.” She looked away bitterly. I wondered when he had turned her down.

I bit my lip and glanced at him again. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, but it seemed like the beginnings of a smile were tugging at his lips.

A few minutes later, the whole Cullen family left. They all shared a strange grace, even the big muscle-y one, but it was clear Alice was the dancer in the family. The one named Edward didn’t look at me again, and then they were gone.

I sat with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I had sat alone. One of Jessica’s friends, who gently reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology with me next. We walked to class together. She was shy like me, so we walked in silence. It was nice.

When we entered the classroom, Angela sat in her assigned seat at one of the black topped tables that I had come to expect in science classrooms. Someone was already sitting next to her. All of the tables had two people sitting at them, except for one. Edward Cullen was sitting next to the only open seat.

I introduced myself to the teacher, Ms. Ramone, and she signed my slip and sent me off to my desk. Just as I began to walk, Edward stiffened in his seat and stared at me again. His expression wasn’t curious anymore. Now he was staring at me with some kind of angry horror. I felt my cheeks heat up and tripped over a backpack someone had left in the aisle. I had to catch myself on the corner of my desk. The girl who owned the backpack snickered at me. I barely registered it.

Edward’s eyes were black as pitch, and his hands were curled into tight fists.

I kept my eyes down as I slid into the only available seat in the room, right next to him. Why was he staring at me like this? What had changed between lunch and now? I couldn’t understand why Edward looked so angry with me.

What had I done to deserve the fury burning in his dark eyes?

I didn’t look at him directly when I sat, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his posture change. He was sitting, ridgid, in his seat and leaned as far away from me as the small space would allow. He was averting his eyes and his nose was wrinkled like he smelled something bad. With a toss of my head, my hair fell in a curtain over my left shoulder, blocking Edward from my view. Yep, I still smelled like my strawberry shampoo. What the hell was with him?

I tried to refocus on the teacher.

Unfortunately, we were learning about cellular anatomy, which I had learned about the year before in Phoenix. I took notes anyway, focusing intently on making my handwriting look nice so I wouldn’t be tempted to sneak a glance at Edward.

It was no surprise that I couldn’t stop myself from peeking over at him occasionally from behind the curtain of my hair. During the whole class, he didn’t relax at all. His hands were still clenched into fists, the pale skin stretching tight over his knuckles. The sleeves of his blue sweater were pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly muscular. He wasn’t nearly as small as he had looked next to his burly ‘brother’. The blue of his sweater made him look even paler than before.

The class dragged on longer than the others. Maybe because I was practically counting the seconds, or maybe because the day always seemed longer after lunch. No, of course it was because I was waiting for him to relax next to me. He never loosened his fist, and besides the irritating bouncing of his knee; he didn’t seem to move or breathe at all. Did he normally act like this? No wonder Jessica had felt so strongly before.

After all, it couldn’t be me. He didn’t even know me.

I peeked up at him once more, and instantly regretted it. He was glaring at me again. His black eyes burned into mine. I flinched away, curling into myself. Then the bell rang and I almost jumped out of my skin.

Edward was out of his seat before I could compose myself, and out the door before anyone else. He was much taller than I thought.

I was frozen in my seat, blinking after him. What was he so angry about? What had I done to evoke such a strong reaction when he knew nothing about me? I gathered my things slowly, trying not to let the anxiety overtake me. That would lead to crying, and I wouldn’t let that happen in school.

“Aren’t you Isabella Swan?” A voice asked. I almost snapped at it until I saw the person it came from.

A round faced boy with pale blue eyes and blonde hair that was carefully spiked up was smiling at me in a warm, friendly way. He clearly didn’t think I smelled bad.

“Bella,” I corrected. Again.

“Hi, Bella. I’m Mike.”

“Hi, Mike.” I tried not to sigh. I couldn’t wait for my novelty to wear off.

“Do you need any help finding your next class?”

“I’m heading to the gym, and I’ve passed it twice today already. But thanks.”

“Hey, that’s my next class too!” He was enthusiastic, I’ll give him that.

We walked together, and he barely stopped talking to breathe. He had lived in California until he was thirteen, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was also in my English class, and I just hadn’t noticed. Mike was the nicest person I’d met today, he reminded me of a golden retriever.

Just as we entered the gym, Mike asked me, “So… Did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or something? I’ve never seen him act like that.”

I cringed. At least I wasn’t the only one who had noticed his behavior. On the other hand, this meant that it wasn’t his usual behavior, and the only new factor was me.

“The boy I sit next to in Bio?” I asked, playing dumb.

“Yeah,” Mike nodded. “He looked like he was in pain or something.”

“I dunno.” I shrugged and tried to pretend like it didn’t bother me. “He didn’t say two words to me the whole class.”

“Well.. He’s weird.” Mike said, as if this was some kind of condolence for Edward’s behavior. “I would’ve talked to you if we sat next to each other.”

“I know, Mike.” I smiled at him and escaped to the locker room before I had to deal with any more small talk.

The gym teacher found me a uniform but didn’t make me wear it for my first day. At home, only two years of PE are required. In Forks, all four years are required. As if this place wasn’t already my personal hell.

I watched four volleyball games played at the same time, trying to stay out of the way. I knew how many injuries I was bound to inflict if they made me participate.

The final bell rang at last. A saving grace from the first day of Forks high. I walked to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had blessedly stopped, but the wind had picked up and blew my hair around my face in large gusts.

When I walked into the office, I almost turned on my heel and walked back out.

Edward was standing at the counter with his back to me. I recognized him from the windblown bronze hair. I pressed myself against the wall by the door, waiting for the receptionist to be free. Please don’t notice me, I begged silently.

He was arguing with the woman behind the counter, and it didn’t take me long to figure out what was happening. He wanted to switch Biology classes!

I couldn’t believe this. Something must have happened in the classroom before I arrived. This couldn’t be about me. It was impossible that someone who didn’t know me could harbor such resentment towards me.

The door opened again, and a gust of wind rushed in. Papers flew off the desk, my hair swirled around my face once more. The girl who had come in simply dropped a note into one of the baskets and walked back out. This caused another gust of wind. In these few seconds, Edward had stiffened in a now familiar way, and then turned to glare at me. His face was handsome, but it didn’t dull the hostility radiating off of him. I felt a thrill of fear, goosebumps rising on my skin. He turned back to the receptionist.

“Nevermind.” He said in a velvet smooth voice. “I understand there’s nothing you can do. Thank you anyway.” And then he turned and left without another look towards me.

I took a moment to collect myself before shyly handing over the paperwork to the woman.

“How was your first day, sweetie?” The woman asked with a kind smile.

“It was good.” I lied meekly. She didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press me on the matter.

When I got to my truck, it was the only vehicle left in the parking lot besides the staff. It was like a small piece of home in this damp, green alien planet I had found myself on. I sat inside for a while, with the heater cranked, while I tried not to cry. Eventually, I headed back to Charlie’s.

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arts-butthound · 3 years

Text

Sense and Salarian Ability Chpt. 2

(Also read on AO3 if you prefer, leave me a kind kudos if you like my work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537765/chapters/57317959#workskin )

After filing the paperwork for theft with C-sec, a week passed with no discernible action. Walking through the ward, to and from work, Lau would scan the mob of people for familiar faces. At times, he’d imagine he’d seen her, weaving through a crowd of much taller adults or disappearing into a vent. But when he’d turn to confirm the vision, she was gone with the steam and smoke of the vendors. A wisp of air passing through nothingness.

Lau shouldn’t have cared enough to still hunt for her. Despite the vulnerable feeling of being robbed, had he actually lost anything of value? It was a hunk of dried dirt that had escaped his grasp to make into anything. Yet he dreamed of it, vividly; the mediocre and stale curves that had taken him too long to piece together into a feeble attempt of replicating waves on the sea. Lau had hated even looking at it. He asked himself why he still looked for its shards. He should be over this by now. A better salarian would have put the ordeal behind him. A better salarian would have given up on ineptitude and worked toward something more attainable. A respectable salarian would have…should have…

Lau’s fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. He only half listened as his sister nattered on over the vid-com about one thing or another, adding only small confirmatory remarks if she asked for his input. In front of him, on the table, several holo pads held shipping manifestos, bills, and requests from eager artists wishing to be displayed and sold in his gallery. None of it caught his interest, but he flipped through the paperwork to appear busy while in front of Nalano. She continued her tirade of a chore list to him and Lau turned his head toward the window, watching the blurred, colored lights of traffic whizz pass. “You’re going to be here, right Lau? Appearance is everything at events like this.”

“Yes, Ano. I’ve already made the arrangements.” Lau took a drink of his tea, overlooking an artist’s plea for validation. Being a turian upstart didn’t hurt, with the scarcity of the species style outside of turian space. Lau made a note to email the artist about further examples of his work.

“Good. Zejaa will have you entertain some of our business partners. I expect you to be busy currying favors.” Since their mother had died a few years back, Lau’s boss of a sister had taken charge of their branch of the family. Wielding her feminine power with an iron will and steel forged words, she had further built their branch’s influence in clan politics. Now that their cousin was formally becoming the clan’s Dalatrass, Nalano’s power would grow tenfold. The two had been as thick as the dense jungle trees that wove around one another since childhood.

“-as is custom, I know.” Lau droned. “Relax Ano, things will go off without a hitch on my end.”

Nalano smiled and Lau got the feeling that if she could pet his cheek, as their mother had done when she was pleased, Nalano would have done so. “Dependable Lau. You never make trouble for me. Azik may not be able to come at all because of his partner and I still need to find a back up babyitter.” She paused for a moment with a cleansing breath. “ I’ll speak further with you another time.” Nalano hung up, leaving Lau in the abrupt silence of his dark apartment. He closed the holo-pads and stowed them in his work satchel. Standing up, he moved into the kitchen to replenish his tea, robotically.

Dependable Lau.

He decided against more tea.

Looking at the clock, Lau grabbed his satchel and gazed into the hall mirror. Clean faced, suit nearly without flaw, Lau flattened his collar with a flare of gravitas and feigned importance. He stared into his own eyes, avoiding the dark uniformity in his peripheral vision. Today was a new circle. Lau locked the front door behind him. It was a brisk, cool, walk to the Nasurn Gallery, consisting of fifteen, maybe thirty minutes on a bad day. Lau’s focus remained on the crowds and the pavement, intent on not looking for the ghost of the duct rat that he’d never see again. It felt good to stretch his shoulders and his legs this morning.

When he walked through the back door, Lau was greeted by a hellish heat and the rhythmic and scattered ringing sound of a hammer meeting steel. Behind the wall ahead, Eramanthe cursed loudly as the ringing ceased once again. The salarian rolled his eyes as he flipped on the ceiling venting system. She always forgot about the fans on her work days. Lau wondered if she’d been born on an arid world far off in Asari Space. Walking up behind her, he could almost see it. As a young girl, she would be a sun burnt baby-building sand castles in a desert long after she should have gone inside to her mother. She could have been a chubby little thing, running with wild abandon just to feel the sand rush in between her toes. Maybe her family went on beach trips to escape the heat by way of a breeze coming off the water. The intense temperatures hardly seemed to bother the woman.

The work shop was empty today, with the other sculptures pushed far into the walls in order to give the asari room to work. The forge burned with a blinding yellow, illuminating the massive metal behemoth beside it that had stolen Eramanthe’s sleep for weeks now. She twisted the arms of the galactic community together and in the center of their outreaching palms, Eramanthe planned to plant a miniature of the Citadel. The theme was a little predictable for Lau’s taste, but her results were worth a bit of cliché. With metal and her biotics, Eramanthe’s figures felt like they could move and breathe on their own. They had the soft bend of skin and muscle that caressed the viewer’s attention. Of life’s soft and tender emotions, Eramanthe caste them in metal and polished them to a mirror shine.

Her sculpture still lacked a hand or two, missing the drell, turians, and vorcha. Why Eramanthe insisted on putting the vorcha in there was beyond Lau. It wasn’t as if they added anything to galactic culture. On the work bench laid the disembodied hand of the turians. “I like what you’re doing with the seams there, Era. But this looks a little aggressive compared to the others.” Lau quipped, looking at the hand from over her shoulder. She nursed a small burn on the outside of her thumb and groaned in miserable agreement.

“I think some of real life is bleeding into the piece.” Eramanthe collapsed into a nearby chair with her eyes closed and head tilted back. “Maybe I just need to…step back for a while.”

Lau moved closer to the metal hand. The iconic turian talons were uncut and vicious looking, unlike most of Eramanthe’s works in which they were trimmed with a rounded edge. The hand was flexed as if it were a predator that was about to strike. “Fighting with Cassias?” Lau mused, watching as Eramanthe ground her palms into her temples.

“I think we’re going to break up, Lau. He’s just…so….so-” Her hands flexed and clawed at the air, veins popping from the skin.

Lau inched away from Eramanthe’s rage. “Uncompromising?”

The asari sunk lower into the chair, crossing her arms and legs with sharp angry movements. “He’s too conforming. Too restrictive! Imagine what he’d do to our girls with that kind of attitude! He’d ruin them!”

“If he lived long enough, that is.” Lau said to himself. Eramanthe shot daggers at him from her seat; her entire face looking like she’d tasted something sour. “Hey-look at me.” the curator defended, jabbing a finger into his abdominal hood. “I get to make that joke! Besides, Cassias isn’t a young man anyway. You can do better, age wise.” Lau retracted said finger as Eramanthe transferred her glare from him to the ceiling. He scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes back to the metal hand on the table. Quietly, he said “The hand should be salvageable. You only need to loosen the fingers and cut down on the talons. It should be fine.”

Eramanthe stretched out of the seat, pushing it to its two back legs. “I want babies, Lau. I want them real bad.” She rocked back and forth on the chairs legs.

Lau briefly ran his hand across the metal arm on the table, feeling its heat slowly ebbing out into his palm. He turned to face her, “I mean, you can get kids without keeping the father around. Isn’t that what you asari do?” Lau snickered as Eramanthe threw her balled up sweat rag at his head. It was a bull’s-eye mark, hitting Lau square in between his horns.

“Been digging up cultural weaknesses to report back to your Union, salarian?” Eramanthe grinned toothily; brows narrowed. “Or is it just for a busy-body Dalatrass?” The two smiled at one another from their opposing sides of the room, Eramanthe’s eyes a bit brighter than they were a minute ago. She was prettier when she smiled. Lau found that glowering only made Eramanthe’s particularly round face look like a withering gourd, melting and squashing into unintelligible shapes. Yet, the way she held herself was still slumped over. She hugged herself, hands wrapped around her elbows and a clouded faraway look in her eye.

Lau placed a hand on her shoulder and returned the sweat rag to her expecting hand. “Personally, I don’t see the draw.” He said, “But you’re determined enough, Era. You’ll be putting aside all your passions and career to raise a brood of crass girls in no time.” Era shook her head, ignoring the salarian’s distaste of the idea.

The tinkling of the bell above the door in the parlor rang and the two shared a glance. The sound of the bell was more of a whisper; like a shameful, slow outcry that begged not to be heard and hoped to go unnoticed. Though not unheard of, it was rare for patrons or guests to come to the gallery before noon. When Lau didn’t hear the sound of the door closing behind the bell, the pores of his skin tightened around the base of his bulbous skull. His feet led him cautiously to the front room, with a straight back and stern countenance. There he saw, mirrored in the glassy flooring, two very unwelcome duct rats. They stared wide eyed at him, crouching over some foreign object on the floor. One held the door slightly ajar, just enough to slip back through without sounding the bell once again. Letting out a small growl, Lau lurched toward the girls. He wrenched the door from the asari’s hand and slammed it shut before the two could escape his grasp once again. A sickly, burning anger broiled in his belly.

“You two” Lau spat “are in very big trouble!” The human girl with the pale eyes started fidgeting spasmastically, her hands flying around her face and chest while her mouth opened and closed like a fish left out in the sun. She constantly looked back at her companion, who quaked in fear as she tried to pry the door open. The human’s hands clawed toward Lau in a beseeching manner. Her mind was slower than an elcor’s walk in the garden, it would seem, as her mouth had nothing to say but the smacking of a dry tongue. Lau watched her in disgust. The little pest who had been a blight upon him for too long did not measure up to the scheming, malicious whelp that he had pictured; but rather was a simpleton with less to offer of herself than a vorcha mercenary.

“N-no.” the human sputtered out, finally clutching and pulling at her shirt as if something were missing in her pockets. “No. I’m sorry…uh-uh-uh. Vey…” the sounds were strangled in her throat before she could get them out.

Eramanthe came into the room, looking at the two children and then meeting the fire in Lau’s eyes with the surprise inside her own. “Lock these two down, Era. I’m getting C-sec down here.” Lau ordered. He leaned his weight against the door to keep the two in and pulled up his omni-tool. The human child looked as if she were about to cry, her breathing shallow and fast.

“Wait, old man!” begged the young asari, beginning to wrestle Lau’s arm away from the fingers that threatened her freedom. “She just came to say sorry. That’s all! Don’t call the blues!”

“Lau” Era interjected slowly, gliding across the floor.

“What are you waiting for, Era? Use your biotics on these degenerates already!” the salarian ordered.

While Lau fought against the younger asari, Eramanthe’s attention was trained on the human. The girl bit at her lip and looked as if she were chastising herself, her gaze intent on trying to tell the salarian anything. When the human grasped at the small object on the floor, Eramanthe’s mouth slid up into a small smile, “Lau, hang on a sec.” With quiet panic, the human girl carefully shoved a piece of board into Lau’s chest. The girls stumbled back as he let go of the asari child, steadying each other.

It was his worthless piece Lau realized, looking at the clay turning and swirling upward from the board. It had been patched back together with cheap craft clay, nary a crack showing…despite the differing shade of color of the clay he’d used and what she’d used. There were juvenile fixes to curves and shapes that…actually worked. The edges had been softened where he had made sharp turns, not to a fantastic degree, but enough to make a difference. There were unfortunate blobs of dried glue in places-but there had been an attempt to hide them with similar clay blobs in varying places. They almost looked like bubbles-in an amateur sort of way. Lau stared at it in silence. He refused to believe that a duct rat, with no form of education outside of anything but ducking the law, could have put together the pieces so intuitively. Despite himself, the salarian found himself impressed.

“Sorry I broke it.” The little human said, drawing the attention of the two adults once more. “I tried to fix it.” She toyed with one of her fingers, not making eye contact with anyone in the room.

Eramanthe pawed at the sculpture from around Lau’s arm. “You did a good job blurring the lines where the old material and new meet.” She drew her hand away, rubbing her fingers together. The brownish coloring had stained her skin-a sign of cheap mock clay. It smelled mostly of salt.

“You did this?” Lau sounded more like he was accusing her than asking. The girl nodded slowly, nervously. The asari child had started inching toward the now unattended door.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Eramanthe squatted down to meet the duct rat’s eye level. She held out her hand warmly toward the girl. Lau looked at his friend as if she were crazy.

“Um…uh-Tegan” the human looked at Eramanthe’s offered hand as if she were offered credits and tentatively reached out-

Her hand was snatched out of the air by her companion, who whispered a firm “Come on.” before turning towards the adults with a tight, polite grimace. “Sorry, we gotta go now. We won’t bother you again.” She pulled the human girl with her, the two scurrying out the door before another word could be spoken. The human’s eyes caught in the glass window.

Lau passed the rest of the day in uneasy silence. The duct rat’s appearance rattled his core, as did the sudden appearance of his failed bobble-fixed and childishly improved. In a corner of his office, sitting on an aged couch, Eramanthe had resumed toying with the small sculpture after having called it a day on her own piece. He only found irritation in watching her curious twists and turns and Lau’s jaw tightened until it threatened to never move again. Lau found himself actively looking at his hand to avert his gaze from her-watching the tendons and muscles flow underneath his copper-toned skin as hands flew across his keyboard in feeble attempt of distraction. Answering these emails was always how he ended the day. But today, the hollow weight of routine threatened to crush Lau beneath it.

“You know what, Lau?” Eramanthe purred, finally setting the sculpture down in her lap. To Lau’s chagrin, she continued to pet at it absently. His head turned toward her like rusted machinery. “This is actually pretty promising now! It reminds me of some of some of your old college work that you’ve showed me-”

Lau pressed the palms of his hands to the desk, in a knee jerk reaction. “WHAT?” he hissed, “It looks absolutely nothing like my old works!”

“I mean energy wise, you angry little squit.” Eramanthe waved off his reaction. “Look at this, really I mean!” Reluctantly, Lau watched it from the corner of his eye. The form was a confusion of will and intention. It drew upon a ghost of a memory before Lau shoved it back down into the dark recesses of his mind. “There’s so much enthusiasm!” Eramanthe continued to cheer.

“It looks like its being pulled apart by different ideas of what it’s supposed to be.” Lau muttered darkly.

“Sure. But that shouldn’t bother you of all people. I mean, that kind of look helped you graduate, right?” Eramanthe’s shrug caused boulders to fall upon Lau’s spine. He stared intently at wood grain of his desk. She continued to speak but he chose to tune her out.

Pushing the chair back, Lau walked to Eramanthe and took up the sculpture, his fingers threatening to crack the wooden board. “It’s hardly even my work anymore. So it has nothing in common with what I used to do.” He opened up a cabinet, shoved the thing deep onto a shelf, and closed the door. The offensive object finally out of sight, Lau felt he could breathe again.

“Oh, squirt lube up your cloacae and loosen up, man.” Eramanthe crossed her arms and scowled. “The kid did good work.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Lau returned to his desk, resuming his evening work.

“I think she has potential worth nourishing!”

“She’s not an orphaned varren whelp, Era. Leave it be.”

“When she comes back, we should see what else she can do!”

“ERA! STOP!” Lau shouted. Her enthusiasm was too much for Lau. He collapsed back onto his chair, resting his head on the cool wood of his desk. Eramanthe was on her feet, glaring daggers at him. “Just…please.” the salarian took a deep breath, trying to clear the tight muscles in his head. “Yes. Admirable though it is that she came back, it doesn’t change what happened. Now I’d appreciate it if you let this finally drop. Period!”

The quiet between the two hung stagnant in the air. Suffocating. Claustrophobic. The unrelenting automated clicking sounds of Lau’s haptic keypad signaled that the salarian was done talking. Eramanthe scowled as she stood, readjusting her clothes. “Okay, Lau.” She padded towards the door, her boots hanging from her shoulder on laces tied together. “I’m going home. You should too. Sleep off that attitude, maybe.”

Alone again. Lau hung his head in his hands, clicking off from his emails. What a disaster.

#butthound writes #salarian #salarians #mass effect 1 #mass effect #asari #turian #fanfiction #salarian oc #SASA

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anubislover · 4 years

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A Primal Need for a Marine (a X Drake x Reader fanfic)

In the past twenty-four hours, your luck had been, quite frankly, abysmal. First, while in pursuit of the infamous pirate X Drake, a storm came out of nowhere, wrecking your ship and nearly killing you, separating you from your captain and crew—assuming they were still alive. Then you spent hours floating on a piece of wreckage, until you finally spotted land and were able to paddle your way to shore. You thought perhaps things were looking better when you heard human voices coming from the jungle, only to discover they were the subordinates of the man your squad had been hunting. Before you could even attempt to parlay, they’d tied your hands behind your back, hoisted you up and carried you to a cave deep in the jungle, unceremoniously dumping you inside and sealing off the entrance, only saying, “The captain will want to see you.”

The inside of the cave was spacious, several lamps providing adequate light to see by, but also casting long, ominous shadows. There appeared to be a massive pile of plush bedding in the back corner, and some animal bones scattered about; a clear sign that something had decided to call it home. You immediately began looking around for a sharp rock or piece of bone to use to cut your bindings, as you had a lot more faith in turning your situation around if you had use of your hands.

“So, you’re the crew’s solution to my problem?” came a voice from deep in the cave. A figure approached slowly from the shadows, long strides powerful and sure with the grace of an apex predator. Nearly eight feet tall, made of pure muscle, and dressed in deep blue leather pants, gloves, thigh-high boots, and open bolero jacket trimmed with white fur, he cut an intimidating figure. His sunset red hair looked like fire in the lamplight, and the shadow cast across his face nearly hid the black domino mask over his piercing blue eyes. The X-shaped scar on his chin and tattoo on his bare chest were painfully familiar.

Now you knew for sure your luck had completely run out. You, a captured Marine, were alone in a cave with X Drake. The pirate your squad had been tasked with arresting and bringing to justice.

The traitor.

His eyes scanned your face, taking you in. “You look familiar.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” you bit out evasively. You really didn’t want him to remember you—at best, you’d be one of the starry-eyed recruits that had admired him back when he was a rear admiral. That innocent crush you’d once had had gotten you in trouble; he’d caught you and a few others watching him train shirtless when you should have been doing chores, and he’d marched you straight to your commander for a humiliating admonishment.

At worst…well, last time your crews had crossed paths, he’d been seconds away from cutting off your captain’s head with his giant axe. Thinking quickly, you’d jumped between them and blocked the blow with your rifle. It would have been extremely cool if it were your prowess that had truly stopped him, and not the way your ripped shirt fluttered in the breeze, giving him an unobstructed view of your bare breasts. He’d gone bright red, and you swore a slight trickle of blood dripped down his nose before he was distracted by an attack from your captain, who’d caught his second wind.

Crossing his beefy arms, he looked down on you, thoroughly unimpressed at your wet, shivering figure. “Your uniform is a mess. Back in my day, to come before a high-ranking officer in such a state would have earned you at least ten lashes.”

“Good thing there aren’t any officers around, then—just traitorous scum,” you countered, voice full of venom.

A ginger eyebrow arched at your cheek, but interest flickered in his eyes. “You’re a member of the squad that’s been chasing us, aren’t you?”

“Oh, have people been chasing you? I can’t imagine why,” you replied sarcastically. Your captain often complained about your attitude, but he’d also preached defiance in the face of death, and you planned on living up to his expectations.

“That’d be another twenty lashes for talking back. Either the Navy’s eased up on disciplinary measures, or you’re a particularly tough one to break.”

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and something like approval flashed in his steely gaze. “Do you know why my men brought you here?” he asked, circling you slowly, critical stare sweeping over your kneeling, disheveled form.

“They didn’t bother to fill me in.”

“Since we reached this island I’ve suffered…urges,” he grumbled, frustration lacing his voice. “My more bestial side has been rearing its head, even in my human form, demanding I sate some of its more primal instincts. I’ve hunted and fought and killed, but it’s not enough. It wants to mate.”

A shiver ran down your spine as you finally understood. “And you couldn’t find some nice lady dinosaur to get your rocks off with?”

He actually chuckled lightly as he knelt down behind you, reaching around to untie the kerchief around your neck. “No, those are in short supply. However, a mouthy little Marine should work just fine.” The tips of his gloved fingers trailed across your damp shoulders, down your back to your bound hands. Teasingly, he yanked at the rope that cut into your wrists. “If you’re a good girl and do exactly as I say, you might even survive this. Might. I can’t promise anything.”

“That doesn’t exactly inspire me to comply.”

His hot breath danced across the back of your neck as he whispered, “Then I’ll just have to fuck you into submission.”

You blanched. Of course Drake swore—he was a sailor, pirate, and former Marine. A dirty mouth was practically guaranteed, and even the most formal officer was known to turn the air blue under the right circumstances. But to hear him talk that way, when he was usually so stoic, brought a faint blush to your cheeks that you desperately hoped he couldn’t see. A few years ago, when he was still a rear admiral, you would have given your right arm to be in this position.

Now…well, you wanted to say you were utterly repulsed at the idea, but the spike of heat between your legs would call you a liar.

His hands returned to your front, and you watched as he carefully removed one of his leather gloves. Your heart raced as it morphed into a green-scaled dinosaur claw, wickedly sharp and deadly. Instinctively you flinched away, but Drake’s imposing figure gave you nowhere to go. Carefully, the tip of a curved talon stroked your cheek before sliding down to the collar of your uniform. “Hold still; I’d hate to accidentally slit your throat.” You knew he could do it; you’d seen him rend some of your comrades effortlessly with those ancient talons. Heart in your throat, you did as he said, though your cheeks reddened further when his monstrous claws shredded your shirt and bra into ribbons, leaving your torso completely exposed.

What the hell? you thought frantically. Isn’t he supposed to be weak to a woman’s body? Why would he do that?!

Without ceremony Drake picked you up and placed you on his lap, pressing your bare back to the exposed skin of his chest.

“Wha—!”

Once more gloved and human, large hands slid up your sides to cup your breasts, giving them an experimental squeeze. “You really are such a tiny thing,” he murmured in your ear, hot breath dancing across the sensitive skin as he massaged and fondled you. “So cute and helpless, like a bunny caught in a trap.”

There really was quite the size difference between you, but then again, Drake towered over quite a few people. And good gods, pressed against him like this, feeling his hard pectorals and abdominal muscles flex with every movement, made you feel like a doll, small and breakable in his powerful grip. On top of that, his body exuded heat like a furnace, and had the situation been different, you would have relished it warming your damp flesh, chasing away the chill of the cave.

His nose buried itself in your hair as he inhaled deeply, letting out a low groan as his palms squeezed your breasts hard. “You smell delicious, too. Like fear and sea water and sweet, soft flesh. Like prey.”

“More like bait,” you bluffed, eyes squeezing shut as he ran his teeth across the fragile skin of your neck, latching his hot mouth to your pulse-point and sucking hard. “I—ah!—let myself be captured to distract you. M-my crew’s taking out yours as we speak, and then you’ll be taken into custody, literally caught with your pants down.”

The flat of his tongue stroked the mark he left on your throat. “You had no clue about my…condition, as it were, so there’s no way you could have planned this. Given that storm last night, I’d say it’s more likely your ship capsized, and you washed up on shore, alone and ripe for the taking. No one’s coming to save you, and we’ll be long gone by the time another Marine ship shows up.”

His left hand dropped to press against your stomach, pinning you against him so you couldn’t wiggle free. Still, you made a valiant attempt to break away, twisting and writhing in his lap.

Your efforts were halted when he growled, amusement lacing his voice, “Oh, please, keep struggling like that. Your ass feels amazing against my cock.”

A hot blush painted your face as you realized that you could feel a hard bulge against your backside, and it probably wasn’t a pistol in his pocket. “You’re an absolute bastard,” you cried as his hand shifted to grab your hip, pulling you back to grind against his concealed length.

“What did you expect? I’m a pirate from the Worst Generation. Did you think a man like me would be sweet words and gentle caresses?”

Honestly, you kind of had, given how he seemed so shy around women, even back when you were a recruit. “No—I figured you’d pass out from a nosebleed the second you even touched a pair of tits!” you snapped back.

His right hand abandoned your breast to harshly grip your chin, yanking it up so you hand no choice but to meet his intense blue eyes. They weren’t quite in their more reptilian form, but you could see his pupils were blown wide and the iris had faint specks of yellow. “I remember you, now. You’re the one who flashed me to save your captain.” Blunt teeth caught the shell of your ear, his hot, wet tongue flicking against the delicate flesh. “Bold of you, I have to say. An effective strategy at the time, but I’m only weak to a woman’s body when I’m caught off guard, and definitely not when my Zoan side is impatient to fuck.”

You bit your lip to suppress the small, needy whimper that his tongue nearly coaxed from you. Your ears had always been your most responsive erogenous zone, and his mouth was stimulating it with just the right amount of heat and pressure. When he gave a sharp suck, you couldn’t quite hide your quick intake of breath, though you tried to hide it by renewing your struggles.

Drake didn’t seem to mind as his hips jerked to match your movements, grunting in appreciation. His left hand abandoned your hip to bury itself between your clenched thighs, cupping your hot core through your wet trousers and panties. “Mmmm, I can smell that you’re starting to enjoy this.” The hand at your chin shifted to press two fingers against your plump lips. Scowling, you closed your mouth as tightly as possible. There was an annoyed growl at your resistance, and the heel of his palm ground harshly against your clit, causing you to gasp in shock and outrage.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he shoved his fingers inside the wet cavern, giving a shallow thrust. Instinctively you bit down on the meaty appendages, but it did little to dissuade him. In fact, he sank his teeth into the side of your throat in retaliation, making you scream in pain around his fingers.

“Bad girl,” he rumbled lowly as his tongue lapped at the sore spot, cleaning up the small drops of blood from where his fangs had broken the skin. “I’ve been restraining myself because I didn’t want to break you too soon, but if you keep misbehaving, you’re going to find out just what kind of animal I can become.”

You winced, finally accepting that you weren’t going to be able to discourage him from using your body how he pleased through resistance. He was a former rear admiral, a hundred times stronger than you, and if you really got on his nerves, he could just turn into his Allosaurus form and eat you.

Sensing he’d broken your resolve, he resumed pumping his fingers into your mouth, the smooth leather of his gloves gliding over your wet tongue. “That’s better. Now suck—unless you’d rather I replace my fingers with my cock and fuck your throat?”

Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes and focused on sucking his fingers, hoping your skills would be satisfactory. When he gave a pleased grunt you rolled the flat of your tongue against them, imagining it was the hard cock of someone you actually wanted to please and not the traitorous bastard that held you captive. Your cheeks darkened as the fingers at your core curled against your covered slit, pressing into the sensitive flesh as his palm ground against your clit, enticing you to buck against him.

“Look at me, girl. I want you to acknowledge exactly who you’ll be servicing tonight.” His voice was right above you, steamy breath fanning your face. Instinctively your eyes opened, and his mouth stretched into a grin. He chuckled, stroking your nether lips in time to his thrusts, causing heat to coil tighter in your belly.

You were absolutely horrified at your body’s reaction—you couldn’t possibly be feeling pleasure because of X Drake, could you? He was a pirate and a traitor, and he made it clear you were basically only there as his fuck toy! Your crush on him hadn’t been that strong, had it?

Grinding his contained cock against the cleft of your ass, he said, “I know what you’re thinking, and there’s no need to be ashamed—we can’t always control when or how our bodies feel pleasure. A glimpse of bare skin, a touch to just the right spot, a few dirty words—it all involuntarily stimulates us. I used to think that it could be resisted with enough willpower, but after a week of my instincts driving me mad, I’ve realized that everyone has their breaking point.”

With a wet pop, he removed his fingers to stroke down your jaw and throat to once more play with your breasts, this time putting special focus on teasing your nipples. To your dismay, they quickly grew into stiff peaks under his rough pinches and flicks, his thumb circling the hard tips teasingly. “Bet you didn’t think your little flash of chest would result in this, did you?”

When you didn’t answer right away her gave your left breast a harsh squeeze, prompting you to gasp out a weak, “No.”

“Did you get a commendation for your bravery, little girl? A promotion? Or did you reject any praise because you didn’t want to be known as ‘The Tits that Felled X Drake’?”

You whimpered, though mostly in humiliation. He’d hit the nail on the head. You’d been mocked by your shipmates for nearly a month over that, and even though the captain had been grateful, he’d kept your involvement out of his report for that very reason.

“Well, now you’ll get to be ‘The Tits that Fucked X Drake,’” he chuckled, rolling his hips for emphasis. “In fact, that sounds like a great way to start.”

Before you could question him, he pushed you out of his lap to the cave floor, flipping you onto your back. You attempted to sit up, but a large boot rested lightly on your stomach, pressing down just enough to make it clear how easily he could crush your torso. There was no choice but to look up at him, and for a moment you couldn’t help but stare at the prominent bulge between his legs straining against the tight leather of his pants. Blushing, you forced yourself to look further north, landing on Drake’s unusually expressive face, his lips quirked in an amused smirk and a hungry gleam twinkling in his eyes. Your gazes locked as he palmed his belt buckle, undoing the clasp and allowing the long strip of leather to fall to the ground with a clatter. Next, he grabbed the zipper of his tight pants, pulling it down bit by bit, the clicking of metal teeth deafening in the silence of the cave.

As he freed his length, you swallowed nervously. Of course a man his size would have a massive cock to match. At least nine inches long, roughly two inches thick, and perfectly curved, he’d be like something out of a wet dream if the circumstances hadn’t been so horrible.

“Like what you see, Marine?” he chuckled, giving it a few teasing strokes, running his thumb over the already leaking tip. “Just imagine how it’ll feel inside you.”

His foot vacated your chest so he could straddle your hips, pinning you down with his superior body weight. Blue eyes stared, mesmerized, at the twin peaks of flesh before him. Your chest was flushed and swollen from his earlier attentions, nipples hard and practically begging for his touch. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, then he leaned down, wrapping them around a straining, rosy bud.

“Ah!” you cried, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth on your sensitive areola.

Your chest was completely at the mercy of his ravenous mouth and tongue. Alternating between sharp sucks and soothing licks, his attentions sent sparks through the soft mounds of flesh, making you arch further into his mouth, your body wordlessly begging him for more. He eagerly complied, and you were ashamed at the surge of moisture that pooled between your thighs when he brought his teeth into the mix, shallow bites and taunting scrapes of his incisors both frightening and thrilling you.

Trailing his mouth down the silky peaks, he lavished the valley between your breasts with long, slick strokes of his tongue. Your nipples weren’t abandoned for long, however, as his hands returned, the leather deliciously smooth in contrast to the sharp pinches to your straining buds.

This time, you couldn’t quite suppress the little sighs and whimpers that bubbled up in your throat as his arousing actions. For all that the situation demanded you resist, Drake played your body like a harp, strumming your taut strings of desire and producing a symphony of lustful sounds.

Finally, he leaned back, critically studying the wet trail between your tits before nodding to himself in approval. He lifted himself from your lap to straddle your ribcage, resting his straining cock in your cleavage and pressing your swollen mounds of flesh around it for extra stimulation.

“Brace yourself, dear—I’ve been dreaming about this since you first flashed me.”

There really wasn’t much you could do to brace yourself with your hands tied and back pinned to the ground, but you lifted your knees and planted your feet as best you could, praying that the stone floor wouldn’t tear up your skin too badly. His grip on your breasts was harsh, squeezing them together so tightly you were sure he’d leave finger-shaped bruises behind. Each thrust rocked your entire body, his long cock peeking out from between your breasts to brush your chin. Blue eyes fixated on the drops of precum left behind, and you watched his pupils dilate until his irises were nearly overtaken by the black.

“Imagine if your superiors could see you now,” he panted, a few drops of sweat trailing down his temple. “Helpless, at the mercy of a pirate, being used as a fuck toy and loving it.”

“I’m not—” your whimpered denial was cut off by a particularly brutal thrust and a massive hand yanking your hair.

“I told you that I could smell your arousal, little one. Lie to me again and I’ll hand you over to my men to have a turn with that cute body of yours. Now open your mouth.”

Being used by one horny pirate was bad enough, and your luck had been so awful you dared not call his bluff. Instead, you silently obeyed, parting your lips as he released your hair to continue tit-fucking you. If his erratic thrusts were any indication, he was close to climaxing, which meant it was nearly over. Closing your eyes and taking as deep a breath as you could with the massive man straddling your chest, you forcefully pushed down the disappointment that the fire he’d stoked between your thighs wouldn’t be sated.

With a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a shout he came all over your face, his hot, sticky seed splattering across your chin and lips, but mostly shooting inside your waiting mouth. Salty and thick, you had to swallow several times to get it all down.

Panting and wiping the sweat from his brow, Drake leaned back to study you, grinning at the drops of cum that dappled your cheeks.

“Aren’t you a sight?” he purred, wiping a sticky glob off with his finger and painting it across your lips. “I’m glad I started with tit-fucking you instead of finishing.”

Your eyes widened in horror, even as your cunt clenched in anticipation. “You…you’re not finished?”

The tips of his fingers stroked his still-hard cock. “Do I look finished? If this problem were solved by a single orgasm, I would have just jerked off and been done with it. No, I need to properly mate, and even then I doubt I’ll be sated until I’ve fucked us both unconscious.”

If the way he’d used your chest was any indication, it wouldn’t be hard for him to knock you out, and once he had his fun, what did he plan to do? Ransom you? Interrogate you? Kill you? Behind your back, your nails dug into your palms, wishing your hands were free so you had a better chance of escaping.

Eyes capturing yours, he raised his left hand to his lips, white teeth catching the leather encasing the middle finger, pulling slowly to expose pale skin and thick, calloused digits. “I wonder if you can even take me,” he murmured, more to himself than you as he pulled of the other glove. “You’re such a little thing…”

You seriously doubted you could. He was twice the girth of any man you’d ever slept with, and long enough that you were positive he’d wreck your insides if he bottomed out. The fact that he was still hard even after already cumming indicated his stamina was nothing to scoff at, either.

You were, figuratively and quite literally, fucked.

Removing himself from your torso, he crawled down to your legs, hooking his now bare fingers into your waistband to slowly peel your trousers from your legs. You tried to kick at him, to fight back and wiggle away, but he grabbed your thigh, nails digging into your skin in warning.

“Behave, girl,” he growled, eyes flashing with something fierce and primal as he ripped off your panties, nostrils flaring as he caught the undiluted scent of your womanhood.

“Please, let me go,” you tried to reason. Drake was a traitor and a pirate, but surely he hadn’t lost all of his honor? “You’re not the kind to take an unwilling woman, right?”

“But you’re not unwilling,” he chuckled, leaning in to lap up your juices with a long, luscious stroke of his tongue. Your back arched at the delicious sensation, cheeks flushing and toes curling as the coil of arousal deep inside you tightened. “You’re impossibly wet. You smell like a bitch in heat, waiting to be mounted by a worthy male. You’re aching for me, aren’t you?” he growled before nipping at your sensitive nether lips.

Head shaking in denial, you closed your eyes in hopes of blocking out the overwhelming pleasure the sweeps of his hot tongue brought you. That only made it worse, though; your body’s sense of touch heightened, making your empty cavern ache to be filled.

For his part, being so close to the source of your womanly scent was driving Drake’s beastly instincts wild as he feasted on your arousal, your cream thickly coating his tongue and dripping down his prominent chin. The flexible appendage delved deep, teasing your inner walls as his fingers tightly clutched the meat of your ass, lifting your hips so he could get a better angle. It was when his nose brushed your clit, though, that you finally unleashed a lustful cry, hips bucking, unconsciously chasing that intense spark of pleasure that rocked your entire body.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” he purred as he pulled away, licking at the juices that coated his lips. “I can’t wait to hear what other noises you’ll make.”

He turned his attention to your swollen pearl, teasing it with the tip of his tongue while one of his long, thick fingers leisurely penetrated your molten core up to the knuckle. “You’re going to be a tight fit, but that just makes it all the better,” he groaned, deep voice practically reverberating through you.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you felt your inner walls clench around his finger. It was nearly as wide as two of your own, hot and wonderfully rough, massaging the sensitive tissue of your core.

As he experimentally began pumping his finger in and out, his tongue flicked your sweet little bundle of nerves, chuckling at the strained sounds that slipped from your lips. He dragged the calloused tip along the top of your passage, licking and teasing your sensitive nub.

After a minute or so, pleased at how wet you were for him, he forced in a second finger, curling the pair against your G-spot while suckling your clit when you let out a whine of discomfort.

“Just relax,” he murmured, dropping a brief kiss to your thigh as if in apology while he scissored his fingers, stretching your tight hole. “If you’re too tense to take my fingers, how can you hope to handle my cock? Take a deep breath and relax.”

You wanted to argue that there was no way you could relax when you were being molested by a filthy pirate, that you didn’t want to take his cock, but then his lips wrapped around your throbbing clit and sucked hard, and your mind went blank as you were momentarily overwhelmed by white-hot pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasped, lips barely pulling away long enough to speak before diving back in, sucking in time to the thrust and curl of his digits, coaxing your hips to match his rhythm.

Against all decency and logic, your walls clenched around him as your body sang, coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your belly with every heady bend and eager suck.

Just when you thought you might reach that peak and finally climax, Drake completely stopped. You whined, bucking your hips in hope of taking your own pleasure from the slick fingers that rested motionless inside you, but his free hand grabbed your hip in a bruising grip. Sluggishly, you opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze as he gave you a feral smile.

“Beg me to let you cum.”

Despite your flushed cheeks, humming nerves, and aching cunt, you refused to give him that victory. You may be his prisoner and a slave to his desires, but you wouldn’t beg. Steeling yourself for whatever he had planned, you defiantly shook your head, provoking a low, menacing chuckle.

“I was being nice, little one. I don’t have to give you pleasure at all—I could just flip you over and start fucking you. Are you denying yourself out of pride? Think you’ll get a moral victory by refusing to give in to your urges like I am? You think your will’s stronger than mine?” he snarled, suddenly angry. Your heart sped up as you realized you’d unconsciously touched a nerve—X Drake was famous for his composure since his days in the Navy. He was a man who strove to be in control of his emotions; to not give in to vices like lust or anger like his father had. That his Devil Fruit had driven him to this was a testament to how frustrated he was, how powerful the urges were, and how insulting it was to think that you could hold out when he couldn’t.

His hand started moving again, brutally ramming inside you as his fingers slammed against your G-spot with every stroke. “If you won’t beg me to let you cum, then I’ll just make you cum. I was giving you a choice. Something you’re never going to have again.” His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard, overwhelming you with sensation as his fingers continued to piston in and out. Captive to his touches and powerless to do anything but lay there and feel, your mouth let out little wordless cries, and even you couldn’t tell if they were meant to be denial or encouragement. It was when he started humming, sending sweet vibrations straight into your throbbing clit, that you finally felt your climax hit, pleasure shooting through you like liquid lightning, your walls clenching around his digits while your back arched.

The second he felt you spasm around his fingers Drake pulled away, grabbing your hips and refusing to let you ride out your orgasm, watching you writhe hopelessly under him.

“That’s enough foreplay,” he rumbled, tossing you over his shoulder and carrying you over to what could only be described as a nest of pillows, blankets, and other bedding. It made for a soft landing when he tossed you down, flipping you onto your stomach. To your surprise, you felt his fingers at your wrists, and the harsh rope tying your hands behind your back fell away. “It’s time we got to the main event.”

Wincing at the awful pins and needles travelling up your newly freed arms, you managed to brace yourself on your elbows and look up at him over your shoulder. His eyes had turned fully yellow and dangerously reptilian, and his ravenous gaze was fixated solely on you as he peeled off his leather bolero. You could feel his eyes caressing the smooth expanse of your back, your pert ass, quivering legs, and flushed face like you were a feast laid out just for him. His attention dropped briefly to his thigh-high boots, bending down to remove them, and you grasped at your chance, clumsily darting to your feet and attempting to make a run for it while he was distracted.

You didn’t even make it out of the nest before a beefy arm wrapped around your waist, swinging you up into the air before slamming you down into the bedding. The soft blankets and pillows prevented any injury, but the air was knocked out of your lungs, rendering your immobile while you struggled to regain your breath.

“At any other time I’d commend you for not giving up the fight, but right now all you’re doing is making this harder than it needs to be,” he growled as he rolled you back onto your stomach, prying your thighs apart so he could settle between them and elevating your hips with a pillow. One hand seized your right wrist, pinning it behind your back while the other grasped the back of your neck, pressing just hard enough to ensure you wouldn’t even dream of moving. Like this, he had full control, completely dominant and ready to claim his prize.

The hot tip of his erection teased your dripping entrance, and you let out an involuntary whimper. “Please…” You weren’t even entirely sure what you were begging for. Sure, you’d just tried to escape, but had you really thought you’d get away? Had you really wanted to, with your core aching to be filled? Or had you just wanted to see just how far you could push him?

“I warned you,” he growled. “Let’s see how much of me you can take. And just so you know, I will be cumming inside you. Every. Fucking. Time.” With deliberate slowness he pushed his stiff, throbbing cock into your tight, wet sex. Inch by inch he filled you, penetrating your womb as he finally bottomed out.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said with a deep, relieved groan, stilling his hips to savor your walls clenching him. “Such a tight little cunt. Here I was wondering if I’d split you in half, but you took me like a champ. Like you were made for me,” he finished with a possessive, rumbling growl, slowly rolling his hips back before plunging back in.

Your free hand clawed at the bedding beneath you, caught between pain and pleasure. He was stretching you to the breaking point, slamming against your cunt like a battering ram, speed increasing with every rotation of his hips. At the same time, each thrust hit that magic spot inside you, and you were already so sensitive from your earlier orgasm, you couldn’t help but let out helpless little mewls as you squeezed him tightly. Pinned beneath him like this, helpless as his rough treatment stoked a fire in your belly, you wondered if, should you survive this, you’d ever be able to lay with another man again.

Hips snapping against your backside, the sharp slap of skin on skin echoed through the cave, accompanied by your needy cries and Drake’s terse grunts.

The hand pressing down on your neck tightened slightly as he growled, “That’s it, little one; you’re taking my cock so nicely. Should have known you were meant to be a pirate’s whore. It’s probably your dream, isn’t it? To get fucked day and night by a Navy traitor. Well, congratulations, dear; mission accomplished!”

You’d never imagined being degraded like this would get you off, but it was like his words were the catalyst you needed to cum so hard stars filled your vision. Your silken walls desperately milked him as your orgasm and his thrusts rocked your body, screaming his name like it was the only word that mattered anymore.

The sensation of you milking his cock sent Drake over the edge after you. With a nearly inhuman roar his seed filled your womb, hot cum painting your inner walls in thick spurts as he buried himself as deeply into your eager cunt as he could.

For a few moments the two of you just lay there, panting heavily and basking in post-orgasmic bliss. You whimpered a little when he pulled out, strangely mourning the sudden lack of heat and pressure, but soon found his arm wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up so you were vertical and pressed to his chest, legs spread as he lowered you back onto his cock. His free hand played with your breasts as his teeth latched onto your ear, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Drake~” you moaned, hypersensitive but matching his thrusts as best you could.

“Finally giving in, huh?” he panted in your ear, rutting up into your aching cunt. “I knew you would—you can only deny your instincts for so long.”

Hand encircling your throat, he pressed your head to his shoulder, looking down at you with fierce yellow eyes. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Getting railed by a pirate’s cock. You greedy little slut. You make a hell of a sight right now—needy juices dripping down your thighs, eyes glazed with pleasure, face covered in my cum.” He leaned down to lick away one of the milky droplets that clung to your cheek. “I should take a picture to send to headquarters; show them what happens to cute little Marines that fall into my clutches.” The hand supporting your waist slid down over your sweat-slicked stomach to the apex of your thighs, mercilessly grinding his thumb against your clit.

You didn’t even try to fight your orgasm this time, letting it wash over you, bouncing on Drake’s cock to draw it out while screaming your throat raw. Sharp teeth latched onto your shoulder as he released, hips snapping up hard as he came.

Drake wasn’t quite done yet, though. Somehow, despite two consecutive orgasms, he was still hard inside you. You mewled helplessly, too worn out to even rock your hips. Sensing you were at your limit, he pushed you back onto your stomach, hoisted up your hips, and proceeded to fuck you into the mattress.

Covered in sweat, stretched to your limit, limbs weak, overstimulated and hypertensive, all you could do was lay there, ass in the air as Drake continued to pump his massive cock into your twitching hole. However, the pathetic sounds of pleasure that you let out at every snap of his hips seemed to egg him on, and before long he slammed himself inside you with a penultimate, animalistic groan, emptying the last of his hot seed inside you.

At last sated, he removed you from his softening cock to wrap you up in a loose blanket before laying down beside you.

“Mmmm, can’t wait to do this again tomorrow.”

“To-tomorrow?” you gasped, forcing yourself to stay awake even as exhaustion darkened the corners of your vision and your limbs grew heavy and lethargic.

“I was eager to fuck you and rid myself of these damned urges, but now, I think I rather like them. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years.” Muscular arms engulfed you as he pulled you to his warm chest. Glancing up, you could see his eyes had returned to their normal, intense shade of blue. He purred, “And for such a little thing, you’re surprisingly durable. I’d be a fool to give you up. When my crew and I leave this island, you’re coming with us.”

“I can’t…”

“Your squad’s most likely dead, and the survivors would be trapped here until another ship stumbles across them. Even if they all lived, they couldn’t stop me from carrying you off.” His thick fingers combed through your hair, not caring that they were still damp and sticky with your juices. “You can’t go back to the Navy, anyway; the anti-fraternization laws are rather draconian, and if you don’t get court-martialed just on the off-chance that I could have recruited you as a spy, you’ll be looked down on with disgust and suspicion, passed over for promotions and missions for the rest of your career. Join my crew, and you’ll at least have my men’s respect.”

“I’m not a traitor,” you insisted, even as you buried your head against his chest to hide the tears that threatened to fall. Damn it, he was right—if the Navy found out that you’d been involved with X Drake, even under duress, you’d be branded a pariah and, at best, shuffled to some out-of-the-way base doing paperwork until judgement day.

His large hand cupped your chin, lifting your face so he could press a gentle kiss to your brow. “Then I guess you’ll have to spend your days as my captive and feisty little bed warmer.”

“Better keep me in the brig—otherwise, I might slit your throat in your sleep.”

“You can try, dear, but if I have to tie you up and fuck you into unconsciousness every night to ensure my safety, well, that’s a cross I’m willing to bear.” Tilting your head, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’d advise against killing me, though. If you prove yourself trustworthy, I’ll let you in on why I became a pirate. It’s a fascinating story, and it might just make you realize I’m not as bad as I seem.”

Your brow furrowed. What could he possibly mean by that? You wanted to question him, but the strain of the day was finally catching up to you, making your eyelids heavy. It was even harder to focus with the soft bedding underneath you and Drake’s bare chest keeping you warm.

He chuckled softly as you began to drift off, murmuring, “Get some rest, little one; that’s an order from your captain.”

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katymacsupernatural · 5 years

Text

The Lies of Men Chapter 1

Dean x Reader

1800 Words

Written For: @spngenrebingo, @spnaubingo

Squares Filled: 1940′s (Genre) Police Officer Dean (AU)

Summary: Y/N is married to a very wealthy bank owner. After his true colors show through, Y/N runs to her police officer brother for help. Instead, she finds his friend Dean, who offers his support.

Warnings: abusive relationship, mentions of assault, etc...

Tears streaked down your face as you struggled to control your breathing. Every breath hurt, bringing a fresh wave of tears that you desperately wished would stop.

Every part of your body ached, from your toes all the way to the strands of your hair. You were sure at least one of your ribs were broken, along with a possible concussion and heaven knows what else.

Your only possession at the moment was the fur-trimmed wool coat you were bundled up in, your beaded purse, and the diamonds wrapped around your neck like a collar. Everything else was back at your house. With him. And you couldn't go back there.

Standing at the entrance to Rittenhouse Square, you were left at a crossroads. Do you enter the park where none of your high-class friends would be at this late at night? Do you return home and hope that Lawrence's temper had cooled off?

But you knew it would never cool off. Sure, during the day he was the proper gentlemen and the proper husband. Going to work at his Fathers Bank. That he ran now. Spending the evening at your side at all the high-class parties. But once the two of you were alone in that massive house...you just shuddered at the memories.

You only had one other place to turn to. Lawrence would blow his top, but you didn't know what else to do. With nothing more than spare change in your purse, you began the long trek across the city to the police station, and the safety your brother might offer you.

Almost an hour later, you limped up to the large brick building. Your lungs burnt with exhaustion, your side screaming in agony at every painful drag of breath. Your ankle was swollen, one heel of your shoes laying forgotten about a mile back. Your eye had long since swelled shut, and you knew you must look a sight. But all that mattered was finding your brother Jimmy and the shelter he might offer you.

At this late hour, the front office was bare. The secretaries desk was empty, as was the guard who usually sat up front. You quietly made your way down the hallway to the large room towards the back. There the main officers had their desks. Jimmy was usually on the night shift, a fact you were grateful for now.

But as soon as you pushed the door open, all sense of hope vanished. The room was empty. Papers were strewn everywhere, half full coffee cups forgotten on their desks.

You were at a loss. You refused to go back, even though you knew you might have to eventually. You could wait for Jimmy, but who knew how long that could be.

Fresh tears began trickling down your cheeks, cool against the flushed skin. Crumpling down in a chair, you tried to think of your next move. But all you could think of was how wrong your life had turned.

Lawrence had swept into your life, making you feel like a princess in one of those fairy tale stories. He was handsome, so handsome. He had this inky black hair that no matter how hard he tried would always end up curly by the end of the day. His eyes were a rich blue, brighter than the sapphire he had gifted you for Christmas. He had been funny and sweet, managing to sweep you off your feet before you could so much as blink. He was rich and influential, and your family? It was just you and your brother. He hadn't seemed happy about your choice, but Lawrence had been so sweet, and you had been adamant.

The creak of the door opening pulled you out of your memories, and you turned to the door in alarm. Hoping that Jimmy was returning, you couldn’t help but worry that Lawerence had figured out where you had taken off.

"Y/N?" A familiar voice called out, but it wasn't the voice or your brother. You kept your head tilted down, peering up at the man through your lashes. It was Dean, your brother's partner, and friend. He was tall, even taller than Lawrence, his uniform straining at his shoulders. His dark blonde hair was slicked back, his green eyes staring at you in concern. "Is everything okay?"

Sniffling, you shook your head. "Is Jimmy with you?"

He shook his head, squatting down in front of you, his eyes wide as he took in your disheveled state. "Who did this?"

You shook your head, not wanting to say the words. That your marriage was a sham and the man you thought you had loved was a monster.

"Was it Lawrence?" He asked his words nothing more than a growl. His hands were curled into fists, his jaw clenched and ticking. Your heart sped up and you sank deeper into your seat. He noticed immediately, forcing himself to relax. "Listen, sweetheart, Jimmy is out on a case and I have no idea when he'll be back. Can I take you home, or…"

"No!" You exclaimed, the words coming out hoarse. Reaching up you touched the diamond necklace, knowing there had to be deep bruises underneath. "Please, anywhere but there."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Let's take you to my home."

Dean took you out through the back door, where his personal car was parked. A cream colored two-door Pontiac. He opened the door for you, his hand clenched tight on the metal when he noticed your whimper as he slid in. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital instead."

"No, no hospital," you argued. "He might look for me there."

"You need to fill out a report," Dean started to say as he slid in the driver's seat. "He can't get away with this."

You turned to face him, tears slipping down your cheek. You were sore and exhausted. Not to mention terrified and you wanted nothing more than to get a good nights sleep before you figured out your next step. "Fine, we'll get you settled for the night, and then we'll go from there."

You had never been to Dean's house before, and you were surprised when he turned his car back the direction you had come. You glanced at him in surprise, but his attention was on the road. With your hands clenched tightly in your lap, you watched as acquaintances houses flew by. Lights were on in a couple of houses, cars parked on both sides of the street as the rich, upper class partied the night away. Something you were supposed to be doing tonight as well. But the thought of sitting through another, stuffy party was not something you could even stomach.

Dean glanced at you before turning down your street, his mouth drawn in a tight line. You could feel your body start to tremble as you glanced over at him in dismay. “Dean, what is going on? Please, you aren’t sending me back, are you?”

You knew he had every right. Sure, it was 1946 and women’s rights was stronger than ever. But most men considered women nothing more than a possession, and Dean could legally drop you back off at home.

He shook his head. “Of course not. There is no way in hell that man is ever getting his hands on you again. But this is the easiest way to my house.”

Your heart still raced, but you remained quiet as your house came closer and closer to view. The prominent park was off to your left, the entrance back about a hundred feet or so. Lawerence’s family had lived in this house since the early 1800s, and it was passed down to him after his parents retired to the countryside. It was tall, three stories high. The lot it sat on filled the entire block, wrought iron fence closing it off to the public. You had loved the place, with its old stone walls, the towering turret off to one side. There were a gazebo and pond off to the right, where you had often spent your summer afternoons feeding the ducks.

Inside the place had always been spotless. From the marble floors to the very detailed plaster. Only the best furniture had been placed in every room, some of it was older than the house themselves.

The lights were on in the house, in almost every single room as Dean drove by. You could see a silhouette in the balcony windows that bordered one wall of your shared bedroom. It had to be Lawrence. He was probably beside himself with anger, and you feared for the safety of the servants.

"He will pay," Dean assured you, following your gaze past the gate up to the second-floor balcony. "Y/N, we have to tell someone. To keep you safe, but it's also my job."

You smiled weakly at him. "Can we talk about it later?"

He nodded stiffly before turning down another street, pulling up to another ornate wrought iron fence. But this one was already open and Dean drove through. "I never knew you were my neighbor," you whispered, wondering how a simple police officer could afford such an expensive place.

He chuckled, but it was sarcastic. "A police officer can't own a nice house?

"That's not what I meant!" You exclaimed, your eyes widening at the sight of the house in front of you. It was just as big as your house. A little newer, this one was made of bright red bricks. It was of the more modern style, a large rectangle with porches on both sides. A circle driveway was right in front of the door, an extensive garden on the left. "You've just never said anything."

Dean shut off his car, quickly coming around the side. "Well, we've never really had much of a chance to talk," he said before reaching down to help you to your feet. Ignoring his hand, you slid out, gasping in pain and almost falling to the gravel as pain swarmed through your body.

"Damn it, let me help you," he ordered, gently reaching down to pick you up in his arms. Quickly climbing the small set of stairs, the doors opened, a butler standing off to the side. "Mr. Winchester?" He asked, staring at you quizzically.

"Franklin, can you call Dr. Neills? See if he can drop by tonight?"

Franklin didn't even bat an eye. "Of course sir. Right away."

You tried to get a good look at Dean's house, but the grasp he had on you had you swimming in and out of consciousness. Your head rolled to the side, landing against Dean's firm chest as he took the stairs up to the second floor.

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!! If you did, a reblog/comment would help a writer out!!!