#Best Security Awareness Training

[techgeeg]

Cybersecurity Awareness Training for Employees

Cybersecurity Awareness Training for Employees Introduction: Cybersecurity Awareness Training for Employees – In today’s digitally connected world, cybersecurity has become a critical concern for businesses of all sizes. The increasing frequency and sophistication of cyberattacks make it essential for organizations to not only invest in robust cybersecurity technology but also prioritize…

[drnic1]

Beyond Change Healthcare

The continued onslaught of cybersecurity attacks which if anything are only getting worse have impacted the healthcare system in dramatic fashion with the payment network brought down by the attack on Change Healthcare. Healthcare under Cyber Attack I keep hoping that we all get better at combatting these attempts to breach our data and that overall vigilance rises as we become more wary of…

[jejewonster]

Milk and Cookies

do you like my cookies? they’re made just for you. 𖥔. ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ࣪˖

❁  pairing: chwe vernon x f.reader ❁  genre: friends to fucking, aphrodisiacs, smut (MDNI 18+) ❁  wc: 1.8k

— vernon doesn't know how badly you want him. hopefully the chocolates you bought will help him see you differently.

❁  smut tags/warning: DUBCON, buzzcut vern, aphrodisiac chocolate is used to coerce vernon, dryhumping, penetrative sex, creampie, thigh fucking?, choking, reader is manipulative, reader acts like vernon's sexual advances are unsolicited at first. ❁ a/n: read my guidlines. don't like don't read. block me if this isn't your cup of tea. vernon is meant to have a buzzcut but i couldn't find a good pic to make into a banner :( sry! thank you to @sunniques for beta reading ♡.

it’s not your fault that your best friend doesn’t realize how much you want to fuck him.

despite how many times you’ve tried to make it obvious how badly you’ve ached for him to give you what you need finally, none of your plans have worked in your favour. 

“hey, you ready?” vernon calls out for you. 

after clearing your mind from your depraved train of thoughts, you turn to him from your kitchen to smile back at his awaiting figure that’s sat on your couch. leaning against the headrest, his arms propped up against the cushions with his legs spread. 

it doesn’t help that he’s agreed to your remarks on how good a buzzcut would look on him. the lack of hair on his head is new and exciting, and you wish to feel the buzzed hair graze against your inner thighs. 

“yeah, just grabbing a few snacks. gimme a minute,” you smile, although you can feel the way it doesn’t fully reach your eyes. 

taking the box of chocolates from the fridge, you made sure not to forget the most important component of your plan. if anyone had found out about your idea, they would call you insane, but you couldn’t care less. 

you’re not accustomed to being denied what you need, or what you crave either. it’s not your fault you’re tastebuds have been tingling for someone as sweet as honey. 

staring down at the chocolate box in your hands, a smile begins to creep onto your face. vernon won’t be able to ignore the undeniable sexual attention after this. 

the aphrodisiac-filled candy is cold in your hands, but in a few hours, it’ll be a warm memory of tonight’s events. 

taking your designated spot beside vernon, you hand him the chocolate. 

“here have one, i got it the other day and thought we could try them together,” you nudge the box of confections towards him. 

“sure. these look expensive as fuck? where’d you get them?” 

shrugging your shoulders you act as nonchalant as you can, “nowhere special, just some place downtown.” 

𖥔. ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ࣪˖ 𖥔. ˖ ࣪ ꒷ ࣪˖

vernon’s skin is scalding. he isn’t sure what the hell is wrong with him, but his body temperature has gotten higher with every passing second. there’s an ache in cock that he’s so desperate to release but there’s no way he’s going to be able to go to the bathroom with the situation he’s in. 

with you beside him on the couch, the two of you shifted into a position where you’re both lying down facing the TV. the sounds coming from the screen are nothing in comparison to the pulse that rings in his ears. 

one arm is placed securely around your waist, legs tangled along the cushions. you’re way too close. close enough that he can feel the way your tiny sleeping shorts leave nothing up to the imagination. the curve of your ass is pressed tightly against his growing erection. vernon is a hundred percent sure you can feel how hard he is right now, yet he’s still frozen in place, not wanting to reveal his dirty little secret even further. 

sneaking a peek at your face, your eyes are still trained on the movie, but vernon can’t handle it anymore. he needs to do something. anything. 

it’s like a shot to his chest, you squirm under his grasp and if he wasn’t so aware, a groan would’ve left his lips. instead, he sucks in a breath, doing everything in his power to create the smallest bit of distance between you. 

“hey, are you feeling warm?” he asks you, trying to distract himself from the way the blood is draining his body and rushing into his semi hard on.

“no, not really? are you okay?” you turn, eyes piercing into his soul. 

“a little bit,” he sighs, not realizing he’s been holding his breath this whole time. 

you stiffen up, and the smallest graze of your ass against him has his brain turning to mush. vernon is filled to the brim with confusion and frustration, and it’s even worse that he can’t seem to get an ounce of relief. not unless he wants to embarrass himself in front of the girl he’s been pining over for years. 

“i can go grab you some–v-vernon!” your sentence is cut off, vernon cannot have you standing up just to see how hard he is right now. 

“n-no it’s fine just–just stay where you are,” vernon breathes out. 

the look you give him is filled with confusion, but you do what he says anyways. 

“fine. let’s finish the movie first.” 

snuggling into him more, vernon’s breath hitches. self-control slipping away from his fingertips the more you situate yourself into a more comfortable position. he’s really starting to lose it now, whatever morals he had left were thrown out the window with his conscience. 

as if he’s being controlled by a puppeteer, his hips find themselves moving on their own. rutting into the crevice of your ass, the shorts bunching up to reveal the supple skin underneath. vernon’s brain is fogged with arousal and no matter how badly he feels for using you; the relief he’s receiving overrides every single one of the morals he’s set up for himself. 

“A-ah–vernon? w-what’s going on?” you whimper as he continues to grind into you. 

“i-i’m sorry. i really tried to ignore it, but shit, it feels so fucking good,” vernon groans from behind you. 

the nape of your neck is in front of him, and hides his face in it, not wanting to reveal the rosy blush sprawled on his cheeks. the friction between you two creates a tent to strain against his pants, his large hands move down towards your soft thighs. touching them with the softest of caresses, the heat of your skin radiates onto his palms. 

his fingers trailing up your skin, skipping the heat between your legs in favour of your breasts. the speed of his hips pick up and now both of his hands have you encased into his body. both of his palms grope at your tits over the thin fabric of your tank top. 

it’s as if he’s been put in a trance. no matter how guilty he feels, he can’t stop himself from defiling you. 

“i’m so sorry darling, i can’t stop,” he whimpers against you. 

“v-vernon, i’m not sure about this,” you speak up, but your ass is following his movements in tandem. pushing back against his hard member as he continues to grope you. 

“just give it to me, just this once. i’ll make it worth while darling,” vernon grunts against you. 

his hands move down once more, propping your thigh up to give himself access to where he needs you most. the other palm still tweaking your nipple, under your top this time. pointer finger and thumb rolling the sensitive nub till you’re putty in his hands. 

vernon’s attention moves back to your cunt, the thin piece of fabric from your shorts being the only thing in the way from touching you where it matters. if he knew any better, he would’ve thought you weren’t wearing panties for a reason. but the problem is, vernon isn’t thinking with his mind. his hard cock is making all his decisions for him. 

shifting the fabric aside, he is finally able to touch your bare pussy. your lips wet with arousal, slick and ready for him. he groans into your ear, peppering kisses along your neck as he rubs your clit. you moan against him, and he can practically feel you vibrating against his body. 

there’s a whine that leaves your lips as he recoils his fingers away from your hot cunt. 

shifting behind you, vernon frees his cock from his sweats. there’s a breath of relief between all the hot tension. finally. 

“you’re fucking soaking. tell me you don’t want this ‘cause i’m not stopping,” vernon groans, not even allowing you to answer back. 

he slips his dick between your slippery folds before forcing your thighs closed once again. the head of his length is bumping into your clit as vernon begins to hump into you sideways. 

“n-nonie, f-fuck, p-please,” you moan out between your pleas. 

“jesus christ, darling, tell me how good it feels,” he grunts into your ear once more. 

“your dick feels so good, a-ah, fuck, fuck, fuck, keep going please,” you beg him, synchronizing with his movements. 

vernon is drunk on lust. the sounds of your squelching pussy fill the room and the sound alone is dizzying. he picks up his pace, the coil in his abdomen starting to tighten. he wants to be inside you, he craves it. 

“keep those legs open for me baby,” vernon mumbles. 

your hand goes under your knee, propping your one thigh up. vernon shifts slightly, his pulsing cock in his palm as he lines himself up with your entrance. the tip slides against your wet pussy before his tip is shoved into your tight hole. 

you visibly tremble, and vernon thrusts up enough to bottom out inside you. the arm you're using to hold you up gives out, but vernon is quick to replace it with his own. slapping his hips into you, he holds your leg up to give him room to continue fucking you. 

“tightest pussy ever, holy fuck,” vernon practically drools. 

your walls are gummy, and so soft. the heat of your cunt engulfs the whole entirety of his cock. it motivates him to continue pistoning into you until his balls begin to squeeze. he knows he’s close but he doesn’t want it to end. as if he can go on for hours drowning into the heat of your tight pussy. 

“you fill me up so well,” you whimper, craning your neck to catch his lips. 

vernon kisses back, tongues tangling with one another as the two of you are practically eating each other faces off. you jolt with every thrust vernon gives you, the hand that was groping as your tit moves to grip your neck. fingers squeezing at the sides to cut off your airflow the slightest bit. 

the muffled moans that leave your lips are vernon’s breaking point. your pussy clenches around him the harder he squeezes your neck and it’s enough to send him over the edge. 

gasping into your mouth, vernon’s hips halt as he spurts his cum into your hole. the semen overflows and coats his cock with the mixture of your arousal and his own. 

“i’m sorry, you didn’t even cum yet,” vernon pants against your lips. 

“it’s fine. i’m not ready for this to be over yet anyways,” you breathe out, cheeks flushed. 

vernon looks into your eyes, the glint in your pupils unmissable. what the hell did you put in those chocolates?

❁ a/n: thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did hehe :3

[technicalfika]

Cybersecurity Analyst: Safeguarding the Digital Frontier - Who and what they do?

In today’s interconnected world, cybersecurity stands as an impenetrable shield against the relentless wave of cyber threats. At the forefront of this defense are Cybersecurity Analysts, skilled professionals who protect organizations and individuals from malicious attacks on their digital assets. This article delves into the responsibilities and significance of a Cybersecurity Analyst and…

[yawnderu]

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

[bahngarang]

chapter 9.0 ☆ imposter syndrome

ss: 18

wc: 829

cw: food mentions, mentions of physical fighting

a/n: I lost two years of my life trying to edit that photo if it looks bad don't tell me (also the initials l . y are l/n y/n if you're confused)

"okay, okay, hear me out," minji paused, chewing a heroically sized mouthful of pizza, holding her finger up as if to hold her place in the conversation.

it went on for just long enough to be awkward, and yn took a sip of their soda – as if they weren't already stewing in a pool of their own embarrassment at this whole situation. and it was embarrassing, to say the least. how long would it have taken them to get to this point if not for some... some bitch trying to steal their soulmates? honestly, yn thought they would have the opposite reaction to this sort of thing. the other yn – she was pretty, able-bodied from what they could tell, and she seemed remarkably put together. a far cry from their own life. she seemed to be everything yn wanted for their soulmates.

well, except for the fact that she was almost undoubtedly a sasaeng. stray kids' management had gone to great lengths not to show their soul marks, but there had been a few slip-ups over the years, and despite their best efforts, it had come out that the group were soulmates – and that there was one more person included. that came with a lot of failed attempts of stalkers trying their best to convince they boys that they were their soulmate. up until now, it had always been fairly mediocre attempts, and/or easy to see through. it was different this time, almost indistinguishable from yn's own (before the accident).

but apart from that, theoretically, she was perfect for them. and yn... wasn't. but that didn't stop the pit of frustration burning deep in their stomach – frustration at themselves, mostly, at the world, and everything else. although, that last one was the more general ire for living made worse by this whole debacle.

sometimes, privately, yn wondered if it really was just a big coincidence, if they really were their last soulmate. it just felt like they... didn't fit. and, just occasionally, they wished it was that way – although, not really. they didn't know the others, and didn't really know how to feel about them just yet, but the idea of chan being with someone else made yn's chest clench painfully.

"what if," minji started again, "what if you showed up at the company building with like, one of those massive rose bouquets and blasting a sad song on your boombox?"

"well, first of all," yn said, "where are the funds for this rose bouquet? with the price of everything these days, i'm not sure i even have enough for twelve. secondly, a boombox? how old do you think i am? contrary to apparently popular belief, i do not have a boombox. and, you know, i think security wouldn't let me within 50 metres of the building."

"darn."

the quiet clicking of lego pieces broke the silence between the poignant lack of ideas in the brainstorming session. it was difficult, coming up with a way to explain to your best friend that you'd been hiding the fact that you were his last soulmate that made you look least like a buffoon. it was unavoidable, looking like an idiot, but surely there had to be a way too minimize the damage, right?

it wasn't going very well so far.

yn sighed heavily to themselves. any angle you looked at it, it was bad. the problem being self aware was exactly that – being self aware. the second-hand embarrassment at their own actions had suddenly hit them like a freight train early that morning during classes. it had not been a pleasant day, with every free moment spent shrivelling into their own skin in a very visceral reaction. god, it was just... ugh.

the doorbell rung out through their apartment, breaking the spell that had fallen over the three of them. bingus trotted in, complaining loudly at the intrusion. his fur was all scruffed up, indicative of his 47th nap of the day that he'd just been rudely awoken from.

chika furrowed her brows, glancing in the direction of the door. "you got a package coming or something?"

"uhh... not to my knowledge..." bingus jumped up onto yn's lap, circling a few times before climbing up onto their shoulders like a parrot. chika reached over to brush his fur back into place, eliciting a deep, crackly purr as he pushed his face against her hand. "i'll go see who it is..."

yn stood up tentatively, gently supporting bingus's ass so he didn't fall off during the process, before walking over to the door, grabbing the keys off the hook next to it and unlocking it.

"hey," minho said conversationally, like he hadn't just shown up at yn's door unceremoniously.

"hi," yn mumbled, forcing the word out. they couldn't decide where to look, the doorframe taken up by not only minho, but seungmin and hyunjin as well, the other two appearing at least a little more awkward about the situation.

"we know."

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a/n: if you're wondering I do find joy in torturing people with cliff hangers

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[livvymd]

The rain.

ChrisMD x reader

just some fluff!! him teaching you football

The sky had been overcast all afternoon, the clouds a dull grey as you stood on the damp grass, a football resting at your feet. You and Chris had planned this for days, but neither of you had expected the rain. It started as a light drizzle, then picked up, falling in cool droplets that soaked your clothes and made the field a little slippery.

Chris, of course, looked completely unbothered. He stood a few feet away, running a hand through his already-soaked hair, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Still up for it?" he asked, shaking the water from his arms like some sort of wet dog.

You giggled, wiping the raindrops from your face. "Obviously. I’m not letting a little rain stop me."

Chris grinned. "That’s what I like to hear."

He placed the football in front of you. "Alright, let’s start with some basic dribbling. Keep the ball close, little taps, don’t let it get away from you."

You nodded, trying to copy the way he’d demonstrated earlier. You tapped the ball forward, then to the side, trying to maintain control as the rain made the grass slick beneath your feet.

Chris hummed behind you. "Not bad, but—here, let me help."

Before you could react, he stepped behind you, his presence warm despite the chill of the rain. His hands found your waist, adjusting your posture, and then he guided your leg with his own. The contact sent a flutter of warmth through your stomach.

"Use the inside of your foot," he murmured, his voice close to your ear. "Like this." He nudged your ankle with his, the movement soft but deliberate.

You swallowed, hyper-aware of how close he was. "O-Okay."

Chris chuckled, and you swore you could hear the smirk in his voice. "Nervous?"

"Shut up," you muttered, nudging the ball forward again.

He backed up, letting you work on your dribbling. After a few more attempts, you felt yourself getting the hang of it, tapping the ball forward in rhythm.

"Now, let’s make this interesting," Chris said, shaking out his arms. "I’m the defender—you’ve got to get past me."

You gave him a look. "You know I barely know what I’m doing, right?"

Chris smirked. "Exactly. Should be easy for me."

That was all the motivation you needed. Without another word, you turned and kicked the ball forward, sprinting past him as fast as your legs could carry you.

Chris let out a dramatic gasp. "Oi! No fair!"

Laughing, you dribbled forward, keeping the ball close like he taught you. You could hear his footsteps behind you, gaining on you fast. The rain made everything slipperier, but somehow, the cool drops against your skin only added to the excitement.

Chris lunged for the ball, but you spun away at the last second.

"Okay, okay," he panted, clearly impressed. "Didn’t know I was training a pro."

"Maybe I’m just naturally better than you," you teased, kicking the ball further ahead.

Chris scoffed, sprinting after you. "Oh, that’s it."

You squealed as you felt his presence right behind you, your heart racing as you tried to outrun him. Just when you thought you might actually escape—

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground.

You shrieked, legs kicking in the air as Chris spun you around effortlessly, laughing like this was the funniest thing in the world. The ball rolled away, completely forgotten.

"Cheater!" you cried, laughing breathlessly.

Chris only grinned, holding you securely as the rain continued to pour. "You said you were better than me! Had to put you in your place."

You wriggled in his arms, still giggling. "Put me down!"

"Say I’m the best footballer you know."

"Never!"

Chris gasped dramatically. "Alright then." Instead of letting you go, he carefully lowered you, but instead of just setting you on your feet, he bent down slightly, placing you onto the wet grass like you were the most delicate thing in the world.

The moment your back touched the ground, you groaned. "Chris!"

He grinned down at you, hands on his hips. "That’s what you get."

You pouted up at him, but you were still laughing. "You’re such a menace."

Chris crouched down beside you, his face softening as he looked at you, rainwater dripping from his hair. "Yeah, but you love it."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned. The rain blurred everything slightly, softening the world around you, but all you could focus on was him—smiling, soaked, happy.

He reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered for a moment, thumb grazing your cheek. Your breath hitched.

Then, in classic Chris fashion, he suddenly poked your nose. "C’mon, get up. We’re not done training yet."

You groaned but took his outstretched hand. He pulled you up with ease, steadying you as you stumbled slightly. His hands lingered at your waist for a second too long before he finally stepped back.

"Alright," he said, nodding toward the ball. "Round two?"

You smirked. "You better not cheat again."

Chris grinned, running a hand through his wet hair. "No promises."

And just like that, the rain didn’t seem so cold anymore.

[melancholymetropolis]

Please Please Please

plot: Marriage Law AU In which two best friends partake in a marriage of connivence to appease a marriage law placed on Piltover. However, one party is no longer satisfied with that arrangement and proposes a divorce.

pairings: Adult!Claggor x Reader

genre(s): Hurt with Comfort; YEARNING; childhood friends to lovers

warnings: unedited (mostly). MUTUAL SILENT PINING. friends to married idiots to lovers. lots of tears from both parties. love confession for the ages. no smut, just feels

a/n: I promised this months ago, but burn out is real. I am fully aware that this might make no noise, but I needed to get this out. I needed to write something where two people are so hopelessly in love with one another that they almost sabotage it. this is for the sad girls-- they need love too

w.c: 2.0k

“I think. . . we should get a divorce,” I said, looking up from the steaming pile of mashed potatoes on my plate.

Claggor lowered the serving spoon back into the bowl, before placing it on the table. His hands clenched and released repeatedly, just as his mouth started open before snapping shut. He was trying, and failing, to find the right thing to say. Thoughts played out on his face like subtitles, yet they managed to be jumbled together. After a few seconds, the taller gentleman inhaled sharply and raised the glass of wine to his lips. He took several gulps before waving his hand for me to continue.

I didn't know how I expected him to react, but it wasn’t like that. Clay was flustered and speechless. Two reactions I've hardly ever seen him portray in our decade long friendship together. His demeanor was that of confidence and security. There wasn't anything he couldn't achieve with his hard work ethic and enlightened mind. It was one of the reasons why he was a decorated engineer at such a young age. Why he had a seat on the Council, discussing the worries of undercity residents and bringing further unity to Piltover. 

“Well,” I said, nervously tapping the table. “When the Marriage Law was announced, you suggested a union between us to avoid becoming entangled with strangers. A platonic union.”

“Are you not. . . happy with this arrangement?” Claggor chose his words carefully. As if he were lighting a match next to a powder keg.

“I . . .” I turned away from him, almost too embarrassed to express my wants. I mirrored his actions: grabbed my glass of wine and took several gulps from it. I sighed heavily and looked back up at him. His brown eyes were trained on me. Watching my every move, dissecting every expression on my face. 

There was a look of panic behind them, of desperation. 

He didn’t want this to end.

“I am happy with the arrangement,” I replied. “You're my best friend and confidant. My right hand. You know me better than anyone else. So, it was a no brainer to enter this union with you. I love the home we created and spending time with you. It's just. . .”

“Tell me, Y/N,” he said gently.

“I . . . want more,” I said softly. “I want a romantic partner more than a platonic husband. And I know you're not interested in romance. You made that notion very clear with our separate rooms and such.” I paused for a second and chewed on my bottom lip. I waited until the words arranged themselves in a neat pattern before speaking again. “I am watching my homegirls go on dates, buy engagement rings, have giant weddings with their spouses. It didn’t bother me in the beginning, since this whole mandated marriage thing was so fresh. But, it’s starting to. I feel like I am missing out on something wonderful. And I don't want to pressure you into having that kind of relationship. So, I'm suggesting a separation. A no-fault divorce.”

Claggor nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I replied with a raised eyebrow. “‘Okay’ as you understand? Or ‘Okay’ as in "let's get divorced””.

“More like “Okay, let's go on a date””.

“You don't mean that,” I said, shocked. 

Claggor took another swig of his wine before leaning forward. “I do.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm not.”

“Bullshit”.

Clay chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “What? Are you scared to go on a date with your husband?”

“Well. . . yes”, I said, earning a deeper laugh from Claggor. 

“Come on, sweet pea,” he teased.

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“I won't bite. . . unless you want me to.” There was a smirk on his lips. Dangerous and seductive, just like the rest of him at that moment. 

“Clay, what are you doing?” I said with narrowed eyes. “What's your angle?”

“No angle,” he replied with a shrug. “Simply flirting with my wife.”

My body froze. My eyes scanned his face. Once. Twice. Three times to find the joke. To find humor behind that gaze. There wasn’t any. He was being completely serious. The realization caused me to slump back in my chair. Out of all the things I’ve been expecting, his proposition for romance had not been one of them. He was a man of solutions, or facts. To me, he saw our marriage as a means to an end. I was the only straight, single woman left in our friend group. We had enough history to know all sides of each other. The good, the bad and the annoying traits that graced our person. The fear of the unknown had always plagued my consciousness. The uncertainty of the future had given me crippling anxiety. Marrying a stranger would’ve been too risky then; Claggor was the safest option. He made me feel secure and seen. There had been many nights that he simply held me during a panic attack, or called out of work because I wasn’t feeling too well. But, when I was all better, he’d never mention those times again. Almost like they didn’t happen. Almost like they meant nothing to him; which was why I thought romance was completely off the table. It was why I thought I needed to find someone else.

Because loving someone who doesn’t want me has gotten too painful.

The buzzing of the timer brought me back to reality. I snapped to my feet and took quick steps to the kitchen. I hastily shoved on the oven mitts and opened the metal door. I removed the cobbler from the top rack and placed it on the stove. In one fell swoop, I turned off the oven, took off my mitts and placed them back on the designated hook by the stove. After taking several deep breaths, I turned on my heel and intended to head to the dining room. But Claggor was standing in the kitchen’s doorway. A wary look on his face. 

“Did I do something wrong?” There was hurt in his voice, a pain I have heard before.

“No, of course not,” I said a little too quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re crying, sweet pea,” he said, softly.

I pressed a hand to my cheek and immediately felt damp skin. “Oh.”

“You have to talk to me, Y/N,” Claggor states, taking small steps in the room. “Because clearly something is bothering you and it has to do with our marriage. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Marriage.

It was one of the few times he referred to our agreement with that word. 

It was always “union” or “arrangement”.

Hardly ever marriage.

Hardly ever a word that insinuated more than a platonic relationship.

A friendship. 

“Do you. . .” I heard myself asking. “Love me. . . romantically?”

A somber smile formed on his lips. And, despite my blurry vision, I could see his eyes begin to gloss over. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He was about an arm’s length away from me, then. But, he didn’t dare touch me. Afraid of how I might react; knowing my history and skittish tendencies. 

“Baby, I have loved you every day since we were fifteen years old,” he confessed, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “And just when I think I can’t love you anymore, you do something that makes my heart grow three sizes.” A tear rolled from his left eye and rolled on his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I haven’t loved anyone the way I love you. I couldn’t. I won’t. You are the love of my life. So, please. . . please don’t leave me now. Not when I just got you all to myself.”

More tears escape their ducts and slide down my cheeks. “But you said you wanted this marriage to remain platonic. Hell, you didn’t call it ‘marriage’ when you proposed. You said it was an “arrangement”, like some sort of business deal.”

“Come on, sweet pea,” he teased. “If I told you I felt, you would’ve run for the hills. We both know that.”

A small giggle fell from my lips. “True.”

Claggor took a step forward, our bodies mere inches apart. “I had to present this marriage in the most non-threatening way possible for you to even consider it. Hence, the separate rooms, separate bank accounts and separate lifestyles. The “marriage” couldn’t be more than a legal obligation in the beginning.’

“You wanted me to trust you,” I declared, stepping forward. 

“Exactly,” Claggor replied, closing the distance between us. “There wouldn’t be a relationship if we couldn’t trust each other.”

The rise and fall of his chest was quick and almost panicked. The complete opposite of his calm demeanor. His glossy eyes were beginning to make my heart weep and my mind sing with lyrics from sappy love songs. I could feel my heartbeat quicken, matching Claggor’s. I placed a palm on his cheek; he immediately leaned into my touch. His eyes seemed darker than before, almost like his pupils dilated at the sight of me. I felt myself lean forward and my eyes drift close. His lips hit mine a moment later. Claggor groaned loudly and wrapped his arms around me. I gasped at his strength and he took that opportunity to slither his tongue in my mouth. It was my turn to groan, then. Somehow, his palm was at the nape of my neck with his fingers in my braids. His other hand hooked around my waist and lifted me off the ground. My rear collided with the marble countertop and jerked back in surprise. 

Claggor immediately pulled away. “D-Did I go too far?” His eyes searched my face for any sign of discomfort. “I apologize if I did.”

I shushed him and opened my thighs for him. Claggor’s soft middle was in between that open space in moments and his lips were on mine again. There was heat behind the second one. A ferocity I never expected from him. His hands were everywhere. Rubbing my thighs, clenching my waist, tangled in my braids. Claggor wanted to touch me anywhere and everywhere. He wanted to feel every part of me. Almost like he was making up for lost time with the quickness of his touch. It seemed like he had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Maybe, by his own admission, for almost a decade. My heart glowed at the thought. Claggor’s longing for me had reached its limit. The love he kept shielded from me was slipping out; spilling onto my body via gentle kisses and quick touches. He wanted me so bad it was beginning to hurt him.

Clay inhales sharply before pulling away from the embrace. His forehead is still pressed against mine and his arms hold me tighter than they ever have. His breathing is rapid and his exhales fan my face. His entire body was trembling, almost as if it were coming down from a high. When his brown eyes finally open, they are darker than they ever were. Deeper in shade and emotion. He drinks me in, reading my every expression before opening his mouth.

“I love you.”

The words are like an arrow to my heart and I feel tears begin to well in my eyes.

“Please don’t leave me.” The plea was stronger that time, sharper in tone.

It demanded an answer. 

“I won’t,” I said. “Because I love you, too.”

-----------------------

a/n: I have an idea for an Arcane Marriage Law series with different characters. Y'all just gotta be let me know how you feel about it.

-------------------------

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[insanescriptist]

Flip the Table

Casually eavesdropping on what should be highly secure frequencies, Jason sipped his beer in a sleezy saloon style sports bar somewhere on the Vegas strip, nominally watching college(?) football; he's a hockey fan because baseball's boring as shit to watch and he's never got the appeal about American football. Football to the rest of the world was at least worth watching for the drama. Something had the Justice League in a tizzy and Zatanna -the one who normally covered Vegas when it came to the costumed crazies- was off world; Jason didn't have the details exactly but it sounded like Zatanna was dealing with some magical planar stuff and was not expected back for at least six more days. Assuming all went well.

So like any reasonable person who's going away for a time, she turned on her home security, had the alerts wired over to a friend -in this case Justice League Dark- gave a list of what was needed to be done and when -the pick up my mail and mow my lawn equivalants- went on her trip, trusting that the JLD were watching over her city and it wouldn't be on fire when she got back.

Such glorious hope.

And thus something happened so when Jason pulled into Vegas proper to investigate a desperate -read last hope- lead on a missing person's case, Jason happened to spy one of the lesser members of the JLD losing their shit in the sky. And so in a moment of civic duty, Jason started spying on them.

Magic was not something anyone trained by the Bat really ever got comfortable about, but chances were magic bullshit was going to intervene in his case. Justice League shit spilled over everything, all the time. Ghost cultists tripping Zatanna's necromancy alarms or whatever they were, was not Jason's business. Not unless the presumed cultists -those that had survived- had the person he was looking for.

No, he was looking at a missing person's case and his lead was 1. cold and 2. a longshot and 3. in a city full of tourists and catering staff, where "seen anything unusual lately" could be "there was this trio of tourists arguing how sex with your best friend doesn't count as cheating," or "someone having a meltdown over the delayed shipping of organic blueberries to the hotel," or "Sarah Maria got murdered a couple weeks ago on the job, but I haven't seen any notice about her funeral stuff on her social media, why yes, I do know she's dead, oh, she's dead and I'm an idiot for expecting someone dead to post on their socials their funeral deets."

Point was, he could look and ask all he wanted, beat feet for days, but the chances of this lead panning out were basically so minuscule that Jason could treat this more as a hobby case while on vacation. He still did his due diligence, asked the staff a few questions, called the guests on the same floor during the time period of their stay about how they found their stay, ran into the dead end of shitty business practices -they recorded over their own records every two weeks- and so unless Jason got the ability to do magic and do a "point me!" spell, the case would turn cold. It sucked when it happened but sometimes the evidence wasn't there. Or wasn't noticed or was destroyed before it could be collected. Sometimes people just didn't remember shit until three weeks later, which with some follow up digging gave him the lead to the hotel. Which got him nothing after that.

As Jason Todd didn't gain an innate ability to do magic that he was aware of that actually counted as magic bullshit magic instead of a couple cantrips, all he could do was get a beer and some food in a Vegas style Texas saloon bar. Which not his first choice, but it was full enough no one really paid attention to anyone. Technically a sport's bar but also very much was not. It was also busy enough that Jason ended up getting asked if someone could set with him at his table -which real Jason said hell no to, but cover Jason did agree to-

Oh. Meta. Jason realized quickly. Oh no, he's hot.

His hair is on fire!

How did the server miss that? Most metas don't casually out themselves like that! Too many people willing to target them for whatever power.

That hair was flaming, tied back in a low tail; Jason blinked and the hair flickered color, looked like normal hair -black- and then back to white fire, then black fire, some tv static abomination of color, white hair and then black hair. Another blink and it appeared to be black flames for hair and yeah, Jason closed his eyes. Pointedly ignored the hair thing. If the meta asked, Jason was judging him for the stupid little goatee.

The rest of the meta was built along the same lines as Jason himself, tall, broad and built. Packed with muscle, which was something to make note of; metas usually were more durable and could hit harder, so Jason casually made note to not get hit if a fight broke out.

Which it might, or probably would.

That's just how Jason's luck ran. To shit.

Said meta also ordered food and a beer, didn't even get asked for ID -unfair bias- and judging by the sound, turned in the seat to look at the American football screen that Jason had been ignoring. His hair had at least settled to black flames instead of the glitchy hair.

Of course as this was Vegas, people gambled on outcomes of games too. Which is how Jason learned the meta was rich enough to blow a couple grand -not expensive in the world of supers- but more than what the average person would be comfortable betting.

There were better ways to piss away money than gambling on sports. Like on over priced burgers and onion rings with an order of mozzerella sticks. The burger was good, admittedly Jason's had better and then some party of guys was yelling at the ref on a screen. And yup, that's some altercation with another table but the barman broke it up with a couple of words.

His tablemate muttered something about the ref having made the right call if one of the players wanted to continue a career professionally and Jason used that as social leverage to get a name -Dan, no last name given- and a bit more in-depth explanation on what stakes were going on; he's a hockey guy, not a football guy.

Some time later, Dan had caught him up on the football drama -nothing compared to the hockey drama- and conversation had drifted significantly from sports, lightly touched on family -Dan had siblings he shared little about other than they existed, which fair, they could also be metas and at risk- much like Jason did -he had siblings that existed, no further details- and parents weren't mentioned. Instead a lot of engineering talk, a slide into ethics -Dan's opinion on killing super villains was very much that some people needed Ended- and some small talk about how Dan's high school English teacher cursed in classical book titles.

Soon the easy joy of potential friendship ended when his phone rang; that was the Batman ringtone and Jason felt no guilt hanging up on him. And again. And again.

Then Dick rang and nope. He was not dealing with their shit. Dick would just sweeten up whatever shit B wanted to shovel.

And then Oracle's ringtone rang. Oh, now that was serious. Justice League shit spilling into his life again. No fucking doubt about it.

"Uh-huh, so what's up? Because I gotta say, I am a couple drinks in and the whole bar is waiting for one of the football teams to fumble or foul up their next play so they can throw down."

"Jay-" She started because much like Bruce, she would rather go straight into the mission, and Jason absolutely had wrong-footed her. Because instead of making excuses to leave, Jason had absolutely stayed. So now she had to rephrase things on the fly because who knows who might be listening in. "Hey, it's on the news that the Justice League is showing up in Vegas; something about investigating something magical showing up."

"Uh-huh, that's not a surprise. There was some magic ninny flying in a panic earlier. I decided it wasn't my business."

"I hadn't heard that," -bullshit, she just hadn't double-checked that herself yet- "but what I did hear that some cult might have succeeded in bringing something over."

"Uh-huh. Well, no one's praying to Cthulu yet, there's been no troublemaking beyond the usual human malice and nothing's on fire."

"We were just concer-" And Jason hung up on Oracle.

He'd pay for that later, but petty was satisfying now.

"Sounded important."

"Was bullshit."

"So an entity summoned by a cult that tripped a bunch of magicians into a tizzy-"

Yeah, those sharp ears were not for show. Enhanced hearing check. "That's a bunch of incompetents panicking." Time for his good guess to hit or miss. "You're not going to decide to destroy Vegas, are you?"

"Done it before, doing it again seems pointlessly petty." Statements Jason wasn't going to prod further right now.

"And what if Wisconson University loses?"

"Might flip the table." Dan shrugged.

"More beer?" Jason asked.

"Sure."

[uvobreakmylegs]

Interim

Uvogin x reader

Warnings: mentions of captivity, abusive relationships, abuse, violence, blood, kidnapping, mentions of death

Word count: 9k

2:09 AM

A familiar nightmare wrenched you out of your sleep, one that left your heart pounding and your limbs shaking as you instantly reached for the table lamp, blindly scrambling at the lamp's base before you moved your hand upward to find the light switch. You needed the light on. You needed to be able to see clearly. You needed to know that you were alone – that there wasn't a large figure standing at the end of your bed watching you, waiting for you to become aware of his presence before he snatched you up.

You needed to know that you were the only one in your little apartment.

The light came on and you looked all about the bedroom.

And……

Nothing.

There was no sign of anyone being in there with you. The few pieces of furniture and personal items you owned were in the same places they had been when you went to bed the previous night, and with the exception of your work shirt that hung off the back of a chair, nothing in the room was in any sort of disarray. Nothing torn up or destroyed, no clothes that had been roughly shoved into your aged backpack that hung off the hook on the bedroom door.

And when you looked to the foot of the bed, you didn't see anyone standing before you.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief as you fell back onto your mattress.

Like the other times, it was only a nightmare. It wasn't real, it was only your deepest fears coming out from your subconscious, bringing forward the fears that you tried your best to keep at the back of your head every day. A possibility for your future that you were desperate to avoid.

But despite how often you'd experienced that particular nightmare, that only did so much to calm your rapid heartbeat. After all, he could still find you. Even though you had run so far and done so much to cover your tracks so that following you would be a near-impossible feat, no matter what you did, the fact remained that Uvogin could find you.

With how long you had been away from him, you felt pretty secure that you hadn't slipped up anywhere when you left; if there had been any clue you left behind, any images of you on a security camera that he or one of his friends would be able to see, then he would've gotten you by now. The fact that months had gone by and you didn't see any sign of your former captor had you feeling secure that you had done well when you got away from him.

But he could still find you.

Uvogin liked to travel around when he wasn't with the troupe, usually in search of strong opponents or ways to increase his already astounding physical strength. It was always possible that he might come to the town where you now lived for training purposes. Or maybe he would come for a different reason; maybe he'd come just to see what a remote town in the middle of a frozen wasteland looked like.

Either way, he could always find you. And no matter how much you assured yourself that the chances were slim, the fact that those chances still existed would never allow you to feel completely at ease.

There could always be a morning where your nightmare became a reality.

That thought made you shudder, and you pulled the blanket back up around your shoulders as you curled beneath it, not bothering to turn off the light. You'd need to go into work in four hours, but there was no way you were getting back to sleep before then. At least savor the warmth of your soft blankets before you need to go out into the cold, you told yourself.

You also told yourself not to think about Uvogin while you did that.

But of course, that was an impossible task. The instant you told yourself not to, images of him popped into your brain and he was all you could think about.

It wasn't fair.

After all this time being away from him, the months you'd spent building back up a normal life for yourself as you tried to integrate into your new home, your mind went back to him with every other thought. You couldn't help the way you wondered about what he was doing. Where he was. If today he would casually destroy numerous innocent lives that he wouldn't bother to remember, or if he would decide that the day was going to be a peaceful one. You couldn't imagine his way of life had stopped completely, but it wasn't like every day you had spent with him was one where blood was spilled.

It was only the really bad days that were like that.

Was Uvogin even still alive? That was something else that you thought about. The stress at the thought of him finding you was constant, but if you could have some sort of confirmation that he was dead, it would mean that all of stress could taken off of your mind. Maybe you wouldn't even need to keep living here and go back to the way your life had been before Uvo decided to mess it up for you.

It seemed like a long shot that he'd be dead, though. Especially when you remembered what he was capable of. You had too many memories of the way he could crumple up metal in his bare hands, or how he could take hits that would have demolished a normal person. Hell, not even bullets could do anything to him. So what the hell could even kill a man like him?

You sighed.

It'd be nice to imagine that he'd given up on you, at the very least. That you running and hiding away for so long had caused him to lose interest in you and that he'd shifted his obsessive focus to someone else. A thought that made you feel bad for that hypothetical third party, but it would technically be good for you.

….. What an awful thought to have.

You groaned as you pushed your face into the pillow.

It wasn't fair how he consumed your mind. It wasn't fair how you had this same internal dialogue every morning. It wasn't fair that he was always somewhere at the back of your head from the moment you woke up to the time you went to sleep. It wasn't fair that even in your dreams you weren't free of him.

Why did he need to pick you?

It was useless asking that question – you'd never get an answer for it. Not one that you'd be satisfied with, anyway.

Glancing up again at the time, you found it to be 2:16 AM.

Work was in four hours and you couldn't get back to sleep.

5:35 AM

You winced the second you stepped out the door, the cold air of the outside biting at your exposed skin without mercy. Unfortunately, as much as you wanted to barricade yourself in your apartment until the weather was better, you had to get to work.

And it wasn't like things would get any warmer; the days in Mowbray were freezing all year long.

Being located in one of the coldest areas in the world tended to do that; the town was surrounded on all sides by an icy tundra, a completely barren and snow covered land where nothing was able to grow. The harsh weather conditions meant that for the majority of the year, the main way in or out of Mowbray was by airship. There weren't any roads that connected the town to the outside world, and the vehicles that were capable of getting across the rough landscape were generally reserved for true emergencies. So the only visitors that the town would get that came by land were unusually determined people – Hunters, generally – and they only came into town during the summer months. The rest of the year no one dared venture out into that wasteland for fear of dying and being forever lost, buried beneath the snow.

With conditions like that, there weren't many people living there. The town's total population was just below the three thousand mark, and with a lack of anything one could do at Mowbray, it was a rare occurrence to get many out of town visitors. They usually ranged from relatives of other residents to the aforementioned Hunters, either coming in for a social call or for a job of some kind.

For the people who lived in the town year-round, the majority of them were those who had been born here and were happy with the way their lives were. Things here were simple and quiet, and very few had any desire to leave the life that kept them separated from the rest of the world. Some people moved to the town later in life in search of that peace, finding the way that the world worked outside was too overwhelming. Sometimes those in the latter group decided a few months in that it wasn't worth it and left, but a majority of that group was happy to stay.

And then there were the people whose sole purpose in coming to the town in was order to hide. Like you did.

You weren't the only one, as there were several who lived in the units around yours that raised suspicion. Like the old man who lived across from you with the long-healed burn marks on his hands that he tried to keep hidden. Or the younger woman who lived in a different building who you occasionally saw staring at a photo from a locket around her neck whenever she stepped outside to smoke. And then there was the tenant below you looked to be around your age and was constantly on alert as they always looked around them whenever they went outside, as if they feared they were being followed.

You speculated on what their stories were, what exactly had brought them to a place like this. And you could assume that they did the same with you: watching you pass them by while they quietly wondered what in the world had made you come here of all places.

Those weren't stories that would ever be shared as it was better to keep such things quiet.

As you trudged out into the snow so you could start your shift at the grocery store, you were annoyed with yourself that your thoughts once more went to Uvogin, and you subconsciously pushed the scarf around your face just a bit higher.

At least with living here, it was considered normal to cover up half of your face when you went outside.

5:59 AM

Only the faintest hints of the sunrise were beginning to color the sky when you entered the store and began to set everything up for the new workday. Turning on the lights, checking the shelves to see if any stock was out of place and making sure everything was clean before you unlocked the front doors to officially open the place. You had a routine in place that you followed religiously as you were desperate not to disappoint your boss, an elderly woman named Helena. She owned the place, and she was nice enough to give you a job despite the large gap in your work history, nor did she question you on why you had come to the town in the first place. She had always been warm to you, treating you as though you were one of her own. So after such a sweet old woman had taken a chance on you, you were determined to show her judgment hadn't been misplaced.

Helena had never doubted you, although that sentiment didn't seem to be rubbing off on the other long-time residents of the town.

The bell above the door chimed twenty minutes after the store had opened, and you called out a greeting. There was a mumbled reply in return, and then two sets of footsteps walked further into the store. As you anticipated that whoever had entered likely wouldn't be around long, you took your place at the register so as to be ready for them.

You then overheard part of their conversation.

“What'd you think is making them so antsy?” one man's voice asked.

“Dunno. Could be weather,” a different man answered.

“The weather? Do the dogs get that nervous over that?” the first one questioned.

“Sometimes. Could be that we're in for a bad storm.”

There was a brief period of silence before the second voice continued to say “then again, it could be something else completely.”

“Like what?”

The second man sounded slightly exasperated as he answered “I dunno. We'll have to see what happens.”

The first man seemed to take the hint to stop asking as nothing more was said.

Based on the conversation, you had a good idea as to the identity for at least one of the men, and as the two rounded the corner of the aisle, you found that you were correct in assuming one of them was Marlow, an older man who kept sled dogs. The man who was accompanying him was slightly younger, and you were pretty sure his name was Hugh. Both were carrying drinks and pre-made sandwiches, and they set them down on the counter in front of you.

You began to ring the items up as you asked “find everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

The response you got from Marlow was curt, the exasperation still present in his tone. He wasn't in a good mood.

A shame. You wanted to ask about his dogs, especially with what you had overheard moments ago. But it was better not to as you knew it was likely he would snap at you if you annoyed him too much.

Maybe when he was in a better mood you could ask if his dogs were alright.

They paid quickly once you had finished scanning the items, taking the jenny you'd given them in change and leaving the store to go to their jobs in the oil fields. You and Hugh made eye contact just before they left, and you smiled as you told him to have a good rest of his day.

He looked uncomfortable as he gave a brief nod in response before vanishing out the door, the bell above the entrance ringing out loudly.

It was a little sad that a majority of the townsfolk didn't like you. Most of them merely tolerated your presence while they looked at you with suspicion, not trusting you for a moment.

Helena told you that people would open up eventually. That you just needed to be around for a while before the close-knit community would be willing to let you in. Just be patient and it'll happen someday.

9:03 AM

The front door bell ringing out followed by a “hello there!” brought you out from the back area as you greeted your boss, who seemed happy as she headed towards you.

“How busy has it been so far?” Helena asked.

“It's been pretty slow,” you answered.

She nodded as she removed her scarf, saying “sounds normal for a Thursday.”

“Yep.”

You then remembered the conversation you'd overheard this morning, and you mentioned “I heard someone saying we might be in for bad weather, though, so it could pick up.”

“Really? Who said that?”

“Marlow. I heard him saying that his dogs were nervous.”

“Well, animals do have better senses than us, so they would be the first to know if something was off,” she said.

Helena pulled her coat off as she said “if we are in for some bad weather, it wouldn't be a bad idea to make sure we're fully stocked out front, just in case.”

You nodded, saying “sure. I can get started on that.”

She laughed.

“Not now. Do it when you get back from your break. You look like you could use one,” she said.

“Oh. Okay.”

She was hanging her coat up in the back when you asked “do I look that tired?”

“It's noticeable,” she told you, “did you not get a lot of sleep last night?”

“Not really,” you answered, “I woke up a bit too early this morning and I couldn't get back to sleep.”

You noticed the way her brows furrowed when you said that and you quickly added “it's fine, though. I'll just go to bed early tonight.”

She didn't seem completely convinced, but Helena nodded slowly as she replied “as long as you're sure. But don't be afraid to ask if you need to head home early.”

“I'll be okay. But thank you.”

She let you go after that, and you sat down in a small break room while you did as she had told you, taking out a drink you had packed from your locker.

Now that you weren't keeping busy with work, your mind went back to Uvogin.

It'd be nice if you could talk to someone about it, you thought to yourself. Helena had told you that you could talk to her about anything, and you wondered if she sensed that you were hiding something from her. It'd be nice to let out everything that had happened to you, who had taken you and why you were hiding here.

But doing that felt selfish. Did you really want to destroy an old woman's peace of mind by letting her know that there was a chance a man who happened to be mass murderer who was also obsessed with you might come here one day? And would she still be nice to you once she learned everything?

It was better to keep it to yourself.

11:00 AM

A new shipment of goods arrived only a few minutes ago, and Helena had left you in charge of the front while she made sure everything was in order. Doing as your boss had told you, you made sure to put out the stock on the shelves wherever there was room. Currently you were restocking some of the shelves of soup that had already been running a bit low.

The bell above the front door rang out while you were kneeling by the shelf, and as you grabbed another can from the box next to you, you called out “welcome! Let me know if you need anything.”

There wasn't any response to your greeting, but you didn't pay much mind to it. You only made a mental note to keep an eye on the checkout counter so you wouldn't leave whoever it was waiting.

Though they didn't say anything, you heard them walk off the mat in front of the door as their footsteps sounded on the hard tiles of the floor. Those same footsteps walked over to the refrigerated section on the other side of the wall, and the hum that came from that section grew louder when one of the doors were opened.

At that point you didn't pay much attention to the other person, your mind going back to the task at hand while you continued to fill up the empty spaces on the shelves in front of you.

You needed to do some shopping of your own when your shift ended, you remembered. The contents of your pantry were starting to run low, and if the weather was going to be taking a turn for the worse, you didn't want to be stranded in your apartment without a decent supply of food.

With that thought in mind, you decided to leave one of the soup cans in the box so you could buy it for yourself later. That was at least one perk to working in a grocery store, and as minor as it was, you smiled to yourself.

The shadow of a person suddenly overtook the end of the aisle that led to the door. Still in the middle of restocking, you placed another can on the shelf as you instinctively looked over to the new presence that you sensed.

You froze.

You stayed in place, looking at the person who was now standing before you and you wondered if this was reality or another bad dream. The shudder that ran down your spine and the feel of the cold floor against your knees confirmed that this wasn't in your head – this was real.

Uvogin was here.

Standing at the end of the aisle.

Staring directly at you.

You stared back, unable to say or do anything, as for a moment, your mind stayed blank.

Then your mind began to race as you were forced to come to terms with your worst-case scenario that was playing out before you: he had found you. You were face to face with the man you had run from, the entire reason you had come to this town in the first place in the hopes that you would never see him again.

But now he was here, right in front of you.

All that time, all that effort had been for nothing. All of it was made meaningless the instant he laid eyes on you. The only thing that was guaranteed from this point out was that you were going to suffer for it, because there was little doubt that he was angry with you.

Your heart began to race and you felt like you were having trouble breathing. But you didn't look away from him.

He hadn't said anything.

What would happen now?

You had imagined him finding you at the store before this. In the times this awful scenario played out in your head, Uvogin would always grab you, toss you over his shoulder and carry you outside, regardless of if you were dressed for the weather or not. You doubted that he wanted you dead, but he wasn't against having you suffer if he felt you deserved it. Would he actually do what you'd imagined for so long? Or would he use threats to get you to drop what you were doing and make you go with him willingly?

Whatever he would do, he would act immediately. That was what you had believed.

Yet Uvogin wasn't saying anything. He was still standing there, his gaze boring holes into you while his mouth was pressed into a hard line. Meanwhile, you couldn't say anything. You were barely able to breathe at the moment, let alone try to get any words out.

A brief bit of hope made your heart skip – maybe he didn't realize it was you?

That hope was quashed within moments as you realized what a dumb thought that was. There was no chance that he didn't recognize you – Uvogin wasn't stupid. Whatever changes you had made to your appearance wouldn't have fooled him into thinking that you were another person, and definitely not after he'd spent so long staring at you. The way he was looking at you now meant that he definitely knew it was you. Trying to act like you were a simple shop worker and nothing more would probably only make him more angry.

Don't make this any worse for yourself

You said nothing, waiting for him to make the first move.

Helena and the deliveryman were still in the back, and no one had come in after Uvogin. It was only the two of you in the store at the moment; a perfect opportunity for him to grab you and take off. Maybe there would be people around outside to see the two of you, but even if they did witness your kidnapping, they wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Though seeing someone being taken against their will would spur most to action. That thought made you shudder. You really hoped none of them were suicidal enough to try and stop Uvogin. Those were deaths that you didn't want on your conscience. It would be better to beg for their lives now. Promise that you'll do everything he says just as long as he didn't hurt any of the residents of the small town and that the only one he should punish is you. You were at fault for what happened, not them.

You licked your dry lips as you prepared to speak.

Uvogin beat you to it.

Motioning over to the register with his head, he said to you “you gonna ring me up or what?”

He held a six pack of beer in one hand that he lifted up slightly while he said that. Somehow you'd managed to miss that before.

You needed to run his sentence over in your head a few times before you understood.

“Oh…. Okay.”

You kept an eye on him as you made your way to the register, anticipating the moment when he would roughly grab you and take you away from this place.

Yet he didn't do anything other than keep an eye on you as well, and when you made it behind the counter, he dropped the six pack in front of you. You couldn't help but flinch at the loud sound it made when it landed.

You looked at him and then back to the beer. Still no move on his part to grab you.

He…. He really wanted you to ring him up?

With only a single item to scan, the price of the item plus the sales tax added up to the total he owed, which flashed on a small screen in front of him. Upon seeing that, Uvogin frowned.

“Stuff is a lot more expensive here,” he commented.

That time you managed to get out something that resembled a coherent sentence, though you couldn't bring yourself to speak loudly.

“Just about everything comes in by airship,” you mumbled, “flying supplies is automatically expensive.”

Uvogin scoffed.

“So this place is in the middle of an empty wasteland, cold as fuck and you need to pay twice as much for a thing of beer? Seems like a shitty town to me.”

“….. The quiet is nice,” you said.

“Yeah, I'm sure the fact that this place is quiet is why you came here,” he answered sarcastically.

“…. Part of it.”

“Sure.”

You could hear Helena speaking to the deliveryman in the back. As nice as she was, she had a bad habit of chatting with people for just a bit too long.

It was just as well. If she came out and saw how you were right now, she'd assume that Uvogin had done something to you and demand that he leave or threaten to call the police. Depending on his mood, Uvo would respond in one of two ways: laugh it off if he was feeling good or kill her if he was annoyed.

She couldn't save you from him. No one in this town could.

And none of them deserved to die because of you.

Uvogin hadn't taken the beer nor payed for it, and you stood behind the counter, your hands folded in front of you while you waited for what was to come next.

When nothing happened, you chose to break the silence.

“What happens now?” you asked quietly.

“That all depends on what you do,” he answered.

“…. Are you going to kill anyone?”

“That depends on what you do,” Uvogin repeated, “there is a scenario where no one gets hurt and they all live on happily, but whether or not we go that route relies completely on where you choose to go from here.”

Uvogin crossed his arms as he asked, “so, you gonna give me any problems?”

You shook your head.

“Good. Now, where do you live?”

You kept your head low as you answered “Lerch apartments. It's a set of blue buildings.”

“What unit?”

“17E. On the second floor”

Uvo held out his hand as he ordered “give me your keys.”

You complied, reaching down to get the key ring in your pocket and taking off the one that unlocked your front door. He snatched it out of your hand when you held it out for him, and it quickly vanished into the pocket of his jacket.

“Do I need to be worried about any roommates?” Uvo asked.

“No. I live alone.”

“What about nosy neighbors?”

“They shouldn't bother you. The people there tend to keep to themselves.”

Uvogin nodded, then looked to the clock on the wall behind you.

“When do you get off?” he asked.

“Uh, in about an hour and a half.”

“Hm. Alright,” said Uvogin, “finish up your shift and we'll talk more when you get back.”

“Finish up?” you asked. That seemed strange to you, that he'd let you go about business as usual and let you finish your shift at your job. Hadn't the fact that you'd run away bothered him? Didn't he want to leave with you as soon as possible?

“Yeah, it'll look less suspicious that way,” he replied, “unless you wanna get off early.”

You shook your head.

He smirked as he said “I figured. You would rather try to delay the inevitable, wouldn't you?”

“N-no, it's not that. It's Helena. She's older. She needs help,” you said.

“She looked fine to me, but whatever,” he said, shrugging as he added “use her as an excuse if that's what you want.”

It wasn't completely an excuse. She did need help with some of the heavier lifting.

“I'm not using her as an excuse. She's been good to me and I want to help her out,” you told him.

He shrugged again as he reiterated “whatever. As long as you show up in ninety minutes.”

You nodded.

An hour and a half. That was all you had left of this little life you'd made for yourself up here. After that, you would return to what your life had been with Uvogin. Following him around like a pet as he journeyed to wherever he pleased, going with his whims to find whatever interested him most. You had no say in any of it, and if you kicked up too much of a fuss, he'd respond with some sort of violence.

What would he do to you for running?

“Anything else I should know about?” he asked.

“I don't think so.”

“Alright then. I'll be heading off.”

“But before I do that,” he added, “there's something you need to do for me first.”

You immediately became nervous as you asked “what?”

He smirked as he pointed to the cans of beer that were still sitting in front of you on the counter.

“Cover this for me,” he said.

You stared at him for a moment before looking back down to the beer. And after double-checking the amount that was owed, you let out a quiet sigh as you got out your wallet, putting your money into the register and getting out the change.

All this time and he still refused to carry cash.

“Gimme the receipt,” he told you.

You didn't question why he wanted it and just did as he said, printing it out and holding it for him to take.

But when you thought he was reaching for it, he instead grabbed you by the arm to pull you forward, causing the edge of the counter to dig into your stomach while he leaned in so he could whisper in your ear.

“By this point, we both know that you're prone to doing stupid shit,” Uvogin whispered, “and while you won't get very far with this weather, it'll be annoying to hunt you down in that tundra. But if you decide to do that anyway, just know that I'll level this entire fucking town before I go and get you.”

You could sense the grin on his face as he continued with “I'll probably start with grandma back there. Maybe splatter her brains across the walls before I move on to whoever's closest.”

“Please don't do that,” you whispered.

“Then don't run off.”

With that, he let go of your arm, took the receipt that you were still holding, and grabbed the case of beer as he began to head towards the front door.

Before he left, he looked back at you one last time.

He was grinning at you, but there was a look in his eyes that betrayed how he was truly feeling.

You were wrong about what you'd been thinking earlier.

He was angry.

Uvogin was angry at the lengths you'd gone to try and escape him. And now he'd be sitting at your apartment for an hour and a half, stewing in his emotions and becoming angrier and angrier until you got back.

A full body shudder ran through you at the thought of that.

Silently, you walked away from the counter and returned to the box of soup, settling yourself down on the floor before placing the last of the cans on the shelf. The box was empty when you were done, and as you got up slowly and collected the empty cardboard off from the floor, another shudder ran through you at the thought of what he'd be like when you returned to your apartment.

You should've just gone with him.

12:33 PM

The blue building looked foreboding as you approached it, the place that you had called home for so long now feeling like anything but. The dread of what awaited you in that apartment had long since settled in, and every step you took through the snow felt even more weighted down than normal. Yet you tried to keep your pace quick. You told him ninety minutes. That was how long he would be willing to wait before he went through with his threat.

Uvogin would absolutely go through with what he'd told you. He'd likely be even more inclined to destroy the town because of the remote location. Even if someone managed to get to a phone or a radio before Uvogin got to them, it would take hours before rescuers would arrive, and by that point, survivors would be an impossibility.

It was the first time you had considered that scenario, and you felt stupid for it. You had been so desperate for a place that was away from the rest of society that you didn't think about anything else.

But it wouldn't happen. You weren't going to let it. Ninety minutes later and you were returning, just as you'd promised.

Though not without some minor incident. After Uvogin left, Helena had noticed how far your mood had dropped and she'd asked you what was wrong. Unable to tell her the truth, you lied to her and told her that everything was fine. But even with your insistence that everything was fine, she didn't seem to believe you, even if she eventually let it go.

You wished you could've said goodbye to her. A proper farewell to someone who had been so kind, as there was no chance that you would ever see her again. Or anyone here. Helena and all of your neighbors would all become memories of a different time. And you would vanish from their lives without much of a trace. Would any of them wonder about what happened to you? Helena would – she would definitely worry over you, and you already felt guilty for that, for the stress you had yet to put that sweet woman under. Whether the others would care enough to bother worrying wasn't as clear.

You shouldn't be so worried about them, the selfish part of you said. After all, they weren't the ones that needed to deal with Uvogin. You did.

And a different line of thought began to run through your head once again as you made your way up the stairs.

What was Uvo going to do to you?

…. Nothing good, that was certain.

You stopped yourself before you could go any further. It was better not to think about it. Just let it happen so you can get through this faster.

The faster he's finished punishing you, the faster the whole ordeal is over with.

Reaching the door to your unit, muscle memory kicked in for a moment as you reached for you bag with the intent of pulling out your key before you remembered that you'd given it to Uvogin. Still, you tried the knob anyway.

It turned out that he'd left it unlocked as the door opened easily.

You didn't waste any time getting inside, quickly and loudly shutting the door behind you. There. He knew you were back now, like you promised.

Maybe that was enough to put him in a better mood.

Pulling yourself away from the door, you turned and walked in, finding that snow had already been tracked onto the carpet; Uvo hadn't bothered to remove his boots before he barged in. Clearly there was no point in doing so in his mind. You wouldn't be staying here anymore, so who cared if things got messed up?

You found him sitting back against your cheap couch, one foot propped up on your coffee table with a can of beer in hand. There were already two empty cans on the floor next to him. The rest of the room was in a messy state, and when you glanced towards your bedroom, you saw your things had been strewn about. He'd been going through your stuff while he waited for you.

Uvogin smirked once he saw you.

“I'm glad you chose not to be stupid,” he said.

You gave a short nod.

Uvogin pulled the can of beer away from his lips, one of his eyebrows arching up in question as he looked at you.

“What, got nothin' to say?” he asked.

“I don't know what you want me to say,” you answered.

“No? How about 'sorry I put you through all of this bullshit'? That might be a good place to start.”

“… Will me saying that I'm sorry change anything?”

“Nah.”

He pulled his foot off of the table so he could sit up fully, telling you “but after the way I needed to track you down, the least you can do is grovel for me.”

You looked down at your feet, finding it hard to maintain the eye contact he was giving you, and you mumbled out an “I'm sorry.”

“Hmm. Not sure that's good enough.”

A full body flinch ran through you when you heard him stand up, and every part of you wanted to run back to the door of your unit, to try and get away from him. Your hands started to sweat as he approached you and you were scared. You were so scared of what was going to happen from this point.

You made yourself stay in place by repeating in your head that running would only make things worse.

He was on you in moments, and you were reunited with that sensation of how small and weak you felt whenever he towered over you. How easily he could break you if he wanted. How easily he had broken you, snapping your bones whenever you had gone too far for him to laugh off whatever line you had crossed, and that was usually followed by him telling you that it wasn't that bad. You falling asleep while you cried in his arms was an occurrence that was far too common, and only ever served to make you feel even more pathetic. That even after he'd been the one to hurt you, you accepted the comfort he so patronizingly offered you, and the reason why he did so seemed to simply be because it amused him.

Before you met Uvogin, you hadn't thought of yourself as being weak, and during your time away from him, you felt as though you were gaining back some of the independence and confidence you had lost. All it took for those illusions to come crumbling to pieces was a few minutes in his presence once again.

Something violent would follow, you told yourself. Maybe he'd hit you, or maybe the way you were avoiding eye contact would annoy him enough that he'd yank you up by the hair and make you look at him.

Yet the violence you expected didn't come. Instead, he placed his hand on your cheek, his warm skin coming into contact with yours that was still chilled from the bitter cold outside. You stiffened.

What was he doing?

“You wanna try again?” he asked.

Uvogin's tone contrasted the almost gentle touch on your cheek. It held more than a hint of warning – there was a promise that things would be awful for you if you didn't do what he wanted.

You cleared your throat before you spoke again.

“I'm sorry, Uvogin,” you said.

“Yeah? What for?”

“For making you come out here to get me.”

“And?”

“For…. For running from you in the first place.”

“Anything else?”

…. What else was there to say?

“I'm just sorry in general,” you mumbled.

He hummed again, the hand that had been softly caressing your cheek stilling once he heard that.

“Sorry in general,” he repeated, “that's it?”

It was probably the wrong move, but you nodded.

Uvogin hummed again before he made you look back up at him. Surprisingly, he didn't seem too angry. If anything, the look on his face resembled that of disappointment.

“You make loving you really hard sometimes, you know that?”

“Loving me?” you repeated.

“Yeah, loving you,” Uvo said, raising an eyebrow as he asked “why are you questioning that?”

“…. It doesn't feel like you love me,” you answered.

“Why else would I come out here and chase you down?” Uvogin asked.

“Because you're controlling and you don't want to see me get away from you.”

He hummed, shrugging as he said “well, you're right on the second part.”

Somehow, despite the terror you felt of being in his presence once again, you managed to scoff at that. A horribly dumb mistake, as Uvogin's hand on your cheek stilled and he zeroed in on you.

“Got something to say?” he asked.

“….. No.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me the truth,” Uvo said. When you refused to respond, he tsked.

“This is why we have issues, babe. Because you refuse to open up like you should.”

“…. You say that like the issue isn't the fact that you hurt me,” you answered.

“If I treat you rough it's because you're the one who chooses to act out,” he replied, “I've been plenty good to you; the only reason the bad outweighs the good is because you keep fighting me.”

“And you sure haven't helped yourself with this stunt,” Uvo added, “but if being the bad guy means keeping you by my side where you're supposed to be, I'll be the fucking bad guy.”

The air around you suddenly felt a lot more dangerous. Your lip began to wobble while you trembled in his hold. Tears began to well up in your eyes, which Uvogin noticed immediately.

“Starting the waterworks already?” he asked, his tone mocking while he smirked at you.

That was it. The sight of him looking down at you like that was what finally made your composure snap, and useless words began to spill out of your mouth as you clutched at his jacket.

“Uvogin, please – let me go,” you began, “I can't go back to that life you live. Watching you do horrible things to innocent people – I can't do that anymore. I can't stand it. Please just let me stay here. I won't ever leave this place and I won't bother you ever again. I won't say anything to anyone about you or the troupe. Just leave me here.”

Uvogin said nothing, but judging by his expression, he wasn't at all impressed by your speech.

You pushed further.

“Uvo, please. This is what would be the best for both of us. If you really cared about me-”

The next thing you knew, you were on the floor. The side of your head that laid directly on the hard surface was aching, and there was a stinging pain in your opposite cheek as well as on your lip. You reached up to gingerly touch your face with your gloved hand, wincing as the pain worsened when you did so. Running a finger lightly over your lip, when you pulled your hand back, you saw a smearing of blood on the fabric.

It finally registered what exactly had caused that pain, the feeling of a palm against your face that struck you so hard your brain rattled about inside your head.

He hit you.

You finally got him mad enough that he hit you.

You should've expected it – no, you had expected it, and yet it still managed to come as a surprise.

Uvogin's boot roughly connected with your shoulder, and you cried out as you were forced onto your back. The only good thing was that he didn't pin you down like that, pulling his foot away from you after.

He was speaking.

“The cold air must've gotten to your brain, babe. You really think I would just leave you after I found you?” he asked, “that after everything, I'm just gonna say 'sure' and leave you behind in this wasteland? You really fucking think that there's some scenario where you're not coming out of this place with me?”

You felt the blood coming from the gash in your lip, dripping into your gaping mouth and bringing with it the taste of iron. Tears began to flow freely as you brought your hand back up to your mouth in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding.

Uvogin knelt down next to you, saying “I didn't hit you that hard; you'll be fine.”

That statement was horribly familiar. The way he shrugged off your injuries and making it clear that he felt you were overreacting. A single hit from him could kill the average person, but you mattered enough that he would control his strength because he didn't want you dead.

Uvogin scratched at the back of his head as he added “I have to ask, though: what the fuck you were expecting when you say shit like that?”

You didn't reply. Anything you said was likely to make him hurt you more.

After a few painfully silent moments where Uvogin watched you while you began to sob, he got up without saying another word, leaving you where you lay on the floor. You followed him with your eyes, watching until he disappeared into the kitchen, and a few moments after that, you heard the sounds of him opening and closing your cabinets and drawers before he found what he was looking for.

Uvogin returned, settling down next to you and pulling you off of the floor. You protested, feeling the ache in your head becoming worse from how he moved you. He ended up pulling you into his lap, holding a dish towel up against your busted lip.

“Use this before you bleed all over the place,” he told you, encouraging you to take the towel.

When you did as he said and you clutched the fabric up to your face, Uvo kept one hand on your back, rubbing up and down in a manner that was soothing.

Already you were back in that routine. Where he'd hurt you and then follow it up by making a show of kindness, as minimal as it was. And already you were accepting it by leaning into his touch.

Because what else were you going to do?

Uvo's voice cut through your thoughts as he said “we're gonna leave soon. I've got your bag packed, but if there's anything I didn't put in that you wanna keep, now's the time to take care of that.”

You didn't respond. And when you curled in on yourself in his lap while you tried to stifle your sobs, Uvogin didn't say anything further.

1:09 PM

You wished you could've watched as you left the town, as today was the last time you would ever see it.

Technically, you could've done that. But the coward in you feared what Uvo might do to you if he saw that. While you knew that the hit at the apartment was only the beginning and wouldn't compare to whatever punishment was awaiting you once you left the area, it was better not to test his patience and make him angrier with you.

You'd made him plenty angry by now.

At least your lip had stopped bleeding, and instead of clutching the dish towel to your face, you held on tight to the backpack Uvogin had packed for you while you sat in the passenger seat of the heavy duty off-road vehicle he had brought you to once you left the apartment. You didn't recognize it, and it seemed to be doing well enough on the area around Mowbray. He'd stolen it, no doubt, getting the vehicle so he could avoid anyone who would see you two if you left by airship.

Doing it this way was faster, too. Uvo likely had a schedule in his head that he wanted to keep to.

If you making him wait ninety minutes had caused a delay in that schedule, you'd probably end up paying for that, too.

There hadn't been any further violent incidents because you didn't give him any reason to respond in that way. Once he decided that it was time to go he pulled you off of his lap and told you to collect your things, you did as he said, quietly following behind him once he left the apartment.

Uvogin didn't seem quite as angry anymore. And as he drove you further and further away from the small town, he started talking again.

“Anybody there gonna kick up a fuss when they find out you're gone?” he asked.

“… I don't think so,” you said, “my boss will probably be worried, but I don't think she'll be able to do much.”

“You talking about that old woman?”

You nodded.

A terrible thought then occurred to you, and you felt compelled to say “I didn't tell her anything about you. She doesn't know anything beyond that I moved there for a change of pace. She's not a threat.”

Uvogin laughed.

“Relax. If I was worried about that, I would've gotten rid of her before we headed off. And even if you did tell her everything, what the hell is she gonna do about it?” he asked.

Hearing that was bittersweet. It did nothing to make your situation any better, but at least Helena wouldn't suffer because of you.

At least there was that to be grateful for.

Outside the vehicle, it was clear; not even the wind was making any effort to batter at the car. You idly thought how it definitely wasn't bad weather that had been bothering Marlow's dogs.

Another thought: it would've been nice to see them again.

“You gonna miss this place?” Uvogin asked.

“I don't know.”

He laughed a little.

“What, you went out of your way to come here and you didn't even like it?” he asked.

“I was trying to hide,” you began, “and it was away from the rest of society and seemed like a good place to lay low.”

You sighed as you said “but I was never able to escape you, even before you found me.”

You heard the confusion in his voice when he asked “what does that mean?”

Before you could wonder on if you should answer that question, you spoke.

“I thought about you a lot,” you admitted, “every day from when I woke up until I fell asleep, I was wondering how you were doing. You were constantly on my mind and I couldn't help it.”

There was silence after you said that. A silence that lasted longer than you would've expected. And now you were left to wonder if saying that had been a mistake and if you were going to pay for that as well.

It felt like it was impossible for you to stop from screwing up.

Then you heard him chuckle to himself.

….. Why was he laughing?

“I'm really happy to hear that,” Uvogin said.

“…. You're happy?”

“Yeah.”

He then reached over with his hand and tapped against your head as he added “because if you're worrying about me while you're away from me, that means there's some part of you in there that knows you're supposed to be with me. If you really hated me, why would you bother expending that mental energy, right?”

His hand settled on your shoulder, and when you didn't respond he began to squeeze as he asked again “right?”

“… Yeah,” you whispered.

Uvo's grip lessened and he patted you on the shoulder, saying “you should listen to that part of you more often. Then we can avoid shit like this.”

“Okay.”

He patted you again at your soft spoken response before he pulled away, and when you glanced up at him, you noted that he looked pleased with himself.

Today had been a good day for Uvogin. Even though he'd needed to go to extreme lengths to find you, he ultimately did just that and was now on his way back with his reclaimed prize. For him, things were going to go back to the way they were supposed to.

For you, it had been less than eleven hours since the simple life you made for yourself was destroyed with no chance of you ever reclaiming it. The chance that you would be able to escape Uvogin again was next to nothing as he would be sure not to slip up again when it came to you. Your busted lip still hurt, but it would heal up. As would the other wounds that would come as a consequence for your escape.

He would be there for you while you healed, offering those soft touches and kisses while he wiped away your tears. And you would accept them, all the while knowing that every minute you spent in his hold, internally you were breaking more and more.

[quillcraftconquer]

Simon, who never wanted a dog. He didn't mind dogs, always stopping to give them a quick pat on the side, and he didn't mind his friends' dogs coercing him to toss a ball for a couple of hours. He just never envisioned himself owning a dog. He spent too much time away from home, and god forbid if anything happened to him, who would even take his dog? 

Still, despite all of his unanswered questions, when he met the tan, leggy stray on a mission that followed him around like he already owned it, he couldn't help but feed it scraps from his dinner, let it sit too close, talk to it whenever everyone else went to bed. 

It wasn't a cute dog. Its body was nicked with tiny scars from its time spent on the streets, and Simon was well aware of the bugs running through its scruffy fur. Its legs were far too tall for its body, accompanied by a small, pointed head with ears too big that stood up when something caught its eye, or drooped comically low when he was relaxed. 

Price complained relentlessly about the “damn dog” that followed Simon to every dinner, whining and scratching at the door when they went to bed, always under their feet while he was trying to walk around the base. It wasn’t until he walked into the showers, making eye contact with Simon and Gaz knelt on the floor, the damn dog enjoying the last remnants of hot water and the empty box of flea medicine tilted against the wall that he knew it was a losing battle, the dog was going to stick around. 

Simon, who didn't want a dog, but spent more money than he had on anything else to bring it home, buy it a nice bed, and a thick leather collar. 

It wasn’t until he stood in the vet's office, watching you run the metal tag through the engraving machine with his information on it that he realized the dog was his. Simon told himself he came here because you were nice to his dog, not commenting on his unique looks or bad behaviors, and how your eyes didn't linger on the dog's scars (or his, foregoing the masks when he did stop in.)

You, of course, didn't mind Simon’s gruff exterior, the way he mumbled ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to your questions, but talked extensively when it came to his dog.You laughed at the way Simon’s nose crinkled when you discussed neutering, or different training methods. You said nothing when Simon would always answer “Not my dog, just a stray.”, but always paid for the best food, treats, and care, almost as if he was convincing himself the dog wasnt going to stick around (because what did in Simon’s life?)

You especially didn't mind when Simon brought up boarding, stating he had to leave for a few weeks. You jumped at the chance, determined to show him that his dog could learn just a few house manners. You let him drop the dog off at your home, gave him access to the cameras, let him survey the yard. 

And if you had known, you wouldn't have minded the late nights Simon was halfway across the world, laying on some shitty bed with security cameras pulled up, watching the dog- his dog- take its signature 3 circles before plopping down on the outdoor couch next to you. 

It was for the dog, he told himself. It definitely didn't have to do with the too tight, too short christmas pajamas you wore in, yes, June, (he had to check the calendar, feeling like he had somehow missed 6 months of the year.) It didn't have to do with the way your fingers lazily dragged over the dog's fur, or the way you pinched the bridge of your nose when the dog tore up another cushion Simon would replace. 

Simon’s thumb punched the side of the phone, the screen darkening as he laid it against his chest, eyes staring up at the darkened ceiling.

It was just about the dog.

[just-honey-dewd]

Lu Guang’s character intrigues me.

Not for the time traveller thing he’s got going on. But for the way he seems to generally carry himself. Outside of the overarching plot, or objective-focused interactions.

When he’s interacting with others purely for the act of interacting with them. He reads like a guy that’s trying to convince others, and himself most of all, that he’s human. He’s always thinking, always within this careful threshold of polite but calculated sincerity. He wants you to think he means well, but it’s not his first instinct to mean well— his first instinct is to ensure he’s not misunderstood by the recipient. And he seems aware of this, and prosecutes himself for it.

He can’t live in the moment and always prepares to account for any slip up. Sometimes he’ll find the words needed in a situation. Other times he seems to go dormant, or resides in a whole other world where no one can reach. Not because of inherited timeline trauma or ptsd— that wasn’t the causation. And not because he knew that silence was what the other person wanted. But because he couldn’t find the words within the established script provided to well socialised people. A script he’s had to manually curate for himself.

The guy seems to have always masked himself like it’s second nature, as though he’s never had the space to consider subjectivity within himself nor others. With what little can be surmised, his life before Cheng Xiaoshi seems isolated, devoid of passion or individuality. A blank and beautifully desolate canvas.

He doesn’t tell people things unless prompted or if it’s the socially appropriate thing to do. He doesn’t tell people things about himself unless prompted— and even when he does, he can’t fully separate the objective reasoning from any personally compelled inclination. What’s his favourite food? Food that aid in maintaining his chemical balance. What activities does he do? Activities like reading, sunbathing and basketball, which keeps both his mind and body maintained. Why does Cheng Xiaoshi sleep in the lower bunk bed? Because his constant movements would make the bed audibly creak, so it’s best that he slept on the lower bunk.

Lu Guang seems to be conditioned to constantly rationalising his actions and moralising his and others’ decisions. “It’s childish to do [x],” “this outfit looks weird,” “don’t impose yourself on others” are his typical branch of reactions to Cheng Xiaoshi’s actions. It communicates Cheng Xiaoshi’s emotionally-driven impulsivity but equally conveys Lu Guang’s aversion to subjective thinking and slight adherence to social propriety. Also conveys a cheeky, unspoken hypocrisy considering he also fails to adhere to social expectations— but this is where things get more intriguing.

After meeting Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling, you can observe how Lu Guang changes in relation to his proximity with them. Around Cheng Xiaoshi, he bears minute smiles that aren’t placating nor rehearsed. With Qiao Ling, he speaks with an understated vulnerability that comes from the heart— a subjective truth if nothing else. He doesn’t become socially trained per se, but his eccentricities are seen and accommodated to.

His comfort is wordlessly accounted for, his boundaries (while he doesn’t often communicate them) will be respected when realised, and he is regularly checked on by Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling should he seem too reticent or despondent for a long time. Even though Lu Guang still does mask himself instinctively, he carries himself more securely within his place in the studio and with his friends. He’s comfortable being childish, bratty, and emotional without reservation.

Around them, he’s not trying to convince anyone that he’s human. He’s dropped the proverbial script entirely, and lost the need to prove things. Because he’s been shown unconditional love, and even against the concept of fate, destiny, and any rational pretences— that love persists and keeps him going.

[crosshairlovebot]

bewitching mr. batchbury / crosshair x f!reader

pairing: crosshair x f!reader

description: ever since you met him and he ignored you, mr. batchbury has completely infuriated you. but as you spend time with the batchbury's as their sister's companion for the social season, your feelings for him become confusing and you cannot get the handsome silver-haired man out of your head.

REGENCY AU

word count: 8,649

warnings: none. kissing (making out, neck kisses). secret crushes. hate to love. misunderstandings. crosshair being annoying.

after writing regency hunter i knew i had to write regency crosshair too :') this exists in the same universe as hunter's piece so there are allusions to his romance :) this was so fun to write! crosshair has always been mr darcy coded to me so there's definitely an influence from p&p! i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

PART ONE

Mr. Carlisle ‘Crosshair’ Batchbury was completely and utterly infuriating. It did not matter that he was cripplingly handsome, uniquely distinguished by his strange grey hair, tall and lean stature, and a smattering of a port wine birthmark over his right eye – his personality was maddening.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Acting as a companion to his little sister, Meg Batchbury, for London’s social season, you had spent many hours in the presence of the infamous Batchbury Brothers.

After returning from the war where they had started as lowly soldiers trained under a Commodore of the Royal Navy, they had made their fortune by collecting a wealth of prize money with an unbroken streak of successful battles. The band of brothers had been the talk of the ton, their rise from rags to riches captivating every gentleman and woman – but it was the mamas and their daughters who found themselves completely taken by them. When they’d ascertained the brothers had only enlisted to secure a future for their sister, their hearts were all of a flutter – for handsome, brave soldiers who were family men made perfect husbands.

The eldest Batchbury – Hunter – was already married, much to their dismay. But that still left three viable brothers for them to sink their lacey fans and dance cards into. When they’d heard the Batchbury’s would be attending this year’s social season, cries of delight were heard across the ton.

As a favour to your friend – the eldest Batchbury Brother’s wife, you’d promised you would accompany Meg to various balls and act as her companion and confidant for the season. Meg had expressed her desire to attend this year, now that her brothers had returned home. She’d been regaled with tales of fancy parties, endless food and dancing, and wanted to experience it for herself.

“It’s…a little more than that, Meg,” you’d told her carefully, cautious of her ideas that had seemed to be formed naively. “The point of these balls and parties is for matchmaking.”

Meg had waved her hand, dismissing your words. “Oh, I am aware. But I’m not interested in such things at present.”

You’d frowned. “But attending the social season does send the message that you are interested.”

Meg just grinned ruefully and shrugged. “Then I’ll just do my best to avoid it.”

You had shaken your head, smiling along with her. You’d sighed with some relief, knowing you’d not have to try and steer her from unsuitable matches or chaperone strolls in Hyde Park and could just simply enjoy time spent at extravagant balls and luncheons.

You were past the age of eligibility and the thought of simply attending a London social season to enjoy it was simultaneously scary and exciting. To know there were no expectations on you from your own family or on Meg, it was freeing.

You had joined the Batchbury’s at their London residence, and from the very moment you set foot inside the newly acquired townhouse, your eyes were drawn to the youngest Batchbury brother, Crosshair.

You’d been welcomed enthusiastically by Meg, who had petitioned her brothers to attend the London social season, much to their behest. But they had been kind and amiable when you were first introduced. You hadn’t been sure what to expect, but you had been surprised at how large they all were, and their history as soldiers was clear with their injuries and the weathered look of their faces. You already knew Hunter, who’d just returned from his honeymoon and itching to return to the country to his wife, but Wrecker and Tech had all been a picture of politeness upon introductions, meeting you with manners that were clearly practised. But Crosshair had stood behind, arms crossed, a scowl etched into his brow with no sign of it disappearing. He’d immediately met you with hard eyes the colour of coffee that were so scrutinising you had flinched.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Batchbury,” you’d said as you curtseyed, trying not to be bothered by his gaze.

Mr. Batchbury had looked you up and down, brow remaining creased as he seemingly evaluated you before his eyes met yours for a moment before looking away from you without greeting. You’d been puzzled by his lack of manners, and then hurt by his rejection and then angry, for who was he to be judging you? He did not even know you. And from that moment, Mr. Crosshair Batchbury was a rude annoyance you endured only for his siblings, despite his handsomeness – which only added to your irritation.

How cruel, for such beauty to be wasted on someone so dreadful.

He held that same hard gaze now, watching you from the other side of the Kenobi’s ballroom. The room was filled with people, and a string quartet played a cotillion that had those on the dance floor that separated you from Mr. Batchbury bouncing lively to the music.

It was the final ball of the season, and at the request of Meg, she wanted all the brothers in attendance tonight and they were completely powerless to say no.

Being in such close quarters with the four brothers for the season meant you not only saw their brash, loud, clever and cunning natures, but also the immense love they had for their sister. Each brother was different, but it was obvious what connected them all was their strong sense of family and loyalty. You had observed it all.

Wrecker’s love was boisterous and loud and coupled with fierce hugs and booming laughter. Tech’s affection was more subtle, but you’d find it in the way he consumed knowledge with the intent to share, to provide answers to questions his family asked; prepared for any situation. Hunter’s care was gentle and warm yet with a firmness that was steadfast and immovable. Crosshair, despite your feelings towards the other less amiable parts of his personality, showed love quietly, often through gesture or merely listening. He would grumble at Wrecker’s affection, but never push it away. He would listen to Tech’s ramblings even when everyone had vacated the room. And when Hunter’s strength managed to wane, Crosshair would swoop right in, ready to support in however he could.

Seeing this kind of love juxtaposed with the other parts of his caustic, sharp and, quite frankly, snarky personality was what vexed you the most; knowing he had the capacity for such softness and kindness but chose not to use it.

And actively chose not to use it with you.

You sipped your champagne, meeting his gaze from across the dance floor, ignoring the warmth that ignited your rest at his gaze. He mirrored your movements with his own glass of brandy, and you couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips that lay gently on the rim of the glass and think back to that moment in the greenhouse at the Across the Stars Ball where they were anything but gentle on your own.

Prince Anakin Skywalker and his wife, Queen Padme Amidala held their annual ‘Across the Stars’ ball at their London palace and it was the event of the social season. Everyone who was everyone in the ton was invited, and that now included the Batchbury family – much to Meg’s delight and her brother’s chagrin.

Meg had been ecstatic upon receiving the invitation and begged for her brothers to accept so that she could attend. As the first ball of the season, it was the first time all the brothers would be seen by the eyes of the ton, and you watched on from your place in the drawing room as they argued about etiquette and dancing, of which they had little experience.

“If we go, we will be expected to dance and socialise,” Hunter told his brothers.

“Sounds like a marvellous time!” Wrecker grinned, rising to his feet from where he sat on the settee that he practically dwarfed.

“You don’t know how to dance, Wrecker,” Tech pointed out from the armchair, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from his book, a wooden cane he used to aid his walking lent against the side table. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. “None of us do except for Hunter, who had clandestine lessons in a garden maze with his now wife.”

The eldest Batchbury blushed, port wine stain darkening as both Meg and Wrecker giggled. You smiled too, a book open on your lap.

Mr. Crosshair Batchbury remained silent from his seat on the writing desk, where he was penning something diligently in a notebook with his non-wooden hand.

Perhaps one of the most admirable traits about Mr. Batchbury was that he taught himself how to write with his left hand after losing his right in the war. Meg told you that he had spent weeks holed up in his room alone, practising his script until it was perfect and unsmudged. It was quite remarkable, to be so determined.

Now, he observed his siblings with his steely gaze as he casually dipped the end of the quill in ink, raising and lowering the feathered tool gently in the pot, sparing it no glance.

You always wondered what he was writing in that notebook. He never seemed to be without it. It lived in the back pocket of his trousers, and you’d often found him in different places throughout the townhouse, writing in it.

Once, early in your stay, you’d seen him lounging in a bay window that overlooked the streets of London, one leg outstretched and the notebook leaning on the other he’d pulled up as he wrote in careful hand. You’d almost walked past him, but your footsteps had stopped on their own accord. The sun was hitting him just right, bathing him in a golden glow that made the silver strands of his hair glitter and the warmth of his brown skin radiate through the small alcove. He had on a cream-coloured shirt, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, the collar of it wide and its ties undone, scandalously revealing the dip in his lean chest. His left side was closest to you, and his hand was poised so the side of it didn’t drag over the graphite words he'd just penned. You could see his wooden hand rest on the book to keep it steady.

He barely fit in the small space, one foot of his long legs pressed flat against the wall opposite him and half bent at the knee. He didn’t look comfortable, but he never really did anywhere in the house. He always looked like he was trying to slot himself into the new life they’d acquired but could never really find the right position for it to work.

When you thought back to that tableau, you were sure that was the moment you realised just how handsome he truly was, and the moment your thoughts and feelings for the standoffish and biting Mr. Batchbury became all muddled.

Sensing your eyes on him, you watched him flick his gaze to yours. “What?”

You flinched as his hard brown-eyed gaze landed on yours with a piercing fierceness. “Nothing. My apologies.”

Mr. Batchbury looked at you, his eyes trailing over you before moving back to your face, studying it before he returned his gaze to his writing, pencil moving once again.

You swallowed as you watched his movements, and the words fell out of you before you could stop them. “What are you writing?”

Mr. Batchbury froze, and he looked at you with a scrutinising regard. “Why?”

“I’m just curious. You never send any letters, and whenever I see you, you’re always penning something.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and continued on, suddenly trying to bridge this distance between you that both puzzled and annoyed you. “It must be something you love.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“What you’re writing.” Your face burned, but maybe if you found a connection; a common ground, then maybe this strange dynamic between you would end. “If you return to it every day, you must love it.”

Mr. Batchbury stared at you before slamming his notebook closed and standing up. You watched him as he sent you a scathing look, eyes hard and port wine stain a deep red. He brushed past you without another word before stalking away. You were shocked and completely and utterly confused. What had you said? What had you done? But your befuddlement just returned to the anger and disdain you’d already held, but now multiplied.

Mr. Batchbury was rude and unapproachable, nothing you did would change that. So, you were done being amiable towards him. No matter how attractive he was.

Coming back from your memory to the drawing room, you shut your book and stood, making your way across the room, nearing the writing desk.

“Perhaps I could give you all some lessons? So you can dance once or twice to keep up appearances. I would suspect that the quadrille would be easily mastered by former soldiers.”

Wrecker and Meg’s eyes lit up and they spoke simultaneously. “Would you?”

You smiled at them and nodded. “I would be happy to. Dancing is the best way to spend a party.”

“And build affection between partners,” Meg smiled, reciting something you’d told her.

“Well, yes, that too,” you smiled, and you saw something grey move in the corner of your eyes as Meg jumped up darted towards you to through her arms around you. “How wonderful! We can start lessons this afternoon, so we are ready for the ball on Saturday.”

“Whatever you want, Meg,” you gently untangled her from you and clasped her hands.

She grinned, squeezing your hands before turning to her brothers, of whom Wrecker and Hunter seemed genuinely happy for her. “Isn’t this exciting? A real ball!”

“Yes. It is most thrilling,” Tech kept his eyes on his book, his voice unenthused despite its sincerity, but it made you smile. You looked towards the writing desk and saw Mr. Batchbury’s scowl had only deepened, the quill in his hand unmoving and dripping ink on the page.

“Are you not excited too, Mr. Batchbury?” you slid over to the desk, eyes drifting down to the inked parchment as subtlety as you could manage, but Mr. Batchbury swiftly closed the notebook with a soft thud, preventing you from reading anything.

“It’s rude to impose your eyes on personal writings,” Mr. Batchbury’s raspy voice hissed at you. It was like a coiled snake, and it lit up your insides in the most improper way, wrapping itself around your bones and staying there long after you left his presence. His eyes met yours in a blazing stained gaze. He was so alluring, his face all angles and silver hair kept close to his head. There was a ghastly-looking scar on the side of his head he sustained during the war. His brother Wrecker had one too. But it did not detract from his good looks, at least not to you.

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and instead slid him a look that showed your distaste. “My apologies. I had no idea of your writings being the personal kind. But you still haven’t answered my question Mr. Batchbury, and one might say that is rather rude too.”

Your back and forth with Mr. Batchbury no doubt tired everyone to no end, but no matter how hard you tried, you simply were incapable of ignoring his remarks. Something in you needed to put him in his place, but it only seemed to spur him on more, driving the wedge harder between you both. It no longer mattered how many times Meg had to step between you two, it did not do anything to change your behaviour towards each other. You could not stand Mr. Crosshair Batchbury, and he could not stand you.

He scoffed in response. “I won’t be attending dancing lessons. Nor will I be attending the ball.”

“But you must!” Meg pleaded to her brother, but his coffee-coloured eyes only remained on you.

“What a shame,” you said, no disappointment in your voice at all. “But perhaps it’s best. No one will want to dance with someone so impudent and rude as you are anyway.”

Mr. Batchbury’s lip curled in a snarl before he pushed his chair back roughly, wooden legs screeching on the floorboards, snatched his notebook and stalked out of the drawing room.

“Must you provoke him?” Meg sighed. You watched the room’s remaining brothers share a glance at each other that you could never decipher.

You dropped your shoulders, suddenly feeling bad that you’d upset Meg. She was so lovely, like a little sister. You looked at her sullen face, her blonde hair swept into a braid and tied with a red ribbon – the Batchbury’s had seemed to adopt it as their family colour. She was so full of light.

“I’m sorry, Meg,” you said sincerely before holding out your hand. “Shall we learn the quadrille?”

That afternoon was spent teaching Meg and Wrecker how to dance a slew of dances that would be performed at the Across the Stars Ball including the quadrille, the cotillion, the scotch reel, the Naboo country dance and the waltz. Tech played the piano, unable to dance due to his injuries, and you paired with Hunter, who made the perfect partner for your instruction since he knew the dances already. Wrecker and Meg laughed as they stepped on each other’s feet and spun around. Their laughter was infectious, and you and Hunter and Tech laughed along too until you were all laughing so hard that you were unable to dance, and Tech was unable to play.

You caught your breath, hand on your chest as it heaved inside the confines of your corset, smiling at Meg as she pantomimed how ridiculous Wrecker had looked only minutes ago when you thought you saw a flash of grey hair up in the balconied eaves of the townhouse’s small ballroom. You frowned. Surely you were imagining such things.

It seemed as if the entire population of London was in attendance at the Across the Stars Ball, their ballroom was full of gentlemen and women, debutantes as well as members of the aristocracy and even parliament. Everyone was dressed in their finest gowns and suits coloured in rich navies and purples, gold and silver embellishments, fitting into the celestial theme perfectly. You swore you saw the elusive Duchess Satine Kyrze who rarely ventured from her country estate in Mandalorshire and even laid eyes upon Prince Reginald from the far-off Kingdom of Kamino, or Rex as he preferred to be called – the ton’s gossip mill had come to the conclusion that he was a close friend of Prince Skywalker.

You watched along with Tech as the Batchbury siblings – minus the youngest brother – took to the floor. Hunter and Wrecker took turns dancing with Meg, much to her delight and the scrutiny of the ton, but the Batchbury’s cared little for impropriety and more for their sister’s happiness. After lessons this week, they had taken to the dances fairly quickly and you smiled as they performed the steps as if they’d been doing them all their lives.

Hunter switched out with Wrecker, needing to catch his breath. You smiled at him.

“Are you missing the wild seas yet, Hunter?” you joked.

Hunter returned your smile. “Not even the decks of the Marauder could’ve prepared me for this.”

You laughed before Hunter excused himself for a drink. You sipped your champagne, listening to the whispers from those around you as they discussed the Batchbury’s debut at the most anticipated ball of the season.

“They’re a little…odd.” The voice dripped with pretentiousness from behind you, her tone all nasally.

You watched Wrecker lift Meg up and spin her around in an improvised turn that was not part of the choreography, both laughing loudly with glee. They were having the time of their lives.

“Odd is putting it kindly.” This voice blubbered with pompousness. You gripped your champagne glass tightly.

“This is why I believe we need to stop just anyone from acquiring fortunes, because this happens. Common people have no place here.”

You just about broke your glass, and your shoulders raised as you were seconds away from turning around and dressing the pair of snobs down, but Tech put a hand on your arm to stop you.

“Pay it no mind,” he said evenly, his hands returning to the top of his cane in front of him.

“But they’re being so cruel,” you protested, shoulders sagging.

He shook his head before pushing his glasses up his nose. “It is nothing we are not used to. It no longer affects us. We know who we are, and that’s all we’ve ever cared about.”

You softened your smile at him. You knew how the Batchbury’s had grown up in destitution and had endured many hardships to get to where they were now. You had grown fond of them all since joining them as Meg’s companion, and it just wasn’t right that people thought they were undeserving of their fortune. Out of anyone, they deserved to be happy and live without worry. You wished all of the ton believed that too.

You placed your now empty glass on a passing tray before turning to Tech. “I’m taking some air.”

“Leaving so soon?”

You whipped your head to see Mr. Batchbury in all his handsome glory. Similarly to his brothers, he was dressed in a dark grey tailored suit embroidered with silver thread, unintentionally matching his hair. His front pocket held a red pocket square, like all his brothers as a representation of their family. He towered over you, his trousers accentuating his long legs as they tucked into his shiny black knee-high boots. You flushed as he looked at you, the corner of his mouth upturned in his infuriatingly attractive smirk.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you stammered out. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

“As am I,” Tech blinked behind his spectacles. “You have expressed your distaste for these events, Crosshair.”

Crosshair scowled out at the dance floor, his eyes finding Meg and Wrecker. Hunter was held up somewhere, no doubt the bar was filled with people of the ton wanting to make his acquaintance, much to his discomfort.

“Yes, well, I don’t like being left behind,” Crosshair spoke bitterly, grabbing a glass of champagne from a tray. He sipped it, grimacing at the taste. You knew he hated champagne. “Is there nothing stronger?” he complained.

“There’s a bowl of punch on the other side of the room that has been spiked with a liquor that tastes like an oil lamp, if that is more to your taste,” you said dryly.

“Funny,” Mr. Batchbury drawled before downing the rest of the champagne. The string quartet finished the music, and everyone gave a gentle applause. People moved on and off the dancefloor in a sea of bodies as they prepared for the next dance of the evening.

“Care to dance?” Mr. Batchbury held out his left hand towards you. You looked up at him in shock, mouth agape.

“I’m sorry?” Had you heard him right?

Mr. Batchbury rolled his eyes and emphasised his outstretched palm. “A dance. Would you like one?”

You looked at him incredulously. He wanted to dance with you? The man who did not hide how much he disliked you and your presence in his household with his family. The man who did not acknowledge you at all and when he did, did so with such disdain that it was tangible. And yet he held out his gloved un-wooden hand towards you.

You looked at Tech who watched the interaction with interest, a look on his face you couldn’t decipher. You crossed your arms at Mr. Batchbury. “Is this a trick?”

“Would you give me an answer,” he hissed, growing impatient and agitated.

You studied him for a moment, trying to find any mischief or dishonesty in his gaze, but found none of it. Was he truly asking you in earnest? You couldn’t fathom it. It crossed your mind to reject him, to say no and humiliate him in front of everyone but something tugged in your chest. He’d come here of all places, even though he vehemently expressed his dislike for balls and intention not to attend. Even though he never seemed to feel comfortable in this new life he had and to dance with you in front of everyone was making a spectacle of himself.

And Mr. Batchbury, you had learned, did not do anything he did not want to do, and it seemed as though he did indeed wish to dance with you, but you could not place why. No one had asked you to dance in such a long time, and you doubt Mr. Batchbury made a habit of asking anyone to do anything at all, much less dance with him. It simply seemed…cruel to reject his offer – and you could not deny the part of you that actually wanted to dance with him; to be close to him in a way that wasn’t through argument.

Your inconvenient crush on the youngest Batchbury brother should not be encouraged…but it would be nice to dance.

Cautiously, you placed your gloved hand into his, his fingers wrapped around yours securely, but not tightly. His palm felt firm and strangely comforting against yours as he led you onto the dance floor and you watched the side of his face in fascination. He looked at you when you reached your position on the floor and dropped your hand. You looked up at him, his hands behind his back, and he stared down wordlessly at you, his eyes studying you intensely. You averted your gaze, landing on Wrecker and Meg in the next row, who were watching you both with curious expressions.

Your eyes slid back to him when the music began, and you met his bow with a curtsey. His eyes never left yours as he took your hands gently in his and performed the first step, moving towards each other and passing by the shoulders. He was poised and effortless in his movement, which surprised you.

“I thought you did not know how to dance,” you whispered, not sure why your voice decided to lower so.

Mr. Batchbury didn’t answer, the corner of his mouth twitching like it was about to smile. You frowned as you came together again.

“You didn’t attend my lessons with your family,” you whispered again a little louder.

You almost tripped over your own feet when you saw Mr. Batchbury’s mouth lift into a small, amused smile. Your frown deepened which only seemed to make him more delighted. What could he possibly be smiling about? You held his hands as you spun in a slow circle, his thumbs gently resting on your knuckles, brushing yours. You watched him, the way his whole face seemed to change just at the lift in his expression. The way the crease in his brow went away, the smile lines on his face deepening and his eyes filled with mirth. It was breathtaking.

Your mind then went back to the flash of grey hair you saw up in the balconied eaves of the Batchbury’s ballroom and it all became clear.

“You watched, didn’t you?” you asked, though you knew you were right. “From the eaves.”

Mr. Batchbury was silent for a moment, his smile falling back into that pensive line, as if he was annoyed you’d seen him and caught on to his little game.

“And if I did?” he countered, passing by your shoulder again. He hardly ever answered a question directly and it drove you to such frustration. You rolled your eyes.

“Why would you not come down and learn properly? Are you embarrassed, or do you simply hate me that much?” you held hands again, moving down the line on the dancefloor.

Mr. Batchbury scoffed, a light puff of air from his nose. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me, sir,” you snapped back, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

The dance continued, and you moved towards him and turned so your back was to his front, and one of his hands found your waist and the other held your hand. You lay your hands on his as you both moved in a circle with some other couples. Your chest tightened as you felt his hands on your body as he pulled you close to him. You felt his hand rest in the dip of your waist, and you were so aware of the way his fingers flexed against your palm. His touch ignited your body in ways you never believed was possible and you tried to control the heat that rushed to your cheeks and up the back of your neck. How could he illicit this response from you when you were constantly at odds? It was nonsensical.

You were hoping he couldn’t tell your fluster when you felt him bend down to your ear, breath tickling you there.

“I do not hate you.” His voice was like gravel, and you felt the vibrations of his low voice move down into your bones. It flared through you, goosebumps prickling across your skin, and you fought off a shiver that threatened to travel down your spine. You spun away from him, returning to face him once more.

Mr. Batchbury looked at you with that same pensive, almost emotionless expression, and you felt the irritation in you rising as you passed by his shoulder again, circling him.

“You always ignore me when I am in the room, and if by some miracle you do acknowledge my existence, you reject any civil conversation with me with caustic barbs and scowls. You all but yelled at me when I innocently inquired about what you write in your notebook. So, please explain to me why I should believe you don’t hate me when it’s clear that you do.”

Mr. Batchbury’s expression remained impassive despite your blunt claims, fanning the flames of your ire until they were ablaze with fury. You wished he was not so handsome, that his touch and proximity did not affect you so – it made this all the more difficult and confusing. You returned to your place and watched as he passed by your shoulder, circling you. You waited for his response, waiting to see how he came to his own defence, but it did not come.

He had nothing to say, and that hurt even more. For it meant he truly did hate you.

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head, feeling tears begin to prick your eyes and you tried to hide your hurt as the music came to a close, thankful your dance was over.

You curtseyed as he bowed, chastising yourself for getting upset at how he treated you. He did not deserve to mould your feelings in this way. You shook your head again, face aflame and tears threatening to spill down your cheeks in front of everyone – in front of the person you loathed the most yet whose eyes haunted your dreams. You quickly walked off the dance floor without another word. You ignored the calls of your name from Meg and instead made your way towards the doors that led to the gardens.

When you made it outside, the cool air prickled your skin, and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes. There were small droves of people outside among lanterns, their chatter an even din to your ears. But you needed to be further away. Stray tears falling, you went down the steps and into the gardens, away from the ball and the people.

The Queen and Prince’s staff had not placed the lanterns everywhere, and soon you left them behind as you walked through the well-kept gardens towards the glass building which could not be anything but the greenhouse, your feet crunching softly on the gravel pathways. You wrapped your arms around yourself and looked up at the sky as you walked, at the constellations that littered the blue night with glowing dots. You smiled tearfully at the reminder that you were only a small part of something much bigger, and nothing could truly matter so much when the stars existed. Even if it felt like the opposite.

When you reached the door, you pushed it open and closed it quietly behind you. The temperature was much warmer than it was outside, and you could feel the heat seep into your skin. You walked further in, marvelling at the various plants that grew and seemed to flourish in this environment, some of them you’d never seen before in your life. There were fruit trees and shrubs, flower bushes and others. The greenhouse was lit inside, giving the plant life an orange glow in the night. You walked around stone fountains and admired the stone statues, letting the ball and its people slip away.

You didn’t know why you were so hurt by Mr. Batchbury’s actions and lack of words. Something about him flared up a part of yourself you didn’t like. You hated meeting his barbs with cutting remarks, it was exhausting. You hated ruining your time spent with the Batchbury’s, so aware of their youngest brother and primed for any words that may be sent your way. You spent almost every waking thought fixated on Crosshair Batchbury and no matter what you did, nothing could sway your mind elsewhere. Always thinking about his stupid words that fell from his pretty lips and his even more stupidly handsome face with those searing brown eyes that spread fire through you when you looked into them.

You kicked the edge of the fountain with a frustrated sound coming from your throat and then sat on the edge and put your head in your hands. You felt more tears fall down your cheeks and you sniffled, wishing you had a handkerchief.

You could not deny it to yourself any longer.

You were completely enamoured by Mr. Crosshair Batchbury, and the hurt you felt was because you wanted him to like you. You kept fighting with him because it was the only way he would look at you with those pretty eyes of his. Ever since that first introduction, you wished his attention to be filled with the love, care and kindness you knew he possessed. But his handsome angled face would only ever send you daggers. So, with nothing else to do, with no explanations to why he did not like you, you just kept arguing with him, over and over again. But nothing ever changed. Whatever you did, whatever you said would never win him over, and you were exhausted.

You deserved better than that.

You heard footsteps running inside and you quickly straightened, eyes wide. You wiped your face and hoped your eyes weren’t so red. The footsteps stopped and you turned to your right and scoffed when you saw the source of all your hurt, confusion and desire standing there in all his glory.

“What do you want, Mr. Batchbury?” you asked, but did not want an answer. He looked at you, beautiful brown eyes trained on your face, and you watched them search your features for something. You laughed humorlessly and kept talking.

“Wanted to see if I finally cracked? If your words, or lack thereof I should say, finally landed their blow? Well, they did, sir. They did. You win. I’m not playing this game with you any longer, I am tired of it.”

“What game?” he croaked out, standing there all tall and handsome with a crease in his brow you wanted to press away with your thumb. Oh, how you wished he’d just been nice to you. It would’ve been so much easier.

You stood up and smoothed your gown. “Our arguments. I don’t want to have them anymore.”

He looked at you, incredulous. “The ones you started?”

“I did not start anything!” You hissed at him, balling your fists. “You did!”

Mr. Batchbury took a step closer to you, his voice deepening with disdain. “Please enlighten me, because I distinctly remember you disliking me from the moment we met, and nothing could change your mind.”

You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at him. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Batchbury, seeing as though you were the one who decided I was not up to your standards upon our introduction.”

Mr. Batchbury reeled back. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you spat, taking a step towards him. “You looked me up and down and decided that was it, you’d seen enough of me. And now I simply plague you by existing. Shall I reiterate my words from the ballroom?”

“I know perfectly well what you said.”

He was so close to you now and you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. When you were this close, you could see the uneven outline of his port wine stain across his eye, the deep red a contrast to his brown skin. You watched the way the colour flared with his emotions, and you wanted to place your fingertips over it, feel if it was as hot as his anger. He scowled down at you, his shoulders broad despite his lean frame. He was intimidating to most, and he knew it – but he never scared you. This attention that he gave you in these moments only solidified your wish for him to look at you in other ways. For those burning eyes of his to look upon you with love and not disdain. You drew yourself up as tall as you could, meeting him in every way except the way you wanted to, hoping your voice didn’t tremble.

“So, you do not deny it? That you took one look at me and decided I was not worthy of your company.”

Mr. Batchbury’s face softened ever so slightly. If you had blinked, you would’ve missed it. “That’s not what happened.”

You smiled only to hide the immense hurt that only seemed to cut deeper with every moment he continued to look at you like that. “Oh, please, spare me.”

Mr. Batchbury’s eyes searched your face. What did you look like to him right now? You must look unkempt with the mess of your emotions. You were not good at hiding any of them, all the anger and hurt seemed to show up in the creases of your face and across your skin. Did he feel bad about the mess he had made you? Did he feel anything which was not frustration and vexation towards you? You could not imagine it. His face had softened marginally since the beginning of this spar, but the only thing it could be is pity; pity that you believed such things, pity that you couldn’t take the arguments anymore.

Pity that you felt for him in ways he could never fulfil.

You felt your eyes brim with tears, and you took a step back, putting distance between you. Being so close to him was not helping in any such way. This had to stop.

“You know, sir, just because you are rich, tall, and a handsome war hero does not mean you can treat people like they no longer matter. You and your family are wonderful people. The love you have for each other is truly remarkable and if I ever had a family, I would hope they are as close as yours is. I love your brothers and sister dearly, but it does not take away from the fact you have continued to provoke and anger me, and I will no longer allow it.”

Something shifts in Mr. Batchbury; he straightens and his once steady feet falter as he looks at you, like he’d just been knocked off balance. You stare at each other, his eyes wide and yours full of hurt and surrender. He blinks, processing your words, and you realise what you’ve just let slip from your tongue.

Handsome. Handsome. Handsome.

Wonderful. Wonderful. Wonderful.

The words linger in the air between you both, and you feel yourself stiffening as your mouth opens slightly, before closing again. You could not take the words back. Your secret was out; he knew what you really thought of him.

Despite all the insults and affronts towards him, you did think he was wonderful and handsome, and the love he showed his family made a different kind of warmth seep through you. Not the warmth of anger, but the warmth of admiration and love.

Mr. Batchbury seemed to recover from the weight of your words, shifting on his feet, but his eyes never left you. You watched his face soften, harden then soften again, the creases around his eyes and mouth betraying his usual stoic face. You watched as he took a tentative step closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“You won’t, will you?”

You felt the breath of his words tickle your face and you looked up at him, heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it in this quiet, empty corner of the greenhouse. You swallowed. What was he doing? His words sounded like a challenge, but his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it; softer than it had ever been towards you.

But you’d been burned by him before, and you stood your ground, on guard for the insult that would surely follow. Your voice was low with your response, mustering up as much challenge as you would with his eyes looking down on you.

“No, I won’t.”

You were unprepared for his next words, delivered in that same softness as before but not coated in an uncertainty that puzzled you and caught you off guard. “What will you allow then?”

You blinked up at him, eyes moving between his. Were they even softer than before? Your eyes trailed down his face and watched the way his lips pressed together. You quickly met his gaze once more, your reply coming out strained. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Mr. Batchbury voice was unnervingly gentle as he said, “Will you allow this?”

He silently lifted his gloved hand and put the end of it between his teeth. You watched the movement, eyes trained on his mouth as he pulled it off and let it drop from his mouth to the floor. Then he took your hand in his bare one softly, and his wooden one cradled your elbow. Your breath hitched at the touch. His eyes left yours only for a moment as he pinched the seam of the tip of your silk glove, just above your middle finger. Then his gaze returned as he tugged, slowly pulling your glove from your arm until it was bare. Your chest began to rise and fall rapidly as you moved your eyes between his and his movements in quick darts.

“What are you doing?” Your voice rushed and breathless.

His voice was calm, if not slightly bored as he dropped the glove to the ground. “Seeing what you will allow.”

Mr. Batchbury began to do the same with your other glove, repeating the movements carefully. You blinked up at him, your heart racing and your stomach flipping over itself once you felt his hand move across the bare skin of your arms and hands. His palm was not rough, but it was not quite smooth, either. It was dry, warm, and large and completely engulfed your own hand, and you imagined his other hand would’ve felt the same if it had not been lost. His hand was a working one; a hand that had held rifles and pulled on ropes; a hand you knew held his sister’s when she was little; a hand that learnt how to write when he lost his other; a hand that carried around his leather-bound book tightly; a hand that had held you close to him when you had danced; a hand that removed your gloves so artfully you felt the sensations move through your entire body.

A hand that was, in fact, gentle with you in ways his words had never been.

You stared at him, and he looked at you as he held your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that seemed almost instinctual. He’d done that during the dance too, you realised. You thought it had been done absently, but what if…it was intentional? You searched his face and saw a vulnerability you had never once seen grace his features. It made him look boyish, and something in your chest bloomed before you realised what you were doing.

You were holding hands with Mr. Batchbury in a greenhouse, and his skin was warm against yours.

You shook your head, face aflame. “This isn’t proper,” you choked out.

His voice was soft once more. “Do you want to stop?”

You looked at him. You had lamented only moments ago of how you wished he would show you the kindness he showed his family, and now here he was, holding your hand. How did he move from throwing barbs towards you, to such gentle gestures? How had the hostility between you shifted so quickly into softness? Your surrender to this game between you, your secret feelings towards him that had finally revealed itself after hiding them behind venom-soaked words. Something in that had changed the way he looked at you, how he spoke and how he held you.

What did it all mean?

But as he looked at you, finally looking at you with something other than hate, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away.

“No,” you whispered.

His eyes softened once more, and it was an expression you’d grown very fond of in the past minutes, and you found yourself getting lost in the tourmaline of his eyes. They were the colour of a fireplace, of cinnamon sticks in hot cider – and maybe that was Mr. Batchbury to his core. Sweetness on the edges of the tart acidic warmth that permeated you as you consumed it.

You wanted to reach up and touch his face, see if the stubble that lined his jaw was rough against your fingers, you wanted to trace the line of his port wine stain, and see if his eyes closed with the touch, or if they stayed trained on you.

You felt your cheeks heating as he continued to look at you. What did he see now when he looked at you? Still the mess of anger and hurt? Or the unhidden feelings of enamour you had hidden for so long?

You felt his hand on yours squeeze before he swallowed, and slowly moved his face closer to yours. It was a cautious kind of movement that left room for you to push him away, but you couldn’t – or wouldn’t. And instead, the thump of your heart filled your ears as his lips inched closer to yours, both your gazes dropping to each other’s lips. He paused and you felt the breath of your name over the lips.

“Yes,” you breathed back.

“I have never once hated you,” Mr. Batchbury whispered before he pressed his lips to yours.

You had never kissed anyone in your life, and all your knowledge came from novels or chatters overheard from servants. But this kiss wasn’t like anything you have ever heard or read. It started off sweet, tentative a little unsure as you both tried to figure out what to do and what felt good. He pulled you closer, so you were pressed up against his chest, and his arms went to your hips whilst yours draped themselves over his shoulders. He lifted you so your feet were on top of his, and you pressed your tip toes into the tops of his boots as the kiss deepened, both of you finding your footing as you grew used to the ministrations. He smelled like the fireplace his eyes matched, and you breathed him in as Mr. Batchbury’s lips claimed yours. Your body was on fire as felt his tongue at the seam of your lips and you couldn’t hold back a moan as you tasted him. He tasted of the champagne he’d downed earlier, and you could feel the hardness of his frame against you, like nothing was close enough.

“Enchanting,” you thought you’d heard him say between kisses.

The kisses you’d heard about had never detailed the kind of passion and want this kiss held. The greenhouse’s heat coupled with the heat of this embrace was making you hot all over, your body tingled with the need for more. And as the kiss went on, you both became more frantic, gasping between each kiss. His hands moved up and down your back, holding you securely against him and your bare hands grasped at the short strands of his silver hair that lay at the nape of his neck. He groaned as you tugged at them and kissed you harder, his hot mouth slanting over yours as he pulled you in deeper, bodies pressed together like nothing was close enough.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you breathed as his lips left yours to move down your jawline to your neck. You pressed your hand against his cheek and felt the stubble, confirming the roughness of it you had imagined. God, you wanted him everywhere – improper be damned. How could something that felt so good be so improper? Why were people denying themselves this for the sake of propriety? You feared you could never get enough of this, of him.

“Crosshair,” he insisted, just like his lips as they pressed into your skin, nipping at your exposed collarbones.

“Crosshair,” you repeated before he swallowed your breath with his lips once more.

He let out a groan that you felt vibrate into your lips and chest and something about that sound, the deepness and loudness of it in the bubble you both had made, brought you back to yourself, and you remembered where you were and realised what you were doing.

You pulled away, chest rising and falling, eyes wide and cheeks burning. Your face was so close to his, and you took him in. His eyes were blown, brown irises bright, and his mouth parted with swollen lips. His port wine birthmark was a deep red as his skin flushed. You felt his chest press into yours as he breathed hard, and he blinked at you.

In his face, you saw a man who’s kissed you senseless, who held you to him, who’d touched your bare hands, and had been so gentle, all you had ever wanted him to be with you and yet, you felt yourself freeze.

Was this real? Or another cruel game at the expense of your feelings? One where he told you he never hated you, kissed you until your knees buckled then spat cruelties later on? Was he lulling you into complacency so his acid tongue would burn you when you weren’t expecting it?

The thought hit you like a twelve-horse carriage and the guard you’d foolishly let down flew back up. You’d lost your mind; taken by your fantasies. Mr. Batchbury was never gentle with you, no matter how much you wished it – why would he start now?

You couldn’t be sure. But you were not going to be hurt by Mr. Batchbury again – your heart couldn’t take it.

He rasped out your name, your kisses still lying in his throat and you felt yourself jolt before wrenching yourself out of his embrace.

“I have to go,” you strained out, already feeling your eyes burn with tears.

You watched his expression change into one of shock and then indignation. “What?”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” you choked before turning away from him and running back through the greenhouse the way you came, leaving Mr. Batchbury behind.

i hope you enjoyed this FIRST installment!! bc ofc! what is a regency romance without a steamy encounter!! ANYWAY stay tuned!!

(i am travelling for a bit so part 2 will be posted sometime in december! thank you for your patience!)

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom @hopelessromantic727 @rebel-ezra @lulalovez

if you weren’t tagged it’s bc it wouldn’t let me/your blog didn’t exist

TAGLIST FORM

[wileys-russo]

KCC, “Will you carry me to bed?”, at home ❤️

couch nap II k.cooney-cross

"ky are you sure? you hate watching stuff like this." you chuckled as your girlfriend returned, dumping a bowl of popcorn in your lap with a block of chocolate held securely in hand.

"maybe, but i love you. and they make you happy and you had a shit day, and if you're happy i'm happy because i don't want you to have a shit day." kyra explained as you melted, leaning up to kiss her and melting into her side.

"but can we not watch one about the ocean please? i'd still like to go swimming when we go home without worrying about whats underneath me." your girlfriend quickly added on as you flicked through the documentaries.

"and here i was about to click into mysteries of the deep!" you teased, choosing one about africa and accepting the piece of chocolate offered to you from kyra's fingers. "i'm aware only 5% of the ocean has been discovered but i don't need to know anything about that 5%." your girlfriend shook her head stubbornly.

"oh elephants! mad." kyra perked up a little as the documentary started making you smile and kiss her cheek appreciatively. "see? they're not so bad." you promised, shoveling a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

"can we start narrating training like this? oo we could make vlogs for my close friends story!" kyra suggested excitedly around an hour later, the next episode starting.

"the allusive snakehipped wally lurks close to the corner of the pitch, watching with beaded eyes as the younger, better looking, wildly successful kyra cooney cross sprints across the midfield. is it pride in her eyes? or a bitter jealousy she's been surpassed by her protege." kyra mocked in her best david attenborough voice making you laugh.

"i'm so telling her you said that." you teased, moving the now empty popcorn bowl off your lap as your girlfriend stretched out, her head dropping onto your thighs instead.

"no don't! she promised to teach me how to rainbow flick on monday." kyra pouted up at you with a whine and her best puppy dog eyes. "shut up and watch the monkeys cooney-cross." you tutted, squishing her cheeks in your hands and nodding to the screen.

"ky, baby go to bed. i'll be up after this episode, your necks gonna get sore." you warned gently another couple of hours later and shaking her softly, your girlfriend now sprawled out in a strange curled up position in the corner of the sofa.

"no m'fine." kyra mumbled, forcing her eyes open again and shuffling around so she was sitting up a little more as you looked on amused. "ky, go to bed." you laugh, kicking her gently as she shook her head stubbornly, gesturing for you to watch the screen again.

you rolled your eyes knowing this was a bad idea but not bothered to fight her on it, glancing over a few minutes later to see she was once again dead asleep.

the episode finishing you left your girlfriend on the lounge as you washed up your bowls, flicking off all the lights and locking up before returning, chuckling at her very awkward position.

"hey, ky." you squatted down and shook her again, poking her cheeks as she groaned tiredly and swatted your hands away. "come on, time for bed." you smiled, tugging on her hoodie as she sighed deeply.

"will you carry me to bed?" the midfielder asked quietly, opening her arms as her eyes stayed shut. "babe you're like a foot taller than me." you laughed softly, shaking her again as she whined. "i've done it for you so many times, its your turn." kyra mumbled.

"fine, but you need to help me out here and sit up a little baby." you shook your head with a smile, grabbing her hands and tugging her into a sitting position. "okay." you nodded determined, wrapping her arms around you and grabbing under her thighs.

trying to lift her you grunted, your girlfriend purposefully rag dolling to make it harder for you as you finally picked her up but stumbled sending the two of you crashing back to the sofa.

"kyra!" you groaned, smacking her leg as her body vibrated with laughter. "you're making it harder on purpose." you huffed glaring down at her, cheeky grin plastered on her face despite the obvious exhaustion in her eyes.

"piggyback?" kyra tried again this time her smile more charming as you let out a deep and exaggerated groan. "get on then, but carefully!" you warned, standing to your feet and bracing as your girlfriend climbed onto your back.

"this is so romantic." kyra sighed, patting your chest as her chin rested on your shoulder, letting out a yell as you reached the bedroom and dumped her on the bed.

"don't get used to it, i'm the one who gets the princess treatment in this relationship cooney-cross."

[blubunz]

All these stepsis puppy but what about jason being THE puppy or or. Having him be the one tied up being thw free use instead, eyes rolling back and all

Erm,, yes!

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: sub! puppy hybrid! jason todd x f! reader; handcuffed, edging, riding, dacryphilia, porn no plot.

The chains cranking loudly against the headboard as Jason struggles to stay still, his breathing shaky while his eyes roam over your gorgeous body bouncing on his cock as if he's nothing but a toy. He whimpers, eyes rolling up when you grind his cock, rolling your hips a little to nudge and rub that special spot inside.

A soft moan slips out from you, then comes a heavy sigh, feeling all your frustration and stress melting away once you're home from all that outside world's problems. And his cock is the best thing to distract and de-stress your nerves.

Jason's hips buck desperately, but guilt quickly washes all over him when he sees your stern gaze. He bites his bottom lip lightly and looks away, ears drooping from embarrassment.

“S-Sorry...” He murmurs, very quietly, mind you.

You don't answer, even turn around to have your back facing him. He whines, apologizing a little louder but once quick bounce on his cock has his brain melting instantly. At least he gets a good view of your ass jiggling when you take his cock so fiercely, as if his entire purpose is to serve you and you only.

And that's somewhat... right. He does want to please you. He understands the pain of betrayal, with anger that comes with it, so to have you so secure by his side, to know you'd never leave him, he's willing to do everything for you.

As tempting as it is, he can't take charge over you. Mostly because you two have talked and agreed on this before, and part of him enjoys this, to throw away his pride and be as shameless as possible in front of you. And well, if he wanted to take charge midway, he would have to break out of those chains first — which are partly easy to unlock for someone trained for so long.

“Mph...” That quiet little noise from you have him looking up, as you turn around and lean your whole body on him, looking up at him as if you're the puppy and not him.

But, as quickly as it appears, it goes right away when you take his lips against yours, tongue prodding and instantly finding its way into his mouth. Exploring. Diving. Tasting his divinity.

You keep bouncing on him while engaging in the act of a sloppy make out session, one hand holding his cheek to keep his head from tilting back due to the euphoria you bring him.

He whines into the kiss, his biceps flexing as he once more tugs on the cuffs. It makes your heart jump a little, not gonna lie, but seeing him so desperately trying to free himself makes your heart race even more.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum.” Your voice is getting louder, sitting up straight to focus on driving yourself wild using his cock. His needy moans heightens in pitch, his legs twitching under you and his tail thumping against the bed, no way of hiding his excitement when he sees the ecstasy on your face.

Your cunt throbs and tightens around him as you cum, squeezing his cock so deliciously, so beautifully it makes his eyes roll up and his tongue sticks out, hips rutting upwards to chase his own climax.

You hear your name from him, cries Jason Todd as he's on the brink of cumming, only to have you pull out just before he can reach it.

He cries, almost breaking down when you did, plea and begs come from him, small and quiet. He's shy, he's embarrassed, still. He's aware he's not acting like himself, usually he'd have you beg for him, and he's became used to it, it's a norm to tease you and be stubborn about his own choices.

But now he's begging, just to have you on him once again.

“Hm, well.” You trail off, pretend to think and ponder. “I just cum, so I have no use of you at the moment.” You grin. “Is that okay, Jason? Is my puppy okay with being tied up like this?”

“Y-Yes...” He sobs.

You smile, kissing his cheek and wipe up his face for him. Then, you leave the room to take a shower, leaving Jason on the bed, still tied up, with his cock red and standing, beads of pre cum trailing down like pearls.

[lloyd-the-green-gremlin]

A little rant about Robotnik's security measures, and how efficent Stone really is:

I do find it a little corny when people characterise/write Stone as the "secretly badass, most talented agent in the whole us army froce who killes with cold-blood and unmatched efficency, and is constantly saving Robotnik of attacks and danger he isnt even aware of " (not to hate on anyone who does like this, its just my personal preference).

*not to say he isnt good at his job as an agent, and he is nothing but efficent when it comes to working for the Doctor -

But! but. I do think that his agent skills go mostly unutalised while working for Robotnik. Like yes, the "his pookie gets kidnapped by some bad guys who want to get their hands on that robo-tech, so Stone's gotta rescue him" is a fun sexy little trope, but lets observe what we have at our disposal;

Robotnik is the supplier of the most advanced war-drones and high-tech weapons to the US Govrement. He has cameras everywhere, can trace anyone anytime anywhere, lives (well, as long as he's on away missions) in a big ass stainless steel box filled with badniks and has a handfull of agents following him around (probably on the govrement's behalf, rather than his.

That man has probably bullet/laser/acid/punch-proofed every weapon he has, has eyes on every corner, and gets a notice anytime someone even mentioned his name . He got security covered.

Thats why Stone mainly fills an assistant role for him. He gets him coffe and keeps his sceduel in check. So while i dont think Stone is the best ever agent/soldier/whatever, (i dont think they would put their best man on Robotnik, however of a ticking bomb he is), he is a good one. Robotnik tho, doesent even get a chance to see his skills, because his own security sistem renders him useless in that regard. Stone also never expects the Doktor's ambushes , either because he's absolutely smitten and has lowered his walls, or because he's focusing on keeping some order in the life of his the Doctor, Chaos Incarnate.

Stone isnt good at science, or politics or stuff like that, he is good at following orders to a tee, and using what he leant in his agent training whenever needed. We see evidence of his skills in the 3rd movie when he takes out the drones like its nothing.( He is a puppy that looks good in your purse, and you dont even realise its actually a hunt-dog)

(Okay now I'm just rambling on)

I guess what I'm trying to say is: however good he is, Robotnik isnt a princess to be saved, a damsel in distress, and however sexy Stone rescuing/protecting him is, Ivo's ego could never let such a situation occure.

(anyways write whatever jorks your meat tho. Do what you want forever or what they say)