#ESPECIALLY considering his complicated relationship with death and violence

[masteraqua]

also the calypso's birthday episode ruled for a lot of reasons but stede murdering ned low? that ruled the hardest

[antianakin]

[Image ID: Text from an ask reading "Do you ever get the impression that Palpatine's relationship with Anakin is actually far more one sided than it looks? Because on one hand, Anakin DOES give a damn about Palpatine, but it felt more in the sense that it’s because he thinks Sheev understands him and gives him the liberty to get what he wants. I sort of got that when it comes to the scene where he sees Mace and Sheev battling it out. He's devastated about all the death, but isn't all that against killing the guy up until Sheev points out he can "save" Padmé. Especially considering we're told he's not actually happy about killing the jedi, but does it anyway because he thinks it's necessary in order to achieve his goal. Thus, it makes me wonder how'd react if he figured out Palpatine was lying by the time he finds the two battling. Would he join Mace or just watch them? Considering how trigger happy he usually gets when violence's involved, I'm not completely sure." End ID./]

@theneutralmime

Anakin's relationship with Palpatine is likely one of the more complicated ones that he has in his entire life. There's a deference towards Palpatine that Anakin doesn't show towards anybody else which could indicate more distance in the relationship, but it could also represent a level of RESPECT that he doesn't offer anybody else, and it's likely a mixture of both. Palpatine is also one of the people Anakin is the most HONEST with, shown by how he's the only person aside from Padme that knows about the Tusken massacre (and Padme is arguably only brought in on that secret because she happened to be there in the immediate aftermath). But we also see Anakin choose to disobey a direct order from Palpatine in order to save Obi-Wan on the Invisible Hand, showing a preference for Obi-Wan over Palpatine in the moment.

So while Anakin certainly respects and trusts Palpatine quite a lot, perhaps more than he does anyone else (even Padme), there's also a level of distance in his relationship with Palpatine that there isn't with anyone else (including Mace and Yoda, who we see Anakin more willing to joke around with and tease in TCW).

Anakin is clearly willing to kill Palpatine when he first discovers Palpatine's true identity and only doesn't because Palpatine claims he can save Padme, but by the time he shows up in Palpatine's office later, his entire goal is to save Palpatine's life.

As to whether he'd have tried to save Palpatine from Mace if he knew Palpatine was lying (I assume you mean specifically about whether Palpatine could save Padme or not), I don't think he would. I think if he genuinely believed Palpatine wasn't going to be able to help him save Padme, he'd have let Palpatine die. Anakin wants to believe himself a hero, which is why he tries to convince himself that the Jedi were "trying to take over" and so killing them was the right thing to do. But obviously his ultimate goal is just to save Padme, so if Palpatine can't achieve that, then he can much more easily just stick with the Jedi side of things and be a hero by killing the Sith. Less mental gymnastics.

I've heard that there was an early draft of Revenge of the Sith where, as Palpatine is attempting to convince Anakin to kill Dooku, he reveals that Dooku actually hired the Tuskens to capture and kill Shmi. I don't know why they took it out, but my assumption is that it becomes a lot harder to convince the audience that Anakin would side with Palpatine later on. Because once he discovers Palpatine is the Sith Master, he can connect Palpatine to his mother's death, and Anakin isn't going to react well to that particular revelation. It would make it REALLY FUCKING HARD to trust Palpatine, even just so far as it takes to believe that he has a way to save Padme. Because once Anakin knows that Palpatine helped kill his mother, what reason does he have to believe that Palpatine isn't just trying to kill PADME? And obviously, ultimately, that revelation about Dooku's involvement in Shmi's death didn't make it into the final version of the film. So I personally think that this is proof that if Anakin believed Palpatine was lying about being able to save Padme that he never would've bothered with trying to save him. I think he'd have killed Palpatine where he stood when he discovered Palpatine's identity and then informed Mace and the others about it after the fact.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Something that hit me during this watch of TWD that not enough people talk about:

The way Daryl treats Judith when she's first born vs how Rick treats her.

Daryl despises Shane. They always have their differences and clearly do not get along, but the first time they get into a physical fight (aside from when Daryl is overly emotional at the mention of Merle being left behind) is when Shane says "if she (Sophia) saw you coming, all methed out with your buck knife and Geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction".

Shane is determined to abandon the search for Sophia because he thinks that she's dead. (And let's ignore for a bit that Shane is right.) Daryl is determined to find her. But the argument doesn't come to blows until Shane brings up Daryl being on drugs - which, I really don't think that Daryl was using from Merle's stash at this point. There is a mention of Daryl taking 'shrooms' before he saw the chupacabra, but I don't think he was an active drug user like Merle was - because I think he saw how addiction destroyed his parents and his brother and was likely someone more inclined to stay sober. Especially considering on the few occasions that he drinks, like at the moonshine shack with Beth, he is a very unhappy drunk.

So Daryl is insulted at the idea of him being a druggie and likely even more insulted at the idea of Sophia being afraid of him. Because (as we see with moments he has with the Claimers) the last thing he ever wants is to be a predator towards children or someone that children are afraid of. That is an insinuation from other people's lips that brings him to physical violence every single time.

So - then we have the prison era.

Something that is SO interesting to me:

When Carol and Daryl are on top of the bus during their first night at the prison, Carol comments that she doesn't have much food to offer Daryl and Daryl says in return "lil Shane over there got quite the appetite" - one, making the obvious joke that it's an affair baby, and two - almost lamenting the fact that Lori is pregnant and taking up more resources because of it.

(And I could do a whole different rant on the sexism of people "blaming" Lori for being pregnant and emotionally ousting her from the group because of it.)

But it's clear at this point that Daryl's general dislike for Shane and likely Lori on top of that means that he's inclined to dislike the baby too.

But the minute that the baby is actually tangible in the picture for him, he steps up as a protector because his general inclination toward protecting the vulnerable overtakes any hatred he had for Shane or Lori. And he immediately feels the need to protect Judith because she can't protect herself. (This protectiveness likely stemming from the fact that he was an abused child and he feels the need to ensure that no child ever suffers the way he does - the fact that when Sophia is lost, he immediately compares it to a time when he got lost in the woods and says that she is luckier than him because she has people looking for her. And he makes sure that fact stays constant. He needs to look for her so that she always has that advantage that he did not have. Someone caring for her that he did not have.)

And Rick - mourning is complicated and it does give me a lot more empathy for Rick during this storyline. But I find it so interesting how much distaste and disdain he immediately has toward Judith. In a sense, it's almost like he hates her because he knows that Judith is Shane's baby and it's almost as if Shane killed Lori? Because the pregnancy and giving birth killed her and if Shane hadn't gotten her pregnant then she would still be alive. Then there wouldn't have been that huge rift in their relationship, meaning he was so distant with her right up until her death, giving him so many regrets.

Shane killed their marriage in so many ways and Judith is a physical representation of that. And it is morbidly interesting to see how Rick treats her off the bat because of this - he won't look at her, he can't stand the sound of her cries. It's like she's a physical representation of Shane's ghost.

I fucking hate it when people say that Negan is "the father that stepped up" for Hershel Jr because that trope should actually be applied to Daryl and Judith. It's not "Uncle Daryl" - it's Little Asskicker and the father who made sure she made it past infancy.

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence. WARNINGS CONTAIN SPOILERS! Kidnapping, torture, burning victim with cigarettes, broken bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection. Summary: When the divide between you and Jack becomes big enough that a well-intended question causes an explosion of anger, you decide to get out of dodge for a while. Unfortunately, this decision has consequences that neither of you could ever have anticipated. Notes: I cried writing it, I cried editing it, I cried putting this post together. Consider yourselves warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It's been a month and Jack Daniel's is a miserable fucking bastard. You've been told about the marks being detrimental to his job and refuse to get rid of the tattoo or the scars. Claiming that it wasn't your problem, and he considers that to be true, even if it pisses him off because he can't escape you. Stuck here at Statesman and being a firsthand witness to you dating. He swears he's seen half a dozen different men picking you up from your cabin and every goddamn time his stomach churns with jealousy until there's nothing left to do except get blindingly drunk.

There have been good days and bad ones, of course. You and Jack don’t ignore each other but you don’t ever do anything more intimate than having an occasional drink or taking a break from your day to have lunch together if he stops by the restaurant. Your staff has been hired and menu set, interior painted and linens picked out. Now that opening is just a few weeks away, it’s about finalizing and finesse, and your staff has been amazing.

The dating has been…touch and go. You had gone out with Ginger’s brother Lewis on almost every night of his visit, enjoying each other’s company much more than you had expected. Apparently he was just getting out of a relationship and had accepted Diana’s attempt to fix the two of you up gratefully. Without any kind of stress as to whether or not the relationship would be perfect – or even lasting – you and Lewis were able to have fun and relax on the nights you went out together.

With Jack not wanting to have anything romantic to do with anyone else especially and including you, you had no reason to say no to most of the invitations you got after that. A concert or a dinner or a movie or a special event - they were all nice things and the men were equally nice about half the time. Sometimes they stayed over and sometimes they didn’t, but none of them ever saw you more than twice. The guilt and the regret would creep in, reminding you that you have a soulmate and that he’s a good man, even if the two of you are at odds. The fact of the matter is, even with the casual and extremely platonic time that you spend with Jack, you do find yourself falling for him a little more every day. Whether that’s because you’re bound to him or because you just do love him, you really can’t be sure. And it wouldn’t do you any good to say anything anyway. So you do what Statesman employees do best and drink away the guilt.

******

Jack sighs, rolling his shoulders back before he opens the door to his house and steps outside to face the day. This time of year seems to weigh heavily on him and it doesn't help that he had watched you disappear into your cabin with some man last night while he sat on his porch. Not seeing either one of you emerge when he had finally gone to bed well after midnight.

Catching sight of Jack as you leave your house in the morning isn’t uncommon, but today when you do, guilt pools deep in your gut. Waking up with someone other than your soulmate is a special kind of self-torture, and the green-eyed, blonde-haired man curled around you this morning definitely was not Jack. This morning when you glance toward his house, you accidentally catch his eye and end up awkwardly waving as you leave your house alone. The blonde had been politely kicked out before breakfast.

Jack sends back that half-hearted wave and tries to keep the scowl off his face for your sake. Knowing that you will think that it's directed towards you instead of towards the man who had snuck out of your house this morning with a jaunt in his step that Jack certainly recognized.

A thought has been gnawing on you for a while now, and you hustle to catch up to Jack on the sidewalk that leads away from Statesman housing and heads toward the main area of the company’s campus. Trying to maintain a friendship with Jack has been agonizing for you, as you realize the actual depths of your feelings for him, but you’re also trying to respect his wishes. If he doesn’t want to be anything but a platonic pair, you aren’t going to forcibly change his mind. Either he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. End of story.

He hears your quick footsteps behind him, the effort for you to catch up to him and Jack sighs to himself. Not in any kind of mood to play nice, not when he's going to see that 'freshly fucked' glow that you seem to get when you bring someone home. Acid churns in his gut and he wonders if he's developing heartburn for how often he's eating antacids to keep it moderately tolerable.

He slows down only slightly, but you catch up to him by just the last few steps that land much harder like a schoolgirl trying to casually match the stride of her upperclassman crush. It’s a fairly apt comparison for how you feel about him sometimes, but that’s not a thought you want to have to nurse today. “In a hurry today?” You ask, knowing he isn’t late for his usual day. His 9-5 is the same as yours.

"Just wanting to get my heart pumping." Jack doesn't look over at you. "Not getting much exercise being stuck behind a desk." He tells you. "Champ still won't clear me for field work."

That’s your fault. You know it is. You’ve had full conversations about it. But as long as Jack insists on acting like you mean nothing to him, you’re going to maintain the same behavior. If he doesn’t want a soulmate, then he doesn’t get any of the benefits of you being that person. Including, but not limited to, an understanding heart.

“I had something I wanted to ask you,” you admit, shoving your hands in your pockets as you walk. Something that is very much above and beyond the call of a normal friend, but you’re telling yourself that that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not the only person you’ll be asking about this, so it’s fine.

"What do you need to know?" Jack rolls his eyes, noticing that you are avoiding him mentioning the fucking tattoo, but he didn't expect you to.

“I know it’s not really your thing…” He looks annoyed, and you wonder if he didn’t get enough sleep last night or if he skipped breakfast. The fleeting thought that he might be jealous of your date is flicked away with the reminder that he doesn’t want to be connected to you. He’s probably glad you’re finally leaving him alone. “But I’m asking my friends, which you did say you wanted to be,” the reminder comes with an awkward smile that you drop when he doesn’t respond. “Gabriella’s birthday is coming up, so it jogged my memory. I’m just asking my friends what they want their birthday cakes to be this year so I can plan ahead.”

"I don't celebrate my birthday." Jack manages to say the words without anger or devastation in the inflection in his voice. "Don't worry about it, sugar."

“I know you had said that, but I thought…sometimes it’s worth revisiting an old tradition. Who doesn’t like cake and presents, ya know?” Walking beside him, you feel like you ought to be clutching your textbooks and twirling your hair or something equally ridiculous. But all you want is to show him that you’re not the enemy.

Jaw clenched, Jack stops short and whirls towards you, obviously startling you from the way that you jump but he doesn't give a damn. You just push and you push and you push, not giving a damn what someone else might want. "I don't fucking celebrate the day my goddamn wife and baby boy died." He growls furiously. "Forget the goddamn day exists."

You feel knocked over even though all you've done is freeze on the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in shock while you're not sure if your jaw is trembling in shock or dropped fully open. "I—" The way your chest clenches, it feels like you might dissolve inwardly. "I didn't know. I'm so...I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't know because you didn't give a fuck." Jack sneers. "All you care about is yourself, what you want. What you think is best, damned what anyone else might think."

"Where do you get that from?" From bottomless sympathy, you bounce back to shock in a very different way. "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"I told you I don't celebrate and you couldn't let it go." He shouts. "You won't get rid of the fuckin' tattoo so I can do my goddamn job. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't hafta worry about a fuckin' soulmate because I would be dead like I deserve to be!"

"This is the first and only time I've asked since the day we met." This time you know for certain that your lip is trembling, and that it's from oncoming tears. Being screamed at is never something you've been able to take, and this is...it's Jack. Someone you want to make happy so desperately that you're doing things you actively hate in order to do it. "You didn't want a soulmate. You wanted to be friends. So that's all I've done."

“I do want a soulmate. I want my soulmate.” Jack fumes, eyes flashing angrily. “I want the woman who fucking died on my birthday because she was going to get the fuckin’ candles she had forgot to buy for my cake. For me. She died because of me! That’s the soulmate I want!” His own agony makes him blind to the fact that he is crying, tears rolling down his face and his heart about to fucking bust apart, but not because of Abigail, it’s from hearing you say that all you’re trying to do is be friends.

With both of you crying it's almost an exercise in futility to make sense of anything, or to try to hold a reasonable conversation, and you can feel yourself shutting down faster than lightning. The words are there, ringing in your ears, never ever to leave again. I want my soulmate. Not you. Never you. He wants his wife back and you're just standing in the way and insulting her memory purely by existing. "Right." You barely croak out the one syllable, nodding vaguely and already backing away from him while you try not to shake where you stand. "Th—that's...you..." Whatever sentence you were trying to form isn't happening, to the point where all you can think about clearly is how badly you don't want him to be upset with you anymore. And the only way to do that is to walk away. "I'm sorry." Are the only coherent words you manage to murmur, fleeing in the opposite direction as soon as you get them out.

Jack stands there for a few minutes, only moving to wipe away the tears when his breathing is relaxed. Dread curling in his stomach as he replays the cruel things he had said to you in his anger and sorrow. “Shit.” He hisses quietly, wondering if you would talk to him now, but he doubts it.

You have to get yourself under control before you make it to the restaurant, you know that. But the tears rolling down your cheeks are thick and angry and making it hard for you to think, and when you pull out your phone to send a text you can barely read the screen. Hopefully, even if it doesn't make sense, your brother will understand enough to call you later. It's Friday and you need to be anywhere but here this weekend. Hopefully his guest room is free.

******

Jack pauses outside the restaurant, knowing that he needs to talk to you again, but he can’t make himself go inside. He’s fucked this all up. He’s hurt you and his heart aches from that. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number that oftentimes he avoids like the plague. “Hey doc.” He greets the Statesman therapist when the call is picked up. “Do you have some free time? I need to talk.”

A two-hour flight to New York is nothing, but by the time you land it’s late and the sight of your brother standing at the gate waiting for you nearly brings you to relieved tears.

******

It’s not unusual that he doesn’t see you at night. His therapy session opening his eyes and making him see that he’s been very wrong, very cruel to you. Sighing, Jack pushes off the swing with his foot, the tall glass of Statesman in his hand as he watches your dark cabin. He knows you’re in there, the pinging on his phone showing that you are.

There’s no sign of you all the next day, or even the one after that. No movements from your house, no lights turning on or off, no television flickering or even anyone else’s car in the driveway. It’s like you’ve shut yourself inside and locked out the rest of the world.

Jack tries to go about his weekend, but his eyes still wander over to your place. Hoping to see you, not having enough courage to go over and knock. He knows you won’t answer the door and it’s not like he’s given you any reason to. So he waits for an opportunity to bump into you.

But when Monday morning comes, you aren’t there. The bracelet he gave you - the one that was presented as an apology for an argument but actually contained a tracker so he can keep an eye on you - hasn’t moved. According to that tracker you’re still in your house, but it’s 8:40 on Monday morning and you are never late. You should be closing your front door behind you right now to walk to work, but there isn’t any trace of you in sight.

“Fuck this.” Jack slaps his thigh and stalks across the small courtyard to march up your step and - it’s probably a little more forceful than necessary - he starts beating on your door. “Come on, sugar! Open the door!”

There’s no answer. No movement from within at all. A peak through the garage door shows your car sitting there as usual so it’s not like you’ve decided to break your walking tradition and drive to work.

“Damnit.” Jack shakes his head and presses the button on his watch. “Ginger, unlock cabin 6.” He orders, worry starting to curl in his gut though your marks are still on his skin.

“Roger.” Ginger’s voice comes through his com loud and clear and the locks on your front door click open obediently to allow him entry.

His search is quick, getting more and more hurried as he rushes through the space until he’s convinced you’re not here. “Shit.” Jack hisses, sweeping his hat off his head in a panic. “Shit!”

“Agent Whiskey. Report.” Ginger had left the com open when she unlocked your house, knowing Jack would never want her to do something like that for anything less than an emergency.

“Where the fuck is she, Ginger?” There’s an undercurrent of panic in his voice and the bracelet firmly in his fist. “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

"Come into the office," she urges him, knowing that tone in his voice after years of working together. "I'll see if I can track her down in the couple of minutes it takes you to get here."

“Find her now, Ginger.” Jack flies out of the cabin and his boots thump on the walkway as he makes for Statesman at a dead sprint.

The door to the lab slams open with a violent rattle five minutes later but Ginger barely moves in her seat. The control panel in front of her gives her domain across the myriad of screens mounted on the wall, most of which are showing traffic cam footage, sidewalk security footage, or even in-building security footage of you over the last two days. A flight itinerary is pulled up in one corner and the far-left monitor shows a string of text messages. "She went to New York City," Ginger tells Jack, her hands flying across her keyboard. "It looks like she went to see her brother after your last fight."

“How did— you know about that?” Jack huffs, slightly deflated as he catches sight of the texts that you had sent your brother and winces at the stark harshness of his words written out. “Shit. Can you track her phone? Where is she now?”

"I tracked her phone to a hotel in Times Square." That fact makes Ginger cringe, but she glances up at Jack cautiously. "She didn't get on her flight last night and she didn't change her ticket, either. When I called the kitchen with the pretense of wanting to invite her to lunch today, her sous-chef said she hadn't heard from her either."

“Fuck.” Jack shakes his head, pointing at her as he starts rushing for the door. “Get Pony Express fueled up and on the tarmac when I get there!” He orders as he dashes out of the room. In his gut he knows something is very wrong.

Jack dashes out of Ginger’s office right before she gets another ping on your information - something more than cell phone records between your family members like she’s seen this morning. This is a missing person’s report, filed by your brother with NYPD just a minute or two ago. “Shit.” Ginger mutters, furiously clicking at her control panel to notify the hangar to have the Pony Express ready so she can call Champ immediately.

Jack has never run so fast in his life. Breathlessly changing into his flight suit and bolting for the fighter jet. He knows something’s wrong. You would never let your kitchen be kept in the dark, no matter how upset you were with him. No, this is dangerous and it’s all his fault.

******

There are some things television is very informative about: interior decorating, cooking, fashion, even nature or manufacturing. But in no way, shape, or form does it prepare the unsuspecting person for what kidnapping might really be like.

The men who approached you after you left your self-indulgent solo dinner had been overbearing and pushy, asking for your number and where you were going, trying to get you to go with them willingly to their next destination - a bar you had never heard of. When you had politely refused so many times that you had to go from polite to insistent, the one standing directly in back of you had pushed the muzzle of a gun into your back while the leader ordered you to do as you were told so you wouldn’t have your spinal cord severed. In terror, you had obeyed.

The duct tape, zip ties, and blindfold were not enough, apparently. You had been gagged and starved, left tied to a chair in a room you could only describe as drafty and damp, and generally ignored excepted to be threatened periodically or violently interrogated whenever one of them got frustrated. You’re fairly certain that you now know what waterboarding actually is, but you’re grateful they haven’t done worse. The thing is — what they want? Is Jack. And there is no way you’re going to give them that. Even as angry as you can be with each other, if you didn’t realize that you loved him before now, this would have proved it. Literally willing to die for his safety, you haven’t said one coherent word to these mongrels since they shoved you into the back of an SUV in Times Square.

“Come on sweetheart…” The slow, condescending roll of the words come from your left where a man of middle-aged years is watching you, leaning back in his chair as your head swivels towards him. “All you gotta do is make a phone call. One thirty second call. You can be as damsel in distress as you’d like.”

With a gag in your mouth, you shake your head once to signal ‘no’ and raise your head again, determined not to cry this time. You have no idea how long you’ve been with these degenerates, but it feels like days - and you’ve definitely cried a lot during that time. So much that you’re starting to finally feel numb.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” mutters someone on your other side. The voice sounds younger. Angrier. And familiar. “She’s fuckin’ useless.”

“No, she ain’t.” There is a low, evil chuckle from the other man. “You said she’s his soulmate.” He hums, pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t want to cooperate, we’ll start shippin’ pieces of her back to him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You blink back the fear, cut between the fear that that kind of stunt either wouldn’t work at all because Jack hates you so much, or that it would bring him straight into danger on Champ’s orders. Whoever that man is, he can’t know what Statesman really is - or is that exactly why they came for you? If you could fucking place his voice, that would be a huge goddamn help.

“Aw, look.” One of the other men snickers nastily. “Bitch is gonna cry again.”

There’s a round of chuckling, generally enjoying your fear and upset, “I bet it’s gonna eat him alive.” The older man snorts. “Buryin’ a second soulmate. Another one he couldn’t save.” There’s another round of amusement, harsh and cold. All of them in on a secret you don’t know.

“Go get some dinner.” The first man tells another. “I’m hungry. I’ll watch her, see if she’ll give in.”

There is a general sound of chairs scraping and boots on concrete, the sound of heels clicking so similar to the now-familiar sound of cowboy boots on the sidewalk. They keep you from responding with the gag, and the blindfold keeps their faces hidden, but they always want you to hear. It keeps you afraid, and fear is what they’re banking on. That fear will make you cave. What they don’t know is that your fear has more to do with not knowing whether or not Jack will even care that you’re gone.

“Has he fallen for you yet?” The question comes with a hint of irony in his voice. The need for information that would twist the knife deeper. “Or is he runnin’ from it to keep from gettin’ hurt?”

You can’t help that that brings a fresh set of tears. It seems to be the part of your body you have the least control over. Fucking tear ducts. But this guy’s seemingly endless need to talk and talk and make you as miserable as humanly possible has made you pay more attention to his voice over however long you’ve been here. Some of the others have slightly different accents - but this one is a cowboy.

“Mhm, running.” The deeply satisfied tone settles back slightly as he sits back in his chair and watches you, “just so you know it’s not personal.” He tells you conversationally. “I just want to see the poor bastard’s face as he holds another dead soulmate.”

Without this fucking gag in your mouth, you might have said something that would give you away. That would hurt Jack somehow or prove that you actually are useless to them. They don’t know that you’ve fallen for him despite your very best efforts, and they don’t know that he despises you simply for existing. He’s not running from anything – but you’re not Abigail, so you’re an insult to her memory.

“Oh hell, I’ll tell you since you aren’t leavin’ this room.” Alive is left off the end of the sentence, but the threat is clearly there. “I was the one who arranged for good ol’ Jack Daniels to lose his first soulmate. Her and the kid she was carryin’. Cherry on top of you ask me.”

Your eyes open wide against the blindfold, head snapping in the direction of the voice as he chuckles. The evil bastard is so goddamn pleased with himself. You could scream if you had breath, but the best you can do is fight against bindings that will never break.

“Bastard never even knew it, either. Dumb son of a bitch.” He huffs. “Bought the story of it being meth heads, robbing the store. Can you believe that? But it allowed me to attend the funeral. Watch his grief firsthand.”

Why? Is all you can wonder, as your mind races to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have done to warrant such a vast conspiracy before he was ever even a spy. Diana said Jack hadn’t joined Statesman until after his wife and son had died, so why the hell would anyone want to ruin his life when he was just a normal man?

“Jack Daniels is gonna fuckin’ pay,” the chair scrapes back and the sound of boots slowly comes towards you, ominous in how measured the steps are. “Maybe I’ll stage it for him. Write a note sayin’ how you couldn’t take being his soulmate.” He chuckles and his hand caresses the side of your face. “Pretty neck of yours will look good stretched out on a rope for him to find.”

You grunt, jerking your face away from his touch and wishing you could just scream at him. The muffled noises of frustration that do make it past your lips seem only to amuse him and you twist in your chair in a vain desire to lash out.

“Oh don’t be that way…” he tuts and bends down, smirking directly in your face even though you can’t see it. “You’d even be my type if you weren’t tied to that bastard. Maybe we could have some fun before your usefulness is done.”

That’s a line too far, and you instinctively start screaming, not like you’re trying to call for help but like you would call him every horrible name in the book if you could speak. There’s no way you can move but you take a chance, even knowing it’s a long shot. Reeling back as quickly as possible, you hit your head forward and manage to connect – head butting the bastard and making him stumble and fall backward into some nearby furniture, from the sound of it. Bastard.

“Bitch!” he growls, rushing forward and raising his hand. Bringing it down against the side of your face and slapping you hard enough to nearly knock your chair over. “Fuck with me and I start chopping you into pieces now!” He bellows.

Muffled and muted, the "Fuck you!" you scream as loud as you can is just clear enough to understand. You've gone from terrified to pissed, and it feels like a light switch has turned on inside you. These fuckers aren't getting shit from you. Not even another tear.

******

Honestly, Jack doesn’t remember a time when he’s pushed the Pony Express so hard. Finally setting down on the runway, he ignores the curious and awed looks of the grounds crews of the airport and starts looking around. “Where are my wheels, Ginger?”

"Rye is in the black SUV on the edge of the runway." Ginger fires back immediately. Champ had authorized the rescue mission immediately and sent one of the senior agents from the New York office to be at Jack's disposal.

“Goddamnit this is all my fault,” Jack spots the car and starts running, not bothering to change out of his flight suit. “She should be in her kitchen!”

"I've combed the security footage from Times Square." In his ear, Ginger is clicking through countless screens with images of you from all angles - a large number of them featuring a group of seven men and a large SUV that you appear to get into willingly. "She got into a slate gray SUV with a group of seven men on West 51st between 8th and Broadway."

“Who the fuck are they?” Jack demands, ripping the door open and jumping inside the car. He spares Rye a nod as he waits for his answer. “And did you track the SUV?”

“I’m working on the car. It drops off the traffic cameras after the Williamsburg Bridge.” A few clicks can be heard in the background and Ginger hums. “I have records on four of the seven men. Domestic, drug charges, firearms, breaking and entering, the usual gamut of ‘goon’ crimes. But…” she muffles a groaning sound. “Jack. Some of these guys are from your hometown…”

“What?” Jack slams his fist on the dashboard, sick that his suspicions are right. This is all his fault. “Give me their names.”

"Hank Rollins, Ben Jeffrey, Andrew Kelly, and Sean Perring. All from Lloyd, Montana." Ginger bites her lip, sighing at her screen. "On the sidewalk footage she appears to be going with them willingly, but from your reaction I'm guessing that isn't the case."

“Rollins.” Jack growls out, pissed off to hear the name after so long, thinking that he’d escaped the fucking family feud unscathed. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Hoped to never hear it again.”

“They’ve had her for nineteen hours now.” Ginger swallows, not liking how high that number is. “And we haven’t had a ransom note or a phone call of any kind.”

“Shit.” Jack shakes his head. “Take me to where she was taken. Now.”

Rye doesn’t hesitate, throwing the car into gear and heading for the road at a full tilt. Getting close to Broadway at any time of day is a task, but if they have to, he can pull any number of public safety tricks to be able to block off part of the area. Being a Statesman agent in New York City means having a few tricks up his sleeve. “What can we be expecting?” He asks Jack, wondering if the other agent might have an idea now that he knows some of what is going on.

“Anything.” Jack’s teeth grind together. “This is personal. A family feud over land disputes dating back to the fuckin’ 1800s.” Jack hisses, shaking his head. “I left the goddamn valley for a reason.”

“They grabbed her over a two-hundred-year-old land dispute?” Nothing should surprise him at this point, with what he’s seen as a Statesman agent, but Rye still huffs. “What the hell do they want you to do? Time travel?” It’s the absence of a ransom demand that makes him nervous. They took an agent’s soulmate and it’s not money they’re after.

“When my daddy died, I put the land in the hands of the ranch board.” Jack tells him. “I didn’t wanna fucking ranch, not after Abigail died. Rollins wants me to sell to him, but I can’t. It has to be passed down to blood.”

"So what's the idea?" Speeding through the streets as fast as possible without causing an accident, Rye keeps his eyes on the road but frowns. "Make sure she's out of the picture so there's no blood to pass it down to?"

“Did I mention that the entire Rollins family is as crazy as a fuckin’ loon?” Jack huffs, shaking his head and even more worried about you now that he knows that bastard is behind your disappearance. “Who the hell knows? Tried to claim I’d stolen his soulmate at one point.”

“Jesus.” The other agent huffs, continuing to weave their way through the thick New York traffic. “It’s up to you how you want to approach this,” he tells Jack honestly. “She’s your soulmate.”

“She doesn’t get hurt.” His answer is immediate, almost growled out. “Not a fuckin’ hair on her head.”

“Copy that.” His tone says everything, and Rye doesn’t ask any more questions. “We’ll get her back.”

Finally, the SUV comes to a screeching stop at the spot where you were forced into a vehicle. Jack throws open the doors and bolts out, eyes scanning the ground for something – anything. It's a long shot, but there's got to be something here that would show that you were here. Some marker. Anything.

Any street in New York City has trash and debris to a certain extent, and there are traces of people having been through the area just because of how much car and foot traffic moves through Broadway every single day. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, tissues, all the normal bits of peoples' lives that go by the wayside are littered about on steps and in sidewalk cracks. Candy wrappers or coffee cups by the curb. Rye combs the area for specialized clues – a name on a cup or a wrapper from a list of the favourite snacks listed in your file, but frustratingly finds nothing.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something here!” Jack huffs, kicking a trash can and there is the tiny clink of something metal being launched against it. “Fuck, what’s this?”

Rye bends over, swiping up the item as it glints in the sun. "Looks like a bracelet." He inspects it carefully, not finding a serial number or any indication of a designer, except for a small engraving in the tip that looks like a maker's mark. "Maybe Ginger can track down the manufacturer? It's a long shot that it will help, but it's something."

“It’s hers.” Jack stares at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet. “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” He reads aloud. “She—she showed me this. It’s a quote her grandmother would tell her.” His mouth is dry and he takes it from Rye to put in his pocket, determined to put it back on your wrist himself. “Let’s hope she can hang on. Just hold on, sugar. I’m comin’.”

"Whiskey. Rye." Ginger's voice in their ears makes both men's heads perk up, listening for a report from their eyes and ears. "The car registration belongs to a shell corporation owned by the Rollins family. They also own a shipping company with containers in the Brooklyn Navy Yard." She clears her throat pointedly. "Right off of the Williamsburg Bridge where we lost the car."

“Get us there now.” Jack points at Rye and starts running back to the Statesman SUV like his heels are being nipped by the hounds of hell. “Ginger, I need you to get me the specs of that building.”

"Sending them now." Her voice is accompanied by the sound of keyboard clacking as Rye and Whiskey jump back into the car, peeling back out onto Broadway to head toward Williamsburg. The heavy traffic doesn't part for them easily but Rye was chosen for this assignment specifically for his abilities as a driver.

“Ginger, is there any indication on how they know that I have another soulmate?” Jack demands, tensing the closer that he gets with every mile to the shipyard. He knows he will kill them; he’ll kill every last one of them to protect you. “They don’t seem to know I’m a fuckin’ spy.”

"I'm working on it." It isn't something that has been advertised, obviously, and Jack has kept his marks from you hidden since they first appeared on his skin. There are few people who know, most of whom have priority clearance. She's gone through all the background checks on the new Statesman employees and the places you frequent, all the men you've dated, even all the way back through the staff at The Whitney months ago who might have seen your marks on your first soulmate before the accident. Not a single red flag had risen, but Ginger hesitates for just a split second as she tries to think through more connections. There was one - just one – the newest line cook for The Rabbit Hole that makes her hesitate. "Have you ever heard her mention a man named Tripp Tanner?" Ginger asks, pulling up the file on the man once more. It's too pristine. Too squeaky clean. Too pitch-perfect. Like it's been manufactured.

Jack is ashamed to say that you’ve not been doin’ a whole lot of talkin’ around him. It’s not like he’s really encouraged close conversations. Keeping things as surface level as he could to not make it more difficult. Even though every day he aches and he hates that he aches. “No.” Though he recognizes the name, he can’t place it. “She hasn’t mentioned him. Why? Is he one of the ones she’s been…uh, seein’?” His ears burn slightly, noticing the way Rye’s eyes cut from the road to look over at him but he tries to ignore it.

"No, he—" Ginger hates that it makes her stammer, feeling like your dating is partially her fault because it started with her brother. "He's on her staff. The background check is clean and his resume is spotless. But it's too clean, so it's the best lead I have. I'm running him through Statesman facial recognition now." The Statesman database is far more complex and complete than any government or criminal database. If her gut feeling is right, it might kick up a result.

“Send me a picture of the boy.” Jack grunts, having already looked at the blueprints of the building where you might be. It’s better than you being in a random shipping container. They might never find you if that’s the case.

"His employee ID photo is coming through now." More taps come from Ginger's end of the conversation before a muffled shriek of dismay. "Shit. Jack— Tanner is from Lloyd, too. He changed his name from Rollins two years ago. Stephen Stuart Rollins the third - nickname Tripp - has a rap sheet a mile long."

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, his grip on the dashboard nearly about to put an indentation in it. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t been avoidin’ her, I woulda recognized the bastard.”

"We'll fix it on this end, Jack." She promises him. "Just go bring her home."

“She hates me.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I was— I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you after you save her life.” Ginger sighs, watching the dot on her on-screen map that represents her two agents speed toward the warehouse where she’s figured out you’re being held. “Stop these assholes first, apologize second. She— she thinks you hate her. That’s what she told Gabriella, anyway.”

“I don’t hate her.” Jack grumbles, feeling guilty as hell because he knows that’s what it looked like.

“I would suggest telling her that.” Even though Ginger’s voice goes soft, she’s following their movements and watching the Navy Yard security cameras. “There’s movement at the building. I don’t see her, but I’m counting…six men outside the building.”

“Good.” Jack’s voice is grim and his brows are knitted together. “Every single one of them is going in the ground, Ging. This feud ends today.”

******

There is a group of men milling about around a large brick building with the number 31 painted above the bay doors. Cars parked haphazardly nearby with doors flung open present as frustratingly casual, but the large, dark gray van from the sidewalk cam footage is nowhere in sight.

“So what are we doin’ here, Whiskey?” Rye demands, slowing the vehicle down so it doesn’t look like they are barreling into the place. “Are we run in guns blazing or using some stealth?”

Every instinct inside him is screaming to run in guns blazing, but he can’t risk another man inside hurting you. “Shit.” He hisses. “Turn down the service road and park the fucking car.” He grunts. “We’re sneakin’ up on the bastards.”

The service road runs behind the old abattoir buildings and Rye tucks the car out of sight so he and Whiskey can arm themselves out of the trunk before coming up on the group of abductors. “Three doors on the blueprint.” Rye murmurs, tucking a Bowie knife into the sheath on his belt. “Those buildings are big, we gotta be methodical.”

Jack finally shucks the flight suit, changing into his standard jeans and a button up with a sports coat. His double six shooters tucked into their holsters and his electric whip and lasso tucked into his belt. “They are going to keep her somewhere small, like an office. Probably have her tied to a chair, the bastards.”

“I’m followin’ your lead.” Tucking a few throwing knives into the hidden pockets of his jacket for good measure, Rye nods for Jack to step out first. This is his operation and Rye will do what he needs to keep him covered.

He moves silently, deciding that he will pull his weapons later to get as close as possible without seeming suspicious. Crouching low enough that his knees protest, Jack skirts the edge of the loading docks and edges towards the northeast door. The one farthest away from the group out front.

There is no guard at the northeast door. The bastards obviously are either overconfident or underprepared, and Rye picks the padlock in record time to let Jack get inside with minimal noise. No alarm sounds, no person is alerted. It looks to be a storage room, and the two men pass through it easily to find a claustrophobic hallway waiting for them beyond the interior door.

There’s a muffled sound, Jack tensing and hisses under his breath when he recognizes the sound of screaming through a gag. “Fuck.” He murmurs, imagining all sorts of horrible things. “That way.”

The room where the noises are coming from is non-descript now, empty except for some card tables and chairs, and the remains of a meal spread out with some discarded firearms and a bag of who-knows-what open on the ground. Two large men are hunched in the center of the room. Deep, rumbling laughter rolls from them and cigarette smoke is pungent in the air as the muffled shrieks get slightly more panicked. Still blindfolded and gagged, the front legs of the chair that you've been zip-tied to almost constantly your arrival in this place have been broken, leaving you kneeling on the cement floor between the two of them. One who has decided to turn your shoulder into his ashtray, and the other who is deciding which fingernail to pull off with the pliers in his hand. Presumably to send to Jack.

“Shit, shit.” Jack hisses under his breath, the urge to rush in there nearly overwhelming but he doesn’t want to give them a chance to anticipate. Stealth is needed and he slowly starts to pull his pistols out but decides against it. He wants this to be more personal, so he reaches for the whip and lasso.

“I know, I know.” Rollins drawls, holding onto your left hand to inspect your fingernails. “Jack likes his girls done up, so not being able to have all your nails painted is gonna disappoint him.” He tuts, finally deciding that your pointer finger mail is long enough to get a good grip on with the pliers. You’re screaming and crying again after a few hours of putting on a brave face and he’s enjoying it. “If ya like I could just cut off the whole finger? That might be more fun for everybody.”

“More fun if you get the fuck away from her and face me like a man, Rollins.” Jack bursts through the door and squares up, his eyes not even looking at you as he focuses on the man responsible. “Always knew you were a chickenshit, but this is low even for you.”

Jack? You would know his voice anywhere, even as often as you’re at odds you’ve still memorized the tone and tenor. He came. He actually came. As fast as your heart was beating before, the pace doubles now and the tears soaking your blindfold are relief. He came for you. It might not say ‘love’, but it doesn’t say ‘hate’.

The deep, rolling, evil laugh that bubbles out of the man beside you is so pleased that it makes you physically ill just to hear. Rollins, as Jack calls him, drops your hand but stomps on the back leg of the chair you’re tied to for good measure - breaking it and sending you crashing to the ground with another scream. There is no way you can see what’s going to happen with the blindfold, but at least the two men have lost interest in torturing you for the moment.

“Daniels.” The game is up and if Rollins is surprised that Jack has found out that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Too deep into his madness and he sneers at the man in front of him. “You came with a whip?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Always knew you were a fucking idiot.”

The man who had been standing in the other side of you drops his cigarette beside you - probably hoping to burn your clothes in the process - and squares his shoulders like he’s planning to make a run at Jack but isn’t sure he’ll win.

“I’m begging you too.” Jack growls out, wanting nothing more than to have them strike first. Give him a reason to cut them into pieces with his tech. Rye moves past the door behind him, intent on taking out the others while he saves you. “Do it.”

“Begging.” Rollins laughs again, taking a step forward. “Tripp, don’t fuckin’ move. Keep a gun on the bitch until I say otherwise.” The sound of the safety of a gun clicking is now intimately familiar to you and you squirm on the ground, trying to push your chair away from it even a little, but a pressure on your ribcage stops you. It’s unmistakably a foot. And you’ve only heard the name Tripp once in your entire life - meaning the jackass you hired to your kitchen to bolster numbers now has his goddamn boot in your side. You knew you recognized that fucking voice.

“It’ll be the last fucking thing you do, Tripp.” Jack hisses, keeping his eyes on the older, more unhinged brother. “Finally gone off the deep end, huh? What’s this all about?” He doesn’t know why the Rollins boys are after you to get to him. Doesn’t understand it. He’s not run the ranch since he was in high school.

"You're a hard man to get through to, Daniels." Hank tells him, smug smirk still painted across his crooked face. "Last time I had to talk real loud to make you listen. Figured I'd have to do it again."

His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what he means by that. “Well, I’m here now. Whadya gotta say?”

"Y'all got something I want." And even after fifteen years, he hasn't figured out a way other than this to get it. Something that isn't criminal. "Now, the last time I made myself heard, you went off and skipped town with your tail between your legs like a spurned schoolgirl on prom night." Hank Rollins takes out his own gun, the pistol pointed directly at your head when he stretches out his arm. "But I'm sick and tired of a whole world that thinks the sun shines outta Jack Daniels' ass crack."

Jack’s entire world narrows and focuses on his words, taking them and twisting them in his mind. “The last time…” He growls. “My wife died in a fuckin’ robbery.” He hisses, fingers twitching on the whip and hovering over the button that would turn it deadly.

The way Hank Rollins laughs - the wicked, pleased, loathsome way he chortles at Jack's pain - almost makes you physically sick. "I love that you bought that," he gloats, taking another step toward the senior Statesman agent, ignoring his backup altogether if he's even taken a long enough look to see Rye in the room. "Hook. Line. And sinker. Goddamn beautiful."

“What did you do, you bastard?” His knuckles are practically white and he curls his lips back in disgust. “A pregnant woman? Why? What evil did I do to you?”

"You took what was mine." His free hand moves to his sleeve even as Jack watches him more carefully than a hawk. When Rollins rolls up his shirt sleeve, there is a scar there that is burned into Jack's memory as clear as day - Abigail was bitten by the neighbor's dog as a little girl and wore the scar for her entire life. "You brainwashed her against me. And you paraded my soulmate around town like your fucking prize, Daniels. That boy should've been mine, too."

“I wore her marks.” Jack hisses. “Every goddamn one of them and you know it! They would be gone if she was your soulmate.” He always thought Hank was insane, and this just proves it. The marks would have disappeared. They wouldn’t be there, just like they disappeared from Jack when she died. “But you mean to tell me that you murdered her because I had her and you wanted her?”

"I saved her!" Rollins snaps back, waving his gun in your direction as the rage builds in him. "The wife of some city-slicker pretty boy without the sense to keep a single fuckin' eye on the most important woman in the world. She would have been miserable bearing your heathen children and picking up the pieces of everything you ever broke."

Jack scoffs, knowing it won’t make any use to point out that he grew up in the same small damn valley Hank did. That they both worked and lived on ranches. The Daniels spread was more lucrative thanks to his Grandaddy being a smart man and the Rollins have always been a little unhinged. Hank and his younger brother being the worst of them all. “Point the gun at me, not her.” As devastating as it is to hear him talk about Abigail that way, you are the one in danger right now. His heart bursting with the need to see you safe.

"Now, c'mon." Rollins drawls, throwing his brother a smirk from a few feet away. "Don't start pretendin' you like her now. She already knows why you can't look her in the eye. Lyin' piece of shit."

Jack wishes he could see your eyes, but they are covered. All he can hear is the panicked breathing and sobs from your poor body. “Your issue is with me. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

"Cryin' over a man who can't ever love her." Tutting as he shakes his head, Rollins moves his gun temporarily from pointing at your head to Jack, but goes back again. He's having too much fun watching the man he despises twist. "You been treatin' this one even worse than my Abigail."

It’s in his chest to scream out that Abigail was his, but she’s dead and you’re here, alive and depending on him. His heart clenches and he rocks his jaw. “If you know how I’ve been treatin’ her, why take her? Why not let her go? I’m here now. You’ve got my attention.”

“You want me to let her go?” Hank Rollins scoffs to his brother and seems to weigh his options. As far as he’s concerned there’s no reason this can’t be as much fun as he likes. “I could see my way to lettin’ that happen,” he concedes with another contemptuous chuckle. “You got two options, Daniels. One is I shoot her in the head right now and you walk free knowin’ you’re the reason two innocent women are dead. But two? Two is you take her place. Right here and now. I’ll let her walk right out on outta here. Yer friend there can even get her home safe. Either way, yer signing over that ranch land and the whole business operatin’ on it over to me first.”

“Done.” The word is out of his mouth so fast he’s not even sure if he actually said them out loud. Maybe he just thought it. But then Rollins’ face cracks into a wide grin and he looks like he’s struck gold. “Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

It may not be discernable words, but the hoarse screams coming from you now are crystal clear - pleading with him not to take your place. As much as this is the very last circumstance you would ever want to be in, as much as you cannot fathom how this absolute basket case Rollins thinks his 'plan' could ever succeed, Jack is worth far more to the world at large – and to you. So if either one of you is walking out of here, it should be him. Thrashing as much as your binding will allow, trying to toss off the foot of the man standing on you or else wiggle away from the pressure, probably a move that will end in broken bones, but you couldn't care less. Just as long as Jack stays far away from this chair.

“Let her go.” That’s all that matters to Jack right now. Getting you far away, keeping you safe. “Now.” Hank huffs and rolls his eyes, pointing the weapon at your head once more for the sheer pleasure of watching Jack’s face drain of all life. “Fine.” He grumbles, motioning to Tripp. “Get her up and hand her over to whatever city boy he has with him.” He doesn’t get to watch you die, which is disappointing, but he gets Jack Daniels and the land his family stole. It might even be better this way.

Tripp grumbles, on the verge of protesting, but he does as he's told...mostly. All he really does is kick you - still attached to the chair - over to the man a few feet away. Rye immediately drops to his knees, murmuring to you quietly who he is and that he's going to untie you, Bowie knife out of its sheath and slicing away at the ties and tape that bind you to the chair that has been your prison for the last God only knows how many hours. As soon as your ankles are free you kick your legs, trusting that this other Statesman agent is here to help but wanting desperately to get to Jack to stop him from giving your literal kidnapper what he wants. As soon as your wrists are free you shove the blindfold off your eyes and drag the gag out of your mouth, shrinking away from the light in the same breath that you scream for Jack not to give in with everything you have left in you. Which, after countless hours screaming, crying, and very nearly choking on a ball of knotted cloth, is hoarse at best.

Finally looking over at you, Jack is furious by how swollen your eyes are, how raw your voice is. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Knowing it would give Hank a thrill to know how much he pissed Jack off. “Get out of here, sugar.” There’s a lot that Jack wants to say, but there’s no time. He needs you away from this room. “You’ve got a restaurant to open, remember? Go with Rye.”

Like the nail in the top of the coffin, you reel back at being ordered away. Not a moment of gentleness or sensitivity after being fucking kidnapped by the man who is still as obsessed with his wife as Jack is. After being convinced he wouldn't come for you only to feel such soaring hope at hearing his voice, the desolation of realizing that he only came because you're a complication and that he never felt any kind of tenderness or care for you at all. It's almost reassuring, in a way. To know that you at least had the right level of expectation in the beginning is something, at least.

It isn't hard to bundle you up into his arms when you deflate, but Rye doesn't say anything about it. Only tucks you against him and helps you shuffle toward the door on weak legs. "Come on, darlin'," he murmurs, glancing back at Jack. "We'll get you fixed up right. Let Jack handle it from here."

"Sure." Even one word makes you cough, but you don't put up a fight or try to get back to him. To your fucking soulmate. After all - you have a restaurant to open. God forbid you get behind on your commitment to Statesman for any reason.

He wants to call you back, to talk to you. His heart aching with every step you take away from him, but it’s safer. He sees the glint in Hank’s eyes, he knows he’s looking for another reason to strike out. Possibly waiting until Jack talks to you to shoot you. He can’t risk that. He can’t risk you. No matter what, his soulmate – you – needs to survive.

After about four steps, Rye stops your shuffling and scoops you up, not wanting you to walk on any injuries or aggravate anything. He nods to Jack and carries you out the back door, planning on bundling you into the backseat of the SUV and then taking out the stragglers out in front of the abattoir. But you need to be safe, first.

It feels like you’ve cried every tear in your body, and this bitter disappointment is met with stony silence and efficiency of movement. It doesn’t take long to get you out of there but Rye does it carefully, promising you in low tones that everything is going to be okay from here. That you’re safe. That Jack’s going to take care of you. The last part just makes you feel hollow as you nod.

“Now you stay right here,” Rye croons, buckling you into the backseat and tapping a few times on his watch. “Ginger, I need your eyes in the car. Our girl is safe but I gotta take care of somethin’ before we clear out of here.”

“Copy.” Ginger acknowledges the request and as soon as Rye closes the doors, the entire vehicle locks and a red light above the rear-view mirror flashes on. The built-in screens in the headrests come on and you can barely see Ginger’s concerned face. “Honey, I need you to listen to me.” She urges. “It’s Astrid. The Statesman cars come equip with medical facilities for injuries. I’m going to scan you now.”

Talking hurts, with how hoarse you are, but you nod at Astrid’s face on screen and only shrink away from the bright lights - What are those? Lasers? - for a second before you remember she has never done anything to hurt you. “Everything hurts.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s there.

“I know, I’m going to make sure that you feel better, okay?” Sorrow and rage fill the Statesman tech as the images comes back to her. Multiple contusions, burns - obviously from cigarettes - two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. All of them evidence of the horrific torture you endured at the hands of those madmen. “I can have a shot administered.” She tells you through the screen, trying not to show her emotions. “Just a tiny prick and then you will feel so much better. Can I do that?” It’s important right now for you to feel like you have control. That nothing is being done to you anymore and she wants you to be comfortable.

“Sure.” You murmur, hoping it’s something like morphine or stronger so you don’t have to think or feel anything. “A-Astrid?” Right before whatever happens happens, you look up to find her eyes watching you on screen. “How…how long have I been gone? Does my family know?”

Pausing for a moment, Ginger nods. “Your brother filed a police report, this morning. After Jack went to your house when you didn’t leave for work this morning—”

“Jack came to my house?” You practically whisper it, but Ginger hears you loud and clear. “He did. You’d been missing for seventeen hours when Jack jumped into the jet to come to New York.” She confirms softly.

“Will you just…let them know I’m okay?” Whatever lie Statesman tells people, you’ll go with it. It’s just that right now you can’t wrap your head around the idea of Jack giving two shits about you enough to check on you at home - let alone rescue you. It’s too much.

“As soon as I get you feeling better, I will have the local police contact them to tell them that you are safe.” She promises, knowing that you wouldn’t want them to worry. “We’re going to bring you back to Statesman to put you in our hyperbaric healing station. Six hours in it and you will be completely healed.”

“Okay.” As long as they tell your family you’re okay, you could care less what else happens. Everything hurts, there are no more tears to cry, and it’s possible that you feel even more hopeless about Jack ever sparing you a second glance ever again. Soulmates. Fucking laughable. Whoever Abigail was, she was clearly more important and more wonderful to multiple people than you’ll ever be. “Astrid?” When you look up again she’s still watching you intentely. “Can…can you get rid of my tattoo while I’m in there?”

“Are you sure you want that?” She asks quietly, her eyes searching your face through the screen to try to get an inkling of what you are thinking. “You don’t have to make any big decisions now.”

“The scars, too. You said you could erase scars.” Let him be free. Is all you can think. Obviously nobody was exaggerating about the danger you were in, but it’s more than that. It’s how, when Jack barely spared you a single glance, it hurt more than anything the Rollins brothers ever could have dreamt up.

The silence lingers in the air, suspended between the two of you for a long moment. Ginger sighs softly. “Of course.” She murmurs, hating how broken you appear. “We will get rid of them all.”

Gunshots, unmistakable now that you’ve heard them up close and personal, ring out from multiple directions and you sink down in the back of the car you know for a fact is bulletproof - all Statesman vehicles are - out of instinct. “And Astrid?” You watch the automated needle release from the door handle of the SUV and make sure your arm is in line for the injection. “Remind me to fire Tripp.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Ginger promises you softly. On another screen in her lab, she can see the feeds from both Rye and Jack, and the justice that is being delivered is swift and brutal. They messed with a Statesman’s soulmate, and Jack grunts in pleasure as he retracts the whip on the left screen, pieces of Hank and Tripp Rollins scattered around the room.

A clean up team will be deployed from the New York Statesman building to scrub the site. Body removal is a necessary evil of the job and Statesman has some of the best. By the time footsteps can be heard running back toward you in the car, Ginger’s injection is starting to take hold and you’re finally feeling drowsy. Adrenaline and fear have had you on high alert since you were taken, but having Astrid’s face and voice to reassure you is soothing.

Shouting your name, Jack rushes towards the SUV. The only thing in his mind has been to get to you. To make sure you are okay. He knows Rye will be alright and he needs to see you. He manages to get to the rear door before Ginger deactivates the locks and security, yanking on the handle. “Let me in! Let me in!” He yells frantically.

“She’s out, Jack.” Ginger’s voice in his earpiece comes with a sigh as she deactivates the locks and lets him into the car. “She’s hurt pretty badly so I gave her a sedative. When you get back to Statesman, get her in a medical chopper and bring her to my lab asap.”

“Oh my god.” Jack rips open the door and climbs into the back seat, finding you slumped against the other door. “What— what did they do to her?” He demands, panicked because he’s never seen you like this. Angry at himself that he let this happen. Gathering you against him, he runs his hands over your body as he pulls you into his lap.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” she promises him, not wanting to give him the full rundown of your injuries when he’s still visibly upset enough to lash out. “She’ll be okay, Jack. But I don’t want her to go into shock or accidentally aggravate an injury, and she said she was in pain. That’s why I needed to medicate her.”

“Tell me what they did to her, Ginger Ale.” Jack demands again, turning towards the screen even as he is cradling you and stroking your face.

Ginger sighs, softly again, and looks down at her diagnostic pad. Avoiding Jack’s eyes while she reads this off will probably be better. “Two broken ribs, fractured ankle, superficial burns clearly from cigarettes. Bruising, contusions, and internal injuries consistent with being beaten, waterboarded, and kicked multiple times.”

“Motherfuckers.” Jack hisses, tightening his grip on you to where you whimper in your unconscious state. Immediately relaxing his hold on you and petting your face to soothe both of you. “I should have made it take more time. I should have beat him to death with my fists.” He growls. “I’m gonna burn their fucking legacy to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

“Jack.” This time Ginger’s tone is a warning. It’s not frequently that she hears this kind of rage from him – usually only in relation to his late wife. “She’ll be okay,” she repeats. “But she’s going to need support. Mentally. Emotionally.”

“It’s my fault, Ginger!” He hisses, his own emotions beyond rage finally surfacing from the compact box he had shoved them in to be the agent he needed to be in order for both of you to get out of that building alive. “She would have been at home— it’s my fault. She asked…she asked me about my birthday and I lashed out at her.” He chokes back a sob and looks down at your face. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Then you’ll apologize. And you’ll make sure it never happens again.” Jack isn’t a man who breaks down unless the stress is truly unbearable, and as his friend Ginger has seen only a bare handful of these moments. “She wants me to remove her marks when she gets here,” she tells him carefully. “Just so you know.”

Jack closes his eyes, absorbing the meaning behind it. “She wants to be rid of me.” He whispers, knowing it’s his fault when he had pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. I should have been keepin’ you close. Keepin’ you safe.”

“You can talk to her when she’s awake,” Ginger murmurs, watching Rye finish with the last of the goons on the video feed from his glasses. “I’m deploying Delta Team to sweep up. You and Rye get back to the New York building and you get her in a chopper first thing. If she wakes up before you get back, you can talk then. If not?” Ginger watches Rye running back to the SUV, so much more composed than Jack for having no personal stake in this mission. “If not, then it might be tomorrow morning. After she’s done at the lab.”

He’s not happy, but he nods. Holding you and refusing to let you out of his arms as Rye comes climbing back into the SUV. “Where’s the chopper, Ginger?” Jack demands, knowing he needs to get you home and mended.

“There’s a helipad on the other side of the Navy Yard. Five minutes from where you are. I can have them meet you there.”

“Copy that, Ginger.” Rye takes the suggestion as absolute, seeing the condition you’re in, and the car comes roaring to life a second later.

“Goddamnit, sugar.” Jack huffs, his hand smoothing over your hair as he tries to look past the damage inflicted on you to see the woman who had intrigued him from the start. “You gotta hang on. You gotta get better.” He murmurs. “I gotta lotta grovelin’ to do when you’re up for it.”

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My Masterlist!

[wallbeatjournal]

If they'd have chosen to just be straight up about it, when in the canon timeline do you think is the most likely place narratively for hirarchie to have gone sexual?

i've said before i think season 2 is already a grooming narrative with a subtextual consummation, but if i'm actually script-doctoring what we've got across the whole series to have hirarchie fuck nasty as a shocking and trashy and high-aesthetic plot development, i'm going to argue that it's more satisfying if we don't have an explicit archie cheating plot at this stage in the story. it works better as an emotional affair. (saying this bc to the characters i think it would be first and foremost about the complication of cheating, not bc that's the biggest problem with hiram/archie.)

imo riverdale should have done it as a mid-seasons escalation in season four. give us a season or two to really sit with how unhinged and obsessed hiram is about archie and then decode it in the worst and most extreme bad taste like the second archie turns 18.

putting my season 4 hirarchie proposal below the cut since it got quite long:

the s4 dodger plot is...extremely uneven and feels a bit cobbled-together on the fly by a writing team grappling with the death of luke perry and the in-universe death of fred andrews, and whether it would be respectful to keep being super weird about hiram in the wake of all that. but there are still useful components in the dodger arc - archie is the oliver twist in the oliver twist riff happening*, a boy "orphaned" without reliably engaged, aware parents who was groomed into criminality and doesn't see a way out without a wealthy benefactor. lean into that!

it can happen as hiram starts working out at archie's gym, mysteriously ill in a dickensian sort of way. riverdale's favorite weird incestuous overtones come into play especially hard if we're considering season four hirarchie, when it can really only be largely about fred for archie and holding on to/deepening a relationship with the sometimes-father-figure he has left. archie has been trying so hard to be a good brick in this monument of fred's legacy but it feels impossible because the only tools that come naturally are violence and sexuality and appealing to benefactors, so why not get a little nihilistic-horny with it.

he's also frankly already being a pretty bad boyfriend to veronica this season, it's stale, they're bickering, they don't have emotional intimacy the way he used to have emotional intimacy with hiram during what he probably still unfortunately remembers as their best days......i just don't think he'd be guilt-ridden about fuck-nastying veronica's dad at this point the way he would have been in season 2 when fred's cheating was the big looming legacy beat to avert and goodboyism seemed like an achievable and real thing archie could prove to others.

this is also i think when indulging in fuck-nasty hirarchie would be least damaging/difficult an option for hiram - he's ill and wants to feel vital again, he's ill and he wants archie to remember and honor him when he's gone the way he remembers and lionizes fred (he knows this isn't possible and that makes him resentful and apt to grasp at another form of intimacy that wasn't available to fred). he's feeling aggression towards his daughter, who is leaving him (by going to college) as much as he might be leaving her (by dying of a mysterious illness). it's a big complicated sick emotional motivations stew and both archie and hiram are looking at getting left behind to cook in it while the rest of the core four move forward in life.

and it would be hot. archie and hiram in the gym "personal training" (gone sexual) with weird grief-hate-reconciliation-validation sex would be hot. archie and hiram doing vigilante violence and then making out in sketchy alleys would be hot. are you kidding me?

all of this would make archie even weirder about hiram's illness and tenser in discussions with veronica about what to do about hiram's illness, and i do think barcheating would still happen - it's escapism/avoidance from what's going on within varchie, it's escapism/avoidance from what's going on within hirarchie, and archie is primed to be impulsive. so we still get barcheating fallout but MORE.

does veronica find out archie hooked up with her dad when they all thought her dad was dying? maybe! maybe she feels more sorrow and guilt (irrationally, about being the conduit bringing hiram into archie's life in the first place) than personal betrayal. or maybe she does feel very betrayed and that's an additional factor in everything (especially archie choosing to run away to the military. sorry everyone i know i've disappointed you all deeply and am very fucked up. instead of talking it out i will simply Leave).

all of this fuck-nastyism of course would make hiram's reaction to the barcheating that much more intense and outsized. veronica was feeling her relationship with archie wane already but hiram was IN IT. he's getting well, he's fighting again, he's offered archie a job, archie is about to be his main special interest while veronica and hermione drift and archie would CHEAT on him?? he's only supposed to be cheating WITH him!!!!

and then we segue into season 5 post-timejump when the riveradults are all kind of weird with each other but moving through it, and hiram has been behaving like a jilted ex throwing a temper tantrum for 7 years. and he will certainly continue.

*i think everyone notices but the dickinson crew is mostly named in reference to the gang of thieves who adopts and trains oliver - the artful dodger, fagan, bill. intertextuality, yippee!

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 08

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Eight: shame, hot buttered rum, and a rude awakening

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 13.0k

extra chapter warnings: bondage but not the sexy kind.

chapter summary:

“Mysterious black-clad army seizing the castle. Killing the king, hunting their princess,” Yeosang says, lifting a hand to place his chin in his palm. “It’s all very fantastical, don’t you think? Like something out of a storybook. Strange to be living it.”

You almost laugh at how very true that is.

a/n: been feeling a lil nervous to post bc of the large influx of readers since the last update. i’m very grateful to have you all here, but it’s definitely made me a little worried about my writing, so i hope it doesn’t show too much in this chapter. enjoy <3

When you awaken it's to light blonde hair tickling your nose. Groggily opening your eyes, the sunlight blares through the open tent flap and down onto your unwilling face, causing you to let out a groan of annoyance. Rolling over to face away from the inconsiderate sun-beam, you're met with a sleepy murmur of protest.

Seonghwa pulls you in a little closer. The man’s grip around your torso tightens as he buries his face into your collarbone, letting out an exhale that feels cool against your clammy skin. He’s still fast asleep, breathing melodically, and you can’t help the smile that grazes over your lips.

It’s been like this ever since the mimic, at least on the nights you’ve managed to sleep at all. Even then, you’ve tried to slip out after he falls asleep and return before he wakes up.

Seonghwa has tried to pretend the entire ordeal with the mimic didn’t affect him, but you all know the truth in that it did, and deeply at that. Woo had found him beneath the floorboards of the stable, in a dug-out hole where he’d been tied up and gagged, eye black and head bleeding from where the mimic had hit him over the head with a plank.

He was there with Aisha - the real Aisha, as it turned out the one you’d talked to and had attempted to lend you her home for the night had also been a mimic’s charade. She’d been down there for weeks.

As for the rest of her family… Well, there was a reason the stable smelled so terrible, like mule shit but somehow worse. After all, the smell of death is far worse, especially when the bodies have been rotting for almost a month.

Seonghwa had only been down there for a couple hours, but that was enough for fear to creep in. With the smell of corpses hanging in the air, Aisha endlessly sobbing next to him, and the knowledge that his mimic counterpart was wreaking havoc amongst the people he cares about most, it was enough to leave more than a minor impact.

Fortunately, it appears he sleeps better having someone to hold onto.

Looking down at him, you run a hand gently through his hair, bright blonde locks moving between your fingers. It must feel nice, as he mindlessly smiles against you, lips curving upwards against your skin.

You know it’s a dangerous line you’re walking here, as the inevitability of your betrayal quickly approaches. This is especially true considering your decision to leave them once they’ve guided you through the Burovian mountains, in hopes that Minho’s prophecy will never come to pass. You’ll find a way to repay them later, but you have to ensure your survival first.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to push him away. It’s mostly due to the fact he needs the support, the closeness clearly having eased and soothed his mind. However, there also remains what you don’t want to admit is a hint of selfishness.

The self-centered fact that you enjoy being like this, not only due to the warmth provided with such intimate closeness, but rather because it’s with him.

You think that in another lifetime, in another world, you could let yourself fall for him.

When his eyelids flutter open, Seonghwa’s eyes are coated in a sleepy haze, and he blinks a few times as if to remember his surroundings.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice light, and he lets out a groan of annoyance, although his teeth glint in a toothy grin. Rolling you over, he throws an arm over your torso, pressing your back into his chest.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs into your shoulder, voice raspy. “Let me sleep more.”

“The sun’s high, it’s probably almost noon,” you reply, shaking your head, although you make no move to get up. “I’m supposed to have sword-training with San.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive your absence just this once,” Seonghwa says, fingers grazing softly along the bare skin of your abdomen. “If he’s mad then he can duel me, I’ll get my ass-kicked in your place.”

Playfully shoving his hand away, you turn yourself back over to face him. “Yes, that’s the way to convince me to stay, make fun of me.”

“Are you saying I need to convince you some other way?” Seonghwa offers, hand suddenly trailing its way down past your abdomen. He raises an eyebrow, and you match the expression.

When he leans in, the kiss is firm. Not sweet and delicate in the sleepy-morning fashion, but more passionate than that. It begs a question, asks for permission.

You suppose if you’re already being selfish, a little more couldn’t hurt.

Pulling your lips from his, you can’t help but grin. “Alright,” you sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder, pressing him into you. “I guess I can be a little late just this once. Maybe San won’t notice.”

“You’re late,” San says, leaning against a tree with both arms crossed as you sprint down the forest trail, running as fast as you can while dragging your sword with you. Pulling up the sleeve of your jacket as it slips down from your shoulder, you do your best to appear put-together, although you're certain you look as if you just rolled out of bed, which isn’t so far from the truth.

“Sorry,” you say, leaning over to place both hands on your knees as you catch your breath. “I overslept.”

San does not look impressed, although the corner of his lip quirks upwards in amusement. “Right,” he says plainly, removing his shoulder from the tree. “Shall we start?”

No wasting time badgering or teasing you, just right down to business. You like that about him.

He gives you a smile as you shrug the jacket from your shoulders, stretching your arms out in front of you and cracking your knuckles to quickly warm-up. You return the expression, although neither of you speak.

There’s been a bit of a rift between the two of you since the mimic, or more specifically since he comforted you afterwards. Not exactly a negative rift, as neither of you are upset with the other, nor is it overly awkward as the two of you continue to spend time training alone.

It’s more as if a can of worms has been opened. He’s comforted you, cradled you, ran his fingers over your hair and whispered that everything would be alright. Meanwhile, you sobbed into chest, clenched onto his tunic, and made him stay that way for almost an hour.

It was incredibly vulnerable on your end, as well as unbelievably empathetic on his. Either way, it was intimate, and it hangs in the air every time the two of you are alone together. Neither of you have talked about it, and you aren’t sure if you even need to, but it’s there. Undoubtedly.

“Okay,” he says, picking up his sword from where it had been discarded on the ground. Rotating it around in his hand, he eventually extends the tip of the blade out towards you, cocking his head to the side. “Your move.”

And so the two of you spar.

You’ve vastly improved over the last few days. Somehow it seems the trials of the desert invigorated you rather than stunted your progress. A little time away from the sword seemed to be exactly what you needed to grow a longing for it, and over the last couple days the two of you have dueled every afternoon.

When you move it’s no longer awkward, the sword feeling more at home in your hands. San says you have quite the natural knack for it, although you’re just glad you can spar with him for more than a few seconds before being knocked over. You’re only up to a couple minutes, but any progress is progress.

Besides, San is good. You still haven’t seen him go full out, but Seonghwa has mentioned his astounding ability enough times that you can mostly imagine it. Even after the recent stab-wound to his shoulder, he moves with an unbridled swiftness, as if the sword is merely an extension of his arm. His casual ease causes something to stir within your chest. Envy, mixed with adoration.

San takes a particularly sudden strike towards the hilt of your blade, catching you off guard. He’s incredible at keeping on your toes, at not allowing you to get too comfortable. Every time you think you have him figured out, he changes tactics. He is a difficult teacher, but that is what makes him a good one.

The strike knocks you off balance, but you do not let yourself lose your footing entirely. Bringing up the sword to block another impending blow, your feet slide backwards into the dirt as he swings once more. Making sure to keep quick on your toes, you take another step back, and the pattern continues.

Moving away from the clearing, the two of you make your way down the forest path, San striking blow after blow as you do your best to block them. Each and every swing has power, and it takes everything in you not to falter, feeling as sweat begins to bead and trail down your forehead.

Breathing becomes ragged as you just barely defend yourself from his next swing, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that you won’t be able to keep this up much longer. You’ll need to change tactics, before you face yet another quick defeat at his hands.

Bringing your focus to his stature, you manage a rushed scan from head to toe, searching for any sort of weakness. Fortunately, you’re not rendered hopeless, as it’s almost immediately obvious how he does not properly defend his own balance. It’s one of the most recent things San taught you.

“The key to winning a duel lies within the defence,” San had said yesterday morning, extending a hand out to help you back on your feet, having just knocked you over. You scowled up at him, irritated, but he knew that you hung on every word, eager to get better.

“The one who wins is the one left standing, not who delivers the most damage. Protect and withhold your balance, then seize your opportunity as it presents itself. It’s that simple.”

However, San continues to strike blow after blow. While he’s practically drilling you into the ground, a clear test of your will and endurance, it’s left the balance in his footing shoddy.

He’s gotten cocky, you realize. He assumes you won’t notice, and you aren’t sure if you’re annoyed with him for doubting you, or proud of yourself for proving him wrong. Likely both.

It’s not until after his next strike that you seize your opportunity. When his own sword comes down onto yours, you almost cushion the blow, letting him knock your own weapon towards the ground. It doesn’t matter, you won’t be striking him with it, and he won’t have the opportunity to try again.

Letting the momentum of his strike knock you downwards, you crouch further onto your knees, although doing your best to keep your ankles stable and upright. His balance is a little off, not near enough to fall over, but he clearly hadn’t expected you to suddenly drop. Capitalizing on the miscalculation, you swing a leg out towards him in a sweeping motion. It’s a bit awkward, as well as stunted considering you’ve never tried the maneuver before, but it’s just sloppy enough to work.

Your own foot takes out both of San’s own, and he lets out a small grunt of surprise as he topples over, a tad panicked as he tosses his sword out beside him. You don’t understand why he wouldn’t at least try to hold onto it, but it becomes apparent the second you realize where exactly San is falling.

That is to say, directly on top of you.

Chest pressing against your own, your back sinks into the dirt as he falls down onto you, knocking the wind from your lungs. He manages to catch himself on his elbows before your heads collide, but the result is his face hovering just above yours.

His chest heaves up and down, attempting to catch his breath, and for a moment neither of you say anything.

Because his lips are less than an inch from your own.

You can smell his breath, the strong scent of rich coffee beans, a blend he’d purchased back in Stockholm. It’s hot against your lips, and you become increasingly aware of the way his waist is pressed firm against yours. His cheeks are flushed, mouth parted open as he breathes. Sweat glistens on his skin, a testament to the effort required in your sparring.

It causes something inside of you to stir, a strange pull within your chest, what you’d almost describe as longing.

Startled by the feeling, you finally manage to pull your gaze up from his lips, only to find that he is doing the same. When his good eye meets yours, he freezes, as if exposed. You swallow hard.

Then he shoves himself off of you.

Rolling over and quickly jumping to his feet, he doesn’t go to grab his sword but rather walks a solid few strides away, running a hand through his hair as he almost makes a point of not facing you.

“That was good!” He blurts out, and his voice is raspy, almost choked. “That was really good. You caught me off guard, I didn’t expect that.”

You don’t respond immediately, because frankly, you have no idea what to say. You can hardly wrap your head around what just happened. San, being so close. His lips being so close, but more so the fact that for a moment, you didn’t wish them to be further away.

“Thanks,” you manage, and this time it’s your voice that’s weak.

Another long moment passes where neither of you say anything. He still doesn’t look at you, although he does go and grab his sword, shoving it back in its sheath.

“That’s enough for today,” he says quickly. The two of you would typically continue for at least another hour, but you don’t even bother protesting. You’re well aware of why he’s ending this early, and you agree with the sentiment.

“Alright,” you reply, and San does not waste a minute before taking off back down the forest trail and towards your campsite. Where the rest of your group is. Where Woo is.

“Right,” you think, flopping back into the dirt, looking upwards to the cloudy grey sky. You can hear the first rumble of thunder in the distance, an indication of a coming storm. You didn’t think it would rain today. “Fuck.”

San does not go back to the campsite. Instead he jogs until you are officially out of sight, before turning into the forest and pressing his back against a tree. He attempts to catch his breath, although his lungs do not seem to cooperate, each new gulp of air as unsatisfying as the last.

Leaning his head against the coolness of the bark, he slides down until he’s sitting on the ground, knees drawn up in front of him.

“What the hell just happened?” He thinks to himself, bringing both of his hands to his temples, attempting to rub away the newfound headache that has plagued him. “And what the fuck is wrong with you?”

San thought he was doing rather well to ignore the weird tension that hung in the air between the two of you since the sand village. Since he comforted you, since he held you in his arms and you clung to him just as tightly.

He knew immediately that it made something inside of him rouse. While he didn’t understand it at first, over the last couple days he thinks he knows why it made him feel so strange, an odd sort of sensation that has settled in his chest.

In that moment, you not only wanted him, but you needed him. It’s been a long time since San has felt like he’s been needed.

Instead, he’s the one who’s been in need of someone a lot lately. Woo after Gloria, you during your time at The Desert Lotus, and Seonghwa afterwards. Even before then, before they ever met you and this journey to Kuroku began, he rarely felt like someone to confide in. Woo doesn’t seem to need nor seek much comfort from him beyond the physical, and Seonghwa has always been the one to grant empathy rather than seek it.

But you let him comfort you. You let him hold you and whisper that it would be alright, in fact you sought after it. He’d be a fool to lie and say it didn’t give him a taste of the intimacy he’s been craving.

But that was supposed to be it. He was supposed to leave behind that moment the second the two of you left Aisha’s house, and move forward. No sense in longing for things he cannot have, nor seeking them out in someone he does not truly love, nor loves him in return. He is not such a fool.

Until just now. Until he was on top of you, could taste your breath on his tongue and feel you beneath him. Your eyes looking up at him, chest heaving, mouth parted open expectantly.

Not love, but for a moment there was lust. Horrible, but undeniable lust.

The way your gaze held his lips, he knows you felt it too.

But you smelt of Seonghwa, such a sobering way to bring him back to reality. You do not belong in his mind, he has no right to even indulge in an unwanted moment of weakness. For the love of the gods, you’d just been with Seonghwa that morning! How would Seonghwa feel, if he knew what San was thinking right now?

Seonghwa, who he yearns for even more greatly, with not just lust but also true affection. Love, although he fears calling it that. He already has his head full of one person that does not belong there, he has no room for another.

Then there’s the other issue. Him.

The reality of if Woo was watching, what would he think? San doesn’t even have to ponder the question, he’s well aware of the answer. He knows he shouldn’t, as he owes Woo nothing - the elemental the one who refuses to commit to him, not the other way around - but all he feels is shame.

San runs his hands through his hair, trying to swallow down the bile that floods his tongue, although his throat feels far too tight.

What is wrong with him? His self-control used to be something he prided himself on, so when did he become so weak?

He sucks in another tight breath, rubbing his face in his hands. When he pulls them away, he decides he’s done with this.

There’s nothing wrong with him, because nothing happened. He doesn’t need to complicate this. You will be gone within a week’s time, and there’s no sense in granting these emotions - if you can even call them that - the light of day.

Rising to his feet, he turns back towards the campsite before his mind can convince him otherwise.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter, and he does not permit himself the opportunity to question whether or not that is true.

“I thought you said there was a inn around here!” Woo calls, forced to shout over the sound of the pounding rain surrounding you. He holds a small tarp over both his and San’s head, looking over his shoulder at Seonghwa, expression drawn into a scowl.

The empath sits in front of you, doing his best to control the reins of the horse as the animal whinnies in protest, equally as unimpressed with the downfall. You also hold a tarp above the two of you, although considering he’s a good deal taller than you it doesn’t work nearly as well, rain pouring down from its sides onto your already drenched tunic.

The thunder had transformed into a raging storm almost immediately, soaking your tents and causing the four of you to pack up your campsite in a whirlwind of panic. Desperate to avoid hypothermia from sleeping under soaping wet blankets, you managed to be on the horses and moving before anything got too damaged.

Only to be riding against the storm for almost an hour, miserably searching for an inn Seonghwa remembers visiting years ago after having left Maralya.

“There is!” Seonghwa shouts back, before muttering beneath his breath so that only you can hear. “...Somewhere.”

Your stomach drops. Your arms shake as you hold the tarp over your head, both from soreness as well as the bitter cold. The wind bites sharply against your wet skin, the chill settling within your bones. Teeth involuntarily chattering, the ends of your ears and nose are entirely numb. Although, you almost consider the numbness a blessing, as at least they don’t feel cold anymore.

You agree with Woo’s sentiment. You seriously need to find this inn, so lest you are forced to down Minho’s elixir that resides in your pocket in hopes that it allows you to somehow survive this endless, monstrous chill.

As if sensing both your cynicism and desperation, the god’s answer your fears in the form of a warm light that glows from further down the trail.

“Oh thank the gods,” Seonghwa breathes, before shouting upwards to Woo and San. “It’s just up ahead!”

The inn you approach is small, only big enough for what you assume is a handful of rooms for the few travelers making their way through the Burovian mountain pass. A quaint little brick building that’s warm light pours from its front windows, the sign simply reads: “Mountain Inn”.

Arriving in front of its doorstep, you untie your bags from the horses in a relentless hurry, throwing two satchels over your shoulder as Woo quickly grabs the reins of each of the horses. He leads them towards the stable stationed at the side of the inn, as you, San, and Seonghwa sprint through the open doorway.

Entering the inn is like being transported into a different climate, nearly a different world. The air is thick and warm, the fire from the furnace in the corner providing the place with a cozy feel. The front desk also doubles as a bar of sorts, tables scattered around the room.

It’s busier than you expected, multiple groups of travelers seeming to have fled here for the night. A few are as drenched as yourself, while others appear to have changed into a warm pair of clothing. Not many of them drink, but if they do it’s something warm.

“Want to grab a seat? We’ll see if they have any rooms left,” San says to you, motioning to the table in the far corner of the room. His voice remains calm, expression even settled into a smile as he looks at you.

You and San have been doing an excellent job of pretending the little incident during sword-training this morning never happened. And as far as you’re concerned, it did never happen.

It’s not like you have any sort of actual feelings towards the swordsman. You think he’s kind, compassionate and steady, but that doesn’t need to be romantic. He had just been so close. It had been hot and sweaty and both of you were breathing rather heavily, it was just a biological response. Nothing more.

You almost believe it.

Letting San and Seonghwa heckle the inn-keeper, you leave your two satchels with them before heading towards the corner of the room. Ringing some of the water from the sleeves of your tunic, it falls in a puddle beneath the table as you settle into a chair. Leaning your head against the wall, your eyes are falling shut before you even consider closing them.

You’re tired. And cold. And sore.

It’s been over a week since you slept on something other than a blanket on the ground, and if it weren’t for the way your body feels as if it’s physically shutting down in protest of the fact, you’d barely be able to contain your excitement.

You nearly nod off in your chair before you feel something drop down on the table in front of you.

“Here you are, dear,” a voice says from above you. Peeking an eye open, you’re greeted by a plump middle-aged woman with greying dark hair and small spectacles smiling down at you. Her voice is cheery as she slides whatever she’s placed on the table closer to you.

Looking down, it appears to be a drink of sorts. In a thick white mug, it’s a brown colour with a stick of cinnamon protruding from the top.

“Hot buttered rum,” she explains, taking your bewildered expression as being towards the drink. Well, technically it is toward the drink, but not because of it’s flavour.

“Oh, this must be a mistake,” you say, tone polite as you push it back towards her. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Of course not!” She exclaims, almost too jovial as she pushes it back. There’s a twinkle in her eye, her smile almost mischievous. “It’s courtesy of the handsome young fellow at the table over there.”

Following her finger as she points to the other end of the room, your gaze almost immediately locks with a man sitting at a table. He’s surrounded by a group of equally young men, with dark hair and light eyes. Dressed much warmer than yourself, he sports black gloves and a scarf that wraps around his neck, holding a mug in his hand. Based on the cinnamon stick emerging from the top, it’s the same as yours.

He is handsome, you can’t deny that.

“Ah, young love,” the lady sighs, placing a hand on her heart. She leans in closer, although she doesn’t bother to lower her voice. “They aren’t as spry as they get older. You should invite him over.”

You can practically feel the way your cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I’ll take that into consideration, thank you.”

Appearing to have taken the hint, she gives you a wink before heading off and back behind the counter. Turning back towards the gifter of the drink, he continues to smile at you, before nodding the glass in your direction in a sort of long-distance “cheers”.

Out of politeness you return the gesture, although you do nothing more than that. Even if the borderline intrusive waitress has suggested you invite him over, you know that would be a horrible idea. Frankly, you have your hands full with the surplus of men already in your life, and flirting is something you don’t think you’ll ever have the luxury of again.

However, it appears the stranger reads your polite smile as an invitation, as he rises to his feet. Whispering something to the man beside him, his friend casts a glance at you from over his shoulder, before grinning and giving the black-haired man a pat on the back.

Casting a wary look behind the man as he approaches you, Seonghwa and San no longer appear to be at the front desk. Your bags are also gone, likely having been taken to your room by the two of them.

Good. You aren’t sure why, but something about the thought of Seonghwa or San thinking that you may be flirting with a stranger makes you feel a bit uneasy. You try not to fixate too much on that thought, the fact that you’re practically engaged to another man yet another issue they’re unaware of, but the relief remains all the same.

The handsome stranger stands in front of you, one gloved hand resting on the table as the other holds his mug. His expression is soft. “Hi. May I join you?”

“If you want to,” you reply, not wishing to be rude. Still, you don’t want to give him the wrong idea. “But I’m with some friends who will be back right away.”

“That’s fine,” he says through a chuckle, pulling out a chair and seating himself across from you. “I’m known to make a quick impression.”

A tad caught off guard by the brazenness of his tone, you don’t say anything in response, although you do offer a chuckle. The man’s gaze continues to watch you, light eyes flickering over your features. He smiles.

“Do you have a name?” He asks.

You take a sip of your drink before answering. “It’s Yeji,” you reply, and he hums to himself, as if mulling it over in his mind.

“Pretty,” he says, and maybe you’d be flattered if it was actually your name. “I’m Yeosang.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Yeosang.”

“Likewise.” He says, fingers tapping against the tabletop. He leans in a little closer, as if hoping to break past the barrier of awkward small-talk, moving towards something the faintest hint deeper. “So, what brings you to the Burovian mountains?”

You almost hesitate, but you’ve always been rather good at thinking on your feet. You’ve had to be, considering you’ve gotten this far with the present circumstances.

“Just traveling,” you say with ease. “Trying to see all of Burovia, figured the mountains would be important not to miss.”

He hums again, a small smile creeping its way onto the corners of his lips. “That’s a good call. The mountains are gorgeous, definitely worth tenting for a couple nights. I’d recommend South-Peak Point, if you want a good view.”

You smile at this. Of course you aren’t actually travelling for recreation and will not have the time to stop and search for any sort of view, no matter how mind-blowing it may be, but for a moment it’s fun to pretend. You always wanted to travel across Burovia, when you were naive and didn’t know how dangerous and gruelling the journey could be, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to play along.

“You sound like a well seasoned traveller,” you say, and Yeosang’s eyes gleam at this. He chuckles to himself.

“Something like that,” he laughs. “You’ll also want to hit all the major kingdoms. Zaria, Kuroku, Dildysus. I’d normally suggest Libaiya, but they’ve gotten into a bit of trouble recently.”

You know it shouldn’t, as he also listed the rest of the major kingdom’s prior, but something about your kingdom’s name tumbling from his lips sets you on edge. You shouldn’t be talking to strangers, even ones with kind eyes and clever tongues. You’re supposed to be laying low.

“I’ve heard,” you say shortly, hoping he’ll drop the subject, or that Seonghwa or San may come back to the table.

“Mysterious black-clad army seizing the castle. Killing the king, hunting their princess,” Yeosang says, lifting a hand to place his chin in his palm. “It’s all very fantastical, don’t you think? Like something out of a storybook. Strange to be living it.”

You almost laugh at how very true that is.

Even so, you have no interest in entertaining the topic any longer. “I’ll be heading to Zaria soon,” you lie, not wanting to give away your real destination, even if he doesn’t appear dangerous. Although, it does strike you as a bit strange for him to bring up the siege, considering it’s likely a heavy topic for many others beyond yourself.

“Long ways away,” he comments, lip quirking upwards. “I’d assume you’d try somewhere closer. Like, I don’t know…Kuroku?”

He says it with such ease and passivity that you know it’s likely nothing, but something about the way he watches you over the rim of the mug as he says the kingdom’s title makes you feel… uneasy. Paranoia, likely, but nonetheless you no longer wish to participate in the conversation.

“I’ve come from Kuroku,” you reply, perhaps a little too blunt. Glancing over his shoulder once more, neither San nor Seonghwa have returned, and you chew on the corner of your cheek, nervous. “Listen, my party should be here soon-”

“Yeosang!” A voice joyfully boasts from behind the man, placing a hand down atop his shoulder. “Are you planning on introducing us to your new friend over here?”

Looking up at the newcomer, he has bright red hair and full cheeks. He’s also not alone, accompanied by a couple of the other men that had been seated at Yeosang’s table.

You internally groan, as frankly, this is not the company you currently wish to indulge your time in. You’re exhausted, and the men appear to take your presence as a form of entertainment. One of them casts Yeosang a wink, the other’s practically swarming around your table.

“This is Yeji,” Yeosang says, extending a hand out towards you in display. “She’s taking a little trip across Burovia. Wanted to see the mountains.”

“Ah sure, sure,” one of the men leaning over the table comments. He turns to face you, lips pulled into a toothy grin. He’s missing one of his middle teeth. “If it’s Burovia you want to see, you’re in luck. We’re the brightest bunch you could’ve ran into.”

You can’t help but let a bit of your impatience slip, tone perhaps a little too sarcastic. “Oh, I’m sure.”

If the man takes offence, he doesn’t show it. Instead he laughs, a hearty sound from his gut. “You pick em’ well Yeosang, we could use some spunk in our group.”

You pause at the statement, this being the second comment he’s made alluding to you joining them. Surely he cannot be serious, as you have literally just met them and are doing nothing to hide the discomfort displayed in your expression.

There’s something a little too forward about these men. The man with the missing tooth stands a little too close to you, so that you can smell the thick stench of alcohol on his breath. The glances they exchange with one another makes a sense of unease settle in your stomach, and you have no interest in sticking around to find out whether or not he’s joking about you joining them.

You awkwardly pull your chair back and rise to your feet. “Listen, I have to go find my group. It was nice meeting you.”

You nod to Yeosang, prepared to leave the table and wander the inn’s hall until you stumble upon your room, but you're stopped as a hand grips your arm. Not tightly, but enough so that you can’t leave without yanking it free.

“C’mon, don’t leave so soon,” he says, giving you a soft smile that does not match the way his fingers clench around your wrist. The leather of his glove is cold against your skin. “You should at least let us show you the trail to South-Peak Point. Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

You know it’s stupid considering you have no plans of going to see the view anyways, but the patronizing assumption that you couldn’t manage to find the trail on your own causes a flare of annoyance to light inside of you. You huff, letting out a laugh that holds little humour.

“Thanks, but I think I can handle it,” you say. You manage to pull your arm free, but Yeosang is quick to grab it again, and this time a little more firm as he speaks.

“Fine, just let me give you something first,” he says. You consider pulling your arm free in a message of denial, but you figure that’d be useless. If he’s suggesting leaving you alone, you may as well swallow your pride and see whatever it is that he wishes to show you.

Yeosang digs into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a piece of paper. It’s coffee-stained, crumpled into a ball, and frankly a little gross, which is why you can’t help the disgusted grimace that settles over your features as he drops it into your extended hand.

Unraveling the ball, you’re quick to notice that there are words sketched in thick black ink, clearly mass-printed rather than hand-written. You stare at them.

You continue staring at them for several seconds, re-reading the title over and over again as your brain appears to have momentarily stopped working in order to comprehend them.

When it finally manages, your heart is the next thing to stop functioning, as it plummets down into your stomach with overwhelming dread.

WANTED: PRINCESS OF LIBAIYA.

Beneath that title, a drawing of you.

Clearly someone must have realized the sketch to be inaccurate, as it no longer looks so much like a stranger. Eyes and nose now having returned to their proper size and your hair its current length and texture, even without the details of your present scarring it’s quite obviously you.

And if it’s truly so obvious, it means that the hoard of men that have surrounded you are just as aware of the fact.

“Couldn’t have made it easy for us, could ya’ Princess?” The man with the missing tooth says from beside you, and your grip tightens around the paper, crumpling it between your fingers. Before you can contemplate the fear that ignites itself within your system, your feet are set in motion towards the door, a desperate attempt at escape.

Yeosang’s hand wraps around your wrist before you can make your exit. This time, it is not the coolness of his leather glove that greets you, but the warmth of his palm. Or better, the horrific scolding heat of his palm, as when his flesh touches your own it’s with a burning sensation that causes you to let out a scream of pain.

His right leather glove having been discarded on the table, you’re immediately struck with familiarity of the week prior, of Jay back in Gloria.

He’s a sadist, you realize, and if you believed you were in trouble before then you’re screwed now.

The other groups of people seated within the inn all falter at the sound of your scream, the bustle of the establishment coming to a studded halt as even the lady who brought you your drink stops pouring the pint of ale in her hand. However, while every eye in the rooms seems to have their attention brought to you, none of them seem too keen on lending a hand. Nobody wants to mess with a sadist, let alone with the large band of brutish ruffians that accompany him.

You want to be mad at them, but you cannot. You are a stranger, they don’t owe you anything. Frankly, you’re more than a little scared too.

“We’ve been hunting you for some time now,” Yeosang says through a laugh, eyes glinting with something that resembles mischief, but not as playful. Greed.  “I’ve got to hand it to you, you’ve managed to keep a low profile. Well done.”

“Let go of me,” you spit through gritted teeth, doing your best to appear threatening, even if tears sting in your eyes from the way your flesh sizzles and steams.

He does let you tug your arm free, but only because he knows you aren’t going to try and make any sort of quick escape, as it’ll surely be rewarded with another scalding of your arm.

When Yeosang speaks, it’s to the men of his party, not you. “Let’s make our way back to Androndea, I think that’s where we last saw them.” It’s in reference to the black-clad men, you’re certain of it.

“What about the storm?” A voice interjects, although from which man of the party you cannot tell.

“Are you kidding?” Yeosang laughs, grin widening. “We just got 250,000 gold pieces richer. Who gives a shit about a little rain?”

“C’mon, Princess,” the man with the missing tooth says, placing his hands on your shoulder, grip uncomfortably firm. While his tone has remained mostly jovial despite the stakes of the situation, his voice suddenly lowers as he leans in, lips roughly an inch from your ear.  “You don’t cooperate, we’ll kill you. We get the reward either way.”

And really, how can you possibly argue with that?

The man steers you forward so that you’re walking towards the exit, and your gaze darts back towards the rooms, hoping that either San or Seonghwa might have heard you scream and come to check what’s wrong. It doesn’t seem likely, as nobody appears from down the hallway, and the inn continues to remain so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

You consider letting out another scream for them to hear you, but the thought of Yeosang placing his hand over your mouth is quick to quelm the idea. You’ve grown rather fond of your lips over the years, and don’t have any particular interest in having them burnt off.

You’re running out of options, and something tells you that if you walk through the inn’s exit, you’re as good as dead.

“What’s going on here?”

Said by a voice from in front of you, your attention is brought to Woo as he stands with his arms crossed. Having returned from the stable, he looks pissed as his eyes flicker between the men that surround you, eyebrows drawn into a deep scowl.

Your initial reaction is immense relief. Things have been good between you and Woo since the night by the fire. A little awkward, considering without the constant arguing and general distaste between both of you, you’ve grown to realize that you don’t really know how to actually exist around one another. There’s still the occasional teasing and bickering, but overall moments alone have been quiet, although not horribly tense. He doesn’t hate you, and based on the way his face twists with both disgust and annoyance towards the men surrounding you, you’re certain that them dragging you out of the building isn’t something the elemental will let slide.

However, your secondary response to Woo’s appearance is overwhelming, horrible dread. These men, they know you. They know who you really are, and if Woo finds out who that is- especially considering what he’d told you by the fire - you’re more than fucked.

You’re dead.

Woo goes to reach for your arm, but the man with the missing tooth pulls you away from him, a little too roughly as you nearly lose your balance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Woo asks, and his voice nearly sends a shiver down your spine. His tone isn’t necessarily violent, not loud or overly angry. It’s quiet, low. It’s a threat, but only if they make it to be.

Yet, Yeosang doesn’t treat it as such. “Fuck off,” he laughs, shouldering Woo out of his way, nodding for the men to follow him. None of them do. “We got her first, the reward’s ours.”

“Shit,” you think to yourself, the air in your lungs dissipating as if they’ve been squeezed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Woo scowls at Yeosang. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Yeosang laughs, rolling his eyes, lip curved upwards into a grin. His eyes glow a deep red hugh, as he likely still rides the high your pain has granted him. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“This is a member of my party,” Woo says through gritted teeth, patience clearly waning thin as his hand clenches in and out, the faintest of flames beginning to dance between his fingers. “I’d appreciate it if you'd let her go before this gets ugly.”

There’s a series of ooo’s let out from the men around you, pure mockery. It’s a challenge, and to your surprise Woo does not extend himself to meet it. Instead, his gaze turns to you, and he nods over towards the hallway where your room is. “Come on, Yeji. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t understand the stakes at play, or why these men are bugging you and toying with him. If he did, he’d know there’s not a chance in hell of them just letting you leave, of escaping this without any bloodshed.

You don’t know what to do, but you know that you have to do something. The jar that contains your lies is teetering at the edge of a cliff, a mere breeze enough to blow it over. You have to act now, before it is smashed beyond repair.

“Yeji, huh?” Yeosang says, mulling over the name as he glances over at you. Your current terror must read blatantly on your face, as his own eyes light up with something that resembles delight. He turns back to Woo, grinning. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Woo- '' You start, trying to gain his attention - or better, take it away from Yeosang. You attempt to move towards him, but the man’s grip tightens around your shoulder, practically pulling you into him.

“Quit playing games,” Woo says, although you don’t miss the faintest hint of suspicion edging it’s way into his voice, as his gaze darts between Yeosang and your own. “Give her back.”

“You don’t even realize how precious the cargo is that you’ve been carrying,” Yeosang says, stepping a little closer to Woo. His grin is wicked, as he seeks to create pain and chaos in true sadist fashion. “You could have been rich, my friend.”

Woo’s scowl deepens, and his gaze falls on yours over Yeosang’s shoulder. “What is he talking about?” He asks, and his tone isn’t accusatory. Even though his gaze has become wary, words hesitant, he’s not angry with you.

Not yet. He will be.

“I…” You start, before trailing off. You should tell him, you know that. He’s going to know, is bound to realize, and that is only if you somehow manage to make it out of this alive. Maybe if the truth comes from you he’ll somehow grant you mercy.

But you can’t bring your lips to move. Out of fear of him abandoning you. Of in fury changing his mind and seeking the reward himself.

Or the most likely of options, being too terrified to see the utter betrayal that will read blatantly across his face.

Woo’s eyes narrow, lips drawing into a thin line as his gaze shifts back to Yeosang. “Let her go. I won’t ask again.”

Yeosang snickers at this, casting a mischievous glance back to both you and his party. “Quite the bodyguard you’ve acquired, haven’t you, Princess?” You wince at the pet-name that doubles as a title, not missing how Woo’s brows furrow even deeper.

Yeosang turns back towards Woo. His tongue slides along his teeth, almost serpent like, and he looks the elemental up and down. “And if I don’t, what then?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

There’s a tense moment as Woo stares down Yeosang, gaze refusing to budge. He doesn’t appear the slightest bit afraid, even though there remains about a dozen burly armed men before him. You wonder what it’s like, to be so sure of yourself. To be the master of such raw and unbridled power.

Then Yeosang reaches forward, grabbing Woo’s throat in his palm.

There’s a choked sound, followed by sizzling as Yeosang’s gift clearly takes Woo by surprise. Fortunately, for what Yeosang’s contains in one hidden gift, Woo matches him with his own.

There’s a flash of heat and light as a ball of flame ignites within the elemental’s hand, followed by a firm sideways swing as Woo’s fiery fist slams against the side of Yeosang’s head. It sends the sadist reeling, as he stumbles backwards. He clutches his scalp, which now sparks and burns from Woo’s flame.

The strike sends the inn into a frenzy, the men around you all unsheathing their own weapons, stalking towards the elemental. Woo’s gaze flickers between them, pupils darting back and forth as he appears to size up each opponent.

Then he begins.

Starting with a strong gust of air that blows two of the men approaching him off their feet, they tumble over the top of a table, landing on the ground behind it with a series of groans and a loud “thud”. Woo does not give them the chance to get up, as he sends another large blast of wind in their direction. The table slides backwards, horrifically fast as it traps them between it and the wall, accompanied by a sound that resembles the breaking of bones.

Turning to his next opponents - or better, victims, as it’s blatantly obvious they don’t stand a chance - both of his palms fill with flame. Throwing one ball of fire towards one of the men, it hits him square in the jaw, to which he lets out a wail of agony before clutching his face and falling to the ground.

Woo prepares the another flame, but it’s rendered unnecessary, as the other man’s expression floods with terror. Taking off past Woo, he sprints through the inn’s open door, towards cowardly safety. Woo chuckles, a low and unhumorous sound.

Yeosang swears under his breath, gaze darting between his deserted lackey and Woo. He turns to face you, before nodding to the man that continues to hold onto your shoulders.

The man with the missing tooth’s grip on you tightens, and he begins to drag you with him as he makes a break towards the door. Woo is currently preoccupied with two more of Yeosang’s men, clutching his fist as one of the kegs behind the counter explodes, the sheer pressure of the liquid enough for one of the men to go flying backwards. His head collides with the wall opposite to you with a sickening “crack”.

It makes your stomach twist, but you have greater matters at hand. Despite the way you fight desperately against the man’s grasp, he is massive, leaving zero possibility for you to outmatch him with raw strength. You need to be more tactical.

As you attempt to shout out for Woo, the man’s large hand flies over your mouth, ensuring that he remains under the radar as he continues his pursuit towards the exit. Yeosang already stands in the doorway, waving him forward.

They’re willing to desert their comrades, you realize. Leave them to suffer so long as they get their reward. If you thought they were greedy and sleazy before, you find them even more repulsive now.

The realization that if you don’t do something now, you’re likely not going to get the chance to do something ever sets in, and it causes you to consider your options. Your arms are rendered immobile due to the force of his grip, and your legs can’t cause much damage either as they’re mostly focused on remaining standing as the man rushes the two of you towards the doorway.

With all your limbs rendered useless, there aren’t many options available. Which is why you sink your teeth down onto one of his fingers that cover your mouth.

The sweat of his skin tastes salty on your tongue, and it takes everything in you not to gag as a strong metallic flavour soon follows suit. Instead of releasing his hand, you bite down even harder, so much so that you can feel the thin-ness of his bone between your teeth.

He mutters a shocked swear beneath his breath, wincing as he tears his hand free. It’s only a moment, but his grip on your shoulder relinquishes itself as he cradles his hand, glowering in disgust at the deep bite marks residing along his bloody finger.

You don’t waste the opportunity. Removing your sword from its sheath, you immediately settle into your defensive stance. San’s voice rings in your mind: Low on your knees, light on the balls of your feet, sword extended in both hands.

You do just that, and when the man finally brings his attention back over to you - arms extended to grab you, as if expecting you to have foolishly remained where he’d left you - his expression is one of surprise. It takes him a moment, but a crooked grin slowly creeps over lips before he reaches down to relinquish his own sword.

“Full of surprises, aren’t we, Princess?” He mocks, falling into his own defensive stance. It’s a tad sloppy, you note. He remains heavy on the heels of his feet, San would make him regret that immediately in training.

Before you can assess his technique any further, he’s on the move. Approaching you with a monstrous swing, both hands over his head as he brings his long-sword down upon your own, it takes all the strength you can muster to not drop the blade. Your wrists burn at the contact, but you don’t let yourself focus on the pain.

Upon striking you, the man takes a few seconds too long to raise his blade once more. He’s slow. San has always been fast. Even if the result is San’s swing’s not being as powerful, as the swordsman would put it, focusing too much on strength can quickly become a weakness.

And it does, as this time you're ready for his attack. When he brings the blade down again, instead of deflecting the strike you parry backwards, causing him to miss you entirely.

The man growls in frustration, followed by a stifled groan of pain as you swing your own blade out towards him, managing to nick his shoulder even as he attempts to dodge the swipe.

You grin, and it dawns on you that in this moment you’re out-wielding him. This is not San - of whom you know, who knows you in return and seeks to train rather than beat you - this is an actual opponent who strikes with a vengeance, a desire to win.

And yet, you are the one who’s winning, and it fills you with a sense of pride that you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt. A sense of passion, a desire for more.

Striking the man once again, this time your sword slices sharp against his cheek. Blood immediately drops from the wound near his eye like a red-stained tear. For a moment, he falters. Now should be his opportunity to attack, but he does not take it. Instead, he opts to fall back into his defensive stance, chewing on his bottom lip as his gaze darts upwards to meet yours.

He’s nervous. You smile.

You’re prepared to strike towards him again, already settling your sword into both of your hands to prepare another swing, but you don’t get the chance.

A hand grips around the back of your neck, and with it comes that familiar burning sting. You drop your sword.

“Quite the show,” Yeosang whispers as his fingers tighten around your neck, his nails digging into your burning skin as he pulls you behind him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Scanning the room, you find Woo fighting with a tall and lanky fellow, who appears to be running from him more than actually sparring. San and Seonghwa also must have overheard the commotion during your sword fight, as they both have appeared and are dealing with their own opponents, San with his sword and Seonghwa with hand-to-hand combat. They are the only men left standing, the rest having either escaped or are crumpled against the floor.

Fortunately, while Yeosang’s grip is agonizing it does not render your lips useless as the man’s before him had.

“Woo!” You shout, breaking his attention from the man he has just finished throwing yet another ball of fire at, this one having landed true against his chest.

The elemental’s eyes widen when he sees you being pulled towards the door, and he does not hesitate for even a second before taking off after you.

When his fist connects with Yeosang’s nose, it is with no flame, just the sound of his raw knuckles cracking against the man’s face. Yeosang’s stumbles backwards with his hands cupped around his nose bridge, Woo following after him.

It’s with another swift punch that Yeosang crumbles to the ground. By the way he doesn’t move to get back up, you know he’s fallen unconscious.

You finally take the opportunity to catch your breath. There’s a moment shared in silence between both you and Woo, as you watch Yeosang breath in and out, eyelids fallen shut.

When Woo moves, it’s towards you. Hand wrapping around your wrist, he pulls you with him towards the door, before shouting over his shoulder to both Seonghwa and San. “Finish the job, we’ll be down the trail!”

Running as to not be dragged behind him, you pass by the inn’s owners on your way out. The other customers and the lady who’d given you the hot buttered rum hide behind the front desk, trembling in fear as they watch you with worried stares. You aren’t sure if they’re afraid of you, Woo, or whether your group will bring them more trouble before the night is over. Likely a mixture of them all.

Woo pulls you through the door, the two of you taking off down the trail. You jog for what you assume is ten minutes, and when he doesn’t stop, you realize that you aren’t sure where exactly you’re even going.

“Woo?” You ask. You aren’t able to see his face as he runs in front of you, expression shrouded in the storm’s shadow. It continues to downpour, the many droplets pounding heavily on your skin, filling you with a bitter cold as they soak through your tunic.

“Woo!” You try again when he doesn’t answer, forced to shout over the sound of the rain hitting the ground, pattering against the many puddles as the trail has already begun to flood. “Where are we going?”

It’s at this he finally lets go of you, stopping in his relentless pursuit. His gaze flies up and down the trail, searching if anyone had followed the two of you out. Once he realizes you're alone, he sighs, swallowing hard.

Then a sharp gust of wind blows you off your feet.

You tumble along the trail, mud splashing up and into your face as you roll along the dirt, knees burning as they scrape along the rocks beneath you. The force of the wind is great, and when you finally manage to stop rolling, you’re dizzy as you rise to your feet.

Even through the unsteadiness, you take off into the forest before you can consider otherwise. The realization of the danger you’re in has set in to your body, but not yet your mind. All you can think is run.

Twigs and rocks crunching beneath you along the forest floor, you fight against the mud threatening to suck you down, clawing at the bottoms of your shoes. You’re doing alright, until it’s one particularly thick patch of the wet dirt that takes hold of your boot, and you tumble down onto your forearms.

Attempting to immediately rise back up to your feet, it proves to be no use as the mud refuses to relinquish your ankle. You turn around, prepared to shed yourself of your boot if that is what permits you to escape.

Only to find that the mud is not only sucking you down, but crawling up your leg. It’s deep black sludge twisting around your calf, creeping its way upwards.

You attempt to pull your leg free, but it’s of no use, especially considering the mud has also begun to intrap your other ankle as well.

“No, no, no,” you whisper beneath your breath, panicked as your gaze shoots upwards. Woo makes his way towards you, clearly in no rush as his hand is extended out in front of him, fingers dancing as the mud’s pace begins to quicken. It engulfs both of your legs, and it’s only then you feel it begin to creep over and onto your wrists, the mud from other puddles within the forest approaching you in the form of large, worm-like beings.

A large echo of thunder rattles around you, not far off as the forest flashes with a strike of lightning. It casts light across Woo’s expression as he approaches, and his eyes are dark as he watches you through furrowed brows. Rain pours down upon him and his dark hair clings to his forehead, giving him a rugged look as he remains covered in the damp grime of the keg’s ale. His jaw is set firm, teeth clearly gritted beneath the tight line his lips are drawn into.

If looks could kill, you would already be dead.

Woo clenches his fist, and the lines of wet earth wrap firm around your wrists, while the mud that encompasses your feet suddenly launches you upwards. It’s as if you are standing, but a layer of mud continues to sit under your feet, trapping you as your back presses firm against a tree that sits behind you. Meanwhile, the mud around your wrists pulls your arms in opposite directions, like two ropes attached from opposite trees.

You know you can’t move. You don’t even bother to try.

Woo finally finds himself in front of you. His gaze bares into yours, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything. He doesn't have to, the rage that swirls within the darkness of his eyes already says enough.

When he finally does speak, his voice is quiet. It gives nothing away. No anger, no sadness. Nothing.

“Who are you?” He asks.

You know he heard them back at the inn, the men calling you Princess, the way they went on and on about how you were “precious cargo”. He knew about the reward since he found the poster back in Stockholm. Woo is smart, and based on the way his eyes bare through you, there’s no doubt he’s already put the two and two together. No sense in hiding any longer.

“I think you already know,” you answer.

Woo’s face contorts inwards on itself at the admission. All of his features - his eyebrows, his lips, his nose - squinching together, a look of overwhelming, crushing devastation. He looks upwards into the sky, as if to curse the god’s for where he has now found himself. His fists clench at his sides, and the mud tightens around your wrists and ankles, although you aren’t sure if it’s intentional.

“Shit,” he whispers, and it’s more broken than it is angry. He buries his face into his hands, and it appears as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The realization of it all hitting him in full force, the depth of your lie. How Seonghwa has gotten himself so deeply entangled with a fraud. How your father is dead and there is no money in Kuroku, meaning San could be as good as fucked.

How he completely unravelled himself for you, only to find it was your family that had tied all the knots in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know it’s a meaningless, pathetic excuse for an apology. You don’t expect his forgiveness, you don’t deserve it. Perhaps that is why you do not try, as you do not wish for him to grant it.

Woo pulls his hands away and they fall down at his side. He does not look at you, instead his eyes remain trained up at the sky, the rain pounding endlessly across his face. He does not seem to care.

Woo swallows hard. Then he moves towards you.

Digging into his pocket, he pulls something out. As its cool metal presses against your throat, you’re quick to recognize it to be a knife. Based on the beautiful design fashioned on the hilt that you can see from the corner of your eye, it is the one from the day you met them, the one he’d taken from you before the scorpions.

You bet he wishes the beasts had finished the job.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” he says lowly, and his eyes meet yours over the blade. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, warm against the storm’s bitter cold, and it reminds you of back in the sand village. When he’d brought you into Aisha’s house’s narrow hallway and asked for your help, a testament towards his newly forming trust. A mistake.

His eyes are glossy, and when the tears begin to slip through it is not the same as it had been a few nights ago. Then he was nothing but vulnerable. His tears were sad, but they were of the gentle kind, the trusting kind.

These tears are just as raw, but they are born of nothing but fury, of hatred in its most pure form.

“You are a monster,” he says quietly. “You are no better than them. Jay, Warden, your father,” he spits the word out like a curse.

“At least they are honest about what they are,” he says through gritted teeth, practically seething as he stares daggers into your eyes. “At least they don't trick broken men into doing their bidding. At least they don’t hide behind pretty smiles and fake tears.”

You swallow hard, and you feel the knife against your throat as it bobs. When you speak it is choked and quiet, the blade not permitting anything more than that. “Do you want to know why?”

“You think I give a fuck why?” Woo says through a harsh laugh. “I don't care if you’re on death row, I don't care about what men are hunting you, I don't care what real business you have in Kuroku. I don’t care.”

He presses the knife further against your throat and you wince, the blade breaking past the first layer of skin. “You saw what San is dealing with. You saw how badly we need that fucking money, and you didn’t give a shit!”

You want to argue that you did care, that it has been eating you up inside since the confrontation in Gloria. That every spare moment in solitude has been devoured by guilt, wanting nothing more than to tell them the truth, but too afraid to take the chance given your reward.

You don’t tell him this, because Woo does not want to hear it. You do not blame him, he does not owe you the opportunity to plead your case. He owes you nothing.

“But of course you didn’t. Your whole cursed family doesn't care about anyone but themselves,” he continues, lips curling in disgust. “Were you laughing inside listening to what happened to me in your orphanages? Was it amusing for you?”

The accusation makes your chest ache, because no, of course not. His story was horrific, unlike anything you thought your father was capable of. It crushed you, and it continues to crush you still. It certainly is not something in which you find any sort of entertainment.

“I didn’t know about the orphanages Woo-” You start, desperate to have him aware of that fact, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Like hell you didn’t know!” He cuts you off, and now he is yelling. His tone is higher than normal, as he fights off the tears that well in his eyes, voice breaking with emotion. “You think I'm actually going to believe that, after all of this?”

He shakes his head, and you can feel as his grip tightens around the hilt of the knife in his hand. “I should slit your throat right now.”

“You should,” you agree, simply because it is true. A tense moment of silence passes and Woo does not use the knife, nor does he pull it away. “So why don’t you?”

His answer is preceded by a pause, but when he speaks, it’s as if it should be obvious. “Because of them. The people you’ve used,” he spits, his breathing escalating as he struggles to control his anger. “Seonghwa is so far passed smitten for you, and San is too good of a person to agree to what you deserve.”

He presses the knife a little deeper. Not enough to kill, or even severely wound, but enough that it hurts. You swallow down a whine of pain, although tears sting in your eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low.

“I want you to understand that if it weren't for them, I would kill you where you stand. And I would enjoy it.”

“Woo? Yeji?” Someone calls from down the trail - Seonghwa, based on the accent - heading towards you as his voice becomes louder. Woo’s face twists even deeper into a scowl at the mention of your name. Your fake name.

“You guys?” You hear Seonghwa call again, before a series of footsteps head towards you. In the distance you can see as both he and San approach, your sword in San’s hand. “We saw your footsteps heading into the forest, what are you guys…”

Seonghwa trails off as he sees the two of you before him, the elaborate mud-prison that Woo has trapped you in certainly an alarming sight. Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrow together and he steps towards you, casting Woo a bewildered look.

“Woo, what the hell are you doing?” he asks. In response, Woo clenches his fist, and the mud comes tumbling down to the ground. You fall with it, knees burning as they crash against the forest underbrush. You don’t bother rising to your feet, your legs feeling too much as if they’ve turned into liquid to manage it.

“Ask her,” Woo spits, shoving the knife back into his pocket. When you don’t respond, your lips feeling too numb to make themselves move, his tone becomes even more furious. “Tell them what I’m doing.”

You want to, but your tongue suddenly feels like it’s swollen three times as large. Seonghwa looks at you with big, innocent and worried eyes. So genuinely and truly concerned for you. San’s expression is not as gentle, but it is equally as confused. He watches you with bewilderment, it does not appear to cross his mind that you have done something to wrong them.

Which is why you cannot bring yourself to speak, to tell them the truth of what you have done. How you have used them. How that while you will try to get the royal family in Kuroku to bring them wealth, there is no guarantee, as you are not even from their kingdom. Your name is not Yeji, you are not the girl you swore to be, the girl who they’ve grown to care about.

“A liar to the very end, huh?” Woo says, letting out a snort of disbelief. Turning away from you and towards both San and Seonghwa, his expression shifts from anger to sadness, as if realizing just how deeply this will hurt them.

Still, he is less of a coward than you are, and he does not hold himself back.

“She’s not from Kuroku,” he says plainly, one fist clenching at his side as the other points back towards you, accusatory. “She’s the Libaiyan Princess.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows pull together, and he lets out a small laugh of confusion. “No she’s not,” he says, and from the lightness in his tone you can tell that he truly and whole-heartedly believes it.

When Woo says nothing in response, Seonghwa turns to you, as if expecting a rebuttal. A moment passes as he waits for you to deny the accusation, to exclaim that Woo is only joking, because surely he must be. Surely you would not do something so horrible, play them all as fools.

You watch the soft smile fall from his face as he realizes you are not going to.

“Yeji,” he says, followed by nothing, once again prompting you to deny it. He doesn’t want to believe it’s true, refuses to until the words come from your own mouth.

“Stop calling her that,” Woo interjects angrily. He’s not upset with Seonghwa, merely cannot stand to hear the lie fall off his tongue. “She’s not Yeji. It’s all been a lie. All of it. There’s no father in Kuroku. After all of this, there’s nothing for us. We’re as good as fucked.”

Woo whirls on you, gesturing to both himself and around him, to all those you have hurt beyond repair. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’re almost to Kuroku. I hope you got what you wanted.”

He’s storming back down the path before you can offer any sort of response, although you doubt you could have managed to say anything of value. Tears well in your eyes and fall silently down your cheeks, you cannot even bring yourself to sob. It feels as if your voice box has been hollowed out, losing even the mere ability to speak.

What could you possibly say to make it better? The answer is simple: there is nothing.

San watches you, mouth drawn into a tight line. His good eye flickers between you and the sword that rests in his hand. At first you do not understand what he’s looking at, but you soon realize that it’s the sapphire embedded in the hilt. Your mother’s sapphire.

A small, sad smile spreads over his lips. He shakes his head, as if disappointed, both in you and himself.

“Ah,” he says at the realization, setting the sword down on the ground in front of him. He gives you another glance, and you cannot understand his reaction. He does not cry, he does not scream, he does not do anything but smile sadly. “I should have known.”

He turns to run after Woo, and now it is just you and Seonghwa.

The blonde stares at you, and his face is almost blank. Lips only slightly down-turned, his eyes remain vacant. Empty.

Seonghwa is always so animated. Smile enough to brighten a room when he’s happy, teeth practically chattering when he’s worried, and eyes like broken saucers when he is sad. It is only now that you’ve ever seen him appear so hollow, and it is far more difficult to bear than the pain even his tears could bring you.

“Is it true?” He asks, and you nod.

He swallows hard, as if gulping down any and all emotion. His pain is something he’s never appeared to hide from you, vulnerability never a source of shame between the two of you. How quickly that has changed.

“How could you not tell me that?” He asks, and his tone is plain. Numb. “How could you go all this time keeping that from me?”

When you don’t respond, you can see the way his anger itches beneath his skin, bubbling up his throat as he once again gulps down more air. He wants to be angry, but he also so desperately wishes to understand. Understand how the girl he’s grown so fond of is nothing of who she truly is. “What, did you not think you could trust me like I trusted you?”

“I couldn’t take that risk, Seonghwa,” you say, almost pleading with him to understand. You hate the way he’s looking at you, eyes so vacant, as if you are a stranger. It’s unfair of you to wish otherwise, it’s true. “I couldn’t let my guard down, not with such a high reward on my head.”

“You couldn’t let your guard down but you could sleep with me,” Seonghwa interjects, and there it is. Plain, harsh, but also complete and utter fact. “Did any of that mean anything to you? Or were you just playing with my head so I wouldn’t suspect anything?”

“Of course it meant something to me, Hwa-”

“Stop,” he whispers, lips pursing together. His gaze shifts to the ground, as if he cannot bear to look at you any longer. “Guilt, regret, and desperation.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you ask what he means through a sob. Your body finally permits you to cry, and as the tears fall your entire being shakes, from your chest to your very soul.

“That night in Stockholm, those are the emotions I took from you,” he explains, his own throat tightening as his voice becomes raspy, the words difficult to get out. “If only I knew what they were really from. I thought I was being kind, not pressing you any further, turns out I was just a fool.”

“You weren’t a fool-”

“Oh, I am,” he cuts you off, lips pursing together. He finally looks at you, and his eyes have begun to glisten, rimmed with tears he does not let fall. “I am because even now I hate to see you cry.”

He shakes his head, before turning around. When he speaks, he does not face you. “I suggest you stay here for a while, Woo will need some time to cool off. If you’re really the princess, I’m sure your business in Kuroku is a royal affair. If that means there’s a way you can get San the money, come back. If there’s not…”

He trails off, gaze drifting to your sword on the ground, he sighs. “If there’s not then don’t bother.”

Seonghwa leaves and you are alone.

The night’s darkness cascading down upon you in tune with the pouring rain, you remain on your knees, fingers digging into the mud as you clench it within your hands.

You almost wish it would come alive once more, that Woo would come back, even if it was simply to scream at you. To berate you for your lies, for what you have done. At least then he is here, and you are not alone. Even if you have destroyed everything, they are all still with you.

But he is not here. None of them are.

Minho’s words from a week prior ring in your mind like an unwelcome tune: “They will discover your lies, and it will change everything.”

A sob erupts from your throat as you know that it already has.

~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

[quietwings-fics]

what do we call it

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: Thoschei (Spydoc) Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Complicated Relationships, Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children Wordcount: 651 Summary:

They call a temporary truce.

Prompt:

"Spydoc? 👀 Doing both the hurt and comfort. Eventually you get tired of all the fighting."

The Doctor can feel the Master struggling for breath beneath her hands, every pulse and clench of his throat as his eyes bulge. She bears down. Blood drips down her chin and splashes across him as he writhes with base survival instincts while the part of him that horrifies her more grins wider as he suffocates.

She can’t do it. Her grip loosens. He sucks in a breath so fast that it must scrape raw down his throat. His mouth twists as the giddy edge of death and oxygen deprivation fades. He snaps his hips beneath her, knocking her forward so that he can throw her off to the side. Her back hits the dirt with a thud. She braces herself for him to take the upper hand.

He doesn’t move. She can hear him breathing harshly beside her, see the heavy rise and fall of his chest if she lets her eyes slide towards him. She looks up.

Her whole body aches like a bruise. Her arm, especially, radiates pain from when he caught it and yanked it nearly out of its socket. Her own blood coats half of her face, drying warm and sticky on her lips. She’s trying not to think about the sharp pressure in the side of her abdomen or what it might mean for the squishy organs there that are supposed to remain unpunctured by anything to keep her alive.

“You knocked two of my teeth out,” the Master says.

“Good,” she snaps back. He giggles, against his best interest when his lungs are still struggling to fill, and it comes out painful like he’s choking on it.

She wishes he would shut up. If he did, she could close her eyes and lay still in the grass and pretend…

Pretend her friend is laying in the grass beside her, naming stars. But the sky is the wrong color, and the grass isn’t as soft, and the Master is trying to stop laughing so he can breathe.

“Did you really think I always acted like I was special?” she asks as he quiets.

“You did.” He sounds sure of himself, and it’s crueler than him trying to break her neck earlier. It shouldn’t matter, of all the things he’s done, but-

“So we were never friends, then? That’s what you believe.”

“I never said that,” and that’s sharper still, like nothing she says will do anything but give him more excuses to hate her. She supposes, in that respect, they aren’t so different. “We were never equals, and you knew that.”

“Were we friends, Koschei?” she persists.

He’s silent. She watches him breathe. All she can taste is her blood.

“Are we, Doctor?”

No, she should answer. Never again, she wants to answer. You were right, we never were, and that means I’m free, that means I don’t have to care the next time my hands are around your throat, she thinks as she curls her hands into fists.

But she doesn’t answer.

“Call it a draw, today?” she says, exhausted. “You want to try and kill me again tomorrow, fine.” The Master sits up, and she hears him spit something out of his mouth.

“Three teeth,” he mutters.

“If it fell out because you were poking at it, that’s not my fault.” He could very easily attack her. Or she could get him while his back is turned. And they could do this forever. They probably will.

You might, says a new, awful voice she has to deal with these days. He’ll die before you do, if you ever can.

She forces that thought down as deep as it can go. She doesn’t want to consider that world. Not again.

It’s the most selfish thing she can do: want him alive.

She shuts her eyes again, lets the grass brush her cheeks, and listens to his breath shudder in and out of his chest.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Heaven or New Vegas

PART TWO: UNMASKED

Part One

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Courier!Fem!Reader

WC: 4.7k

Summary: Crossover fic (Fallout tv show and Fallout New Vegas), a rewrite based on the “Beyond the Beef” side quest in the game. — You and Cooper head in for a meeting that the dead private investigator was supposed to attend, and you uncover the truth of what's going on behind the scenes.

Warnings: canon typical violence (some graphic depictions), some canon divergence (with canon NPC dialogue/actions), mentions of cannibalism, mentions of death, small instances of discrimination against ghouls, pre-established relationship sort of (what they have is complicated okay), Cooper’s a companion (and a little shit), aaaand i think that’s it? But lmk if anything else.

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You had never felt as on edge as you did when you passed by the lobby once more to get to the steam rooms. Mortimer was still at the reception desk, his smile sharp-edged, seeming more like a devilish sneer. You tried your best to smile as genuinely as you could, walking deliberately slow to make it seem like nothing was amiss. 

Cooper’s hostile energy was barely kept at bay, but the firm grip you had on his arm made him hold his tongue. Just to mess with Mortimer, though, he removed his hat and covered your faces as he bent down to give you a brief kiss. Not many were in favor of humans having romantic relationships with ghouls, and seeing the reactions on their faces was always priceless to him. 

You didn’t much care about other people’s opinions as long as they didn’t actively try to cross you, but you did have to admit it was amusing to see them so disgruntled. You just didn’t like it when Cooper was getting the short end of the stick, so you let him get payback however he wanted.

And as predicted, Mortimer had averted his gaze, scowling. The two of you snickered quietly amongst yourselves, taking the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

“You’re really something else,” you said with a slight shake of your head, but affection was still very much apparent in your voice.

“Just couldn’t help myself,” he replied with a self satisfied grin. “We did a good job of cleaning ourselves up, I don’t think he noticed anything.”

“Well, not that he wanted to look at us for too long… All that wasted effort!” you bemoaned mockingly. 

He chuckled at your dramatics, and you glanced down at your Pipboy to check the time – ten minutes to go. You desperately wished you had your weapons, still on edge from earlier. You weren’t sure what kind of person you would find in the steam room, but you did not want to have to fight your way out again if you could help it. One could never be too careful, though. 

You entered the bathhouse and the first thing you found was a large pool, the glistening body parts of a couple of swimmers breaking through the surface.The atmosphere was warm and humid, and it smelled of chlorine. Both the floors and the walls were tiled with white mosaics, which looked damp and slippery. 

You made a point to slow down your steps just in case, holding onto Cooper for support. 

“Shame you didn’t bring a swimsuit…” he sighed. “You would’ve blended in quite nicely here.”

You clicked your tongue, chastising. “Behave, you! Keep your head in the game.”

You glanced over to the pool and considered it for a moment. A swim would be an incredibly rare luxury you couldn’t pass up so easily, but first you had to make sure you stayed alive to do it. 

You conceded a little, though. “But when all is said and done… maybe. If you’re lucky.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking. He was always especially handsome when his smiles were flirtatious, and you had the urge to kiss him again, but you had to suppress it for the time being.

The sauna wasn’t empty when you finally walked into it. Despite the cloying warmth, the dark skinned man who waited there wore a tuxedo, but just like Mortimer, he did not wear a mask. He seemed vaguely familiar, and you thought perhaps you had seen him somewhere near the bar when you’d first arrived.

“Who are you?” He asked warily. 

“You first,” Cooper countered.

“Oh, you don’t know?” His shoulders sagged slightly with relief. “That’s good. Guess they didn’t send you after me. Where’s the gentleman I was supposed to meet?”

“Dead,” you said. “We found a message in his matchbook telling him to come here.”

“My goodness!” He gasped. “They must have known he was talking to someone on the inside…”

“You mean the White Glove Society?”

“Yes, of course. They’ll be watching everyone closer now, I knew this was a mistake.”

You thought for a moment, watching as he dejectedly cradled his head in his hands. Cooper glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was nearby and nodded for you to continue. 

“Is there… a particular reason why you’re afraid of them?” You ventured in a more sympathetic tone, unsure if you would get any more answers out of him. 

The man lifted his head and sighed heavily. “It’s Mortimer. If he knows I spoke to the investigator, he’ll have me killed, too.”

You and Cooper shared a sideways glance as your suspicions were confirmed. 

“Why, though?” You asked. “Is he behind the bride’s disappearance, too?

The man nodded. “He and, um, some of the others they… Have regressed to the old ways. They have taken many people over the last few months. Always from Freeside or other secluded places, you know, where they wouldn’t be missed. But it wasn’t enough… Now they’re also going for tourists out in the Strip and even in the hotel.”

You instinctively inched backwards, feeling like a stone was sinking in your stomach. Cooper let out a huff, arms crossed over his chest. 

“He’s got a funny definition of fine cuisine, that Mortimer,” he said.

“What were you supposed to discuss with the investigator?” You asked, swallowing bile. 

A look of deep shame crossed the man’s face. “I… know what happened to the bride, because I distracted her fiance while they took her. I had to do it! They could tell I was having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve gotten a few decent meals yourself,” Cooper spat. “Too little too late to be feelin’ guilty.”

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly! Look, some of the White Gloves started meeting privately a while back, saying we had lost our identity, and I started attending the meetings because I thought they’d be about changing some of our politics. But by the time I knew what was really going on, there was no way out. They’d kill me for all the things I’d already heard.”

You scanned his face to try and find a hint of dishonesty, but you only found guilt and remorse. You sighed, already knowing what to ask next.

“What about Ted Gunderson? They have him too, don’t they?”

He nodded. “He’s alive. Mortimer has special plans for him, so they’re keeping him fresh. The White Glove society has a private banquet every night at seven. Mortimer is planning on reintroducing human flesh into our cuisine, but he is going to do it in secret. And once everyone has eaten it, he’ll tell them.”

You shook your head in disgust. “Wouldn’t they punish him for the deception? Marjorie seemed pretty strict about the ‘no-cannibalism’ rule.”

“They might, but to him returning to the legacy of returning to the old ways is worth his life. He thinks so much of himself that I don’t think he would expect it, though.”

“Right… So where are they keeping Ted?”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know exactly, I wasn’t in on that. I really think some of them have stopped trusting me. But I’d wager he’s in the members only section in the back of the Gourmand… The chef, Philipe, has an obsession with fresh ingredients. He likes to get experimental with his recipes. Maybe you could talk to him, see what kind of recipes he’s got. But if you try to break in there just to make a rescue, you can’t let them see you or Ted out in the open. There’s guards all around.”

“Got any more suggestions?” Cooper asked. “Don’t think it’ll be particularly smart to make a whole lotta racket fightin’ our way out of there.”

“Well, I guess I could sponsor her as an honorary member. The White Gloves are always lookin’ for someone who can elevate their status, and she certainly fits the bill with all you’ve done around the Strip.”

“Except it wasn’t just me who did all those things,” you countered, incensed. 

Cooper put a placating hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I don’t mind sittin’ this one out, darlin’. You’re the one with the pretty, smooth face, after all.”

“Well, as long as someone knows, that’s all I care about. Not gonna take all the credit,” you huffed, still irritated. “So, if we do that, then what? Any ideas on the banquet?”

“Really sorry, I did not mean any offense,” the man said sheepishly, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Er, they’re doing a Pre-War wine tasting before the meal, so I suppose you could drug them. Though that wouldn’t stop any future kidnappings, and it doesn’t necessarily guarantee Ted’s safety. You have to expose Mortimer but… Oh! What if his revelation was a lie?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You mean, find some sort of meat replacement?”

“Yes! You could replace Philipe in the kitchen, I’m certain he has a suitable recipe,” he said. “And once Mortimer gives his little speech after dinner, you could walk Ted right into the middle of that room. Then he’d have some explaining to do.”

“Hmm, that actually sounds like a solid plan. And what will you be doing?”

“I have to lay low, at least until the banquet. We should meet after you’ve… Disposed of Philipe. I will send you two a message somehow.”

“Fine by us,” said Cooper. “We’ll get to it, then. We ain’t got much time.” 

The man nodded. “Good luck.”

With that, you and Cooper crept back out to the main pool area. You tried not to look at anyone, your vision fixed on Cooper’s back until you safely made it out. 

But right when you reached the bath house’s exit, you heard gunshots coming from the steam room, echoing throughout the place. Chaos ensued, swimmers loudly splashing around as they tried to exit the pool and run away from danger. 

Bodies shoved past you, some slipping and falling on the tiled floors before painstakingly getting back up. Cooper caught your arm and steadied you as someone nearly knocked you over.

“Shit, well there goes our insider contact,” He muttered, ushering you out the double doors.

“Mortimer sure is moving fast,” you said as you made your way down the hallway, blending in with those fleeing. 

“Then we’ll have to be faster.”

—------------------------------------------

Because you were sponsored as an honorary member of the White Gloves, you were given a key to the members only section within the hotel. You’d had to speak to Marjorie once again, a painful awkwardness lingering throughout the conversation. She had conceded due to your stellar reputation — No one else had managed to get into the Lucky 38 casino in many, many years. 

There had to be something special about you, after all.

You and Cooper sauntered in there like you owned the place. Special privileges were given to you due to the nature of the situation, though you hadn’t shared many details with Marjorie. It was not a light accusation to make without any tangible evidence, and you couldn’t ruin your plans before you’d even set them into motion. 

Cooper had enough MedX to drug the whole banquet if necessary, but you wanted to try your chances with Philipe first. If worse came to worst, maybe Cooper could distract him while you pickpocketed him.

You found your way to the kitchen and slipped past the swinging doors with ease. No one was around the main area, which struck you as odd. But then you noticed a stairway leading down to the basement level, unease curling in your stomach.

“Kitchen or bunker?” Cooper mused, looking down at the darkness waiting at the bottom of the steps. 

“To keep them in or keep them out?” you said, trying not to shudder.

“Well, that’s the real question, ain’t it? And there’s only one way to find out.”

He went ahead of you, wielding a knife that he’d swiped from one of the counters. You followed closely, keeping your eyes and ears peeled. There was a long hallway leading in both directions, faintly illuminated by the intermittent red light. There were various unmarked doors lining the walls. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to explore every single one of them, but Ted might be anywhere.

Cooper saw a figure down the hallway and dashed to take care of him quickly and silently. He brought back a stolen dressing cane and handed it to you, the smallest relief over having a weapon washing over you. You nodded at each other and started off down the left side of the hallway. 

You opened the first door to find a man inspecting an array of ingredients laid out on one of the steel prep tables. He brought them close to his face to try and find even the smallest imperfection, those not passing going straight to the trash. What a waste!

He looked up as you stepped in, Cooper lingering behind momentarily to make sure no one else was coming down the hallway.

“Why are you just standing there drooling? Do you think the world’s just gonna wait for you to get caught up? Get back out there and get to work!” He barked, his tone imperious.

“And who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” You snapped in return.

The man raised his eyebrows, a look of both disdain and astonishment on his face. “Who the fuck you do you think I am? I’m the fucking god of New Vegas brahmin fusion cuisine, that’s who! I fucking invented edible food around these parts! If you like food, then you owe me your entire garbage existence.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, anger boiling to the top and threatening to spill over. Your grip tightened on your weapon, and you knew Cooper wasn’t far behind. Okay, so maybe you would have to shift into plan B after all, unless you could hold yourself back from bashing his brains out.

“So, Philipe, then, is it?” Cooper said through his teeth, holding on by a thread. He leaned against the doorway to block off any attempts at escape. “I think you might have her confused with someone else.”

“Oh, really? So despite her filthy face and vacant expression, AND her clear lack of human dignity, you’re telling me she’s not a server?”

“Why you little fucking rat–” You snarled, lunging at him, but Cooper stopped you before you could get very far.

“Hold on for a second, darlin’, let me try to talk some sense into him first.” He said, though he sounded just as angry as you. “We were here to make you an offer, but thinking about it now, maybe I oughta just unleash her on you. Unless, of course, you apologize for your poor fucking manners.” 

Philipe scoffed. “What sort of offer could you possibly have for me?”

Cooper tilted his head to one side slightly. “Ever thought of, I don’t know, publishing a cook book?”

“A cook book?” he seemed genuinely surprised, not having expected it at all. “Me? The supreme ruler of the Nevada dining scene teaching lowlife half-wits how to make food that doesn’t smell like burning excrement? Do you think it would sell?”

You laughed derisively on the inside, praising Cooper for playing to the man’s immense ego instead of immediately trying to barrel at him with murderous intent. Your shoulders relaxed some as you tried to fully regain your composure. 

“With your talents? Most definitely,” Cooper said. “You wouldn’t even have to deal with the public yourself.”

“As it should be,” Philippe said with a wry chuckle. “And how will you make this come about?”

“Oh, we’ve got a few connections here and there… Say, you ever heard of Mister House?”

“Mister House, eh? Now that’s the real deal…”

“‘Course it is. But as a sign of good faith, you know, we’ll need some recipes first.”

Philipe hesitated for the briefest second. “You’re pushing your luck, but alright. I have a few copies on me, here you go.”

He reached into one of his pockets and handed a couple of folded up sheets of paper to Cooper.

“This better be good enough, or we’re gonna have a real problem.”

“Oh, we won’t have any problems, but you on the other hand… You never did apologize. I tried to warn ya.” Cooper let go of your arm, nodding at Philipe with a sharp grin. “Have at him, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, raising the dressing cane over your head and swinging at Philipe’s head. You heard a crack and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious but not dead. 

“Thank you,” you said, satisfied with the small revenge you were able to get. “We should probably tie him up and hide him in the freezer.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, handing you the stack of recipes. “See if there’s anything of note here. Looks like we might have to prepare the banquet ourselves.”

You nodded, both of you immediately getting to work. You scanned through the recipes, intrigued by all the exotic combinations of ingredients. The penultimate one made you pause due to the fact that the dish was called Imitation Long Pig. 

You scowled, nausea threatening to claw its way up your throat. Philipe had cared more about the prospect of money and fame that he might not have remembered he had this one on him. It was experimental alright, but overwhelmingly useful, despite all the gnawing questions it left you with. 

Still, with the array of ingredients he had at his disposal, it might be possible to make a passable decoy meal. All that was left to do was find Ted Gunderson and get him to safety. 

“We might have to split up before dinner is served,” you said as Cooper returned from the freezer. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly in the banquet hall, while you look for Ted down here. I’d wager he’d be open to helping us expose Mortimer, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, what with the kidnapping and all,” he said. “Here’s to hopin’ he trusts the likes of me, ‘cus he’s shit outta luck if he doesn’t.”

“I don’t know, I think my charm has started to rub off on you.” You elbowed him on the side teasingly. “You played that asshole Philipe like a fiddle. Had it all thought up, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “I used to be an actor back in the day, sweetheart. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Don’t I know it?” 

The two of you spent the next two hours preparing the intricate meal. You left the tasting to him as he would be able to tell more accurately if you were on the right track. When all was said and done, the kitchen was a mess, but the food was actually pretty decent. It didn’t smell half bad, but the presentation could have been a little better. Hopefully, it would be enough to fool Mortimer and the other members. 

You glanced at your Pip-Boy to check the time, finding you had only twenty or so minutes left. 

“Alright, time to get this show on the road,” you said, a sudden wave of nervousness threatening to overtake you. “I’m gonna get in touch with the head waiter and get things set up. I’d say we have another hour while they eat. Think you can manage to make it on time?”

“I’ll do my best,” Cooper said, grabbing a cleaver from a wooden block. “That is, if he is still alive.”

You sighed, trying not to think of the other possibility. “I’ll meet you in the dining room, alright? I’ll try to find a uniform and a mask around here somewhere, so be careful who you go swinging that knife at later.”

He grinned slyly. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that, I’ll be able to recognize you.”

————————————

“I know I’m not the scheduled speaker, but I’ve got a few words to say, if I may.” Mortimer’s voice was arrogant, almost gloating. Like he had already won. “There was a time not so long ago when we were bound together not as members, but as family. As a clan.”

You stood in the shadows near the kitchen door, peering out at the dining room from underneath a doll mask. Sweat beaded on the small of your back, praying that Mortimer liked the sound of his own voice enough to keep going for a little while longer. 

They had just finished eating a couple of minutes before, and based on Mortimer’s confident speech, he’d definitely been fooled by the fake meat. You smiled a little, savoring another small victory in your plans. You just hoped that Cooper wasn’t far behind, hopefully with Ted in tow. 

“Among us, it is a crime to discuss a return to the old ways that unified our people,” Mortimer was saying, nearing the end of his speech. “Tonight, that all changes. The taboo ends.”

Marjorie started to stand up, astonished. “Excuse m–”

“Let me finish, Marjorie.” He interrupted. “For our society to be truly elite, we most dine on the most delicious, most exclusive food known to us. And tonight, for the first time as a society, you are sampling that very dish – the meat we are forbidden to taste, the way it was meant to be eaten! Bon appetit, my fellow members of the White Glove Society!”

There was a chorus of shocked and horrified gasps from the crowd. Marjorie nearly fainted but was caught by a woman sitting next to her. You almost felt bad for her. Your eyes swept over the perimeter of the room to see what the guards would do. They were poised for attack, but they were seemingly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The diners, on the other hand, were unsure of what to do, murmuring amongst themselves. Then there was movement in your periphery and you heard the tell tale jingle of spurs. You slowly breathed out in relief, watching as Cooper and a man you assumed was Ted Gunderson approached Mortimer from behind. Upon seeing them, he took a step back, one side of his mouth curling up in a sneer.

“What the– You two are trespassing! This is a private event!” He exclaimed. 

“Bad news, Mortimer, no one’s eating the fella you’d kidnapped for tonight,” Cooper said loud enough for all to head, gesturing at Ted.

“What are you–? Why is he here?” His voice trembled. “Who are we eating right now, then?”

You slowly pushed off the wall and unmasked, unable to help a smug grin. There was recognition first, followed by vitriol, which made the reveal all the more satisfying.

“It’s a secret recipe,” you said, twirling your dressing cane casually, barely concealing the threat beneath. “But it’s not human meat, I can tell you that.”

Mortimer stammered, panic in his eyes as he glanced around. Some of the diners started rising from their seats.

“No, t-they’re lying! I didn’t kidnap anyone,” he said, making Ted take an angry step forward. “Okay, well, e-even if I did, no harm done! See? He’s alive after all!”

“Too late for that, Mortimer. You’ve already said a little too much.”

Knowing he was backed into a corner, Mortimer became incensed, whirling around to glare at everyone. 

“You’re all hypocrites! How can you call yourselves connoisseurs when you don’t even allow yourselves the greatest of all meats?” He spat, disgusted. “I am ashamed to have once called everyone here family. But I’ll begin anew, and the White Glove Society will never achieve the greatness of my new order! You’ll all hear from me again!” 

With that, he fled,  much faster than you’d expected possible. Cooper was about to run after him, but you held him back as a couple of White Gloves pursued him instead. Ted crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head reproachfully. 

“Well, I’ll be damned… if it weren’t for y’all, I’d have been made into pot roast,” he said, shuddering slightly at the imagery. “I tried to tell my old man that meeting with these people wasn’t a good idea. They always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“We sure as hell were lucky,” Cooper said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But I still don’t trust the rest of ‘em.”

You looked over to where Marjorie was being fanned by the woman sitting next to her, while another woman offered her ice cold water. You let out a noncommittal grunt.

“Marjorie certainly seemed to be none the wiser, at least,” you said. “But it might be smart to take your business elsewhere, after all. You can tell your father all about it, in fact. We’ll take you to him.”

“He’s still here?”

“Oh yes, I don’t think he could ever leave you behind. And he did hire the best, to be fair.”

Ted looked at you and Cooper in turn, both of you beaming proudly. He let out an amused huff and nodded, smiling gratefully.

“I see that now,” he said. “Lead the way.”

You took him all the way back to the bar where, true to his word, Heck Gunderson still waited. Upon spotting the three of you, he leapt to his feet, his expression breaking open with relief. 

“Oh my god, Ted! Are you alright?” He asked, frantically searching his son for any injuries. 

“Quit your hollerin’. I’m just fine!” Ted gruffed, but he let him continue fussing over him. 

“You got me my boy back. I got no words,” Heck said tearfully as he turned to you and Cooper. “Who did this? I wanna skin their hides myself!”

“It was the maitre d’, Mortimer, who had Ted taken. He’s a cannibal,” you explained. “But he ran away right after we exposed him.”

“Well that does it! None of them maniacs will ever do business with Heck Gunderson as long as they live. They control the food? Well there ain’t gonna be no food, not for anybody in this whole damn town!”

“Hold on now, let’s not get too hasty,” Cooper intervened, holding up his hands placatingly. “That would be just what he’d want. You’d be driving everyone in the city to eat each other.”

Heck eyed him for a moment, but it was clear his suspicion had mostly subsided. He let out a deep sigh, relenting. 

“I don’t particularly like this place – the whole Strip, really. But you got a point, they’re all ready hell-bent on depravity here, and I don’t wanna help ‘em along,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a sack of caps. “Well, I promised y’all I’d make it worth your while, so here you go. Don’t go spendin’ it all in one place, y’hear me?”

“No promises, sir,” you said, testing the heft of the bag before handing it to Cooper for safe keeping. “Thank you, and good luck with business.”

Both men tipped their hats and, with that, you parted ways. It seemed much easier to breathe now that it was all over, but the afterglow of victory was certainly worth all you’d both been through. You weren’t sure what you’d have done if Cooper hadn’t been by your side. You grasped his hand for a brief moment and squeezed his fingers appreciatively.

“So, what’s next for us, cowboy?” You asked, surreptitiously leading him back to the bath house. “After my swim of course.”

He chuckled, offering his arm for you to take. 

“I heard Gomorrah's got some shady business going on, might be worth checking out at some point. But we definitely deserve some time off, and we got the caps for it.” He said, looking over at you with a roguish grin. “Say… do you think Yes Man would be able to officiate if we asked it to?”

“Well, it can’t say no, so… I’m sure there’s a way.” You smiled, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ve already got this nice dress, so we might as well put it to good use. But you know that means we’ll have to earn even more caps for the honeymoon, right?”

“All the more reason to hit up the casinos.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope none of them also have a cannibalism problem. I’ve had enough of that.”

--------

THE END.

[oathbreakerapologist]

Has Orin always preferred Nero as a sexual partner? Was she devoted only to him?

Yes, she has always preferred him. The more elaborate answer requires a bit of exposition about the way their sexual relationship started. Content warning for grooming, incestuous and pseudo-incestuous relationships, and social contexts that complicate consent.

Orin was 7 years old when Niro arrived at the temple of Bhaal. At that point, as best as I can approximate canon timelines (this would be in the year 1471 DR) she had already killed her mother, Sarevok was dead, and the spirit of Sarevok was wandering, not yet in residence at the Murder Tribunal. Despite that Orin had been encouraged to be relentlessly independent, she was still a child, and she latched onto Niro as an authority figure rather quickly. She came to see him as a big brother. Depending on how you label the relationship between Niro, a creation of Bhaal, and Sarevok, a son of Bhaal, Niro's initial relationship with Orin was arguably familial.

Niro does not consider himself a blood relation of Sarevok; he does not consider himself a blood relation of anyone. As far as he's concerned, he is the first and only member of a unique lineage. But, as he found greater and greater similarities between himself and young Orin, he fairly quickly took her under his wing and viewed her as a little sister. They understood each other as siblings first.

Orin's formative years were spent in a social context that, while not openly acknowledging her origins as a child of incest, implicitly encouraged incest among Bhaalspawn as a means of keeping a divine bloodline strong. She was undoubtedly groomed by Sarevok and, following Sarevok's death, by his followers, particularly the people that took over the temple (and her safekeeping) in his absence. So she understood Niro to be a highly desirable future partner long before she felt any actual attraction towards him.

By the time she was a teenager, she and Niro were utterly inseparable. They'd come to consider each other two of a kind, a unique pair, the only ones like themselves in the world. Without much discussion, they mutually arrived at a shared idea that they were destined for each other, made for each other in all ways.

Niro believed with absolute certainty that Orin would come to him when she was ready, and she did. Raised in a social context that, well, complicated normal human social interactions, Orin didn't exactly have the socioemotional toolkit to express that she desired him, not at first at least. In practice, what happened was that around the time she was initiated into the cult (at approximately 18 years old), she initiated an increasingly sexually charged series of acts of ritual violence with him which ultimately culmonated in their first sexual encounter.

They both saw it as a natural extension of their bond; of course they would be lovers. Neither of them could even conceive of being partnered with anybody else. Neither of them had much interest in anyone else beyond fleeting flickers of attraction here and there. And, furthermore, Niro was willing to give and especially take far more extreme physical torment than most anyone else; to Orin, others were simply less interesting.

They did occasionally bring others in. This was often, but not quite always, lethal to the others involved.

[gracilissart]

mind infodumping about Seamus and Seraphina? I love them both 🖤

WOAH !!!! HI !!!!!! yes. yes of course. I would love to yap on endlessly about these two mfs

I'm unsure what exactly it is that you'd like to know? I wouldn't even know where to start because Seamus and Seraphina both are a convoluted mess and I have way too much unorganised info on them 😭😭😭 however. I'll try give some basic info about their methods to give you a start 🫡 to keep the post preview short I'll put the given info below a read more cut.

Seamus Wrynn

Seamus always struggled to connect with people. he never quite felt as though he was a 'person' in the way he understood other people to be, and thus felt in return there was no way for any person to fully get him. nobody but his older sister, Eileen.

the relationship between his sister and himself was innately abusive. what initially came across as overprotectiveness on Eileen's behalf later grew darker, more sordid. growing ill and bedridden made her physically dependent on Seamus' care, but the dynamic only strengthened the hold she had on him. the psychological and sexual abuse slowly warped Seamus' already-fragile outlook on love, sexuality, and his theories on how the world around him works.

the death of Eileen made him a ticking time bomb; it was only a matter of time before he did something bad, not just to those around him but to himself as well. an apprenticeship under a photographer who took a particular interest in him set up the perfect storm; Seamus now had an outlet.

his photography is a glimpse into his outlook. there is a vision, but what that may be grows increasingly unclear the deeper you try to dig and analyse. it's everything, it's nothing, it is meaningless violence but also is all-encompassing. the constant is death, violence and eroticism wrapped into a single gallery of depravity.

for how much it is his gimmick I realise I have actually tackled his body of work very little on the blog so hopefully I can get around to depicting it more 🤞 whether it be through art or writing. teehee!

Seraphina Shaw

for as long as she could remember, Seraphina was angry. violent and angry, and for most of her life she had been unable to pinpoint why she was always so angry.

the answers seemed simple at first; she lived in shithole 90's-00's Glasgow, had a drunken shithead dad who oftentimes couldn't bring himself to care about what she was getting herself up to and the sight of heroin and what it did to people was unavoidable. to be angry at the world for such unfair circumstances was only natural.

especially when it turned out you not only were pan, but a trans woman and suffered under the effects of albinism.

however, it didn't explain why she felt so violently towards those who didn't wrong her, and why making others hurt - despite her not wanting to give in to it - excited her so.

working with Seamus as a human unravelled these repressed urges and made her, to some degree, understand. understand not just Seamus' twisted vision (although not fully) but understand more about herself. in her eyes there was no point in pretending she ever was or will be a good person, so why try? why do that when it feels so much better to embrace evil?

it took her time to really see eye to eye with Seamus; he still did pull a lot of things that could be considered nothing short of traumatic, which deeply complicated the way they interact. nowadays, they're amicable.

[ikeromantic]

Hi, I like your rescue the mc for Mitsuhide story so can you do something similar for Chevalier or Licht?

So this one took me a bit to put together. I chose to write for Licht (Chev has a rescue scene already that will be posted as part of the route re-write). So, here goes! Approx. 2000 words of Licht rescuing his beloved Belle. TW for implied animal abuse and off-screen animal death, and for violence.

Licht glanced at the edge of crimson sun as it slid below the horizon. The hour was late, and there was no sign of Emma yet. He felt a flicker of annoyance, with worry quick on its heels. She should be back to her rooms by now, but it was just him and a pile of books. 

He waited past sunset and into full dark. Still no sign of the Belle, though a servant had come by to turn down her sheets and fluff her pillows. 

Was there some event today, he wondered. Perhaps a dinner or an outing Sariel failed to inform him of. That scenario seemed unlikely. Both for the idea Sariel would forget anything and that even if he had, Rio would be here waiting with him. 

Licht tired of waiting and set off to find Sariel. He promised himself if the councilor was at fault, he was going to quit this job. Guarding the Belle was simply too much to ask, especially when she disappeared on him like this and made him worry. 

Sariel was in his office as usual. When Licht asked about Belle’s location, the councilor’s eyebrow twitched before he answered. Even the devil has tells, the prince thought. “Perhaps she ran into one of your brothers. I’ll send a servant to inquire,” Sariel told him. 

“Do that.” Licht was already turning to leave. 

“Are you going back to her room?” 

“No.” Licht did not elaborate. He readied a horse and rode out from the palace, thoughts churning. He knew Sariel didn’t believe the Belle was with his brothers. He trusted the councilor would search the palace high and low for her, but Licht had a feeling she was not there.

It was that vague sense of guilt that crept into his chest like a cold fog when he knew he’d brought someone more misfortune. He’d warned her so many times to stay clear of him, but she never listened. Licht could see her in his mind’s eye, lips lifted in a sweet smile. Her voice calling to him, telling him how much she adored him. Ignoring the danger to herself every moment he was near. 

That was why he knew she couldn’t just be somewhere in the palace. No. His ill-fortune was not so kind to those close to him. 

The first place he checked in town was the bookstore. When he woke the owner, Licht learned that she had been there and left with an armful of books, Rio in tow. But he didn’t know where she went after that.

Licht checked the cafes and bakeries. Yes, she was sighted, and no . . . no one knew where she went. He was almost mad with not knowing. His Belle was gone and he feared he might never find her. That she would be gone, never knowing that he . . . that he . . .

“M-mister?”

The prince glanced down to find a scrawny street urchin huddled in the alley beside the bakery he’d just left. He couldn’t tell how old the kid was, or much else. The child wore oversized clothes more patched than whole, and probably held together by the layers of grime that coated them, skin, hair, and fabric alike.

“Yes?” Licht squatted down to look the kid in the eye.

“Are you looking for the nice l-lady?”

He tilted his head, studying the child. “I am. Did you see her? Do you know where she went when she left here?”

The kid bit their lip nervously. “I . . . I . . .”

“There is a reward if you tell me.”

“I don’t want no reward.” The kid huffed. “Just, you gotta tell me mister. Are you her friend?”

Licht considered. Technically, he was her bodyguard right now. But he didn’t want to explain to this child the complicated nuance of their relationship.”Yes.”

“Alright. She gave me some bread and then she went that way.” The kid pointed. “But some men stopped her. They said they was taking her to a special place. And if she didn’t go, they was gonna hurt her other friend. The blonde one.” 

Licht felt his chest still, a frozen pond that made him brittle and cold all over. “Where is this special place? Did you see the blonde friend again?” He tried to keep his voice gentle, but knew it came out flat.

“I don’t know about the blonde guy. Maybe they got him too? But they said where they were going with the nice lady,” the kid swallowed, “they took her to the basement of that tavern. The bad one.” 

“The bad one?” Licht wasn’t sure what the child meant. There were a number of disreputable spots in town, places where criminals gathered and illegal activities were housed. “Which? What does it look like?”

“It’s got the two dogs on the sign. Fighting.”

The prince knew immediately which one that was. Sariel shut it down several times on complaints of animal cruelty and other petty crimes. Nothing like kidnapping or - or worse. “Thank you.” He gave the kid a tense smile and then tossed him a gold coin. “Go and find the nearest guardsman. Tell him Prince Licht is rescuing the - ah - a noble lady from Contest. Can you do that?”

“Uh. Yeah. Ok.” The kid pocketed the coin. 

Licht didn’t wait for more. He ran.  

The tavern came into sight at the end of a narrow dirt lane. The houses along this street slumped on their lots, upper stories leaning out over the road on rotted beams and peeling boards. The windows here had no glass. Some had bars or shutters barely hanging from their hinges. None had lights inside, not even the flicker of a burning candle. That made Contest stand out.

It was a beacon of warm light and raucous laughter, filled to the brim with men of questionable disposition and ladies with eyes as hard as granite. The smell of it wafted on the night’s breeze, liquor and piss and vomit, the sweat of unwashed bodies. Licht could not imagine his delicate Belle in such a place. 

He considered going through the front door. It was guarded by two large men who wore leather saps at their belt and likely carried knives under their coats. Licht knew he could take them, probably before either called for help. But then he’d have to pass through the whole common room to find the basement entry and while he fought forward, anything might happen to the Belle in the rooms below.

Risking her safety was not acceptable. Not when it was his fault she was here. 

Licht carefully crept around to a side alley and slipped behind the tavern. The space back here was littered with garbage and the corpses of small animals. It seemed they still held dog fights here, and other even uglier spectacles. He ignored the queasy sights and focused on finding a rear entrance. 

There was a backdoor here that likely led into a storeroom or kitchen, but he passed it hoping for some better option. It seemed he had some good luck for that at least. On the left side of the tavern, in a narrow gap between buildings, he spotted a pair of cellar doors. 

The wood of them was rotted enough for light to pour through a myriad of cracks and tiny holes. Someone had thought to set a padlock on it, but the black iron of the lock was set into the soft boards. 

He listened outside the door for a moment. There were voices inside, but fewer than the crowd in the common room. Licht could not make out what they were saying, but he gauged around five men. There could be more if some were silent. A wiser course of action would be to wait and assess. To get backup. But he couldn’t let Belle linger there another moment. He would die first.

Licht crashed through the door and landed on the stairs below. His entrance drew every eye in the room. There were far more than five men. There were twenty at least. More than any sane swordsman would take on alone. Not that these men looked keen to try. He took a breath, trying to quickly analyze the situation. 

Most of the people down here were sitting in chairs, hands curled around little paddles with numbers on them. They did not appear to be armed though a few carried ostentatious decorative canes or thin dueling swords. The danger came from the five men on the stage. 

One stood at the head as if addressing the seated audience. Two held a struggling woman between them. She had a sign around her neck that read, ‘Jadedite Beauty’. Two other men stood beside a line of chained women, each with signs hanging from their necks. There were cages too, and in them, bound men. Rio was one, his eyes swollen shut, his face and body bruised. The men were clearly guards, and carried saps and riding crops at their hips.

Licht’s eyes sought his Belle of their own accord. And she was there. Standing shackled beside one of the guards. Her arms were bruised and her lips were split and swollen. The sign on her neck read, ‘Plaything of Princes’. Her eyes met his and Licht saw in them a flash of desperate hope.

That was the last thing he really saw before his vision turned crimson, a red fog that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He did not consciously think to draw his sword, but found it in his hands. His body was moving, pulled forward by an incandescent rage at seeing her treated like this. That it would happen to any woman was a horror but his Belle, his kind, pure-hearted Belle . . . 

The next minutes were a blur. Blood and shrieking voices, the hot sting of his own pain and the smell of copper. When Licht came back to himself, he was kneeling in front of her, his face pressed to her gown. Hot tears mixed with the spattered gore on his cheeks and stained the fabric of the Belle’s skirt. 

She stroked his hair, whispering a flood of endearments and gratitude. 

Around them lay bodies, the five kidnappers and several of their customers. Anyone who stood between Licht and the Belle. Their captives stood or crouched nearby, still in shock. Freedom hadn’t settled yet in their bones. 

Licht looked up at his Belle as if there was no one else there, not in the room, perhaps not in all of Rhodolite. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice catching. His throat was tight and the words tore like barbed metal. “This was all my fault.”

“You’re . . . Licht, no,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have sent Rio off on errands. You and Sariel warned me and I - I . . .” Her eyes widened as she looked down at him. “Licht! You’re hurt!” She knelt in front of him, her hands trembling as she touched the bloodied edges of his clothes where daggers had torn both fabric and flesh.

He shook his head and his vision swam. “I’m not important. But you, are you ok?”

“How can you say that? How can you say you’re not important when . . . to me you - you matter most?” She hugged him gently, carefully, her arms held just barely touching.

Licht pulled her close, not caring about the sharp burning agony that lanced through him. He deserved that and worse. His fault. Though he knew he should be pushing the Belle away, he couldn’t let go. Not yet. He promised himself he would - he had to, for her sake - but just a little longer with her in his arms. Because she needed the comfort. He laid his cheek atop her hair and let the sweet, clean scent of her wash away the stench of the basement and felt guilty for the peace it brought him.  

Pinpricks of shadow dotted his vision, swarming until Licht could not tell if his eyes were open or closed. If he died now, like this, he thought, that would be alright. “I hate you,” he whispered, or perhaps only thought the words. Though in his mind and on his lips they meant - love adore worship - something very different.

[itsoverfeeling]

Hi, I watched Werewolf by Night a second time. I have more thoughts.

So, in my first analysis post (which you can find here, I'm not gonna repeat my main points here, so if you need clarification, there it is), I was mostly just rambling out my ideas. I'm still doing that! But I want to focus on some other points bouncing through my head.

Firstly, the film is absolutely about family and legacy. Every conflict in the movie exists due to these motifs. Jack is likely a werewolf because of a family curse. Elsa is fighting only because she didn't live up to the expectations bestowed on her. Jack is on the rescue mission in the first place because he wants to help Ted, someone Jack admits to considering family. Elsa's trapped with Jack because her step mother resents her. The competition is only happening in the first place because Elsa is no longer considered enough of a daughter to Ulysses Bloodstone to inherit the stone automatically (though I am very curious as to Ulysses's actual views as opposed to the ones filtered through the step mother's bias). Every inner and external conflict stems from family history and relationships.

Something I want to focus on especially is the scene where werewolf Jack pins down Elsa. Because guess what? The two major physical manifestations of their legacies are right there. Jack, caught in the symbolic generational cycle of literally being a monster, is not only in his werewolf form, but also is wearing his Día de los Muertos makeup. Elsa, in her dead father's home having just stopped her step-mother from attacking Jack, has the bloodstone in her back pocket.

They are both well-armed with the weapons their parents have passed down to them, whether their parents ultimately planned to give them these gifts/curses or not. They both can easily harm each other or even kill each other.

But they don't.

They both decide in that moment to stop the violence. Elsa puts the bloodstone away and Jack willfully leaves her alone. They both are the strongest people in the room who have a history of violence. And by all means, their violence towards each other would make perfect sense. It would be so easy to justify. But they actively choose not to. Despite being in such heightened emotional states (Jack being a werewolf and Elsa trembling in terror), they still don't hurt each other.

And I think that while they could explain their actions however they wanted later as whatever story that would fit their lives best, the fact is that at their core they chose to be good in that moment. Unlike everything that influenced them not to be.

Earlier on in the movie, Jack said that you sometimes think there is one thing you can do that will change everything your ancestors did before you. And maybe Elsa and Jack thought this story was about getting the bloodstone and saving Ted. But maybe it was about meeting each other and choosing to be unlike what their heritage dictates.

I'd also like to bring attention to how despite there being an emphasis on breaking the cycle of these legacies, there's still a layer of respect under it all.

Jack, despite whatever complicated feelings he may have about his curse or his past, is wearing the Día de los Muertos makeup to honor his ancestors. He manages to defy his family curse (unconfirmed but probable considering the film themes and his comic origins) but his respect for them is literally painted across his face.

(I'll also say that Día de los Muertos is for family members who've passed and a few articles/interviews imply that Jack is centuries old. So, his makeup is possibly not just for his grandparents and relatives, but his parents and sister as well (again, those family members are not specifically confirmed, but somewhat likely due to the comics))

The same for Elsa. Would Ulysses consider this whole thing a failure? Eh... well, maybe not (he literally put his best hunters in a death game that only would've lessened the overall success of the monster hunting mission: less hunters, less dead monsters. I think he would have found this whole thing funny as fuck). But it's unconventional for sure. And despite Elsa probably going in an unintended direction from her legacy, she still respects the actual bloodstone. Enough to fight for it as her father intended. She describes it in the beginning of the film as rightfully hers, showing that she's not as dismissive of her family legacy as implied by her step mother.

In a strange way, Jack and Elsa continue to honor their families while altering the legacies they've been left behind.

[artthemasquerade]

Once again my brain has thought up another AU, this time for Violence Jack, what if the Slum King had only gotten his hands on just Ryo and had emotionally and mentally broke him down enough to the point Ryo has become one of his Slum Queens? Upon finding out the Slum King's desire to make Miki his next wife, Ryo gets her to flee while he distracted the Slum King, however The Slum King remembering a little of their past relationship decides that he wants to keep Ryo by his side and starts the progress of breaking Ryo's mind down and forcing him to submit to him in all ways. At first Ryo tries to resist but over time he comes to believe that he deserves the abuse the Slum King is inflicting on him and finally gives himself over to his 'husband'. Ryo even though not remembering who he really is, does end up remembering that he and the Slum King(Zennon) were in a past life married and he had betrayed his husband in many horrible ways and that's what spurs the Slum King's cruelty towards him. The Slum King pleased, quickly makes Ryo his 21st wife and dresses him in an all white outfit and has him taught in the art of firearms when Ryo showed a talent for sniping. Despite Ryo apparently showing a great deal of loyalty to his husband, the Slum King keeps Ryo chained to his side nearly at all times except in battle as the Slum King was still paranoid that his bride would betray him again and to prevent Ryo from drinking himself to death. Since Ryo was slowly becoming an alcoholic thanks to the constant abuse the Slum King still inflicts on him (physical, emotional and sexual). Despite all the self built delusion that he only loves his husband and is nothing but loyal to him, Ryo can't stop his feelings of love towards Miki and his need to see her again, instead trying to drown them away with booze.   Most of the time Ryo is often left isolated and alienated by his fellow sister wives, especially by the sister wives who are in love with the Slum King as they resent the attention he gets all the time, especially considering the fact that Ryo is unable to give their husband any children. The only close relationship he has is with the main Slum Queen who has psychic powers (can't remember her name XDD) but even that relationship is complicated as Ryo has no idea if he can really trust his dearest sister wife to not betray him. Even with Ryo believing that he deserves to be punished by the Slum King for sins committed in a past life, he can't push away his disgust at the horrors and cruelty his husband inflicts on the people of Kanto and wishes that his love and devotion to his husband and king would be enough to prevent so much evil. But when the Slum King and Violence Jack have their first battle, Ryo cannot help but feel for the first time in a long time a wish to see his husband finally be killed and he be free at last, and has since had dreams of another past love of a gentle but fierce man...     This design is based on Ryo's look from the second Devilman OVA Devilman the Demon Bird and the Slum Queen's outfit she was introduced in Violence Jack

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood Part 3

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Three Summary: Lori meets the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 4 k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Three Warnings:

Masturbation, caught in the act, flirting, smutty thoughts, embarrassment, angst, fluff.

Authors Note: Thanks to @henryobsessed for beta reading.

I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Two Part Four

Lori

We had only been on the highway for a few minutes when I heard the other bikes. They drew up in formation and briefly took up all four lanes. Each rider was wearing their colours and full-face helmets so I couldn’t get a read on any of them, other than they all looked to be close to Sy’s size and build. Well, except one, who seemed a little slimmer, but was at least as tall as the others.

One of the riders signalled something to Syverson who inclined his head in response. Then two of the bikes pulled ahead while two others fell behind and they stayed that way for the rest of the journey.

The problem with being a pillion on a motorcycle, especially on a long stretch of highway, was that you didn’t have much to do except think.

It wasn’t something I normally had a problem with, I was fairly comfortable with my own company for the most part, but I had a lot on my mind and not a lot of it was pleasant.

There was one incessant thought, one that wouldn’t leave me alone despite how often I tried to ignore it. It was inescapable considering my arms were currently wrapped around the subject of those thoughts.

Syverson. He was a complication in my life that I didn't need right now.

The first problem was that he was attracted to me.

I shouldn’t be surprised really. Not because I thought of myself as remarkably good looking, but because he’s a biker and I’d heard the phrase “any hole is a goal” uttered too many times by guys like him to take his attraction as anything more than a passing interest.

When I realised he was checking me out, my first thought was that I should take advantage of it because if I got him on my side it might make dealing with him and the rest of the Brothers easier. So I played up the innocent girl act by biting my lip and looking wide-eyed. But if I'm honest with myself, it had only been partly an act.

The truth was I found Sy to be ridiculously hot. 

And funny. 

And honest. 

And kind. 

And sweet Jesus, when he swept his thumb over my lips I almost moaned.

Which was my second problem. I was attracted to him too.

Sy might appear a little different to most of the bikers I knew, but in the end, he was in the life and that meant he was not a viable option as a romantic partner. I’d seen too much heartache and too many failed relationships to go down that road.

I loved my mother, but I didn’t want her life. A life walking around a clubhouse wearing a patch that read “Property of ….” so other assholes don’t try to touch you, always being worried about his fidelity and the social stigma that comes from being associated. Not to mention the constant stress of knowing your partner could end up in jail or dead.

Still, there was no harm in flirting with him, right? Who knows how long I was going to be stuck with them, so what was the harm in having a bit of fun? I’m sure he’d be up for it. I've yet to meet a biker who wasn't keen for a bit of no strings attached sex.

No, not a good idea. Not with Sy anyway. I liked him too much already. He had made me laugh for God’s sake. After all the shit I’d been through, it only took one perfectly imperfect wink for me to melt. If he'd tried to pick me up in a bar and he wasn't in the life, there's no doubt in my mind I’d go home with him. 

No. Hooking up with Sy would be too risky. The last thing I wanted was to catch feelings.

I concentrated on ignoring how hard his body was, how good he smelled, how blue his eyes were, and how cute his dimples were when he smiled.

Fuck. Maybe it was already too late.

After a couple of hours of fixating on Sy and arguing with myself, I finally found something that took my mind off it. 

I was freezing. 

The icy wind of the Arizona desert cut right through my jeans. My knees were starting to ache and my leg muscles cramped. 

I huddled closer to Sy, leaning my head against his shoulder to use his huge form as a windbreak. It worked, mostly, but my hands were unprotected, my gloves were no longer enough to keep my fingers from growing numb. I started making fists, trying to keep the blood pumping, hoping it would warm me up.

I felt Sy take my hands, one at a time, and slip each into his unzipped pockets in the front of his jacket. Instantly they felt warmer, and once again I was surprised by his kind gesture. 

I tightened my arms around him, hoping he’d realise I was trying to thank him. He seemed to understand and gave my knee a gentle pat. He left it there for a few moments, and I could feel the warmth of him heating my cold knee through his glove. 

Ever so slowly, he moved his hand down my calf and rubbed it gently, as if he were massaging heat back into my cramping muscles, before he worked his way up again. I held my breath as he patted my thigh and I squeezed him tight again, this time tightening my thighs as well.

I suddenly didn’t feel quite as cold.

I was not going to fall for him, I was not going to let his tender gestures fool me. I was not going to be seduced by a few moments of sweetness and a nice smile and a strong body and amused eyes so clear and blue they were like the sky on a cloudless day.

No way. Not worth it.

As soon as the cold ebbed away, a sudden wave of weariness hit me and I felt tired. Dead tired. 

The rumbling sound of the v-twin between my legs, its gentle vibration at this speed, and the smoothness of the road became a soothing lullaby, and I found myself dozing, suspended in the twilight between being awake and asleep. It made the final hours fly by and it wasn’t until we turned off the highway that I was able to stay awake.

By the time Sy and the other riders pulled into a motel it was very late, well after midnight, and I felt a little sorry for the other guests. Not many people can sleep through the sound of one set of aftermarket pipes, let alone five. 

When Sy killed the engine, I groaned as a muscle in the bottom of my foot tightened. It was gonna take a minute for me to get off the damn bike and I was a little embarrassed as the others were already lifting their long legs over their rides and Sy was waiting patiently for me to dismount. The guy who had signalled Sy on the highway headed towards hotel reception immediately, not even taking the time to remove his helmet. 

I took a deep breath and willed myself to clamber ungracefully off the bike. My legs protested, but I was able to clear the bike before they gave out and I stumbled into a firm body that caught me by the shoulders before I ate pavement.

“Ooft! Easy sweetheart.”

I looked up at a man with a beard similar to Sy’s, but his hair fell around his face in thick curls, almost like a cherub from an old painting. His blue eyes were serious and a little stern, even as a smile split his face and his voice was unexpectedly warm. My breath caught in my throat, he was gorgeous.

“Has Syverson already worn you out?” he asked in a gentle voice with a soft and polite English accent.

His hands held my upper arms, straightening me until I was standing again. My legs still felt like jelly, and not just because of exhaustion. I was right when I thought the other riders were as big as Sy, this guy was at least as burly. But unlike Syverson this guy had the appearance of a cranky grizzly, having little of Sy’s playfulness despite his smile.

“Ease up, Marshall,” Sy said. I looked at him gratefully and one side of his mouth turned up in a smile in return.

“She’s fine,” Marshall said, and I turned back to him. 

He was staring at me, his head tilted to the side showing off a large black and grey rose tattoo on his neck and a small gage in his ear. He looked like he was studying me, and from the wolfish grin on his face, he seemed to like what he saw. My heart started to race, thundering so loud I thought there was no way he couldn’t hear it. 

“Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

I nodded slowly and Marshall tentatively let me go, keeping his hands close as if he thought I would fall again. Once he was satisfied I could stand on my own accord, he loosened the straps of my helmet and gently took it off before smoothing my tousled hair. He tucked the helmet under his arm while he helped me take my gloves off and shoved them into the helmet.

Two more bikers flanked Marshall. Both were unbelievably appealing too. One of them drew my attention immediately because of his unusual and striking appearance. He had silvery-white hair pulled back into a braid which isn’t unusual in itself but his face wasn’t that of an old man; he looked to be in his late 30s. The other was younger, probably my age, no way was he over 25. He appeared to have a youthful enthusiasm that I hadn’t seen in the others.

I stared at all four of them with my mouth no doubt agape. These weren’t bikers, these were models, each one more attractive than the last.

“I’m Mike,” the younger one introduced himself, grinning broadly. 

He was cute and cheerful, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle as if he knew something you didn’t. He had a barbell piercing through his eyebrow and a small stud in one of his ears. There was a glimpse of a tattoo that poked above his jacket and up his neck, but I couldn’t make out what it was. 

I instantly liked him and returned his affable smile. In a way, he reminded me of my brother before the drugs and the club sucked the life out of his eyes. I stuck my hand out to give him a shake, but before I could introduce myself, he threw his arms wide and wrapped them around my waist. He squeezed with a groan and lifted my feet off the ground. I yelped but started to giggle; I was not expecting this level of flirtation within seconds of meeting him. I liked it though, his flirtations came across as playful and fun rather than sleazy.

“Mike,” Sy barked.

“Fuck, alright.” Mike put me down but not before he whispered in my ear, “He never lets me have any fun.” 

Mike planted a quick kiss on my cheek and let me go. Marshall must have seen because he smacked the back of Mike’s head.

“Fucking creep,” Marshall reprimanded. 

I was worried that it would go further than that, but Mike just chuckled and rubbed the back of his head like it was something he was used to.

Sy stood beside me and laid a heavy arm lightly around my shoulders, directing my attention to the other biker.

“This old man is Geralt,” he said, smirking.

Geralt gave Sy a weary look from beneath lowered brows before he offered me his hand with a half-smile. I took it and I gasped as I looked at his eyes, I had never seen such bright amber eyes in real life before. They were beautiful and appeared to shine even in the darkness of the car park. I opened my mouth to tell him my name when I heard another voice behind me.

“Syverson.” A set of keys were thrown at Sy, which Sy caught easily in one hand. “Take the client to her room, you take the first watch.” 

I turned to the guy, he wasn’t looking at me, his eyes were on Marshall, throwing him another set of keys. 

“Marshall, you’re with Mike, second, third shift. Geralt, you’re with me, fourth, I’m fifth. Any questions?”

I felt Sy stiffen, seeming to bristle at the orders. This last Brother was obviously in charge and when he finally looked in my direction, I could see why. 

He took my breath away. He was just as attractive as the others but he had a next level aura of danger that the others couldn’t compete with. He shouldn’t be so good looking; by all rights his Tom Selleck moustache should look ridiculous, but it somehow didn’t.

“Walker,” he said simply.

“Lori,” I managed to mumble. There was something about Walker that simultaneously made me feel hot and cold. He wasn’t tattooed or pierced the way the others were, but he was far more intimidating than the rest of the Brothers.

He smirked and raised his eyebrows as he looked me up and down. 

“She’s pretty,” he said, while still appraising me, and obviously not addressing me, “but I don’t get what all the fuss is about.”

Heat rose to my cheeks as anger and embarrassment swirled within me. I was tired, sore, and been through hell in the two weeks since my parents had been killed; the last thing I wanted to do was get into an argument in a car park. But I knew if I was going to get any respect from this guy I couldn’t let his rudeness slide. I knew guys like Walker and I couldn’t let him get away with shit like that or he’ll think he can walk all over me. 

I was also too exhausted to fight, too tense, so I snatched the keys and my bag out of Sy’s hands and made my way to the room.

“Jesus, Walker,” Sy said behind me. “Do ya always have to be such an asshole?”

If Walker replied, I didn’t hear it. 

I opened my room and slammed the door closed, locking it behind me. I went straight for the bathroom, dropping my pack carelessly on the bed and stripping off my clothes as I went.

The room was basic but clean and well maintained, however the bathroom left a lot to be desired. I took one look at the showerhead and knew it wouldn’t be the best shower of my life. 

When I turned the water on, the pressure was so hard I had to cover my nipples before I could stand to be under the spray. But the water was blessedly hot and was exactly what I needed to soothe away the aches and pains of the ride.

I leaned my forehead against the tiles and took advantage of the harsh spray, letting the water massage my back. It felt good, real good, and as my thoughts started to drift, a familiar need began deep in my core as my body cried out for my nearly nightly ritual before I slept. 

My hand moved slowly over my breasts, nipples hardening under my fingers, I turned around, the water pressure no longer hurt, the stinging pain only served to heighten my arousal. I pressed my back against the cool tiles as my hand drifted lower, the competing temperatures made my skin feel electrified, sensitive to every touch. My fingers danced slowly over my belly, getting lower, and lower until they slid over the small patch of hair on my mound. I shivered as the pads of my fingers ghosted over my clit, seeking the warmth and slick of my throbbing heat.

A moan escaped my throat as I slid two fingers inside me, curling them deeply, feeling for that smooth spongy spot. It was hard to reach at this angle, so I widened my legs, curled my spine and groaned as I found it. 

I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts wander, thinking for a moment of Jake, my sometimes fuck buddy, but quickly my thoughts shifted, and it was no longer his face I saw in my mind.

Images of Sy came quickly, the way he felt as I held him while we rode. How he had caressed my leg sent shivers up my spine as I imagined him touching me like that again, skin against skin. 

But that wasn’t all, I thought of all of them, Marshall, Mike, Geralt, wondered how each of them would feel. Would their hands be rough on my skin? Would their lips be soft on mine? Would they grunt and groan? Would they whisper words of praise in my ear? Were they dominant, or primal, or tender, or giving, or maybe all of it at once? I know I shouldn’t let these men invade my fantasies, but God, I couldn’t stop.

Then I thought of Walker with that smirk, that teasing grin that made me want to both slap him and drop to my knees.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as my thighs started to tremble.

“Fuck!” cried a louder, deeper voice.

I froze. I became a deer in headlights as I looked towards the door and saw a figure distorted by the thin layer of condensation that clung to the glass of the shower.

Snapping into action, I swiped an arm across the glass catching a fleeting glimpse of a wide-eyed Sy as he slammed the bathroom door shut.

I turned the water off and grabbed a towel, my breath coming in heaves, my guts churning as my face burned with embarrassment.

Okay. Think about this clearly. He couldn’t have actually seen anything, the glass was too fogged up. 

He had heard though, there was no doubt about that. 

Oh God.

I had been thinking about him, and the others too. I had left the bathroom door open and everything, he’s going to think that I did that on purpose. But I didn’t, I had locked the door to the room and…

Asshole!

Fury overtook my shame and I stormed out of the bathroom.

“You pervert! I locked the door.”

Sy was standing by the window, peeking through the curtains. His jacket was off, slung over the back of a chair and a silver handled gun was strapped to his thigh. He turned slowly, taking in my appearance and sucked on his bottom lip as he took a few steps towards me.

“It’s a hotel, Babycakes. They have spare keys.”

“My name is Lori and I would have thought a locked door meant I wanted privacy.”

Shrugging, he grinned. “You ain’t gonna get much privacy until we get to the Clubhouse.”

“What? You’re staying in here?” My voice was a little shrill but Sy nodded and I shook my head. “No. I thought you’d wait outside the door. I don’t want to be sleeping here with… men I don’t know.” 

I almost said Walker but stopped myself. Oddly he was the only one I didn’t feel like I could trust.

“You scared of us, baby?” Sy asked in a low voice.

The back of his fingers skimmed over my still damp shoulder and down my arm. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, his touch was eerily similar to what I had just been fantasising about, gentle yet deliberate, hot and thrilling.

“Why?” My voice was huskier than I hoped it would be. “Does that turn you on? Is that the kind of sick shit your club is into?”

“Not at all,” Sy replied steadily, smirking, “I like my women willin’.” He cupped a hand under my jaw, lifting my chin higher. “Did ya finish the job in there?”

My eyes widened in shock, I didn’t think he would be so bold as to come right out and say what he saw. He chuckled as his hand slid down my neck, resting on the bare skin of my chest.

“I could give ya a hand if ya want,” Sy said, his voice seemed lower if that was possible, deeper, rougher, deliberately seductive, “Might feel good.”

“Is that a standard service you offer as part of your contract or…?” 

I tried to sound disinterested, but my voice betrayed me. I was breathless, my body was a hot, throbbing mess. Sy licked his lips and my eyes were drawn to them. They looked so plush and inviting, and the whiskers surrounding his mouth seemed so soft. 

“It’s an optional extra,” Sy shrugged and his fingers traced the edge of my towel, “But for you, I’ll throw it in for free, no charge.”

“No thanks.”

It’s what I said but it’s not what I meant. I said no out of habit, having said no to men like him my entire life. It was a lie and an obvious one. My fingers were already sinking into his beard, and I could feel him clench his jaw beneath my touch and his nostrils flared. Taking half a step closer, I met his eyes. They were hooded, dark and still held a glimmer of amusement. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, the other snaked around my waist, resting on the small of my back.

“Then how ‘bout I eat ya pussy cause I want to?” 

He pulled me closer, our bodies met and his fingers slid into my hair. I put a hand to the centre of his chest, I had every intention of pushing him away and he must have known because he held me tighter, pressing his hardness into my hip. 

“’Cause I wanna hear ya make those noises again, but this time I want you to make ‘em because of me.”

My core fluttered, no it was more than that, every muscle in my body seemed to quiver with anticipation of his offer, and dear God did he have the confidence of a man that knew he could deliver.

“No thanks,” I managed to utter. Barely.

Sy’s grin didn’t waver as he inhaled deeply and let me go. 

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and went back to his position by the window.

It took me a minute to get my bearings. I was completely dumbstruck, still overwhelmed by Sy even though he was now across the room.

I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. Fuck me, was I in trouble here.

Sy glanced at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk.

“You’re really gonna stay here all night?” I asked.

“For a couple of hours, then one of the others will take over,” he said, his voice sounding a little more serious and matter of fact than it had moments ago.

I didn’t like the sound of that. All five of them coming and going in my room while I slept, me not knowing who I’d wake up to?

Despite Sy’s advance or maybe because of it, I felt like I could trust him and would rather he stayed with me than the others. Having to keep an eye on one horny biker would be easier than having to watch out for five.

I took my bag from the bed and dressed in the bathroom, with the door closed. Though I was beat, I blow dried my hair with the shitty hair dryer the hotel had attached to the wall before braiding it.

While I was brushing my teeth I looked at my pyjamas in the mirror, realising now why Sy had chuckled when he saw them. When I packed, I had no idea the Brothers would actually be in my room with me. The tank top was so thin you could see the dark pinkish skin around my nipples.

The thought made my body warm. Part of me liked the thought of them seeing me like this. But I knew it would be a mistake to go down that road. Nope, my pussy would be a barren wasteland for the foreseeable future.

Pointedly not looking at Sy, I went back into the room and grabbed my shirt from the floor, turning it the right way round and slipping it on over the top.

First thing I was going to do when I got to the clubhouse was buy new pyjamas.

[rexxdjarin]

Captain's Log: Chapter 7

Vigilance

Series Summary: The galaxy is in turmoil. The Republic has fallen, giving rise to the sinister reign of the totalitarian Empire, led by the insidious Emperor Palpatine. The millions of valiant clone troopers of the former Grand Army of the Republic are now blindly sworn, against their will, to protect a regime they once sought to destroy. After being saved from a terrible fate by his former-Jedi ally and close friend, Ahsoka Tano, seasoned veteran CT-7567 Clone Captain Rex remains loyal to the pillars of Democracy, freedom and truth that shaped the former Galactic Republic. We follow him now struggling to deal with the personal aftereffects of survival and finding his place in the galaxy alongside the only person he has left. You. The love of his life.

[previous] [next] part of Captain's Log series post on ao3

Pairing: Captain Rex x Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns used) Word Count: 13.7k (im going on a trip for a while and don't know how soon i'll have the next update so this is kinda a combo of two chapters to make up for that!) Series Rating: Explicit (18+ only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT) Chapter Summary: Rex and Reader finally come up with a plan to help The Bad Batch remove their inhibitor chips, but things get complicated quickly. A little harmless flirting gets someone into a little trouble. Chapter Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Blowjob, Somnophilia, Exhibitionism, Dirty Talk, Possessiveness, Mild Jealousy, Language, Mentions of Death, References to Canon Plot, Political References, Canon Typical Violence

The whole planet was dappled in golden light from this system’s sun and reflected off every slowly rusting piece of metal discarded here. The sunsets would probably be considered beautiful and a destination for tourists if not for the overcast smog and all the heaping mounds of space junk, both former Republic and Separatist.

On Bracca, scrapping was really the only way to make a living. Their Guild controlled everything on this planet, if memory served me correctly. We certainly were not interested in getting involved with them or getting caught using impounded ships as operating rooms for chip removal more than we had to. But this was the best plan Rex and I could come up with. No one here was looking for deserter clones, which gave us all the advantage.

We’d landed our ship around the outside of an abandoned and defunct starcruiser and met the Bad Batch crew in the Marauder a few clicks East. Taking two separate ships was risky, but Rex wasn’t planning on including them on the rest of our missions. If they wanted to help, he wouldn’t stop them, but we couldn’t risk anything happening to Omega. Taking care of her first was their duty now.

The seven of us trudged through the junkyard surface, looking for a ship in good enough shape to enter safely and praying a medical station was still intact on board. Rex scouted ahead, preferring to lead his men from the front like always. Hunter watched our backs from the rear, his acute senses keeping an endless watch on our surroundings. That left me, Echo, Tech, Wrecker and Omega to walk and keep ourselves occupied between them.

We all took turns carrying Omega when her little feet got tired. Hell I wished someone could pick up and carry me too. I walked beside Echo, filling him in on all he missed between Rex and I and especially the events of the last week or so. I didn’t tell him about Ahsoka. The fewer people that knew she lived, the safer she’d be.

Omega clung to Echo’s shoulders, opting for a piggyback ride from her brother. She and Echo seemed close, their relationship showing the sensitive, nurturing side of him that I always knew was there. The side that I always remembered jumping out to help when Jesse drank too much. That offered his hand when I’d stumbled drunk out into the open air to walk home from a night at 79s. That was the shoulder to cry on in private when unsuccessful missions got to be too much for Fives’ to cope with alone.

Echo was always there for everyone. He was the call that answered back whenever you cried out in need. That was why his name fit him. Not because he endlessly repeated orders as a cadet, but because there was no cry for help that he’d ever leave unanswered. No one would ever go through something alone when they had their Echo around.

Omega picked up on that right away. The more I watched them interact, the more I realized how comforting she found him. Sure, Hunter seemed to be her favorite. An almost Fatherly figure to her. Teaching her strength and leadership, but also scolding her when she needed to learn a lesson.

Echo was Hunter’s perfect compliment. He encouraged her where Hunter protected. He fostered her interests and paid endless attention to her everyday needs while Hunter worried about keeping her safe. To say I was proud of how he cared for her was an understatement. It seemed like destiny that he was here to help raise this special little girl.

Wrecker was more like her best friend or her true sibling than a parent. He was a big kid himself, after all, enjoying everything with childlike wonder and boundless energy. The two played together, teased each other, joked and laughed. I was glad she had someone with the emotional intelligence to realize how important it was entertain her, to let her be a kid and take her mind off the fact that they were all running for their lives.

Tech seemed the least prepared to deal with a child. No amount of information he researched could prepare him for the actual act of parenting. That didn’t stop him from trying though. He did his best to prepare. Taking little notes of things she told him about and writing down little details about her like tracking her height, foods she didn’t like, any bumps and scrapes she got so he could make sure they got better. He documented every little piece of information he could about her and taught her things through knowledge and data. The same way he taught himself.

But Omega, of course, had never been around another human woman in all her life. She was fascinated by me, sticking close to me as much as she could and asking me a zillion and one questions about myself. Which of course I answered. She was very curious and very smart, those brown eyes reminding me so much of all her brothers, but especially of the one I loved. Blonde hair and brown eyes, just like my Rex.

“So what’s a junior senator? What do you do?” She questioned, resting her head on Echo’s shoulder.

“Write lots of reports and do research about what’s going on on the planet I serve. Tech would’ve loved it probably.” I joked, earning a snort from Tech.

“Oh yes, I’m sure the Republic would’ve loved to hear a clone’s political ideas.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head at me.

“I would. I planned on working to bring a vote for clone’s rights to the open senate before…everything…” I sighed, shooting a surprised glance at Echo, shocked that he hadn’t filled them in on my fierce activism yet.

“Really? But you’re a nat born, why should you care what happens to us?” Tech questioned, making both Wrecker and Hunter stop in their tracks to listen to my response.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. You’re living beings. You are owed the right to ya know…live.” I stated plainly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Echo smiled and looked up at Omega who was grinning with admiration at my words.

“See why we liked her so much, kid?” He patted her hand with his own.

“You were going to openly argue for us in front of the entire Republic?” Hunter asked, speaking for the first time in a while. Disbelief setting into a mind slightly more suspicious than most clones, even his batch mates.

Rex turned over his shoulder and winked at me, quietly encouraging me to show off the power of the freedom fighter within that he loved so much.

“You’ve never seen me argue. You think Rex is a fighter? You should see me in action. Would fight for you all until the very end.” I smiled proudly, not sure if they realized just how much I cared about all of them. Not just because I loved their brother. The Republic couldn’t create an army of human beings fighting for the rights and freedoms of millions of people on hundreds of worlds without guaranteeing those same rights extended to the clones too. It would be hypocritical to say anything otherwise. No one was free unless they all were too.

Hunter shook his head, a small smile creeping across his tattooed face. He seemed actually impressed this time. “Between you and Echo here, Rex sure knows how to pick some good ones, doesn’t he?” He motioned us all to keep moving, patting Echo on the back and lifting Omega onto his own shoulders now.

“Wrecker? How are you feeling?” I asked, watching him walk forward a lot quieter than he’d been the last few hours.

He grumbled, “Could be better. My head hurts.” He massaged his temple, trying to coax the pounding headache to subside at least temporarily. I glanced over his face, searching for any other signs of discomfort. Pupils dilating, facial twitches…anything else Rex described feeling before his memory went dark.

“No…anger or anything? Just the headache?” I asked again, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on his massive bicep and pleading with him to give me an honest answer.

“N-no ma’am. No..uhm…N-Nothing else to report.” Wrecker stammered, his cybernetic eye and his brown eye working in tandem to study my face up close. I was making him nervous and I don’t think it was because of the chip.

“Good. You keep letting me know how you’re feeling. We’re going to take care of this.” I affirmed, pulling my hand away, realizing it was my touch that was making him nervous.

“Rex? Are…are we there yet?” Omega asked quietly from over my shoulder, her nimble hands retying the bandana around Hunter’s head.

Rex stopped, scanning the terrain in front of us and pointing to a still smoking starship in front of us. He looked determined, powerful, and stars- so handsome. I walked up behind him, taking his hand and leaning into his side. He hummed softly, “that’s the one. Just up ahead. Seems like it was just brought here. We’ve got a good chance of finding a medical wing that’s still working.” I smiled up at him hopefully, signaling a beaming pride that had grown from watching him in action like this.

“Let’s head over then. Tech, you know how to do this type of operation right?” Hunter questioned his brother, glaring at him as if to demand he lie just to set Wrecker’s worried mind at ease.

“Yes, Sir. Studied up on it the whole way here. Between the diagrams I saw and Rex’s experience, we’ll get things right, Wrecker. Don’t worry.” Tech said, awkwardly patting his far taller brother’s shoulder. The boys all let out a collective sigh at once, grateful that we finally seemed to have found the right place.

Rex turned away from our destination in front of us to look me up and down, scanning me for any signs of weariness. The worry in his face quickly softened to familiar admiration, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of my head. “How they holding up you think?” He asked me, as if the well-being of his men wasn’t something he excelled at gauging.

“They’re resilient. Especially Omega. She’s a fast learner, intelligent, empathetic…sweet. Reminds me of you.” I muttered, bumping his shoulder with mine playfully. “Though something tells me you never asked that many questions as a cadet.”

“No, I was more the watch and learn type. Cody was the one always asking questions. He was way more talkative than me.” Rex laughed, shaking his head and sighing. “I hope he’s alright.”

“We can check in on him too when we head back to that Cantina.” I offered, remembering I hadn’t gotten the chance to do all the research Rex and I talked about. It all sort of went out the window when he heard Echo’s voice walk into the bar.

“You think the boys know anything?” Rex wondered aloud, as if to ask me how much we’d actually talked about. I glanced behind us at all of them fumbling around in their pockets, looking for a spare ration stick or two to give Omega.

It was funny how, despite all the cloners did to make them human war machines, they could not program away or genetically alter natural instinct. These men all cared very deeply for their family units and possessed the most innate need to parent in one way or another. It was said that came from the original donor himself.

The illusive Mandalorian model had specifically asked for one unaltered clone he could raise as a son. The need to nurture someone, to foster growth and provide for was an inherent genetic trait that was unexpectedly passed down in all his clones too.

I saw it in Cut, abandoning the war entirely to choose to raise the children of the woman he loved. I saw it now in how each member of clone force 99 stepped in to provide something helpful to Omega’s development. And I saw it in Rex, looking out for every single one of his men, ensuring they grew strong and protecting them even at his own risk. They were all highly skilled warriors, probably the best in the universe, but they were just as human as I was. It didn’t matter how they were made.

“I think they’ve had a more important priority, my love.” I smiled at Omega whose acute senses were able to pick up on me gazing at her. She was as observant as Hunter.

“Forgive me for asking but…how did you meet Rex?” She asked, pointing to my hand affectionately joined with his. Rex blushed and ran his hand along the back of his neck nervously. The story was more embarrassing to him than he was probably willing to admit to men who revered him.

The hint of freckles on his nose were darkening from exposure to this planet’s harsh sunlight and it made his skin flush from the heat. He looked hot, sweaty and most of all tired, but the determination in his eyes reminded me of that first day I met him. He was working hard and pretty stressed then too, but he wore it very well.

“Let’s just say we…ran into each other at a senate gala once.” I laughed, leaving out the part where he dumped expensive champagne down a dress he later ruined even further by spilling something else on me.

Echo giggled, “Oh yes. Ran into each other.” He raised his brows at us suggestively and motioned for Hunter to cover Omega’s ears. “You totally didn’t make a complete mess inside a supply closet that Fives and I had to put back together for you.”

Rex opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but I quieted him by turning his face toward mine and crashing my lips into his. He brought his massive hand up to both block their view and hold my face. Wrecker rushed to slide a hand over Omega’s eyes, but she ducked underneath and watched with admiration in those starry eyes.

I broke the kiss, blinking up at him in satisfaction and watching the distinguished Captain’s usually rigid formality falter. He softened, shoulders sagging, cheeks flushing and coughed awkwardly at such rampant public display of affection.

“We are forever grateful that you covered for us both, Echo. Stars where would we both be without you?” I teased, curling my hand into Rex’s again and looking at the stunned faces of the men who only ever saw him while in command. Never like this. Rex smiled at me in agreement, shaking his head at my unending boldness and walked us both down to where the rest of them stood.

“Well I think it’s wonderful. Nala Se always said clones weren’t meant to love. Just to fight for the Republic at any cost. But…clearly that isn’t true.” She pointed up at the two of us and turned to Rex. “How…how did you know?” Omega asked, fiddling with her sleeve awkwardly.

Rex looked up at me with the same starry-eyed amazement that Omega did not thirty seconds before this. He knelt down to her level and patted the top of her head. His face softened, “You just know, kid. You look at someone for the first time, you feel it and you know.” He explained, his gaze fixed on me beside him. “That’s part of why what we’re doing is so important. I want you to live to experience moments like this. We can be more than just soldiers.”

“You really believe that Cap?” Hunter finally asked, after silently watching Omega interact with a couple for probably the first time.

Rex let out a deep sigh and stood up, tightening his fist by his side and raising his chin. His shoulders squared and he stood at attention, almost as if expecting a salute, in order to capture the attention of everyone standing in front of him when he spoke next.

“I do. With all my heart, Sergeant. There’s more out there for us than just fighting and dying. And I think you already have a little someone to show you that.” He chuckled, lifting a hand to pat Hunter on the shoulder. He looked stunned, as if someone had just walked up to him and handed him some kind of almighty victory.

Maybe in a way, Rex was validating some kind of dream that deep down every clone had. Of a life outside of battle. Away from pain and loss. Separate from their prearranged commitment to the cause. Detached from the dehumanizing treatment that was only getting worse under the new regime.

Rex wasn’t just a survivor of the clone wars.

Rex was a living, breathing example of a man’s greater purpose. To live for oneself.

Together, we were a beacon of hope, a lightbulb igniting in the minds of men who spent their entire lives fighting in a dark tunnel with no end. It was like our arrival at their darkest hour gave them permission to expect a new day to dawn for them sooner than they thought.

We all stood together in silence, basking in the harsh glow of the sun setting on Bracca. The uncertainty of war and the future for its soldiers coming to a bittersweet but needed close at days end. Omega grabbed my hand and pulled us all close, huddling us together to wait for the sun to dip below the horizon. To end their final day as soldiers and look forward to a tomorrow where they could just be people. Men with no orders to follow and no more brothers to lose.

“So beautiful, isn’t it?” Wrecker commented, sighing out as he bear hugged all of us in his impossibly large arms. Everyone hummed some kind of agreement, except Rex. His eyes weren’t glued to the sunset like all his younger siblings. His were fixed on me.

I rested my head on his armored chest and watched the waning sunlight lick his features. Rich warm eyes seemed to hold the sun’s rays captive in their amber irises. The darkening freckled dots on his nose mapped out all the scattered stars in the galaxy. The stubble on his jaw made him look more handsome by the day, dark features with blonde hair was a good look on a clone. Though few had the rampant boldness to pull it off like he did. Rosy brown lips parted like they were parched for more than just water and I drank in the desire pouring off his body.

“Yeah, as beautiful as always.” Rex replied, gazing at me like I was the only thing he saw. I reached a hand up to caress his blonde hair at the back of his neck, now long enough to begin curling slightly. His expression darkened, the realization that we had to keep moving dawning on him again. He shrugged, as if to silently apologize that this moment couldn’t last longer and searching for reassurance.

He was on a mission like the hundreds he’d done before. With me by his side, all he needed was my constant support to keep us going. I nodded understandably and turned back into the light, knowing we had a duty to fulfill. “Let’s keep moving.”

—

Venturing inside the old Jedi cruiser was easily the most dangerous thing I’d ever done. Even with all the running and hiding Rex and I had done the last few weeks. The whole place was covered in rust and littered with creatures who survived off of scavenging inside the dilapidated crafts. Which was ironic because that’s exactly what we were doing. Scavenging for medical supplies.

The metal halls were practically falling down on top of us and we had to take extra care with every step. Omega and I stuck close to each other since neither of us had much experience scouting or doing any kind of in field action. The boys flanked us on either side. The old med bay was just at the end of the hall and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“All the times you called me from a cruiser I never thought I’d end up on one like this.” I scoffed, leaning in the doorway that Hunter and Rex had just opened.

“Me neither.” Omega said, shuddering as a large bug of some kind scampered across the floor. “Is this going to work?” She asked, tugging on Hunter’s hand and curling around his hip. “I’m…scared. Just because it worked for Rex doesn’t mean it will this time.” Her skepticism showed wisdom far beyond others her age. Mostly, she just seemed very worried about Wrecker, who sat down on the operating table with his head in his hands.

“We’ve gotta try, Omega. I trust Rex. We all do.” Hunter assured her, patting the top of her head and glaring nervously up at where Rex and I stood. They were blindly putting their faith in their older brother’s hands. He would never steer them wrong and even though this was exceedingly dangerous, it was life or death. Rex wouldn’t recommend it if it wasn’t absolutely essential.

Little Omega was even more unsure than Hunter, her eyes flitting back and forth between Wrecker sitting in increasing discomfort and the old medical equipment that Echo had managed to ramp up.

“And it’s not going to hurt him?” She asked tentatively, pulling at Rex’s hand to get his attention.

“Well…I uh- I don’t really remember. I’ve never been on this side of it.” Rex said sheepishly, shrugging at the obvious lack of assurance that provided. He glared at me, pleading with me to step in and comfort a kid I barely knew about something I had no knowledge of. The worry on her face made her look slightly older than she was, her smaller brows creasing together to form a tiny scowl and chewing on her bottom lip anxiously.

“Omega, the sooner they all remove these, the better. You can eat that snack you all like and hopefully find somewhere safe. Maybe you’ll get your own bunk or your own armor. I’m sure Tech can fashion you something.” I smiled, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and watching her tiny shoulders ease just slightly at my words.

“Who’s to say I haven’t already started on some of those things…” Tech remarked, prying around inside his pack for the right tools to scan Wrecker’s head for the chips location. The crown like device communicated to one of Tech’s datapads and beeped perceptively as it explored his brain for the chip.

“I think I found something…” He declared, tapping on the holopad and following prompts on screen.

“I can’t believe it…” Hunter remarked, eyes flicking between the pad and Wrecker groaning in pain. Rex unconsciously shifted closer to me, his hand grabbing my hip instinctively. Omega’s little frame was starting to shake a little, so overcome with nerves that she couldn’t stand alone like this. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she turned to look at Rex and I beside her. She drew in a shaky breath before pulling herself into my side, flanked by Rex’s armored thigh.

“I can’t watch.” She muttered, burying her face in the side of my jacket. Hunter sighed, immediate concern breaking his concentrated brow. His eyes met mine, as if to ask if it was okay and I nodded reassuringly. My instinct to comfort and protect her taking over me like it seemed to take over anyone else she got close to.

“Stick with her, okay kid? We’ll get this over with in no time. I promise.” Hunter said, rubbing her arm before turning back toward Echo and Tech discussing how to proceed. Wrecker groaned louder, removing Tech’s equipment and shoving him away as the operating medical tube whirred to life behind him. He winced in pain and gripped the side of his head tighter, making Rex uneasy enough to ball his fingers into a fist.

“Echo…we need to speed this up. Get this going. I don’t think we’ve got much time.” He warned, stepping toward Hunter and explaining what little he and I did know about how the chips affected other clones.

As far as we knew, very few clones could resist the order. The only thing he and I vaguely heard about was one Commander who fought alone against his own men for turning on his Jedi General. The report we overhead at the Cantina was brief and of course didn’t include names or battalion numbers. Just that he was imprisoned and made into an example of what the Empire did to any traitors. Clone or otherwise. I hoped it was Fox, but the way he acted the last time I saw him at the Senate building made me doubt that hope.

Rex probably hoped it was Cody, though that would mean that the General that was killed was Kenobi, which made him equally as sick as if that General had been his own. Fighting against the chip was so rare, so genetically improbable, that it might as well be impossible. All the more reason to get the cursed thing out of Wrecker as fast as possible. Or who knows what consequences we’d face.

Wrecker had gotten suspiciously quiet, save for the groans of painful agony he was letting out every few seconds. To the point that I, who barely even knew him, had noticed the absence of his normally extroverted and explosive personality. He wasn’t acting like himself at all and Omega looked up at me anxiously, no doubt sensing the change too.

Rex and Hunter were muttering things to each other quietly, too entrenched in serious conversation to notice and Echo was busy plugged into the operating table. Tech pulled out some kind of anesthesia in a tiny syringe and held it up to Wrecker.

Suddenly, Wrecker’s hand slid off his forehead and shot out at Tech’s arm, holding the stem back from coming any closer. He bowed his head, slumping slightly as his eyes blinked closed, reopening again with dilated pupils. His jaw tensed and he let out a deep, menacing growl so loud it made all the blood in my body freeze. His other hand lurched forward and seized Tech by the throat, lifting him off the floor. Then the robotic, lifeless words fell out of his mouth and my heart stopped.

“You’re in direct violation of Order 66.”

Before I could even realize what was happening, Tech went flying across the room, slamming into the wall like a lifeless doll and Wrecker yelled at the top of his lungs. Rex’s body flew over mine faster than I’d ever seen him. His armored chest covered where I stood clutching onto Omega for dear life. His arm wrapped around my side, his left hand drawing his blaster pistol. Wrecker howled, throwing pieces of the old med bay across the room and nearly crushing the medical bay’s operating controls.

“You’re all traitors!”

Echo disconnected from the operating table and hurled himself across the room, slamming into my exposed side. “He’s gonna destroy the equipment. You gotta get him out of here!!” Echo yelled, drawing his own weapon and firing stun blasts off the reflective walls in an attempt to at least disorient the large clone.

Hunter leapt into action, hurling a canister against his brother’s broad back. He was met with a strength of resistance he could never match in a million years and crashed to the floor. The now busted canister hissed air from the open cracks and Omega yelled in fear after Hunter.

I pulled her into me, cradling her to my chest. I drew my own blaster from my jacket pocket and set it to stun. “Let go!! I have to help him !!” She screamed, as Hunter wrestled and struggled to try to subdue Wrecker. Tech had crawled across the floor and reached us, whipping out two blaster pistols and held Omega’s arm.

Rex’s looked at me with a cold severity in his eyes that I’d never seen before. He grabbed my forearm and motioned to Omega and Tech. “Stay here. Protect them like I know you can.” I gripped Rex’s forearm, making a silent agreement with him and tucking my blaster to my chest.

“Go.” I confirmed, gripping Omega tightly and ducking down behind a makeshift barrier of boxes and metal wall shrapnel.

“We’ll draw his fire. Omega, stay with Tech.” Hunter yelled, nodding at Rex and Echo as they moved with a perfect soldier’s precision back out into the empty hallway.

Wrecker grabbed his helmet and threw it on, following them hastily. They disappeared down the hall and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Are you both alright?” Tech asked urgently, giving us the once over before grabbing at an exposed and bleeding wound in his own arm.

“Wrecker nearly knocked your lights out and you’re asking us if we’re okay?” I retorted, watching blue stun blasts light up the hallway just outside our door. Old ammunitions canisters flew back and forth, crashing and hissing out trapped air as they battled each other.

A strange calmness had fallen over Omega, who had crawled forward and grabbed a blaster from the floor. Her clone battle instincts were kicking in. Cool in a crisis, mind racing with plans of action, jumping forward to help out instead of waiting for situations to resolve themselves. If there was any doubt that she came from the same genes as the boys all did, there certainly wasn’t anymore. She was a Jango Fett clone through and through.

“They’re going to get fucking killed out there.” I yelled at Tech, leaping forward after Omega as she slipped out into the hallway unnoticed. “Stay here and protect the med bay. I’m going out after Omega.” I declared, Tech offering no argument as I passed through the blast doorway and into the hall.

Omega stood face to face with a towering Wrecker. She was a quarter his size but probably double his confidence as she held her ground, weapon bared up toward him.

Wrecker held Hunter against the wall by his throat, his large fist more than capable of snapping his Sergeant’s neck without much effort.

“Anyone found in violation of Order 66 will be terminated.” Wrecker bellowed, the threat filling the empty hallway. His fingers started to slowly tighten and Hunter’s eyes went wide.

BANG.

Omega fired. Her shot met the wall beside the two, dissipating into nothing. Wrecker straightened up, letting his brother slip from his grasp and spun around toward his little sister and best friend.

She held the blaster up again, threatening him with another stun blast before thinking better of it and turning tail down the other end of the hallway. Wrecker’s large strides bounded after her, my own frantic footsteps not far behind. I could hear Hunter sputtering and choking, trying to return air into his lungs. I didn’t see any sign of Rex or Echo.

A disgusting, sickening pang of fear stabbed my gut at the thought of losing either of them like this. I choked it down to deal with later as I focused on chasing after Omega. She had dashed down the hallway, sliding underneath a slightly ajar blast door. But between her and I stood Wrecker. Massive and unhinged and raging in anger.

This wasn’t him. He was kind. He was gentle and carefree. He cared so deeply about how the people around him felt. He would never. Never. Willingly do this. It was the chip. Reading about it or listening to Rex explain it was nothing compared to watching it tear the humanity from the man we all knew.

He was nothing more than an organic weapon, controlled like a mindless droid. There was no warmth in his eyes, no quirks that were particularly unique to Wrecker, no free thought or resistance. It was dehumanizing, twisted and horrible. I’d never been more unnerved by the treatment of another human being in all my life. Nothing made me more sure of my commitments to our mission, to Rex, to helping the clones than watching him suffer as the chip took over his mind.

He was too big to slip past and he’d already beaten me to her. I hope she knows how to hide. He lifted the blast door completely, stalking into the room as quietly as a nearly 7-foot-tall clone could. The metal junk littering the floor made walking hard but provided excellent cover for someone as small as Omega or myself. I made a mad dash for the door, ducking behind a fallen wall panel and peering into the room.

Wrecker was searching every obvious hiding spot in the room. Wherever she was, she had done a good enough job of evading him so far. It took all my will power to quiet my breaths and make my hands stop shaking. I couldn’t let him hear me. I was her last line of defense. From this vantage point, I couldn’t stun him because I risked hitting Omega.

The scraping of metal ripped me from my thoughts as Omega’s screams rang out into the halls.

“This isn’t you! It’s the inhibitor chip!”

“Conspiring with traitors makes you a traitor.”

“Wrecker! I don’t want to hurt you!” The sound of guns exchanging hands and Omega’s small whines filled my ears. “But Wrecker…you’re my friend.”

“Good soldiers follow orders.” He whispered, the creepy sentiment stinging me the second I heard it. I thought only of Fives. Who gave everything to try and stop this. Who never followed orders he didn’t wholly support. Stars we needed him more than anything right about now. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t let her shoot him or vice versa.

I moved to strike, only to find another back pressed against mine. I spun around, shoulder to shoulder with Rex, his head seemingly still ringing from being shot or stunned or thrown. He nodded at me, mouthing a countdown.

3..

2..

1..

Rex and I dashed in, nearly arm in arm. His perfect shot finally landing directly on Wrecker. He slumped to the floor right in front of Omega and she went flying into the safety of Rex’s arms. She was sobbing, burying her face in his shoulder and blubbering out words. “That…was…so scary…” She cried. He closed his eyes and curled his hand around her neck comfortingly.

“It’s alright, ad’ika. You’re safe. He didn’t mean it. We’re going to help him.” Rex cooed, wrapping her legs around his waist and grabbing my hand with his. “Let’s go get the boys. We need to do this fast.” We set off down the hallway, finally ready to end this nightmare once and for all.

—

By the time we’d removed all their chips and left the ship it was close to midnight. The boys were all too tired to head back to the Marauder and our ship had a homing feature that allowed it to fly back to us on autopilot. Thankfully, the pirates who used to own it had added some extremely useful modifications.

We managed to find a sort of makeshift island, too small to land the garbage ships on and probably at some point used as a break spot for the Scrapper’s guild. Bracca was way calmer at night and delightful breezes blew across the once tropical landscape. The air was far less muggy and thick and we’d decided sleeping outside for the night might provide us all with the literal breath of fresh air we all needed. The Bad Batch left us Rex and I alone briefly to clean up a little, have something to eat and search through the inside of our ship for usable blankets.

Rex and I set up our cot and took time to hold each other close and appreciate the little step we’d taken toward accomplishing our greater goal. We’d saved five lives today. Five clones were finally free because Rex and I cared enough about them as individual human beings to give them the life together that they all deserved.

I gazed at him, completely lost in thought as he stared up at the night sky beside me. “Ya know…I used to think that hope was pretty and soft and caring and delicate. But now I know it’s not. It’s bruised, battered, bleeding…a little broken, but loyal, determined, fierce and resilient. Hope looks a lot like you. I think your brothers look at your face…your face…and I know they see it too.” I said, resting my head on his chest.

His gloved hand curled around mine and his eyes fell away, lips curling into a shy smile. “You saying I’m not pretty?” He joked, rolling his eyes playfully and bringing his other arm around to roll me on top of him.

“Rex.” I laughed, thumping his chest weakly and staring at him in moderate annoyance. “You know what I meant. I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“Did Padmé teach you how to give such good speeches or were you always so good at that?” He asked, stroking the side of my cheek with his thumb.

“She helped a little. But I mean it. You lived because you were supposed to. Force works in mysterious ways right? Your life means something, not just to me, but to all clones. You’re their hope.”

“And you’re mine.” He admitted, shifting to bring my face to his, resting his forehead on mine. “For whatever happens when we’re past all this. When we complete the mission. Thank you for helping me through this. For staying for me. For…for everything.”

“Love requires no thanks. It’s selfless. And unconditional.”

“Anakin used to say that. Thought it was just a Jedi thing.”

“I think you know it isn’t.”

“You really are an angel, you know that? You are all the starlight in my sky. Like Echo said, you always were my sun on Kamino. Always my reason to look up. No matter where I was, you were out there. And I was coming home to you. I’d battle death a thousand times to get back to life with you.”

I smiled down at him, tears in my eyes blurring my view of the most perfect man I could ever ask for. “I love you.” I whispered, in complete lovesick shock at my partner’s sudden ability to form sentences poetic enough to bring tears to my eyes. Before he could continue, sounds of the other boys approaching with blankets interrupted our conversation.

“We’ve got our things. Let’s settle in for the night. It’s been a long day.” Hunter declared, eyeing Rex and I intimately pressed together.

“Omega, you get the cot. I know you’re tired, Tech and I will set it up, ok?” Echo whispered, patting the head of the sleepy-eyed little thing who was just barely clinging on to consciousness after such a traumatizing day. They all got to work putting together a makeshift camp and before we knew it they were all huddled around a small fire.

Wrecker, exhausted and still healing from the roughest day he’s ever had, was relaxing with a little doll Omega had probably given him for comfort. They all seemed tired, scared and fatigued from being constantly on the run now. But at least now, they were safe from the inhibitor chip. All four of them were never going to be used against their will ever again. They finally truly answered to no one. And that gave Rex and I enough peace to allow ourselves to drift into a satisfying rest. I closed my eyes and listened, hoping to one by one hear them all fall asleep. Which wasn’t happening at all.

“She looks at him like he’s the greatest man the galaxy has ever seen. With those eyes. Fuck- what I wouldn’t give…for a pretty thing like her.” Hunter shook his head in amazement, the tiniest hint of a smile crossing his normally unreadable face.

“I mean…he sort of is. Isn’t he? Can’t say I’d blame her for choosing one of the most highly decorated, best genetic replications of the prime model.” Tech pointed out, lifting his goggles off his eyes and relaxing back into the hammock he’d set up.

“You’re all full of Bantha shit. It’s not because he’s decorated or good at fighting or anything like that. She likes him because he’s selfless, he listens, he’d do anything for the people he cares about.” Echo gestured to himself, very obviously pointing out that his mere presence among them proved that. “Women care about stuff like that.”

“I suppose you’re right. Those are nice qualities to have in a partner at least as far as the human psyche goes…” Tech inhaled like he was going to continue on an explanatory tangent when Wrecker groaning interrupted him.

“I think it’s because he knows when to shut up.” He shot back at his brother gruffly, “she is so pretty though. And tiny.”

“Only in size, not in personality, that I promise you.” Echo laughed, fondly remembering one of numerous times I’d successfully stood up to creatures three times my size without fear. “Sharp tongue too if you mess with her.”

“Don’t tell me anymore or I’ll fall in love with her.” Wrecker huffed, waving his large hands around trying to brush the idea of me from his mind. “Rex would really want to kick my ass then.”

The boys fell silent, all immediately regretting discussing this the second they heard Rex’s name. They respected us together enough to know better than to even think a dirty thought about me. The crackling of the fire was the only thing I could hear now, the planet’s ghost town feel looming over us even heavier at night. I thought they might’ve finally fallen asleep before someone sighed out.

“I bet it’s the blonde thing.” Hunter chuckled. They all agreed.

I’d been listening to them from our cot, my back turned to them as I pretended to sleep buried in Rex’s armored chest. He actually was asleep, finally feeling comforted surrounded by the sound of his brothers voices, knowing we were both safe.

I turned over in Rex’s arms, curling my fingers into his and feeling them unconsciously tighten to receive them as he slept. The lull of voices hushed quickly as they collectively held their breath, unsure of my state of consciousness. I started giggling softly, flicking my eyes open to glance around at all of them pretending they weren’t watching me. I decided it was as good a time as any to have a little fun like I used to with the 501st boys back home.

“Echo’s right. It’s his good heart…” I yawned, pressing my backside further into Rex curled behind me tightly. His hands were grabby and body possessive even as he slept, somehow always mindful enough to keep me close to him. The boys averted their gaze, pretending they didn’t feel a sense of hopeless longing and mild jealousy at the idea of cuddling into someone else’s warm body like this.

Intimate touches and vulnerability were not a shared experience amongst this group of brothers. They weren’t afforded that luxury and that was why they desired it more than anything else. Whether they could admit it or not. “…and ya know the mind-blowing sex.” I confessed, knowing exactly how to press the buttons of the touch starved men in front of me.

Instantly, it was like I’d reignited the smoldering fire in front of us. Wrecker protested the loudest, pulling his pillow over his eyes and shouting into it “maker, you can’t just say things like that.” Echo laughed out loud, shaking his head as the filth he expected from me finally came out.

“Yes, she can, if it’s the truth. Sexual discussion is healthy in relationships.” Tech pointed out, not entirely sure if it was to the group of us or to himself.

“Talk about highly decorated…that’s what he should be given a medal for.” I praised suggestively. “Do they enhance that part too?” I teased, shifting to rub up against Rex a little more. I wished he was up to hear this. It would be funny to watch his face go red at such graphic praise. He liked it, never one to shy away from bragging about himself when he deserved to. And he definitely had earned that right.

“Hey now…little ears…” Hunter scolded, motioning to a slumbering Omega, passed out in a deep sleep in the only cot the boys had. “You are something else.” He rolled his eyes, smirking as if he knew from experience how he’d deal with someone like me. “Rex certainly has his hands full.”

At that, Rex’s hand on my waist actually tightened, gripping me possessively and pulling me into him. “And I can still take down all four of you at once…if I have to.” He grumbled sleepily from behind me.

Echo laughed, “aaand there he is. Right on time. It’s even funnier than I remember.” He turned to rest his hand behind his head and sunk into his hammock. “Rex still playing with fire…At least some things in the galaxy are still ok.”

“Playing with fire, so that’s what we’re calling it now?” Tech said sarcastically, turning off his data pad and pulling his blankets up to his chin.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Rex shot back, as I practically felt his smirk buried into the crook of my neck. Normally, he would scold his men for getting this bold, but this time he was joining in knowing it would throw me off.

“Look who’s not so sleepy all of the sudden, Captain.” I teased, the tiredness lacing my words with a lazy, lust filled tone. It felt like all the air in the atmosphere was sucked out at once as his title spilling out of my mouth really awoke something in the rest of the boys. Must be a clone thing.

“Stars above…call me Captain too.” Wrecker blurted out, the banter wholly becoming too much for him.

Rex, immediately noticing far too many wandering eyes, pulled our blankets up over my face and rolled me on top of him. A dark grumble bubbled in his chest and he inhaled to keep his composure, “That title’s only for me. Isn’t that right cyar’ika?”

“Sir, yes, Sir.” I responded, still baiting him in front of everyone with a submissive tease that I knew was both driving him nuts and making him at least a little mad. He glared at me with just the right amount of black lust filtering into his gaze and I smiled back, half apologetically, mostly not.

“Go to sleep.” His voice scolding, but the heat between his thighs and his grip on my ass telling a far different story. I nodded and set my head down onto his chest, the rapid flutter of his adrenaline pumping heart setting me at ease. “That goes for all of you too.” Rex ordered, turning his head and scowling at them, a silent threat to brush the memory of this aside or at least to not let him see them think about this ever again.

“Goodnight boys.” I giggled as the bad batch guys all mumbled out an exhausted but affirmative goodnight, knowing Rex would kill them if they kept this line of conversation going. I traced my hand up Rex’s neck and turned his face toward mine. “Goodnight, my Captain.” I pressed a delicate kiss to his lips and any of the annoyance he felt at me pushing my luck earlier melted away.

He hummed, cocking an eyebrow at me and sliding his hand underneath both layers of clothing on my bottom half. A firm hand clenched a dominating grip on my right cheek, fondling it roughly. I looked up at him, his strong jaw ticking like he was plotting a punishment good enough for the stunt I pulled. Which was exactly what I hoped he’d do. I tipped my head, blinking an innocent curiosity back at him. As if I didn’t do this intentionally.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook for this yet, mesh’la. You’ll see. Goodnight, my little tease.”

—

“Keep quiet.” He whispered, hot breath fanning in my ear roused me from a sound sleep. My body was warm, head still in a fog from a dream filled with details I couldn’t remember. I could feel his arm underneath my side, armor clattering against my skin as he covered my mouth with his gloved hand. I blinked my eyes open, my vision beginning to focus on the dark stillness of the planet’s surroundings. It wasn’t morning yet. The sun wasn’t even close to rising.

“Rex why-“ I opened my mouth to speak to ask him why he woke me, only to be immediately cut off by the sliding of his gloved fingertips along my slit. I whimpered, tipping my head back onto his shoulder. I canted my hips forward into his hand, sending his touch brushing across my clit.

“There ya go…that shuts you right up. Feels good hmm?” He muttered, placing a featherlight kiss behind my ear. The fabric of his gloves provided delightful friction as he traced one finger teasingly over the bundle of nerves. It made a white-hot current of pleasure radiate out from my core. I nodded, the pace of my breathing speeding up as his fingers did. My eyes flicked around our surroundings remembering we were not alone out here.

“The Boys?” I reminded him, reaching a hand up to try pulling his arm away from where he was torturing me.

He chuckled darkly, “Echo took Omega inside the ship. I don’t care about the others. Let them hear what I do to you.” He pushed my thighs apart, opening me up more for him and dipping two fingers into my opening slightly.

“R-Rex.” I whimpered softly, reacting to his fingers threatening to penetrate. I suppose this was what I deserved for being so openly explicit in front of the guys.

“That’s it. My name. That’s all I’ll allow you to say. All I want them to hear spilling out of that filthy mouth, cyar’ika.” He grumbled, scolding me with his words but pleasuring me so powerfully and perfectly with his hands. His fingers pushed inside my entrance, fluttering with need he’d coaxed out of me with only words.

Was he…? Jealous? Jealous of how his brothers eyes looked at me so longingly. Such a pretty thing being so vulgar so proudly. I knew exactly what I was doing teasing them and that was solely to rile up Rex. I did not expect him to get jealous enough that he’d take me right here, outside while his brothers slept beside us. To act so possessive of me that he couldn’t help but stake his claim, mark his fucking territory right here, right now.

I expected to maybe get punished later on when we were alone on our ship after we left them. But the way they watched me, craved me, lusted after me must’ve stirred something greedy, possessive, dominant inside him. I was into it. Very, very into it.

“I was just having a little fun…” I pouted, nibbling his thumb resting on my lower lip. He buried his face in my neck and kissed right along the deep vein of my pulse. He sucked a deep hickey so hard onto my skin I could already feel the blood pounding to form a purple bruise. His fingers curled inside me, pressing against the sensitive spot on the front wall he knew drove me crazy. I bit my bottom lip to hold back a loud moan as dizzying pleasure shot up my spine.

“No, you bad girl. They want you. They want to have you like I do. But you’re gonna remind them who you belong to…” He groaned, twisting his fingers and burying them to the knuckle inside me. My hand flew back to grip his side, using his strong frame for leverage as I ground my hips down to meet his thrusting hand.

“Y-you, Rex. I belong to you.” I moaned, digging my fingers into his arm and pulling his hand away from my mouth so I could be heard better.

“That’s right, mesh’la. You’re mine.” His fingers curled, pressing the pads of his gloved fingertips into a spot that made my mind blank and my toes curl. I hissed loudly as the tension building in my core tightened, my walls closing in on his wide digits. His now free hand slid down my stomach, trailing circles across my skin before resting a searing pressure on my clit. My eyes rolled back in my head and I instinctually thrusted my hips up to follow his touch.

“Fuck.” I whined, “Rex…don’t stop, don’t fucking stop. I need to cum for you. Please.” He rubbed faster circles as I egged him on, my grip on his hip tightening. He slowed, despite every inch of my body begging him not to and pulled his soaked hands from between my thighs.

“Hmm…since you want to keep running your pretty little mouth…” He brought the wet edges of his gloves to my lips and pushed them inside, running the taste of me along my own tongue. “Bet you taste so good for me…” His chest was heaving behind me as he felt my lips wrap around his fingers. I swirled my tongue around the fabric, tracing the tang on every stitch and making him grumble in satisfaction. I popped off him as he slid his fingers out, instead using them to hold my face as he engulfed my mouth with his tongue to taste as much of me as he desired. A warm exhale washed over my face as he broke the kiss, holding my gaze and smirking as we both fought through our lust to catch our breath.

“Would rather be tasting something else, Rex.” I replied suggestively, pressing my ass against his lap, his bulge probably wildly uncomfortable underneath his codpiece. He groaned as soon as I bumped him, clearly painfully hard and as desperate to be touched as I was.

His hands explored underneath my top, squeezing both breasts in his trembling hands. He whimpered in my ear from behind and traced his tongue along the shell of my ear. Hips rotated against my backside, grinding his needy cock into the space that called for him so many times before. He wanted this, but was holding back.

I had to egg him on more to draw out this possessive side of him and encourage him to throw caution to the wind. Forget how many rules this might break or how awkward it’ll be tomorrow. Who cares? We needed this.

“What would they think…? If they woke up and saw my mouth wrapped around you? Think of how badly they’d want me then. Stars I’d be such a sight.” I teased, pushing him past the breaking point.

I could feel him getting hot with arousal and a little anger behind me. “Mesh’la…still won’t learn your lesson…you really want to tempt me hmm? Fine. I’ll just have to fuck that bold little mouth quiet.”

I turned over in his grasp and looked up at him for the first time since he woke me. His brows were furrowed in a grumpy scowl, and if I didn’t know any better I’d think he actually was mad at me. But that loving twinkle in his brown eyes reflected in the light of the moon and signaled his undying affection for me, like they always did. The crinkles by his eyes deepened as a small smile stretched across his face, eyes darting over how the shadows of the moonlit night danced across my features.

“Go ahead…you’re in charge, Rex. I deserve it. I’m yours.” I smirked, rocking my core against his and fumbling with the magclips of his codpiece to remove the armor in our way.

“Aww see? Only I know how to get you to behave.” He chuckled, brushing the hair from my forehead and helping me remove the plastoid with his free hand.

“You’re the only one I want to behave for.” I retorted, freeing the armor from his lap and tossing it carelessly to the ground next to our cot. At this point, if the sounds woke up any of the three boys around us, I can’t say I’d care a single bit. I ran my hands along the hem of his bottoms, rolling the fabric down until his cock sprang up against his lower abs. He exhaled in relief as my hands wrapped around the shaft, gently tugging at his pounding length.

“Mmm cyare fuck. Need to…see you prove it.” He groaned softly, tipping my chin up to his face with his curled fingers and slipping his thumb into my mouth. I bit down on the digit gently and smiled devilishly up at him.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked, shifting my body down the cot as quietly as I could underneath our blankets. There was nothing I wanted more right now than to kiss down his entire torso. Over every scar, curve and hardened muscle he had. To pay him extra special attention because I just fucking loved him so. But there wasn’t time to remove all the armor and as much as I wouldn’t mind if any of the others saw me, I wasn’t going out of my way to be careless enough to wake them up either.

I laid my cheek on the cool plastoid covering his thigh and threw the blankets off again, revealing how dangerously close I was to slipping him into my mouth. “Could never want anyone else but you. This pretty cock…has ruined me for anyone else.” I whispered, coaxing my fist over the blunt head and collecting the wet droplets of precum already leaking out of the slit.

His eyes screwed shut and his body tensed as I soothed the throbbing ache of his cock with just a few touches. “S-show me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “show me how it ruins you.” I looked up at him through dark lashes, biting my lip in satisfaction as he instructed me to worship his cock exactly how I wanted to. I dragged open mouthed kisses up the thick vein on the underside before slowly placing the tenderest gentle kiss on the tip. I moaned softly, letting my tongue dart out to flick the slit and taste him more.

I smiled, my lips spreading against him and making him toss his head back as the sight became too much for him. “My favorite view in the galaxy. My Rex…maker did your brothers staring make you a little jealous?” I asked, twisting and guiding my wrist up his shaft and dribbling saliva into my waiting fist.

He let out a pained exhale, disguising a filthy moan and meeting my gaze with lust heavy lids. His brows knitted together in concentration as he tried hard to keep his composure. He took a deep breath, tangling his fingers into my hair and gently pressing my lips to his cock. “Not jealous.” He said stubbornly, his jaw tightening as I blinked up at him.

“Hunter thinks I’m a handful.” I teased, spitting sloppily all over his cock and slicking it down the shaft. I parted my lips, slowly sliding him further into my mouth. I watched his eyes flutter closed, trying so hard to stay annoyed at me for acting out.

“Because you won’t behave for Hunter like you do for me. Isn’t that right, little brat?” He smirked, a low rumble growing in his chest as I popped off of him. His fingertips grazed my cheekbone and he tipped my chin to force my gaze back up at him, expecting an answer.

I beamed, “Mhm. I’m only good for you…Captain.” I watched the mischief in his eyes darken his pupils even more as I told him exactly what he wanted to hear. And calling him by his title always did things to him. I leaned forward and swallowed him down again, lips wrapping around the girth of him and never breaking eye contact.

“Such a good girl…remembers all the ranks…follows all my rules.” He whispered, his voice straining more and more as I bobbed up and down on his cock. Drool rolled down the underside, lubing up my twisting fist and slicking my movements even more. He pulsed against my lips, adrenaline and blood making him grow thicker and needier in the wet cavern of my mouth. Both my small hands twisted in opposite directions as I stroked him, while obscene and prominent suckling sounds filled the stale night air.

Part of me wanted those boys to hear this. Wanted them to watch their superior take me the way only he could, the way he deserved. To allow him to flex why he was in charge and they weren’t. As much as he got off on claiming me, I got off on him pulling rank and taking charge of everyone around him, including myself.

“Of course I do. I’m the Captain’s girl. I have to set a good example.” I teased, knowing full well I had broken a ton of rules and pushed past more than a few boundaries by working up every man around me on purpose. He pulled my hair slightly, positioning my lips where he wanted and thrusting his hips up to shove himself between them. His broad hand wrapped around the back of my head, guiding me at the speed he wanted. I moaned around him, letting the tip of him bottom out on the back of my throat.

“Fuck, mesh’la. Say that a little louder for me? You’re whose girl?” He asked, panting as I inhaled, forcing back gags and swallowing around his cock. My lips pulled taut around the width of him and my jaw ached from holding my mouth open for him to fuck into. I blinked up at him, bleary-eyed with tears streaming down my cheeks, wetting his thigh armor beneath us with a mixture of spit, precum and tears. He smiled at the sight of me absolutely ruined by his cock beneath him, a lovesick haze glazing over the dark lust in his eyes. He guided me off him, wanting to hear only one thing out of my mouth.

“Yours. Rex’s girl. Always.” I gasped out between desperate breaths for air, precum filled saliva strands trailing from my lips to his cock. I collected the wet mess and slicked it around his sensitive tip, my thumb caressing the frenulum and wrapping my lips around the weeping hole. The second my lips connected with his cock again he practically howled, curling fingers around my neck and resting the other on my shoulder to grip me as close to him as possible.

“Good girl. Only my name comes out of that perfect fucking mouth. Stuffed full of my cock. You love it, don’t you? You love blowing me so messy…drooling on my cock. My perfect filthy girl.” He praised as I nodded in response, pulling the blanket off to get an unobstructed view of my face. Or maybe it was because he wanted me to be seen doing this. Something really had gotten into him if he was bold enough to do this with eyes possibly watching us.

He was pounding against my tongue, slowly rolling his hips up as I swallowed him down. I whimpered around him as he picked up the pace, fucking into my mouth as he promised. The sound of gags filled the air, no longer muffled by a blanket over my head. I took in several deep breaths, letting my jaw slack obediently and allowing him to slip back as deep as I could. He grunted lowly, his thighs twitching beneath me and signaling how close he was. He pulled my hair back harder than before, lifting me off him and catching his breath. I wiped my lips with my fingers and reached down to swipe the slick between my legs. Rex let out a loud, exasperated exhale at the sight and grabbed my other wrist.

“No more touching until I say.” He groaned, almost pleading with me for mercy. I knew that working him up only to make him watch me play around would have him spilling all over us both way too soon. I sat up on my knees and slowly made my way up his torso, fingers tracing the seams of plastoid covering the plane of his chest. I rolled my body against his, making him tremble with hopeless want. I hovered my upper body above his and dangled my slick covered fingers between us.

“You sure you don’t want to taste what all this possessiveness does to me, Captain?” I taunted, watching him grit his teeth, desperately trying to maintain the control between us. His lips quirked, drawing a mischievous grin across his tense face. His heavy hands latched onto my hip bones and he leaned in close enough to draw my fingers into his mouth. A low groan left his lips as he instead brushed his stubbled cheek against mine, bringing his lips to my ear and swirling his tongue over the sensitive spot beneath it.

Suddenly, he slapped both hands down onto my ass hard and gripped the flesh tightly before saying out loud for the entire planet to hear, “No cyar’ika, I would rather feel it.”

He drove my hips down, splitting me apart on top of him as he speared up into me brutally. The pressure of his cock forcing my swollen walls apart made me scramble for something to grab onto. I found the comforting width of his shoulders and dug my grip into them.

I buried my face in his neck and squealed, “Rex- oh fuck, Rex.” Fire ignited from the base of my spine to the tips of my fingers. He pushed my hips down onto him, pressing his cock up into a space inside me that felt so good it tore the breath from my lungs. My pussy spasmed around the thick length tearing into me and he choked out a low whine at my body’s jerking reaction to his sudden entry. The explosion of pleasure wracked my nerves and I pressed sloppy kisses along his jaw just to keep myself from screaming. He guided my hips up and down to start a slow, ruthless pace.

“Got you so worked up, didn’t I? Acting so bold because you needed me to fuck you like this.” He muttered in my ear, lifting his thighs to repeatedly sink himself into my heat. I twisted my hips, finally comfortably opened up enough to do some of the work myself. I sped up, the flesh of my thighs slapping against his lap obscenely as I rode him with all the strength I could gather.

“Yes baby. I-I like when you show off.” I whispered, resting my hand on his jaw to turn his face towards mine. “Mmm reminds me why you’re in charge.” My jaw dropped open as he held my center in place with one strong arm, shallow snaps of his hips making his writhing torso catch my clit. Tingling radiated from our joined hips outward and I rested my cheek against his as I moaned softly.

He huffed in amusement, clearly pleased at my submission to him. “Seems like you wanted to remind everyone I’m in charge, needy girl. You want me to show them who owns this little pussy?” He asked, his hungry eyes watching how pleasure contorted my features. The blissful rocking of his hips made the width of him stretch me open almost painfully, every thrust carrying a jolting buzz of delight through my every last nerve. I could feel the building pressure in my gut cinching tighter and tighter. The drag of his cock repeatedly breaching my tight entrance sent wet heat drenching my cunt and coaxing sounds out of me that I could just barely hold back.

“Please, Rex. Want them to hear how good you fuck me.” I begged, my insides beginning to clamp down on his cock still railing into me harshly. I fluttered around it, my entrance pulled taut to fit the sheer size of him and the arousal he’d caused slicking each movement.

His head lolled back against the pillow as my words hit him. “That’s my filthy girl. Begging me to make you scream.” He leaned forward and captured my lips with his, his tongue overpowering mine and teeth pulling down on my bottom lip. “Go ahead. Let them listen to how good my cock makes you feel.” He whispered, his lips brushing mine with every word.

A moan ripped through me as he sat up more, changing the angle and sending the tip prodding into the deepest part of my pussy. My back arched as he bottomed out into the spot over and over again, tears brimming up in my eyes as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm me.

“Right there. Ha-harder, Rex.” I gasped, choking for air I couldn’t inhale without forcing the vice grip on his cock to wind tighter. I sat up, resting my palms on his flexing pectorals and my nails scratching red marks across the dark skin. His gaze traced up my exposed chest, following the craning of my neck to my face, brows raised in expressive ecstasy. “fuck you feel so good.” I whimpered, tracing my hand along my thigh wrapped around his waist. He knew where my hand was going without even watching it and he grabbed my wrist to keep it from moving.

“No hands, mesh’la. I’ll decide when you cum.” He almost growled, his gravelly voice deepening as he made the seductive threat. “Sit back and let me watch that little cunt take me.” He asked, grabbing my shoulders and tipping me back until I rested both palms on his still plastoid covered thighs. The new angle allowed him a perfect view of how I sheathed him with each thrust, my wet folds enveloping every last inch of his pounding cock. I tossed my head back and moaned louder, the sound loud enough now to bounce off the ruined metal hulls of the ships in the distance.

His gaze jumped from our joined centers to my tits bouncing and back, thoroughly enjoying how each brutal shove into me racked my entire body. “Look at you…fuck- you’re so good for me. Might even let you cum like this, pretty girl.” He reached forward and caressed the curve of my breast with his thumb. The nipple budded up at his touch instantly, goosebumps erupting on my skin now exposed to the cool night air. He hummed in delight and traced his calloused hand down my torso.

I watched him with desperate anticipation, hoping to the stars above that he was finally going to touch me. He smiled up at me, reading the pained look on my face and pouting up at me mockingly. I whimpered, twisting my center around him in figure 8s chasing the mountain of pleasure I was desperate to find the peak of.

“C-can I…cum now, Rex? I want to…” I wailed, the simple act of asking his permission setting a smoldering flame of heat alight in my core. He slid the hand roaming my torso down to where my touch starved clit ached for attention and gingerly rubbed light circles across it with his thumb.

I cried out in agony, the pleasure searing through my body blanked my mind of everything but Rex’s hands on me, Rex’s thighs supporting me beneath him, Rex’s cock pounding and pleading for release inside me.

He laughed, strained and breathy, but clearly amused and enjoying this. “If you ask politely…show me you remember how to behave now…” He offered, pressing on my clit harder and burying the head of his cock into the perfect spot that only he could ever seem to find.

“Please, Rex. Please.” I gasped, searching for some part of him to grab onto and immediately finding his already outstretched hand, tangling his fingers between mine. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, his mouth latching onto my nipple and biting down as the change in angle pierced into a spot that forced the built-up pressure in my core to finally burst.

“My mesh’la. Make me so fucking proud. Cum for me. Right on my cock you love so much.” He said, the rambling words of permission signaling his own climax wasn’t far behind mine. “Show ‘em all how pretty my girl is when she cums for me.”

“Rex!”

Pleasure cascaded down my body like a waterfall, my mind numb to the feeling of anything else but orgasmic euphoria. My thighs tensed and my fingers curled, squeezing his hand and the strewn blanket for any kind of stability. The sheer force of my orgasm propelled my body upwards, as if to keep my head above water before the wave pummeled me back down in its undertow. An extinguishing ripple of pleasure flushed through the blistering heat of arousal that had been torturing my body. It washed down through my core and made the aching tightness entrapping him in my walls release.

He let out a low groan and held my hips to his tightly as he let my spasming walls milk the release out of his overstimulated cock. “That’s it. Look what taking my cock does to you. Only I can fuck you full like this. You’re fucking mine. Fuck, mesh’la. Fuck-“ He hissed, each erratic thrust dismantling all that was left of his domineering strength.

The flexing inside my heat dragged rope after rope of hot, sticky cum out of him. My insides felt ruined and heavy, weighed down by the twitch of his cock and the seeds of his euphoria saturating any remaining empty space. He was practically whimpering beneath me, the pleasure too good for either of us to contemplate changing positions. His hands wrapped around my back and held me into him, aftershocks ravaging both of us. Slippery skin slid against skin, panting breaths too hot to cool either of us down.

I slumped onto his shoulder, lazily rocking my hips to chase the wave of pleasure as it receded away gradually. His broad chest heaved under me and his hand cupped the back of my neck. An overly satisfied giggle left my lips. “Mmm…Rex.” I hummed, nuzzling into his neck and delicately kissing places I’d bruised.

“You gonna behave yourself now?” He teased, stroking my hair and messaging the back of my neck with his outrageously strong hand.

“If acting out gets me fucked like…that? Never.” I laughed, biting down on a particularly pretty purple spot I’d gifted him with.

“Good.” He snorted, “I’ll just have to teach you this lesson again, my pretty girl.” A deep, gruff hum bubbled up in his chest, as he pulled us both back down onto his cot.

I reached my hand up to brush his cheekbone, ghosting my touch down his jaw. I tipped my head to the side, marveling at the lengths such a perfect man would go to affirm his love for me. He proved how much I meant to him every single day. He never had a single thing to worry about. Sure millions of others shared his face, those same dark eyes, determined grin, strong jaw and deep voice. But they weren’t him. No matter how many versions of him I ever met, they would never compare to him. He was more special than he even knew.

His inability to shake the deeply ingrained idea that they were all just numbers wouldn’t stand in the way of how deeply intwined our souls were in the cosmic force. I wasn’t even a Jedi but I could feel this. I knew it in my heart that this clone wasn’t like his brothers at all. Because Rex’s very soul was forever changed by the bond we’d formed together. That was something no geneticist or messed up cloning experiment could ever change. We were one now and we always would be.

“I am yours. You know that, right?” I muttered, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips still open and panting from exertion. “Just wanted to give you the chance to remind other people. You’re still a bit of a showoff.” I giggled happily, propping myself up on one arm resting beside his head and letting the other hand smooth over the expression breaking the usual tension that formed across his brow bone.

He watched my chest rising and falling trying to catch my breath and dragged light fingertips up and down my bare back. Warm hands pulled me back together from my usual explosive high and curled his protective grip around my smaller frame.

“You just put on a show like that and I’m the show off?” He teased, rolling his hips lazily against mine and laughing softly. He tucked hair behind my ears and eased me down onto his chest. He nuzzled his cheek onto the top of my head and wrapped his arms around me tightly. “I think you like me showing off, cyar’ika. Always have.”

“Yes, well, you look too good doing it not to.” I whispered, peppering light kisses along his neck and smoothing my fingers along his collar bone. “We should probably try to actually get some sleep.”

“Some of us have been trying to do that for hours now.” A deep, harsh voice grumbled from somewhere in the darkness around us. Hunter. Exactly who started all this in the first place.

I looked up at Rex, wide-eyed and shrinking into his body in embarrassment. He laughed, pulling the blanket back over my naked body and flexing proudly that his loud claiming of me had actually been heard by those he intended.

“Sorry, boys, but this isn’t the GAR barracks anymore. I no longer have to follow rules I don’t like.” He said, rolling my body on top of his and holding me in his grasp. If anyone told me even a few months ago that Captain Rex was doing this, I would’ve fainted probably. But hell who cares anymore, right?

“Something tells me that those rules never stopped her.” A second, loftier voice responded. Tech.

I giggled, “No, they didn’t.” Remembering the select few times I’d snuck into his quarters, too needy after a month’s long mission to wait for him to come to me. Senator’s staff clearance permissions giving me special entry to certain places was convenient. Besides, most of the 501st knew the drill by that point anyways. If they ever heard anything, they knew better than to mention anything to their commanding officer.

Rex traced his fingertips up my spine, the way he always did when he was thoroughly satisfied. “How much did you hear?” He asked, the wry smile on his face proving that he absolutely was not sorry he’d woken them.

“More than enough.” Hunter replied in a huff, as if the graphic display had disturbed some dream he was having. Perhaps the teasing had gone a little too far with him. The sound of rustling blankets and then padded footsteps filled the silence.

“Where are you going?” Tech asked, using a datapad to illuminate the darkness.

“Check on Omega. Get some real rest.” He shot back, his boots meeting metal. “Goodnight.”

I looked at Rex sheepishly, feeling a little guilty about flaunting something in front of him that he clearly craved. Rex shrugged, not exactly thrilled about the idea of this particular brother thinking about me like that.

“Sorry we woke you.” I whispered, turning over to apologize to Tech.

“That’s alright. Don’t worry about Hunter. He’ll…get over it.” Tech explained, his eyes meeting mine over the top of his holopad. He seemed unbothered and I shrugged away my worries about Hunter’s hurt feelings.

“Tech…are you able encrypt those? So no one can track you or anything?” I asked, sitting up with our blanket wrapped across my chest. He laughed softly, as if even asking that was a silly question.

“Of course I can. Why do you ask?” He said, sitting up and rifling through his pack beside him.

“Rex and I need a way to…do some research without enemy eyes finding out.”

Rex, intrigued and likely following my train of thought, swung his legs over the side of his cot. “We need a way to get intel from inside the Empire. Inside the clone network. Check on some people.”

“Hmmm…I can give you a spare to surf the holonet. But tapping into the inner workings of the Empire is dangerous…I’ll have to look into how to do that safely. Here.” He replied, tossing Rex the extra pad he pulled from his bag.

“Thanks Tech.” We said together, Rex bumping the back of my shoulder with his. Tech hummed some kind of you’re welcome before settling back down in his makeshift bed. Rex rested his chin on my shoulder as we both looked on the holopad like we’d never seen this technology before.

“Who should we look for first?” I whispered, the search database blinking and waiting for me to enter in the aurebesh letters.

“Look us up.” He replied, typing his designated number into the former republic database and hitting search.

CT-7567: Rank - Captain. Battalion - 501st. Last Mission - Siege of Mandalore. Status - Killed in Action, Cruiser crashed on moons of Bogdon System. Body never recovered.

“Hmmm…well I don’t feel dead.” He joked morbidly, scrolling back up to enter in a new name to the search field.

I typed in my own name and found…nothing. My existence wiped from Senate records. “What?” I whispered out loud, my eyes wide with surprise and Rex’s deep in thought. “Only those with Senate clearance could do this. Someone’s…watching my back.”

Before Rex could speak, footsteps racing down the ship’s ramp made us both turn away from the mystery in front of us. Through the darkness, we could just make out Echo’s silhouette illuminated by a few soft lights inside our ship. He was panting, clearly desperate to give us some kind of urgent news.

“You two better come inside. Someone’s sending you a coded transmission. Highly scrambled and classified and you’re not going to believe who it is.”

---

Introducing the Captain's Log Taglist! I've had so many people ask me to make one so they get notified when new chapters drop so I am starting one! Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed! tag list: @starwarsmeninhelmets @literallydontlook @thefact0rygirl @moonstrider9904 @pedropascalsx @ashotofspotchka @fett-djarin @zinzinina @love-like-poetry @captainrexi @galacticgraffiti @kaminocasey @calkestiis @pinkiemme

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 04

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x san x seonghwa x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | prev chapter

Part Four: an old enemy, jealousy, and a bar-room brawl

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

chapter wc: 12.3k

chapter specific warnings: brief mentions of sexual slavery, depictions of ptsd and related panic attacks, themes of self-loathing.

summary:

You don’t even get the chance to turn around and see who it is before San speaks.

“Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath, good eye wide as his gaze shifts from the door, to you, to the table. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

a/n: to be frank, this chapter is overall very heavy in tone. please be mindful of that going forward. thank you, and enjoy the chapter <3

“Again.”

“Again?” You ask, shooting the man before you an incredulous stare. Sitting on the ground, your sword is cascaded to the side, having slipped from your grasp as you breathe heavily. Chest heaving as you attempt to get in enough air, sweat beads from your temple, dripping down your neck.

You look tired, like you could use a break. But frankly, you need to learn fast. At least the basics so that if danger strikes again, this time you’ll be a little more prepared.

So if that means San has to play a little rough, so be it.

“Yes, again,” he calls, standing above you. Spinning his own sword around in his hand, the blade is a semblance of comfort. A short-sword he’s had since he turned fifteen, it might as well be considered another part of him. Like an extra limb, an extension of his own arm. This is his element, his own trade and speciality.

After all, being surrounded by two gifted men, you have to learn to make yourself useful.

And although he may be a little biased, especially when his sword is unsheathed and both adrenaline and endorphins rush through him, he considers himself as equally important of an asset. Magical powers be damned, he is as much of a threat as Woo, and does his best to protect and help Seonghwa as much as the empath does for the both of them.

And now he’s going to protect and help you, in the best way he knows how.

“Come on. Up, up,” San says, not going to help you, but rather gesturing upwards with his freehand. It’s condescending, and frankly a little rude, but he knows that. Hopefully you know it too, because if you do it should spark exactly what he’s hoping for: frustration and annoyance. A little extra determination, the push you need to keep trying after getting your ass whooped for the last two hours.

Your eyebrows furrow at this, mouth drawing into a frown as you let out a huff, reaching over for your sword and lifting yourself back up to your feet. San can’t help the way his lip curves upwards, even if only slightly.

He likes you. You’ve got a lot of moxie, by no means the pampered little rich girl he’d anticipated you to be. You bounced back shockingly quick from the wounds in your arm. You’re determined to get better, to not only be protected, but protect yourself.

He can admire that, and perhaps it’s a little part of his own mentality that he see’s within you.

After all, he wouldn’t spend so much of his time training just anyone in his craft. However, you show promise, and he can work with that.

Besides, it’s an opportunity to get to know you a little better. Especially after what happened in the tavern a few nights ago, where he walked straight into Seonghwa attempting to sneak out of your room in the morning.

So now that’s a thing.

He’s not quite sure how he feels about it. Originally, he was upset, a little shocked. Not blindsided exactly, considering Seonghwa never made any indication that he was interested in him, or Woo for that matter. But even if it wasn't fair, the empath not owing him any sort of loyalty, San can’t pretend that he wasn’t a little hurt.

He knew there was a possibility Seonghwa might be interested in you, the blonde’s eyes a little too dreamy, and San didn’t miss the longing glances cast in your direction. But he certainly didn’t think anything would happen so soon.

It’s safe to say he was a little caught off guard.

However, after having a couple days to sit with it, to mope around a bit and try to face the fact one of the men he loves has feelings for someone else, he’s come to terms with it. While still hurt, and undeniably a tad envious, it’s not like he was ever planning on telling Seonghwa how he felt.

And if he’s too much of a coward to confess, at least Seonghwa has found someone else with a tad more confidence in such matters.

It’s the mature thing to do, and San has always believed himself to be the most responsible one. So he’ll keep his mouth shut, and simply try to get to know you better, see exactly who Seonghwa has gotten himself involved with.

After all, it’s not like it’s permanent anyway. The plan is to drop you off in Kuroku, and surely your wealthy father and family would not permit you to marry a lowly thief.

San has considered all of this, deciding that he can swallow down his own feelings for the moment, and just try to be happy for his friend. Be the bigger man in it all.

However, others have not taken the news so well.

“Others” being the man who currently leans against a tree, watching with his arms crossed as the two of you spar, a rather sour expression across his face.

San can’t even pretend to be surprised. It would be out of character for Woo to not make things more difficult for everyone involved.

However, San can’t spend too much time thinking about the elemental brooding in the forest’s thicket, as you suddenly come rushing towards him. Blade settled in your non-dominant hand - exactly as he’d instructed - you take as powerful of a swing as you can muster.

Bringing up his own sword, he deflects the blow with ease, before giving you a moment to recuperate. Only a second, of course, as any enemies you may face will not be so generous.

Bringing the sword in front of you, you bring your other hand up in order to have both of your palms wrapped around the hilt. Good. You may not be the strongest of opponents physically, sword-training clearly not something you’ve spent years building the muscle for, but that doesn’t necessarily put you at a disadvantage. Using two hands will give you more strength, as well as teach you to center your balance and stability.

It’s only a moment before you swing again, and this time San simply parries to the left rather than deflecting the blow. “Come on,” he says, but this time it’s not to try and make you more focused. The exact opposite, actually.

“You can do better than that,” he continues, making a mental-note as you let out a growl of frustration, beginning to swing a little harder. And while power may sometimes be a good thing, it’s not always what is needed. Too much, and you begin to lose your concentration, and thus your balance follows suit.

Which is exactly what happens now. He waits for you to take an extra hard swing, and slides to the left in order to dodge it, rolling over his shoulder on the ground and using the momentum to carry himself back up onto his feet.

The swing messes with your balance, and from his new position to your side, he wastes no time giving a swift kick to your back. Not too hard, as he has no intention of truly hurting you, but the blow is enough to knock you over.

The sword tumbles from your hand as you crash against the dirt, letting out a groan as you roll over onto your side. Walking over to you, he picks up the sword before you have the chance to reach for it. Holding the blade out before you, the sharp tip a few inches away from your chest, the swordsman prevents you from rising to your feet.

Breathing heavily, you look up at him, raising your own eyebrow in return. “Again?” You ask, and although he can tell you’re trying to mask it, there’s an undeniable hint of dread in your voice.

He smiles. “No, I think we’re good for today.” Flipping the blade around in his hand, he now holds the hilt of the sword out towards you, the sapphire sparkling in the morning sun as he does so.

Right. That.

He noticed it immediately when the two of you picked up the blade from Bin. And although the blacksmith refused to explain where he’d gotten it from - which was already strange in of itself - San recognized the gem from their collection.

He’s not angry, exactly. More so just curious.

You seemed to make an awful big show of your thoughts on thievery back at their home. So why take something yourself? Why this particular necklace? Why embed it in the hilt of your sword? Perhaps as retribution for the necklace they’d taken from you, yet for some reason that doesn’t seem quite right.

It’s interesting, and San can’t pretend like he’s not intrigued.

Something to keep an eye out for.

When you grab the hilt, he uses his grip on the sword’s guard to pull you upwards, back onto your feet.

“You did well,” he says, and you scoff at this, rolling your eyes.

“Like hell I did well,” you mutter, wiping some of the dirt off your pants. “You must have knocked me down a dozen times.”

“I’ve been doing this for years,” he says gently, wiping some of the dirt off your shoulder. “You’ve been doing it for days. You’ll get there.”

You shrug at this, although he doesn’t miss the faint smile that creeps onto your lips. “Thanks,” you say quietly, almost shy.

“Next we’ll work on patience,” he continues, taking a moment to slide his own sword back into its sheath. “And keeping a levelhead.”

“Hey, you were trying to egg me on,” you argue, jaw-dropping at the insinuation.

San merely shrugs in response. “And it was far too easy.”

While you may let out a huff of annoyance at this, San can tell that you know he’s right. And you’re a good student, coachable, which means it’s something you’ll take into account for next time.

“Feel free to take a rest for a bit,” he says, nodding back in the direction of your campsite. “We won’t leave for another few hours.”

You nod, and are about to walk away, when San notices a blotch of mud against your cheek. Feeling a little bad, without thinking he puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you, before using his thumb to wipe at it.

Earning himself a raised eyebrow, he chuckles. “Sorry,” he starts, lifting his hand up to display the grime. “You just had something there.”

Now this would be fine under normal circumstances. The smile returns to your lips as he explains, and you mutter a thank you. That should be it.

Except that these aren’t normal circumstances, as San didn’t take into account what - or better, who - might be watching.

Suddenly blown to the side by a sharp gust of wind, he stumbles a few steps, fumbling to stay up on his feet. Fortunately, he manages. Unfortunately, it’s after having tripped a solid few metres away from you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, rushing over to him and grabbing his arms, likely to keep him standing. Looking him up and down, your eyes are wide, tone appalled. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he cuts back, tone more than a little pissed. Of course, you are not the one he’s pissed with, so he’s quick to amend it. “I just lost my balance. Go find Hwa, I think he’s by the hotsprings.”

When you walk away, it’s hesitantly. “Okay,” you mutter, casting him a wary glance before slowly making your way back towards the camp. It’s not until you’re completely out of sight that he whirls around, searching for the culprit.

Woo’s sour expression has been replaced with a smirk.

San hovers for only a moment, before setting his feet in motion. Not towards the elemental - although ringing his neck is awfully tempting at the moment - but back towards the camp.

He needs to cool off. He’s not going to indulge Woo, play into his hand exactly like he wants him to. If it’s a reaction that Woo desires, it’s absolutely not what he’s going to get.

It’s not like he even meant anything romantic by the gesture whatsoever, but of course that’s what Woo would assume.

Of course.

San sighs when he makes it back to the camp. Taking off his fur jacket, he haphazardly tosses it onto a nearby log, feeling far too stuffy all of a sudden. He takes a deep breath, attempting to steady himself.

He needs to calm down. He needs to regain control of himself, keep a levelhead. Especially with the town you’ll be arriving at later today.

Gloria.

He knows that you have to go, needing to restock on food before your multiple day long journey through the desert, but frankly he’d rather starve for a few days than go anywhere near that forsaken town.

He hates that shit hole. If there’s anywhere he needs to keep a clear head, it’s there.

Just the thought of it makes him feel nauseous.

Anxiety arising hot in his throat and pounding within his head, he sits down on a log by the fire, which is barely alight. Only a mere few sparks arise from the pit of ash, flying in the air before dying out and returning themselves back to the soil.

Closing his eyes, he tries to just focus on breathing.

In the distance, he can hear laughter. It’s Hwa’s, he could recognize the sound anywhere. Light and airy, such a genuine and sweet noise. He wonders what you said to make him laugh like that.

“Fuck,” he thinks, running a hand through his hair, sucking in a tight breath.

By the end of this trip, he might just lose his mind.

Seonghwa really likes you.

Over the past few days following the night the two of you spent together he’s gotten to know you a little better, and he finds that he’s genuinely enjoyed the time spent in your presence.

After sword-training with San, there are little periods of rest that the two of you often find spent with each other. Brief breaks of only a few hours are left to simply talk, take a stroll about the woods, or whatever to pass the time.

He thinks you’re rather charming. Kind, but also containing a sharp wit. Lot’s of moxie, as he’s sure San would put it. Your conversations are pleasant, the two of you having moved a tad beyond small-talk, able to converse a little more freely and with room for a level of candidness only produced by a sense of familiarity.

Although, he can tell that your walls are still up, as whatever troubled darkness you are carrying is still looming above your shoulders, something you will not disclose.

He can’t deny he’s a little curious. He’s an empath, after all. It’s in his very nature.

However, he knows how hard it is for people to discuss what burdens them. Hell, Woo’s been carrying something for years that he’s refused to discuss in any detail since Seonghwa first met him.

It’ll simply take time.

Besides, your journey together won’t last very long. The sort of companionship the two of you have forged set on an hourglass, those little beads of time trickling by with every passing day.

He knows that, and honestly, he’s okay with that too. He likes you, certainly. You’re a great conversationalist and - not to be vain - quite beautiful as well. But you have your own life to get back to, just as he has his.

The two of you are just enjoying the journey, making it the best it can be for each other, which is something that he’s happy to do.

He hears your voice from over his shoulder. “Mind if I join you?”

Opening his eyes, he peers at you through a veil of steam, mindlessly smiling as he does so.

The hot springs were a pleasant surprise, a little secluded spot tucked within the depths of the meadow your party had settled at for the night. For a long journey with little access to hot water, it’s certainly a treat, almost a blessing.

“Of course,” he says softly. Padding up towards the edge, you pull up the hems of your trousers in order to dip your feet in. Humming with satisfaction, you close your own eyes, breathing in the steam.

“It’s nice, huh?” He asks, letting his head tilt to fall against the stone that rests along his back. “Wish we had one of these wherever we go.”

You chuckle at this, gently kicking your feet back and forth. He doesn’t miss the way your gaze flickers along the water, and he can sense a faint hint of longing.

“You can get in, if you want,” he offers, and when your eyes flicker to him hesitantly, he adds: “I’ll close my eyes.”

Smile crossing your lips, you nod. Standing up to remove everything but your intimates, he lets his gaze fall shut. Turning his head away from you, respectfully.

The two of you haven’t spent a night together since the last, or at least not in the same fashion. After a particularly late talk around the fire, he’d stayed in your tent in order to not wake either Woo or San, but even that remained chaste.

After all, that night was simply about that night. No promises of more, or any strings attached. If something else happens, let it unfold naturally, not out of expectation.

He feels you sink down in the water next to him, letting out a deep sigh. Your shoulder presses up against his own, giving him a small nudge to let him know he’s good to open his eyes now, the water cloudy enough to mostly cover everything.

“How was training?” Seonghwa asks, opening the conversation as his gaze remains upwards at the sky above him.

“Tiring,” you say, followed by a yawn. Stretching your arms upwards, one of your hands falls back onto the stone behind him, fingers beginning to need mindlessly through his air. “San has no mercy.”

Seonghwa laughs out loud at this, once again letting his eyes fall shut, the mixture of the steam and your fingers running through his hair a tad dizzying. “You haven’t even seen him go full out. It’s scary.”

“I can imagine,” you say, and he feels as you shake your head. “I’m excited for us to reach the next town, I could use a break from getting my ass kicked.”

“You’re not getting your ass kicked,” Seonghwa attempts to reassure you, but after the silence that follows, he can imagine the exact face you’re making at him. “That badly,” he amends, and you playfully scoff.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you continue. “Gloria, the town we’re arriving at, it's where you met them right?”

“Right,” he answers, uncertain where you might be going with this.

“Should bring back some fond memories,” you venture, surely expecting him to smile at the thought, maybe even share a story or two. Except that he doesn’t

Instead, a small frown crosses his lips. He doesn’t reply, not quite sure how to.

“Or not?” You ask, a little hesitant. Seonghwa sighs deeply, chewing on the bottom of his lip.

Gloria is not a good town. Riddled with crime, it’s a place full of bad people with even worse intentions. A playground for traffickers of various kinds, it’s home to the big cats who like to torture the little mice surrounding them. Play with people like they’re merely puppets on strings, toy with them. With little mercy nor law enforcement, it’s practically a breeding ground for trouble.

While the memory of meeting Woo and San is pleasant for him, that’s about where all the nice moments end, and the times of trial begin.

Especially for one of them in particular.

“Not exactly,” he starts, trying to decide how to navigate the confession. He doesn’t want to converse about his friend’s troubles - as they aren’t his to talk about - but he also doesn’t want you to be walking into this completely blind either.

“San, he’s not a big fan of Gloria,” is what he settles on. You hum at this, clearly curious to know more, but also sensing that he doesn’t exactly want to discuss it, so you don’t press him any further.

He thinks you both respect and understand each other in that way.

Having dropped the matter, you continue to run your fingers through his hair. Despite himself, he lets out a content hum, leaning a little further back so that they push a bit deeper against his scalp.

“Enjoying this?” You comment, and he can’t help the toothy grin that spreads across his lips.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, and you chuckle, surely returning a grin of your own. Suddenly, he feels as your legs swing up to rest over his own. You’re still sitting on the rocky edge beneath the water, although you’ve shifted yourself sideways, knees brought up to rest against his chest and over his lap.

He peeks an eye open at this, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, if you get to be comfortable, I do too,” you explain, before letting your head rest down against his shoulder. Hand still kneading gently, he lets his own eyes close, although the smile continues to rest faintly against his lips.

For as risky as this trip to Kuroku may be, he might be enjoying himself a little too much.

Seonghwa wasn’t kidding when he said San wasn’t a fan of this town.

You noticed the change almost immediately, as your party slowly inched closer towards your destination. The impending hours transforming into minutes, his entire body language slowly transformed, barely recognizable to the man you've grown used to.

Fidgety and nervous, you don’t miss the way that his hand grips tightly onto one of the many knives embedded on his belt, as the four of you pass through the town’s gate. There’s no looming danger visible, and yet the swordsman’s gaze darts nervously around the roads, between the different buildings and shops.

You don’t quite understand the fuss, the town seemingly relatively harmless, at least at first glance. Similar to Stockholm in its general layout and design, the shops along the streets are clean and well-kept, with different groups of people making their way down the public roads. Although, you note there are far more young folk compared to families, dressed more similar to yourselves than simple clothing, with weapons and gear of their own. Not many children to be seen, nor elederly folk for that matter.

“Should we search for a tavern?” Woo asks, glancing towards San.

However, the swordsman doesn’t answer. Gaze trained elsewhere - although which building he’s watching you can’t quite make-out - his attention seems fully consumed, as he chews nervously on his bottom lip.

“San,” Woo tries again, giving him a nudge with his elbow. San whips his head around to face him - in a bit of panic, you note - before awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” he says, voice a little choked. He swallows deeply before trying again. “What did you say?”

You half expect Woo to jeer at him - much as he has been over the last few days after your training, although you’ve pretended to not take too much notice - or at least make some sort of teasing comment, but he doesn’t. Instead he gives the man what you can only describe as the most tender expression you’ve ever seen across the elemental’s face. Eyes gentle, and mouth drawn into a tight smile, almost sad.

“I asked if we should find a tavern,” he replies softly, before placing a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder, holding it there as you walk.

You hope your face doesn’t show any of the surprise you feel, this strange new side of Woo something you’ve never seen before, even in the overall calm of the past few days.

However, along with any intrigue you feel, there is another emotion that burns equally as strong at the gesture: Worry.

Because for Woo to be acting like that, there must be something seriously off about this town.

“Oh, sure,” San offers weakly, before once again letting his gaze wander back towards the shops along the street. “Keep an eye out.”

It takes a few moments before you spot anything resembling a tavern, but when you do it catches your eye almost immediately.

A building far taller than the rest, it peaks high above the shops surrounding it, although that is the very least of its distinctive qualities. Walls made of fine ivory compared to brick, the edging a rather expensive maroon colour, it looks ages newer - as well as far more extravagant - compared to any of its counterparts.

“The Cat’s Cradle”, it reads in cursive letters, printed on a large sign that hangs just above the doorway.

Raising a hand up in the air to point at the building, you open your mouth to suggest staying there. However, you are silenced before you can even begin, as Seonghwa quickly grabs hold of your hand, pulling it back down.

Casting him a questioning glance, you meet his eyes to find that they are set firm. He shakes his head, and the message is simple: “No, not there.”

The silence that fills the next few moments is tense, but fortunately does not last long, as Woo speaks.

“How about there?” He asks, pointing to a tavern just down the road. It’s quaint, a tad more rundown than the majority of the other buildings along the strip. It’s by no means dirty, but the paint of the trim is quite chipped, the sign’s lettering faded, as well as slightly crooked.

Unimpressive, but then again, also far less intimidating compared to the one you’d almost suggested.

San simply nods in response to the proposition, and after tying your two horses to the pillars holding up the canopy above the tavern, the four of you all head inside.

Upon entering, you can’t help but notice that the atmosphere is quite… dead. Whether this is simply because it’s broad daylight, you aren’t sure, but the space feels abnormally quiet. Almost entirely empty, the only other customer sits in the far corner of the room, a middle-aged man slowly nursing a pint of ale. The only sound is the clinking of glasses as the barkeep organizes their display of wine - which you note is already quite tidy to begin with.

Taking a seat at one of the many free tables, San sits down across from you while the other two men remain standing.

“We’re going to go chat with the barkeep,” Woo explains, throwing his thumb back to point behind him. “Get something to eat, maybe see if we can barter our way into a spare room.”

“Alright,” you answer after San doesn’t respond, gaze once again lost as he peers out the front window.

Once Woo and Seonghwa leave, you turn your attention fully towards San, observing him closely. Your gaze drifts down to his hands on the table, which are clenched tightly, nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

The sight causes a jolt of sympathy to rush through you, even if you don’t know where exactly his hurt arises from.

“Hey,” you start, reaching forward to take hold of his hands - to which he startles slightly - and gently pull his fingers away from his palm. “Are you okay?”

San stills for a moment, glancing down at both of your hands, before sighing deeply. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little,” you reply, a faint smile on your lips that he doesn’t return. Instead he drops your hand, bringing both of his own up to pull back his hair, sucking in a tight breath.

“I just…” He starts, good eye trained on the table, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “I just don’t have a great history with this town, that’s all.”

You’re a little disappointed by the vagueness of his answer, but you’re also not surprised. Considering the man’s present state, the apparent unchanneled fear and worry that seems to have plagued who you would label the most emotionally reserved member of your party, you should be glad to have received something of a response at all.

With San’s attention almost immediately being directed back to the window, you turn towards the bar, checking to see if Seonghwa and Woo have managed to barter you a room.

However, your gaze doesn’t quite make its way over to the bar, as your attention is pulled elsewhere along the way.

The man in the back, the one slowly nursing his ale, he’s staring at you.

Not discreetly, either. As when your eyes meet his, he doesn’t look away. Instead he simply takes another prolonged sip of his drink, eyes continuing to hold your own over the rim of his pint.

Now, this would already be unnerving, his eyes dark and containing a strange, bitter cold. However, as his gaze holds firm, eyes unblinking as they appear to flicker along the details of your face, only one thought comes to mind:

He recognizes you.

Somehow, amidst all the deep and ghastly scars, he recognizes you. Why else would he simply sit there, watching, gaze somehow knowing.

It’s after a moment the man suddenly stands, bringing the mug up to toss back the rest of his ale before slamming it back down on the table, leaving it there as he makes his way towards you.

Unsure of what you can possibly do to stop him, you simply sit still, pulling your hood up a little higher as you train your gaze on a painting at the back of the room, anywhere but those chilling dark eyes.

What will he do when he reaches you? Pull off your hood and drag you outside, right to whatever black-clad men may have already made their way here? Or you suppose the poster wrote “DEAD OR ALIVE”, so it would surely be easier for him to simply kill you now, pull out a knife and go to town.

Maybe a tad morbid, but crazier things have happened, in the last few days at that.

However, the man seems to select neither of the two options, instead walking right past you and towards the door. The shop’s bell jingles as he leaves, and you let out a deep sigh, which fortunately San is too wrapped up in his own mind to notice.

Maybe you’d simply imagined it, or perhaps he was equally as unnerved by you staring back at him, but it appears you’re in the clear. You can’t deny you’ve been on edge, the thought of being in the open public of a town - especially after hearing the sheer fortune as a reward for either your arrest or demise - enough to weigh on your conscience constantly.

You can hear arguing from the bar, and you turn to see Woo and the barkeep in a heated discussion. You can pick up the words “cheap-skate”, “swindler”, and “scam” being thrown around by both parties, as it appears it may be a little more difficult to secure a room than you’d originally thought.

You’re about to get up, maybe try your own hand at convincing the barkeep, when the door chime rings once more.

You don’t even get the chance to turn around and see who it is before San speaks.

“Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath, good eye wide as his gaze shifts from the door, to you, to the table. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Well, look who it is,” a voice calls from over your shoulder, and even without seeing the man it belongs to, you can hear the snide smirk he undoubtedly wears. “Choi San, what a pleasure.”

The man makes his way over to your table, and thus into your line of sight - and a sight he is indeed. Dressed in a tailored burgundy suit with a beard so finely trimmed it barely raises off his skin, his hands are covered in white gloves that fit snugly over each of his fingers. He also holds a cane in these gloved hands, the top of it a massive crystal that glistens even within the dim light of the tavern.

He's older, but the only way you can discern that is the crow’s feet that peek out from the corners of his eyes, the rest of his body appearing refined and as polished as his outerwear.

He has money, you can practically smell it on him. He’s the kind of man your father would be friends with, that he’d introduce you to at celebrations and parties. A man with power, with connections.

And based on the way San seems to hold his gaze anywhere but the man’s eyes, you’re certain this assumption is correct.

“Come on, boy,” he says, folding both of his gloved hands over top of his cane, leaning in closer to the swordsman. A little too close. “Not even a word for an old friend?”

“Hello, Jay,” San says quietly, and although his voice is more steady than you would have expected, you don’t miss the way his hands tremble slightly on the table.

You doubt “Jay” misses it either, as a smile creeps over his lips, his teeth just barely visible. His canines are sharp, almost animalistic, and you wonder if he’d intentionally had them fasted down that way.

The rest of Jay’s men follow suit after him - roughly ten of them, by your count - all dressed in far-less expensive attire, but intimidating nonetheless. Weapons strone on each of their belts, they’re all rather large you note, quite muscular and subsequently threatening.

At the back of them, you see the man from before, the one who’d only left the tavern minutes ago. He smiles when he notices you staring, a triumphant and cocky sort of grin.

As it turns out, you were wrong. It clearly wasn’t you he’d been staring at.

“Never thought I’d see you on Glorian streets again, boy,” Jay continues, and while his tone is generally quite tame, there is a strange darkness that lurks behind it. That even though you don’t know this man or the ones that lurk behind him, there is something incredibly dangerous about this conversation, something that may just come to unfold soon.

“We’re just passing through,” a voice speaks up from behind the entire group. It’s Woo, as both he and Seonghwa quickly make their way to stand behind San. Although his tone feigns confidence, his expression is wary. “We’re not looking for any trouble.”

Not only Jay, but all of his men chuckle at this statement, glancing between one another with knowing smirks. “Not looking for trouble, he says,” Jay laughs, looking around his group as he motions towards the elemental. Placing his other hand on San’s shoulder - who jumps slightly at the action - he continues to speak to his men, tone remaining almost jovial. “Our friend over here seems to think he can show his face on our streets without trouble.”

San says nothing as the man turns to face him, once again leaning in far too close. “I’m assuming you have the money then, of course.”

San swallows deeply at this, opening his mouth to speak when Woo answers for him. “We’re working on it,” the elemental says, earning himself another fit of laughter from Jay and his posse.

“You hear that, he says they’re working on it,” Jay mocks, once again turning back to his group in exaggeration. You don’t miss the way Woo’s jaw clenches, frustration clearly beginning to build. Frankly, you’re impressed at how well he’s able to withhold his anger, temperament an area he’s never seemed to excel in.

Perhaps another indication of just how dangerous this man might be.

“Well, surely you must be able to give me something,”  he says, finally taking a step back and away from San’s face. Scanning the room, his eyes flicker over Woo, then Seonghwa, before finally landing on you.

Your heart stops beating when Jay’s gaze scans over your face, a slight tilt to his lips.

“Hm,” he hums, before suddenly reaching forward to take hold of your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You slap his hand away, but that only causes him to grip you harder.

“Perhaps I should take this one with me back to The Cradle,” he contemplates, before sharply tilting your chin in order to better view the side of your face. “The scarring is unfortunate, but hell, some men prefer the broken ones.”

“No,” San says, voice suddenly firm as he finally looks up to meet the man’s eyes. Jay turns to face him, but San doesn’t budge, gaze equally as dark. “You can’t have her.”

Jay pauses for a moment, face entirely unreadable as a heavy silence fills the bar-room, tension thick. After a moment, he smiles, although the expression is so vicious you’d almost prefer for him to scowl.

“No?” He asks, letting go of his hold on your jaw and facing himself back towards the swordsman. Suddenly setting down his cane on the table, the man begins to take off his gloves slowly, pulling the cloth off each finger one at a time.

Whatever burst of confidence San mustered quickly shrivels, as his good eye widens at the sight. Quickly shuffling backwards in his chair, both Woo and Seonghwa are mobilized equally as fast, but are stopped as two of the men behind Jay grab them. Successful in this pursuit, the bigger of the two manages to pull Woo’s hands behind his back and secure them in place, so that he’s unable to use his gift.

Whoever these men may be, it’s clear they aren’t only familiar with San. Based on the Woo’s reluctance to raise his temper, as well their knowledge of his gift, it’s clear they at least know the elemental as well.

One of the other men - the one who you’d originally spotted in the bar - takes hold of San’s shoulders, aggressively shoving San back into his chair. He’s far more buff than you’d originally realized, as even though San thrashes against his grip, he manages to hold the swordsman down with relative ease.

One of the men even places his hands down on your own shoulders, although his grip is not as firm, a blatant assumption on his behalf to your level of strength.

Jay leans in, beginning to take off his other gloves as he does so. “Then how about you pay me another way,” he offers, letting his bare hand hover in front of San’s face, only a mere inch away. “Like your other eye, perhaps?”

San’s good eye widens at the statement, still staring at Jay’s long fingers as his breathing begins to escalate. He fights against the man’s grasp with even more desperation, causing another one of the men to deliver a sudden, but powerful punch across the swordsman’s face.

The blow causes San’s head to drop to his chest, good eye scrunched shut as he sucks in a tight breath from the pain.

He only gets a brief moment to breathe, however, as Jay quickly grabs the swordman’s jaw - similar to the way he’d done to you previously - making him look upwards.

“No!” Woo shrieks, frantically fighting against the grip of the man holding him, desperate to get closer to the swordsman. While you don’t initially understand his panic towards the gesture, it quickly becomes apparent, as San lets out a pained, choked sound.

A horrific, sizzling noise fills the air, accompanied by the rotten smell of burning flesh. You fight to not pull your gaze away from Jay’s hand as it grips San’s jaw, smoke wafting up from the area where his palm cups the swordsman’s skin.

San opens his mouth to scream, and the man behind him cups a hand over his mouth, any pained sounds now stifled and muffled as he kicks his legs in an attempt to fight Jay off, but the man simply steps himself over to the side. Tears stream from San’s eye, and when Jay finally takes his hand off, the area is red and blistered in the shape of his hand.

He’s gifted, you realize, a sadist. Gaze shifting to his bare palms, he clenches in and out of a fist, a twisted smile on his face. His eyes gleam a red hue, and he takes in a deep breath, satisfied.

A sort of anti-type to Seonghwa’s empath abilities, sadist’s are equally as rare, and work in an opposing fashion. While Hwa can remove other’s pain and make them feel better, it comes at the cost of making this pain his own. Meanwhile sadists - like Jay - inflict pain on others, they’re mere touch corrosive to the skin - and any pain they inflict fills them with further strength and satisfaction for themselves.

You can practically see this burst of strength rush through him, as his eyes open a little wider, more alert, his posture a tad more straight. Rolling his shoulders back as his muscles loosen naturally, he tilts his head to the side. His neck cracks through the stretch, as if to say that he’s only getting started.

He suddenly leans in, so that when he speaks it’s directly into San’s ear. “I keep the other one in a jar on my shelf,” Jay whispers, lips twisting into a pleasurable snarl. “I’ve always wanted a matching set.”

You need to do something, the comment enough to jar you out of the initial shock towards the entire situation.

While you may not understand the full history between the sadist and the swordsman, you have caught onto the gist of the current stakes: if you don’t do something now, this man is going to rip out San’s other eye.

The man who is holding onto your shoulder's grip remains weak. However you’re certain if you attempt to rise to your feet, he’ll simply tighten his grasp. You only have one shot, and you need something better than that, something that’s certain to work immediately and without revealing what you’re planning to do.

You can faintly feel his breath blowing against the top of your head, indicating that his mouth - and subsequently his face - is not too far away.

Jackpot.

Discreetly sliding your hand so that it rests on the hilt of your sword, you grant yourself only a second of preparation, a singular breath in order to prepare for the risk you’re about to take, the danger you’re undoubtedly about to put yourself into.

Launching yourself backwards, the rear of your head collides with the nose of the man behind you, followed by a sharp “crack” and the sound of him stumbling backwards. This seems to gain the attention of everyone surrounding you, as all the men - including Jay - turn to face the sudden commotion.

Fortunately, even with all the new sets of eyes on you, nobody is set in motion immediately, perhaps shocked by the sudden blow. Taking the opportunity to remove the sword from its sheath, you manage a clumsy swipe at Jay, who takes a quick step backwards to avoid it.

However, the swipe’s intention was never to wound the man, but simply distract his men.

With his own captor’s attention drawn to you, Seonghwa seizes the opportunity to give the man holding him a swift kick to his shin, knocking him off balance. Tearing himself from the man’s grasp, he doesn’t risk a second to think before throwing himself in Woo’s direction, giving the elemental’s own captor a firm elbow to the nose. The man stumbles, his grip on Woo’s wrists unintentionally loosening, allowing the elemental to finally rip himself free.

And just like that - despite being ruefully outnumbered - the odds have tilted in your favour.

A flash of light erupts across the dim warehouse, followed by a rattling scream and the smell of smoke in the air. Both hands holding flames that twist from within his palms, you watch as Woo throws another ball of fire at one of Jay’s men, who lets out a similar blood-curdling yelp as he brings his hands up to cover his now seared-face.

Woo’s eyes are swimming with vengeance, as he brings his hands forward, creating a gust of wind that not only flings one of the men backwards, but directly through the shop’s window. Little bits and pieces of glass sprinkle onto the tavern's floor, and the barkeep lets out a yell of protest, although he doesn’t have the courage to move any closer towards the scene.

You don’t blame him, as the way Woo and Jay stare down each other, you don’t have the courage to move yourself near them either.

Extending a hand forwards - palm still alight with smouldering flame - Woo grabs the neck of the man holding onto San. The man screams in terror, letting go of his grip on San’s shoulders and attempting to rip Woo’s burning hand away from his throat. The elemental simply smirks.

All the while, Woo continues to hold Jay’s gaze. Expression not cocky, necessarily, but rather malicious. Vicious and vengeful.

“Alright,” it seems to say, as the elemental cocks a brow. “If you want to play like that, fine. I will too.”

Jay’s gaze is not near as vengeful, in fact, it’s almost calm. Analytical and poised, no semblance of emotion as Woo drops his colleague, who crumples to the ground, letting out rattling breaths as his chest heaves shakily. His throat his bloody and seared, Woo’s own handprint covering his Adam’s apple as he attempts to get in any air. You wonder if he’ll even survive.

You doubt it.

Jay stares at the mess of a man before him, chewing on his inner cheek as he assesses the situation. The tables have turned on him rather quickly, that much is obvious. Whatever war has brewn between the trio and his own men, he has lost this particular battle.

But Jay is smart, you are certain of that much. He has influence, he has men, he has connections.

He knows when to cut his losses.

“Fine, then,” he says with a shrug before subtly nodding to his men, who leave their scattered positions throughout the tavern and carefully place themselves back behind him. “I’ll leave you be today.”

Seonghwa moves over to San, lending him a hand as he pulls the swordsman out of his chair. However, San’s eyes do not leave Jay, as the sadist speaks directly to him.

“I’ll see you in the winter, Choi,” he says quietly, that falsely genuine smile returning to his lips once more. Pure mockery. “And you better have my fucking money.”

San swallows deeply at this, and Woo places a hand on his shoulder, as if to settle him. Jay scoffs at the gesture. “Get out of Gloria,” he adds, wrinkling his nose as he observes your party. “There’s no place for scum on my streets.”

He’s about to leave, having begun to slip his gloves back on and twisting towards the doorway when he pauses, gaze suddenly shifting to Woo.

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Jay says softly, eyes flashing with something dark. Sinister. “Next time I’ll bring my own guard-dogs. A dozen of them.”

The tavern bell chimes softly as his men follow out behind him.

There’s a heavy moment of silence, the four of you stand amidst the mess of broken glass, unsure of exactly what to say. You make eye-contact with the barkeep across the room, and while he looks utterly dejected at the state of his tavern, you have a feeling that brawl’s such as these are not out of the ordinary for this town.

“Well,” Woo says after a moment, clearing his throat to try and break the tension in the air. It doesn’t work. “I guess we should go.”

And so, with an apologetic nod to the barkeep, the four of you exit the destroyed tavern. Grabbing your horses from where you’d tied them up against one of the pillars outside, your gaze wanders back down the street.

Jay and his men head towards the building you’d spotten on the way in, The Cat’s Cradle. They don’t even make it to the front before the door opens for him, not even a knock required, as if someone is stationed there simply to open the door for its most important guests.

Hell, there probably is.

Hopping on behind Seonghwa, you’re quick to take off down the road and heading outside of town. Food and medical supplies be damned, you can figure out the logistics of it all later, you have to survive first.

Gaze trained in front of you and over Seonghwa’s shoulder, you note that for the first time, Woo man’s the horse compared to San. The swordsman’s arms are wrapped loosely around the elemental’s waist, watching the flickering buildings and shops move by. You wonder how many he knows, that he recognizes. You wonder if he shares such morbid history with any of them.

Feeling a tad bit guilty to observing the man in such a vulnerable state, you fix your own eyes on the whirling town streets. However, you find that your gaze is not pulled to any buildings, but rather a person.

Standing in front of what appears to be an antique shop, he converses with the old lady running the place. He’s older, with a dark scruffy beard and a paper in hand that he holds up before her, as well as a scowl on his face. A scowl that is somewhat familiar, and you narrow your eyes, trying to recall where you might recognize him from.

However, it only takes a moment, and your entire body freezes as the realization dawns on you.

He looks different without his black armour.

It’s the soldier, or far more likely, the captain from back at the castle. The one that was giving orders for your capture. The one that chased you down the many corridors, that almost found you in the library. The one who ambushed you and Mingi.

The one who murdered your father.

Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t even attempt to make out what he’s saying to the elderly woman, as the ringing in your ears is simply too loud. Shakily bringing one hand up and away from Seonghwa’s shoulder, you pull your hood up higher as your lot passes him, keeping your face as hidden as possible.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

He’s found you. They’ve found you. Well, perhaps not yet, but they’re far, far too close.

It’s too soon. Only a few days since Libaiya burned, surely they can’t be so close already. You’ve been moving practically non-stop, making distance everyday. Which can only mean that they’ve been moving just as tirelessly, as well.

You can only think of what may have happened if your group had stayed in Gloria tonight.

As you pass by, you continue to watch him carefully out of the corner of your eye, and from the new angle you can finally see what it is on the paper that he holds out before him: Your wanted poster.

They’re searching for you, and clearly, they’re searching well. Even with the shitty depiction of your portrait, they’re still here. In the same town, mere feet away from you.

Hand returning to Seonghwa’s shoulder, you grip him even tighter than before, trying to ground yourself to something solid. Something steady, as it currently feels as if your entire body may shatter as if it were glass.

He’s here. They’re here.

And if you don’t keep moving, if you dare to make one wrong move or linger in one place for too long, they will find you.

You don’t stop riding for hours. Until the forest trees slowly fade to become few and far between, and the air that is laced with the scents of pine and flowers begin to transform to a more dry and empty sort of smell.

The Calanthian Desert lays ahead, only a few miles out from where you have currently set up camp, and your group is anything but prepared for it.

Lacking resources - water and food two things you were supposed to stock up on in Gloria - your party gathers around the fire with empty stomachs tonight.

Then again, after everything that occurred today nobody is quite in the mood to eat this evening, anyway.

San pokes at the fire with a long stick from the bush, an empty expression across his features as he sits with his back pressed up against a stump. He hasn’t spoken much more than a word or two since your group left the town behind. The blisters on his chin burn a bright red hue, surely painful, although he doesn’t even wince as Woo tends to them with a rag that he’d soaked in the river a few miles back, that’s a little too dry to be fully effective now.

“I should explain,” San says, causing Woo to jump slightly at the sudden noise amidst the silence that has coated the last couple hours.

The swordsman pays no mind, however, as his gaze remains fixed on you. There is still no emotion to his expression, just a numb sort of blankness that makes you feel guilty at his mere suggestion of the idea.

You don’t know him that well - only a few days under your belts - and his history with Jay and his men appears to run horrifically deep. He does not owe you any sort of explanation.

“No, you don’t have to-” you start, but he shakes his head. Taking the rag from Woo’s hand, he sets it down on the ground, shifting to sit further upwards. Preparing himself.

“I do,” he says simply, followed by a sigh. “You were put in danger today because of me, you at least deserve to know why.”

Unable to muster up a response as the statement is fair in this regard, you simply nod, giving him permission to continue.

However, instead of speaking, he reaches upward and behind his head. Fiddling with the clasp of his eye-patch, it only takes him a moment to unhook the strap, gently peeling the leather from his face.

It takes everything in you to withhold a gasp.

The area where his eye once was is mutilated. Deep scarring surrounds the entirety of the area around his socket, purple and blue hues bleed in alongside the red tint of his skin - which in itself is jagged and deformed, clearly having not been given the proper medical care to have healed properly.

Yet, the scarring is nothing compared to his socket, which looks so completely and utterly wrong. With no eye to speak of, the wound holds a dark emptiness, the skin so purple it appears almost black, like a piece of void staring back at you.

“I met Jay when I was thirteen,” San begins, his gaze finally shifting away from your eyes and back down towards the flickering flame. “My family had moved to Gloria from Bebbanburg, since the cost of living was beginning to climb and my parents couldn’t afford to live in the kingdom anymore.”

You nod, recalling the political trends of around the time, and it certainly makes sense. Bebbanburg had recently tied itself to Kuroku - its neighbouring, as well as more renowned kingdom - and thus its overall populace and reputation had begun to grow. With more tourism, grandeur, and a Kuroken princess to bestow upon the people, wealthy merchants from all over began to seek out the limited property of Bebbanburg. It’s no shock that this would have been a difficult blow to the lower class.

“We were dirt poor, and the long move to Gloria had done us no favours in that regard,” San continues. “But rent in Gloria is dirt cheap - and of course we didn’t know why at the time - so it seemed like the right place for us.”

San stops for a moment, chewing on his inner cheek as he seems to consider his next words. You don’t miss the way his fist clenches around the eye-patch in his palm, the leather peaking through his strained knuckles.

“And maybe we could have made it work,” he says, followed by a shaky breath. “Maybe we could have survived, kept our heads down-low and out of The Cradle’s business. But my father was greedy, and got himself wrapped up in the wrong crowd.”

You catch the way Woo’s face settles into a deep frown at this, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his gaze shifts from San to the ground, nose wrinkling slightly.

It’s a disgusted sort of expression, and one that you can assume means that Woo doesn’t think highly of San’s father.

“He started gambling every night at The Cradle, and of course he was winning in the beginning,” San says, before letting out a scoff, shaking his head. “That’s how they get you hooked. They rig the tables for new-comers, get them to think they’re born of luck before they take you for everything you own.”

A moment of silence passes before you dare to break it. “And that’s what they did to him?”

San chuckles, a humourless sound. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Took only a few nights and then suddenly we were going to lose our house. Dad owed Jay thousands of gold pieces, so much so that it would take my family’s little carpentry business decades to pay it off.”

You manage a weak, tight-lipped smile, a grasp at sympathy, even if your stomach turns with anticipation for what he may say next. The desire to know more, accompanied by the dread of hearing anything else at all.

“Did he ever manage to?” You ask, and San snorts at this.

“No,” he laughs, tone angry. Hurt. “He didn’t even try. Maybe he was scared, maybe he was fucking terrified. But whatever he was feeling, it drove him to get me involved.”

“You?” You ask, a flash of dread coursing through you, a million awful thoughts of what may have happened next flooding your mind. “At thirteen?”

“Yeah, well,” he says lowly, good eye finally flickering up from the fire to meet your own, and his gaze is dark. “People do stupid things when they’re desperate.”

“Stupid doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Woo mumbles, tone venomous as he crosses his arms over his knees. “He’s fucking pathetic. A monster.”

San says nothing in response to this. After all, the elemental’s probably right.

“He took me aside one night when the club was having what they would call a ‘Gentlemen's Show’,” San continues, wrinkling his nose at the thought. “Got me to sneak inside. Said I was smaller, so it would be easier for me.”

“No,” you whisper, and San simply nods in response, accompanied by a weak shrug.

“I managed to find Jay’s office, was searching for Dad’s money for all of two minutes when he came in and found me.”

“And that’s when he…” you trail off, looking down at the crumpled eye-patch still clenched within San’s palm. Swallowing deeply, you prepare for him to confirm your guess, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.“He dragged me outside first, then into the nearby tavern where my father was waiting.”

San shuts his good eye, a pained expression crossing over his features as both of his eyebrows furrow deeply. “Jay gave him a choice. He could accept defeat and Jay would kill him exactly where he sat. Or he could walk away a free-man, but his family would be forced to pay his debt, as well as the price for his dishonesty.”

“And what do you think he chose?” Woo asks, gaze shifting from San to yourself. Expression angry as his brows furrow deeply, his tone is snide, all though for once that vengeance is not directed at you.

You swallow deeply, knowing what comes next but also not prepared for it.

You don’t need to say anything, as the silence is enough of an answer for San to continue. “He took off immediately, to where exactly only the gods know. Left us to deal with his consequences.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and it sounds lame. Feeble, certainly not enough to offer any sort of true condolence, but you can’t think of anything else to say.

San simply smiles, although the expression holds no genuine peace. “He brought me back to the house after he left. My sister was upstairs with my mother, and he dragged them both down the stairs by their hair.”

He blinks, and you can’t miss the way his good eye begins to glisten, tears dwelling but not permitting themselves to fall. “He killed my mother immediately. Said he had no use for an old hag, then slit her throat while my sister and I watched.”

Hand coming up to cover your mouth, your chest tightens sharply. “He took us both back to The Cradle. Sent my sister to the back, where she would start her training to be one of the club’s girls. ‘Kittens’, they call them.”

You think back to early in the tavern, when Jay had mentioned that maybe he would bring you back with him. San had immediately shut him down, the first time he’d been able to speak with any sort of confidence the entire ordeal.

Perhaps he was afraid of history repeating itself.

“He brought me up on stage, got the attention of all the men who were drinking and gambling,” he continues before pausing, only for a moment, as if to prepare himself for what comes next.

“Then he took off his gloves and ripped out my eye while they all watched.”

Woo’s hand slips down to rest on top of San’s, and the swordsman accepts it gladly, finger lacing between the man’s own. You’re glad to see it, as it grants San a glimpse of the comfort you only wish you could provide him yourself.

“He left me there, tied to one of the Kitten’s pole’s. The men all placed bets on how long they thought I would cry for. It ended up being four hours, I think. It’s all foggy now,” San says, tone empty. Broken.

He sighs, a sort of conclusion as he finally opens his good eye once more. He doesn’t look at you, but at the sky, the stars glimmering distantly above. “He owned me after that, and in a way he owns me still. I haven’t paid back my father’s debt, I still owe him that. He knows where we live, and he has scouts in damn near every mapped city, so if we ever tried to move somewhere else, he’d surely find us.”

As he blinks the tear that was threatening to fall finally breaks through, trailing down his cheek. “He wants me dead. Knows I’ll never manage to pay back the debt, and it’s not like he desperately needs the money, anyway. He’d probably have more fun torturing me instead, and I think that his patience is wearing thin.”

“He won’t get the chance,” Seonghwa says, the first time he’s spoken from your side in a while. Both his expression and tone are more fierce than you’ve ever heard them, and he nods firmly at San. “We won’t let him.”

San smiles at this, and it shows genuine gratitude, although you can see within the look of his eye that he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Thank you,” he says softly, before shifting his attention to you once more, “So that’s what happened earlier. I haven’t been to Gloria in a few years, and haven’t seen Jay since he came by the cottage last fall. I knew he’d be mad, didn’t know he’d pull something like that. Stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid,” Woo assures him, squeezing his hand gently. “He’s a prick, you’re paying him back. We may be slow, but we’re consistent. He should honour that.”

“Well, he’s never been a man of honour,” San reasons. “You don’t become the owner of a place like The Cradle by being one.”

You should leave it at that, San’s recollection of his history certainly has enough heavy conversation for one night. Yet, there’s a tickling in the back of your skull, one loose-end that remains unanswered.

“And what of your sister?” You ask, and his fleeting smile falls.

“She’s dead,” he answers plainly, although you doubt it’s less from not feeling any anger towards the fact, but rather that he doesn’t let himself feel it so strongly anymore. “One of the men beat her to death during a private session at the club. I don’t know why, Jay didn’t care enough to find out.”

The silence that follows is dense. Unbreakable, as nobody dares to speak, the heaviness in the air is far too thick to wade through.

So instead, San rises to his feet. Releasing his hand from Woo’s, he dusts the dirt off his pants, before looking at each of you in turn. “I’m going to bed,” he says, nodding back over towards the boy’s tent. “I need this day to be over.”

“Goodnight,” you say softly. You don’t wish him to sleep well, because really, how could anyone possibly try after reliving something like that.

San disappears behind the tent flap, leaving you, Seonghwa, and Woo all gathered around the fire. The night’s quiet feels unbearably loud, crickets chirping in the nearby bushes, as well as the whistling sound of the desert’s sand blowing by further in the distance.

Eyes drifting over to Woo, he continues to gaze into the fire, mindlessly moving his hand around in front of him in order to stoke the flame. He looks troubled, and although you find it much easier to act as if the elemental has no soul, as if he is merely a walking and breathing embodiment of the temperamental fires he creates, you know that he deeply cares for San.

“You should go to him,” you say, causing the elemental’s gaze to shoot up sharply, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Surely he suspects you’re up to something, that you want to get rid of him.

You shake your head, as if to deny the unspoken accusations. “He needs the company,” you say gently, nodding over towards the tent. Woo seems slightly unconvinced, so you push a little further.  “He needs you. Go.”

And it’s true. From the little touches to San’s shoulder, and grasping his hand when the pain became too much, Woo appears to be the only one who can grant the swordsman comfort. And while you’re certain Seonghwa could use his gift, perhaps Woo is the one who’s empathy and kindness San needs most.

While you may not understand the dynamics of their relationship, you can tell that if Woo cares for anyone more than his pride, it’s San.

The elemental doesn’t move immediately, stilling for a moment as he stares at you, expression unsettlingly blank. Always one to wear his thoughts and emotions on his sleeve, for the first time you wonder what he may be thinking.

But then he stands, and without another word makes his way towards San’s tent and under the flap.

You sigh, turning towards Seonghwa, who grants you a weak smile.

“What?” You ask quietly, as he doesn’t retract his gaze. The man laughs.

“He didn’t snap at you,” he offers, shrugging his shoulders as he lets his head fall back, face turned up towards the stars. “Maybe that’s something.”

 When Woo enters the tent, San has his front turned to the wall. Struggling with the clasp on the back of his eye-patch as he attempts to wrap it around his head, he’s still not used to taking it off. He doesn’t like to.

“San,” Woo starts, and his tone is soft. “Look at me.”

“I will, just give me a second,” San replies hurriedly, fingers beginning to move faster - and thus less precise - as he continues to struggle with the clasp. It just won’t stay, and as his hands begin to shake at the fact, it only becomes harder to try and get it to.

“Hey,” Woo says, rushing over to him and taking hold of San’s hands. For a moment, the swordsman thinks he’ll do it for him, but instead the elemental takes the eye-patch from his grasp entirely, sliding it away from his face. “Look at me.”

“No,” San says, although his voice breaks at the sentiment. He sounds and feels like a stubborn child, but he doesn’t like people seeing him like this. The patch is a sort of comfortable mask, and with it he’s able to hide his past, pretend that he’s far stronger than he really is.

That he’s not a broken shell of the man he could have been.

“San, come on,” Woo says, and when the elemental turns him around his grip is gentle. Not forceful or overly strong, so that if San really wanted to stop him, he could.

He doesn’t.

When he faces Woo, he keeps his eye trained down, focused on the tent’s floor. He can feel Woo’s gaze on him, and can imagine the pitiful expression across his face. It’s not a look he wears often, but when he does it makes San’s chest ache with shame. Pathetic.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Woo murmurs, raising a hand up to cup San’s cheek. His thumb drifts along the scars lacing San’s upper cheekbone, and the swordsman swallows deeply. He feels disgusting.

He thinks of earlier, just how damn close Jay had been to taking his other one too. The bottom of his chin aches at the thought, blisters burning, and he swears he can feel the emptiness of his socket, even if the wound closed over years ago.

“San,” Woo says, shaking the swordsman from his thoughts. He finally looks up, and when he meets Woo’s eyes, the elemental smiles. A small smile, but a sincere one at that.

And with it, San breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Woo merely shakes his head in response, laughing quietly.

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” He asks, and when San’s face scrunches up, the breakdown that’s been harbouring all day finally rearing its ugly head, the elemental pulls him into an embrace. Hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, San can hear as Woo drops his eyepatch onto the ground behind him. He doesn’t care.

When the swordsman speaks, it’s preceded by a quiet sob into the man’s shoulder. “I froze today,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he relives it all. The mind-numbing fog that clouded over him the second they stepped into Gloria. He couldn’t think, or breathe, or do anything. Useless.

“I could have gotten us all killed,” he murmurs through a sob, hands wrapping around Woo’s shoulders, he grips on tightly, trying to ground himself in the man’s solidity. “And I did nothing. I just let it happen.”

He thinks of Jay’s hand, hovering inches in front of his face. The sight of long dancing fingers that easily brought him back to eight years ago, as if it had all happened yesterday. “I would have let it happen. H-he was so close. He would have done it and I just would have sat there st-”

“Shh, I know,” Woo whispers, running a soothing hand over the back of San’s head. It is comforting, and San lets him continue the motion methodically, as he sobs into the fabric of Woo’s tunic.

He doesn’t do this. Tears something he thought he’d given up years ago, logic has been what he’s learned to ground himself in. Don’t feel too much, or you’ll get yourself hurt. Don’t get too attached, and if you already are, simply pretend you aren’t until it doesn’t feel real anymore. Think first, then move forward, feel later when there’s time. And the gods know there is never enough time.

But now that he’s broken that first rule, the tears come with seemingly no end. And for once he lets them fall, he lets Woo whisper calming words into his ear and stroke his hair gently, he lets himself be weak even if it only makes him despise himself more.

“Come on,” Woo whispers, leaning back to plant a soft kiss on the man’s forehead. He slips his hand into the San’s own, nodding towards his bed of makeshift blankets. “Let’s lie down. You need to sleep.”

It crosses San’s mind for only a split second that he should say no. After the shit Woo pulled this morning, and all his childish and jealous stunts over the past couple days, the last thing the swordsman should do is crawl into bed with him. He doesn’t deserve it.

But at the same time, his heart aches. And with his conscience full of fear, self-loathing, and all the ghosts of his childhood traumas coming back for a gravely unwelcome visit, the one thing he needs more than anything is comfort. He needs a familiar pair of arms to hold him, a body warm enough to fight against the chilling thoughts that plague his mind.

The man he loves despite logic pointing him in every other direction.

So what if he’ll find himself in an empty bed in the morning? At least for the span of the night he won’t be forced to face this alone.

And so San follows after him, mind blank as he lets himself be led. Slipping under the scratchy woolen blanket, he hears as Woo pulls his own covers over, laying down beside him. Arm reaching up and over his head, he pulls the swordsman close, and San clings to his figure like a beacon of warmth.

It’s only minutes until he falls asleep, but when he dreams, it’s full of darkness. Although amidst the deep blackness he can hear the sound of Jay’s laughter surrounding him, and he doesn’t know whether his eye is closed, or if there is simply nothing there left to open at all.

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next part.